Cymbeline. Уильям Шекспир

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        1.Gent. You do not meet a man but Frownes.

      Our bloods no more obey the Heauens

      Then our Courtiers:

      Still seeme, as do's the Kings

         2 Gent. But what's the matter?

        1. His daughter, and the heire of's kingdome (whom

      He purpos'd to his wiues sole Sonne, a Widdow

      That late he married) hath referr'd her selfe

      Vnto a poore, but worthy Gentleman. She's wedded,

      Her Husband banish'd; she imprison'd, all

      Is outward sorrow, though I thinke the King

      Be touch'd at very heart

      2 None but the King?

      1 He that hath lost her too: so is the Queene,

      That most desir'd the Match. But not a Courtier,

      Although they weare their faces to the bent

      Of the Kings lookes, hath a heart that is not

      Glad at the thing they scowle at

         2 And why so?

        1 He that hath miss'd the Princesse, is a thing

      Too bad, for bad report: and he that hath her,

      (I meane, that married her, alacke good man,

      And therefore banish'd) is a Creature, such,

      As to seeke through the Regions of the Earth

      For one, his like; there would be something failing

      In him, that should compare. I do not thinke,

      So faire an Outward, and such stuffe Within

      Endowes a man, but hee

      2 You speake him farre

      1 I do extend him (Sir) within himselfe,

      Crush him together, rather then vnfold His measure duly

         2 What's his name, and Birth?

        1 I cannot delue him to the roote: His Father

      Was call'd Sicillius, who did ioyne his Honor

      Against the Romanes, with Cassibulan,

      But had his Titles by Tenantius, whom

      He seru'd with Glory, and admir'd Successe:

      So gain'd the Sur-addition, Leonatus.

      And had (besides this Gentleman in question)

      Two other Sonnes, who in the Warres o'th' time

      Dy'de with their Swords in hand. For which, their Father

      Then old, and fond of yssue, tooke such sorrow

      That he quit Being; and his gentle Lady

      Bigge of this Gentleman (our Theame) deceast

      As he was borne. The King he takes the Babe

      To his protection, cals him Posthumus Leonatus,

      Breedes him, and makes him of his Bed-chamber,

      Puts to him all the Learnings that his time

      Could make him the receiuer of, which he tooke

      As we do ayre, fast as 'twas ministred,

      And in's Spring, became a Haruest: Liu'd in Court

      (Which rare it is to do) most prais'd, most lou'd,

      A sample to the yongest: to th' more Mature,

      A glasse that feated them: and to the grauer,

      A Childe that guided Dotards. To his Mistris,

      (For whom he now is banish'd) her owne price

      Proclaimes how she esteem'd him; and his Vertue

      By her electio[n] may be truly read, what kind of man he is

         2 I honor him, euen out of your report.

      But pray you tell me, is she sole childe to'th' King?

        1 His onely childe:

      He had two Sonnes (if this be worth your hearing,

      Marke it) the eldest of them, at three yeares old

      I'th' swathing cloathes, the other from their Nursery

      Were stolne, and to this houre, no ghesse in knowledge

      Which way they went

      2 How long is this ago?

      1 Some twenty yeares

      2 That a Kings Children should be so conuey'd,

      So slackely guarded, and the search so slow

      That could not trace them

      1 Howsoere, 'tis strange,

      Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at:

      Yet is it true Sir

      2 I do well beleeue you

      1 We must forbeare.

      Heere comes the Gentleman, The Queene, and Princesse.

      Exeunt.

        Qu. No, be assur'd you shall not finde me (Daughter)

      After the slander of most Step-Mothers,

      Euill-ey'd vnto you. You're my Prisoner, but

      Your Gaoler shall deliuer you the keyes

      That locke vp your restraint. For you Posthumus,

      So soone as I can win th' offended King,

      I will be knowne your Aduocate: marry yet

      The fire of Rage is in him, and 'twere good

      You lean'd vnto his Sentence, with what patience

      Your wisedome may informe you

         Post. 'Please your Highnesse,

      I will from hence to day

         Qu. You know the perill:

      Ile fetch a turne about the Garden, pittying

      The pangs of barr'd Affections, though the King

      Hath charg'd you should not speake together.

      Exit

        Imo. O dissembling Curtesie! How fine this Tyrant

      Can tickle where she wounds? My deerest Husband,

      I something feare my Fathers wrath, but nothing

      (Alwayes reseru'd my holy duty) what

      His rage can do on me. You must be gone,

      And I shall heere abide the hourely shot

      Of angry eyes: not comforted to liue,

      But that there is this Iewell in the world,

      That I may see againe

         Post. My Queene, my Mistris:

      O Lady, weepe no more, least I giue cause

      To be suspected of more tendernesse

      Then doth become a man. I will remaine

      The loyall'st husband, that did ere plight troth.

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