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Of whom he had this ring,
What's that to him?
[Aside, Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say, How came it yours?
Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that Which, to be spoke, would torture thee. Cym.
How ! me? Iach. I am glad to be constrain’d to utter that which Torments me to conceal. By villainy I got this ring ; 'twas Leonatus' jewel : Whom thou didst banish; and (which more may
grieve thee, As it doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd 'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my
lord ? Cym. All that belongs to this. Iach.
That paragon, thy daughter, For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits Quail 3 to remember,-Give me leave; I faint. Cym. My daughter! what of her? Renew thy
strength: I had rather thou should'st live while nature will, Than die ere I hear more: strive man, and speak.
Iach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock That struck the hour !) it was in Rome, (accurs d The mansion where!) 'twas at a feast, (O ’would Our viands had been poison'd! or, at least, Those which I heav'd to head !) the good Posthúmus, (What should I say? he was too good, to be Where ill men were ; and was the best of all
3 Sink into dejection.
Among'st the rar'st of good ones,) sitting sadly,
I stand on fire :
All too soon I shall,
Nay, nay, to the purpose.
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; And would so, had it been a carbuncle Of Phoebus' wheel; and might só safely, had it Been all the worth of his car. Away to Britain Post I in this design : Well may you, sir, Remember me at court, where I was taught of your chaste daughter the wide difference 'Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quench'd Of hope, not lônging, mine Italian brain 'Gan in
duller Britain operate
Ay, so thou dost,
[Coming forward. Italian fiend !-Ah me, most credulous fool, Egregious murderer, thief, any thing That's due to all the villains past, in being, To come!-0, give me cord, or knife, or poison, Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out For torturers ingenious: it is I That all the abhorred things o’the earth amend, By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
That kill'd thy daughter :-villain-like, I lie;
Peace, my lord; hear, hear-
page, There lie thy part.
[Striking her: she falls. Pis.
O, gentlemen, help, help Mine, and your mistress :~0,
lord Posthumus !
Does the world go round?
Wake, my mistress?
How fares my mistress ?
The tune of Imogen!
4 Not only the temple of virtue, but virtue herself,
A precious thing; I had it from the queen.
Cym. New matter still?
It poison'd me.
O Gods !
What's this, Cornelius?
of life; but, in short time,
Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead.
This is sure, Fidele.
Think, that you are upon a rock; and now
[Embracing him. Post.
Hang there like fruit, my soul, Till the tree die! Сут. .
How now, my flesh, my child ?
5 Mix, compound.