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Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,

And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore

To say 'Live, boy.' Ne'er thank thy master. Live;

And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,

Fitting my bounty and thy state, I'll give it;

Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,

The noblest ta'en.

IMOGEN.

I humbly thank your Highness.

LUCIUS.

I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad,

And yet I know thou wilt.

IMOGEN.

No, no! Alack,

There's other work in hand. I see a thing

Bitter to me as death; your life, good master,

Must shuffle for itself.

LUCIUS.

The boy disdains me,

He leaves me, scorns me. Briefly die their joys

That place them on the truth of girls and boys.

Why stands he so perplex'd?

CYMBELINE.

What wouldst thou, boy?

I love thee more and more; think more and more

What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? Speak,

Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?

IMOGEN.

He is a Roman, no more kin to me

Than I to your Highness; who, being born your vassal,

Am something nearer.

CYMBELINE.

Wherefore ey'st him so?

IMOGEN.

I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please

To give me hearing.

CYMBELINE.

Ay, with all my heart,

And lend my best attention. What's thy name?

IMOGEN.

Fidele, sir.

CYMBELINE.

Thou'rt my good youth, my page;

I'll be thy master. Walk with me; speak freely.

[CYMBELINE and IMOGEN converse apart]

BELARIUS.

Is not this boy reviv'd from death?

ARVIRAGUS.

One sand another

Not more resembles- that sweet rosy lad

Who died and was Fidele. What think you?

GUIDERIUS.

The same dead thing alive.

BELARIUS.

Peace, peace! see further. He eyes us not; forbear.

Creatures may be alike; were't he, I am sure

He would have spoke to us.

GUIDERIUS.

But we saw him dead.

BELARIUS.

Be silent; let's see further.

PISANIO.

[Aside] It is my mistress.

Since she is living, let the time run on

To good or bad. [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN advance]

CYMBELINE.

Come, stand thou by our side;

Make thy demand aloud. [To IACHIMO] Sir, step you forth;

Give answer to this boy, and do it freely,

Or, by our greatness and the grace of it,

Which is our honour, bitter torture shall

Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him.

IMOGEN.

My boon is that this gentleman may render

Of whom he had this ring.

POSTHUMUS.

[Aside] What's that to him?

CYMBELINE.

That diamond upon your finger, say

How came it yours?

IACHIMO.

Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that

Which to be spoke would torture thee.

CYMBELINE.

How? me?

IACHIMO.

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?

CYMBELINE.

All that belongs to this.

IACHIMO.

That paragon, thy daughter,

For whom my heart drops blood and my false spirits

Quail to remember- Give me leave, I faint.

CYMBELINE.

My daughter? What of her? Renew thy strength;

I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will

Than die ere I hear more. Strive, man, and speak.

IACHIMO.

Upon a time- unhappy was the clock

That struck the hour!- 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 Posthumus-

What should I say? he was too good to be

Where ill men were, and was the best of all

Amongst the rar'st of good ones- sitting sadly

Hearing us praise our loves of Italy

For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast

Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming

The shrine of Venus or straight-pight Minerva,

Postures beyond brief nature; for condition,

A shop of all the qualities that man

Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving,

Fairness which strikes the eye-

CYMBELINE.

I stand on fire.

Come to the matter.

IACHIMO.

All too soon I shall,

Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus,

Most like a noble lord in love and one

That had