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1st Gent. I do extend him, sir, within himself; Crush him together, rather than unfold His measure duly.

2nd Gent. What's his name and birth?

1st Gent. I cannot delve him to the root: his father

Was called Sicilius, who did join his honour
Against the Romans, with Cassibelan;
But had his titles by Tenantius, whom
He served with glory and admired success;
So gained the sur-addition, Leonatus:
And had, besides this gentleman in question,
Two other sons, who, in the wars o' the time,
Died with their swords in hand; for which their
father

(Then old and fond of issue) took such sorrow,
That he quit being; and his gentle lady,
Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased
As he was born. The king he takes the babe
To his protection; calls him Posthumus Leonatus;
Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-chamber;
Puts him to all the learnings that his time
Could make him the receiver of,-which he took,
As we do air, fast as 't was ministered,

And in his spring became a harvest: lived in court
(Which rare it is to do) most praised, most loved:
A sample to the youngest; to the more mature,
A glass that feated them; and to the graver,
A child that guided dotards: to his mistress,
For whom he now is banished,―her own price
Proclaims how she esteemed him and his virtue;
By her election may be truly read
What kind of man he is.

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Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS, and IMOGEN. Queen. No, be assured, you shall not find me, daughter,

After the slander of most stepmothers,
Evil-eyed unto you: you are my prisoner, but
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
So soon as I can win the offended king,
I will be known your advocate: marry, yet
The fire of rage is in him; and 't were good
You leaned unto his sentence, with what patience
Your wisdom may inform you.
Please your highness,

Post.

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Can tickle where she wounds!--My dearest husband,

I something fear my father's wrath, but nothing
(Always reserved my holy duty) what
His rage can do on me: you must be gone;
And I shall here abide the hourly shot
Of angry eyes; not comforted to live,
But that there is this jewel in the world,
That I may see again.

Post. My queen! my mistress!
O, lady, weep no more; lest I give cause
To be suspected of more tenderness
Than doth become a man! I will remain
The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth.
My residence in Rome, at one Philario's,
Who to my father was a friend; to me
Known but by letter: thither write, my queen,
And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,
Though ink be made of gall.

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