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.

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.

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.