Page 442 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

You know the peril.
I’ll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
The pangs of barr’d affections, though the king
Hath charg’d you should not speak together.

[Exit.]

IMOGEN
O
Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant [15]
Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,

I something fear my father’s wrath, but nothing
(Always reserv’d my holy duty) what
His rage can do on me. You must be gone,
And I shall here abide the hourly shot [20]
Of angry eyes: not comforted to live,

But that there is this jewel in the world
That I may see again.

POSTHUMUS
My queen, my mistress:
O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause

To be suspected of more tenderness [25]
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, [30]
And with mine eyes I’ll drink the words you send,
Though ink be made of gall.

Re-enter Queen.

QUEEN
Be brief, I pray you:
If the king come, I shall incur I know not
How much of his displeasure: [aside] yet I’ll move him
To walk this way: I never do him wrong [35]

But he does buy my injuries, to be friends: