Page 443 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

Pays dear for my offences.
[Exit.]

POSTHUMUS
Should we be taking leave
As long a term as yet we have to live,
The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!

IMOGEN
Nay, stay a little: [40]
Where you but riding forth to air yourself,
Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;
This diamond was my mother’s; take it, heart;

But keep it till you woo another wife,
When Imogen is dead.

POSTHUMUS
How, how? Another? [45]
You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
And sear up my embracements from a next

With bonds of death! Remain, remain thou here,
[putting on the ring]
While sense can keep it on: And sweetest, fairest,

As I my poor self did exchange for you [50]
To your so infinite loss; so in our trifles
I still win of you. For my sake wear this,
It is a manacle of love, I’ll place it
Upon this fairest prisoner.

[Putting a bracelet on her arm.]

IMOGEN
O the gods!
When shall we see again?

Enter Cymbeline and Lords.

POSTHUMUS
Alack, the king! [55]