University of Virginia Library

SCENE VII.

Leonatus enters.
Lucius.
Immortal powers! the very man we dream'd of.—
My friend, my best beloved, my Leonatus!
[Embrace.
By the gods, welcome—welcomest of aught
The gods themselves could send!—Whence, from what chance,
What happy chance?

Leon.
O Lucius, son of Rome,
Best loved, and best respected—you behold
A wretched outcast, thrown, as with a sling,
From all his heart holds dear.

Lucius.
Banish'd?

Leon.
Even so.

Lucius.
O, Capitolian Jove, thou dost infatuate
Those thou wouldst ruin!—Cast their shield away!—
What now shall guardian their abandon'd side,
Against the sword of Rome?—My Leonatus,
The valiant Clodio.
[They salute.
Say, my soul's elect,
Where may your purpose bend?

Leon.
In sooth, I know not—
To Gaul—or possibly, to Rome and Cæsar.

Lucius.
If you are not upon the spur from hence,
We would entreat your sojourn with our love,
Till we may burden you with some dispatches
To Cæsar and our friends.

Leon.
Alas, for me,
The world affords no wish, no way from hence,
Save what may serve a friend.

Lucius.
Within the minute,
My thanks and I attend you.

[Exit Lucius.
Clod.
Noble stranger!
Your aspect bears a seal of such mishap,
As saddens all who see. May any cause
Be worth this sum of woe?

Leon.
If, to have lost
Whatever earth can yield of estimation,
Or fancy frame in Heaven, be worth a sigh—
Then mine are honest tribute.

Clod.
Sir, you are young;
Just at the tide of spring, that overbears
The flats of common sense—Oft have I known
Untutor'd passion, desperate from the loss
Of the most slight and worthless thing on earth,
A woman—

Leon.
A woman!—Does your sentence, judging sir,
Extend beyond the stews?

Clod.
Throughout the world's
Wide orbit. Nature form'd their flippant sex
Upon the model of the sea-born dame,
Whose knowledge takes in all of gods and men,
From Mars to soft Adonis.

Leon.
Fie, fie!—this foul opinion
Strumpets thy mother in her urn.

Clod.
My mother
Stood on a line with her, the chastest she,
Whose fond inamorato, in his brain,
Now figures for a phænix. I sap not
The credit of a single fair; but mourn,
That any gallant man, should tie his faith,
His peace, and valued honours, to a thing
That none alive can keep—Place me a cloud
'Twixt Dian and Endymion, my estate,
My manhood for the pledge, that I transfer
The horns from her to him.

Leon.
O, I do know,
I do know one—but such another, till,
By the same pattern, nature shall renew
The beauty of her works—like to that one,
Another can't be known!—By great Andate,
The sight would throw a rein of dumb restraint
On that licentious tongue—One chastening look,
One aweful glance of her reproving eye,
Would freeze the hottest libertine of Rome
To still and downcast reverence!

Clod.
Is she native
Of any world yet known?

Leon.
Your Italy,
A stranger to her virtues, as you say,
Records her name—'Tis Imogen!

Clod.
The peerless heir of Britain!—O ye gods,
A plumb, a province, for the wish'd encounter!

Leon.
Away, slight, empty braggard!—what couldst thou,
Where even Hyperion, or the Roman Jove,
Born, as to Læda once, on downy pinions;
Or, in his still more tempting form of gold,
Though dropt into her lap, in all his glory,
Should find her truth more strong than his seduction?

Clod.
She is a woman still—I go, this hour,
To Cymbeline from Cæsar—Had I means
Of fair address, I, here, would freely gage
My villa, rated at the rich return
Of fifty annual talents, that I bring
Sure proof she renders up her chastest hoard
To my free arbitration.

Leon.
Insolent!—
Thou darest not gage.

Clod.
By Jupiter, I think
You will not dare the trial.

Leon.
To convince thee
Of thine own arrogance, and my contempt,
Thou shalt have letters to her—Mark me, yet;
On thy return, the convict of thy folly,
'Tis not thy villa only—no, thy blood
Shall pay the penalty of this presumption!—
Prepare to answer with thy sword.

Clod.
Agreed.

Leon.
Till then I hold no converse with a ruffian,
Though dignified by Rome.—I'll send the letters.

[Exeunt severally.