 | Cymbeline |  |
SCENE IV.
The Inside of the Temple of Andate.Priestess and Imogen enter.
Priest.
And sent his man to murder thee?—
Imog.
What could he less?—Had I an hundred lives,
They were too little for the bare suspicion
Of such a naughtiness!—I fear, I fear.—
Priest.
Fear not, my daughter, my sweet Imogen!
All shall be well—thy lord, thy Leonatus,
Shall be new plighted, in a double bond
Of fresh endearment, to thee.
Imog.
Never, madam!
He never can forgive—never expel
The rooted jealousy—What, in my chamber—
A ruffian, and at midnight!—then, to quote
Each circumstance of time and place—confirm'd
Even by my nuptial bracelet—and such marks,
As ought to have been lock'd from every eye,
With bolts of triple steel!
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But when he hears
The subtle means devised—
Imog.
Ah, sacred lady!
Against such proofs, what witness can avail?
Not the confession of the lurking fiend,
Who plotted my undoing. O, I am
Distracted too to think of what he suffers,
For such a falling off!—for, though he is brave
As the bay'd lion; yet he is gentle, too,
As is the turtle, lately fledg'd, and peeping
Into a new-found world. I feel—and to
Your ear I will confide it—had I but
The twentieth part the cause to think he had given
My rights in his loved person to another—
I feel, I could not bear it.
Priest.
Kindest, truest,
Loveliest, and best beloved, my child, my Imogen—
Mine by fond ties, that must not, yet, be told!
Peace to thy gentle heart—all shall be whole;
Trust me, it shall.
A Priest enters.
Priest.
Bright emblem of our goddess, sacred lady!
The rites are all prepared; a hundred victims,
With fillets and fresh garlands, duely bound,
Wait to be offer'd, in their holy trim,
To the great power of Victory.
[Exit Priest.
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I come—
Ill would such scenes, as those, my daughter, suit
Thy gentleness of nature—I, who am
Bound, by my duty, to the horrid vision,
Still shudder at the sight of human blood.
Retire, my Imogen.
[Exit Imogen.
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