Enter Queen.
CYMBELINE.
Thou foolish thing!
[To the Queen.] They were again together. You have done
Not after our command. Away with her,
And pen her up.
QUEEN.
Beseech your patience. Peace,
Dear lady daughter, peace!—Sweet sovereign,
Leave us to ourselves, and make yourself some comfort
Out of your best advice.
CYMBELINE.
Nay, let her languish
A drop of blood a day and, being aged,
Die of this folly.
[Exit with Lords.]
Enter Pisanio.
QUEEN.
Fie! you must give way.
Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news?
PISANIO.
My lord your son drew on my master.
QUEEN.
Ha!
No harm, I trust, is done?
PISANIO.
There might have been,
But that my master rather play’d than fought,
And had no help of anger; they were parted
By gentlemen at hand.