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
But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;
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.
Were 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,