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I thank you.

First Lord. So please your majesty,
The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your coast, with a supply
Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent.
Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and

queen!
I am amazed with matter.
First Lord.

Good my liege,
Your preparation can affront no less
Than what you hear of: come more, for more

you 're ready :
The want is but to put those powers in motion
That long to move.
Сут.

Let's withdraw;
And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not
What can from Italy annoy us; but
We grieve at chances here. Away !

(Exeunt all but Pisanio.
Pis. I heard no letter from my master since
I wrote him Imogen was slain : 'tis strange :
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise
To yield me often tidings; neither know I
What is betid to Cloten ; but remain
Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work.
Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be

true.
These present wars shall find I love my country,
Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in them.
All other doubts, by time let them be clear's :
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer’d.

[Exit

.

40

SCENE IV.

Wales : before the cave of Belarius.

Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.
Gui. The noise is round about us.
Bel.

Let us from it.
Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to

lock it
From action and adventure ?
Gui:

Nay, what hope
Have we in hiding us? This way, the Romans
Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us
For barbarous and unnatural revolts
During their use, and slay us after.
Bel.

Sons,
We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us.
To the king's party there's no going: newness
Of Cloten’s death—we being not known, not

muster'd
Among the bands—may drive us to a render
Where we have lived, and so extort from 's that
Which we have done, whose answer would be

death
Drawn on with torture.
Gui.

This is, sir, a doubt
In such a time nothing becoming you,
Nor satisfying us.
Arv.

It is not likely
That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,
Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes
And ears so cloy'd importantly as now,

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That they will waste their time upon our note,
To know from whence we are.
Bel.

O, I am known
Of

many in the army: many years,
Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore

him
From my remembrance. And, besides, the king
Hath not deserved my service nor your loves ;
Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless
To have the courtesy your cradle promised,
But to be still hot summer's tanlings and
The shrinking slaves of winter.
Gui.

Than be so
Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army :
I and my brother are not known; yourself
So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown,
Cannot be question'd.
Arv.

By this sun that shines,
I'll thither : what thing is it that I never
Did see man die ! scarce ever look'd on blood,
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison !
Never bestrid a horse, save one that had
A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel
Nor iron on his heel! I am ashamed
To look upon the holy sun, to have
The benefit of his blest beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.
Gui.

By heavens, I'll go:
If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,
I'll take the better care, but if you will not,
The hazard therefore due fall on me by
The hands of Romans !
Arv.

So
say

I: amen.

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29. tanlings, tanned boys. 33. o'ergrown, i.e. with shaggy, unkempt hair. VOL. IV

225

50

Bel. No reason I, since of your lives you set
So slight a valuation, should reserve
My crack'd one to more care.

Have with you,
boys!
If in your country wars you chance to die,
That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie :
Lead, lead. [Aside] The time seems long; their

blood thinks scorn,
Till it Ay out and show them princes born.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Britain.

The Roman camp.

Enter Posthumus, with a bloody handkerchief. Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee, for I

wish'd Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married

ones,
If each of you should take this course, how

many
Must murder wives much better than themselves
For wrying but a little ! O Pisanio!
Every good servant does not all commands :
No bond but to do just ones. Gods ! if

you
Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never
Had lived to put on this : so had you saved
The noble Imogen to repent, and struck

IO

20

Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But,

alack, You snatch some hence for little faults; that's

love,
To have them fall no more : you some permit
To second ills with ills, each elder worse,
And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift.
But Imogen is your own : do your best wills,
And make me blest to obey! I am brought hither
Among the Italian gentry, and to fight
Against my lady's kingdom : 'tis enough
That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace!
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good

heavens,
Hear patiently my purpose : I'll disrobe me
Of these Italian weeds and suit myself
As does a Briton peasant : so I 'll fight
Against the part I come with ; so I'll die
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
Is

every breath a death; and thus, unknown,
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril
Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me than my habits show.
Gods, put the strength o' the Leonati in me!
To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin
The fashion, less without and more within. [Exit.

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