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SCENE I.-A Field between the British and Roman And make me blessed to obey!-I am brought

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hither

Among the Italtan gentry, and to fight
Against my lady's kingdom: 't is enough
That, Britain, I have killed 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 shew.
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

SCENE II.-The same.

Enter, at one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman army; at the other side, the British army; LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following it, like a poor

Soldier. They march over, and go out. Alarums. Then enter again in skirmish, IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS; he vanquisheth and disarmeth IACHIMO, and then leaves him.

Iach. The heaviness and guilt within bosom
my
Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady,
The princess of this country, and the air on 't
Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl,
A very drudge of nature's, have subdued me
In my profession? Knighthoods and honours,
borne

As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.
If that thy gentry, Britain, go before
This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds
Is that we scarce are men, and you are gods.
[Exit.

The battle continues; the Britons fly; CYMBELINE is taken; then enter, to his rescue, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.

Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground;

The lane is guarded: nothing routs us but
The villany of our fears.

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Post. Close by the battle, ditched, and walled with turf;

Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,—
An honest one, I warrant; who deserved
So long a breeding as his white beard came to,
In doing this for his country;―athwart the
lane,

He, with two striplings (lads more like to run
The country base than to commit such slaughter;
With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
Than those for preservation cased, or shame),
Made good the passage; cried to those that fled,
Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men:
To darkness fleet, souls that fly backwards!

66

Stand;

Or we are Romans, and will give you that
Like beasts, which you shun beastly; and may

save,

But to look back in frown. Stand, stand!"-These three,

Three thousand confident, in act as many (For three performers are the file when all The rest do nothing), with this word, "Stand, stand!"

Accommodated by the place, more charming With their own nobleness (which could have turned

A distaff to a lance), gilded pale looks, Part, shame, part, spirit renewed; that some, turned coward

But by example (O, a sin in war

Damned in the first beginners!), 'gan to look
The way that they did, and to grin like lions
Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began
A stop i' the chaser, a retire; anon,
A rout, confusion thick: forthwith, they fly
Chickens, the way which they stooped eagles;
slaves,

The strides they victors made. And now our cowards

(Like fragments in hard voyages) became The life o' the need having found the back-door open

:

Of the unguarded hearts, Heavens, how they wound!

Some, slain before; some, dying; some, their friends

O'er-borne i' the former wave: ten, chaced by

one,

Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:

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give me

The penitent instrument, to pick that bolt,
Then, free for ever! Is't enough I am sorry?
So children temporal fathers do appease;
Gods are more full of mercy.
Must I repent?

I cannot do it better than in gyves,
Desired more than constrained: to satisfy,
If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take
No stricter render of me than my all.

I know you are more clement than vile men,
Who of their broken debtors take a third,
A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again
On their abatement; that's not my desire:
For Imogen's dear life, take mine; and though
'Tis not so dear, yet 't is a life; you coined it:
"Tween man and man they weigh not every

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Solemn Music. Enter, as an apparition, SICILIUS LEONATUS, father to POSTHUMUS, an old man, attired like a warrior; leading in his hand an ancient Matron, his wife, and mother to POSTHUMUS, with music before them. Then, after other music, follow the two young LEONATI, brothers to POSTHUMUS, with wounds, as they died in the wars. They circle POSTHUMUS

round, as he lies sleeping.

Sici. No more, thou thunder-master, shew
Thy spite on mortal flies:

With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,

That thy adulteries

Rates and revenges.

Hath my poor boy done aught but well,

Whose face I never saw?

I died whilst in the womb he stayed,

Attending Nature's law.

Whose father then (as men report

Thou orphans' father art)

Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him

From this earth-vexing smart.

Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid,

But took me in my throes;
That from me was Posthumus ript,
Came crying 'mongst his foes,
A thing of pity!

Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry,
Moulded the stuff so fair,

That he deserved the praise o' the world,
As great Sicilius' heir.

1st Bro. When once he was mature for man,
In Britain where was he

That could stand up his parallel;

Or fruitful object be

In eye of Imogen, that best

Could deem his dignity?

Moth. With marriage wherefore was he mocked,
To be exiled, and thrown
From Leonati' seat, and cast
From her his dearest one,
Sweet Imogen?

Sici. Why did you suffer Iachimo,

Slight thing of Italy,

To taint his nobler heart and brain

With needless jealousy ;

And to become the geck and scorn
O' the other's villany?

2nd Bro. For this, from stiller scats we came,

Our parents, and us twain,

That, striking in our country's cause,
Fell bravely, and were slain;
Our fealty, and Tenantius' right,
With honour to maintain.

1st Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath
To Cymbeline performed:

Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,
Why hast thou thus adjourned
The graces for his merits due;

Being all to dolours turned?

Sici. Thy crystal window ope; look out;
No longer exercise,

Upon a valiant race, thy harsh
And potent injuries:

Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good,
Take off his miseries.

Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion; help!
Or we poor ghosts will cry

To the shining synod of the rest,

Against thy deity.

2nd Bro. Help, Jupiter; or we appeal, And from thy justice fly.

JUPITER descends in thunder and lightning, sitting

upon an eagle; he throws a thunder-bolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees.

Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region low,

Offend our hearing; hush!-How dare you, ghosts, Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt you know,

Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts? Poor shadows of Elysium, hence; and rest Upon your never-withering banks of flowers: Be not with mortal accidents oppressed;

No care of yours it is; you know t'is ours. Whom best I love, I cross; to make my gift, The more delayed, delighted. Be content; Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:

His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. Our Jovial star reigned at his birth, and in Our temple was he married.-Rise, and fade! He shall be lord of lady Imogen,

And happier much by his affliction made. This tablet lay upon his breast; wherein

mine.—

Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine; And so, away: no farther with your din Express impatience, lest you stir up Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. [Ascends. Sici. He came in thunder: his celestial breath Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle

Stooped, as to foot us; his ascension is

More sweet than our blessed fields: his royal bird Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, As when his god is pleased.

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