To fecond ills with ills, each worse than other,
And make them dreaded, to the doers' thrift.
But Imogen's your own; do your best wills,
And make me bleft t'obey! I am brought hither
Among th' Italian Gentry, and to fight
Againft my lady's Kingdom; 'tis enough,
That, Britaine, I have kill'd my miftrefs: Peace!
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heav'ns,
Hear patiently my purpose. I'll difrobe me
Of thefe Italian weeds, and fuit my felf
As do's a Briton peafant; fo I'll fight
Against the part I come with; fo I'll die
For thee, O Imogen, for whom my life
Is, every breath, a death; and thus unknown,
Pitied, nor hated, to the face of peril
My felf I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me, than my Habits fhew
Gods, put the firength o'th' Leonati in me!
To fhame the guife o'th' world, I will begin
The fashion, lefs without, and more within.

1

[Exit.

Enter Lucius, Jachimo, and the Roman army at one door; and the British army at another: Leonatus Pofthumus following like a poor foldier. They march over, and go out. Then enter again in skirmish Iachimo, and Pofthumus; he vanquisheth and difarmeth Iachimo, and then leaves him.

lach. The heavinefs, and guilt, within my bofom,
Takes off my manhood; I've bely'd a lady,
The Princefs of this country; and the air on't
Revengingly enfeebles me or could this carle,
A very drudge of nature, have fubdu'd me
In my profeffion? Knighthoods, and Honours born,
As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn;

And make them dreaded, to the Doers' Thrift.

i. e. others you permit to aggravate one Crime with more: which Enormities not only make them revered and dreaded, but turn in other kinds to their Advantage. Dignity, Refpect, and Profit, accrue to them from Crimes committed with impunity.

If

If that thy gentry, Britaine, go before

This lowt, 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, ftand; we have th' advantage of the ground;

That lane is guarded: nothing rcuts us, but
The villany of our fears.

Guid. Arv. Stand, ftand, and fight.

Enter Pofthumus, and feconds the Britons. They rescue Cymbeline, and exeunt.

Then enter Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen.

Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and fave thy

felf;

For friends kill friends, and the disorder's fuck

As war were hood-wink'd.

lach. 'Tis their fresh fupplies.

Luc. It is a day turn'd ftrangely. Or betimes Let's reinforce, or fly.

[Exeunt.

SCENE, another Part of the Field of Battel. Enter Pofthumus, and a British lord,

Lord. CA

Am'ft thou from where they made thee Stand?
Poft. I did.

Though you it feems, came from the fliers.

Lord. I did.

Poft. No blame be to you, Sir, for all was loft, But that the heavens fought: the King himself Of his wings deftitute, the army broken, And but the backs of Britaine seen; all flying Through a ftraight lane, the enemy full-hearted Lolling the tongue with flaught'ring, having work More plentiful, than tools to do't, struck down Some mortally, fome flightly touch'd, fome falling Meerly through fear, that the ftraight Pafs was damn'd

With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living
To die with lengthen'd fhame.

Lord. Where was this lane?

Poft. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf, Which gave advantage to an ancient foldier, (An honelt one, I warrant,) who deferv'd So long a breeding as his white beard came to, In doing this for's Country 'Thwart the lane, He, with two ftriplings, (lads, more like to run The country Bafe, than to commit fuch flaughter; With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer Than those for prefervation cas'd, or shame,) Made good the paffage, cry'd to those that fled, "Our Britaine's Harts die flying, not our men ; "To darkness fleet fouls, that fly backwards! ftand; "Or we are Romans, and will give you That "Like beats, which you fhun beaftly, and may fave "But to look back in frown: ftand, ftand.".

three,

Three thousand confident, in act as many; (For three performers are the file, when all

Thefe

The reft do nothing;) with this word, "Stand, ftand,
Accommodated by the place, (more charming

With their own Nobleness, which could have turn'd
A diftaff to a lance) gilded pale looks;

Part, shame, part, fpirit-renew'd; that fome, turn'd coward

But by example, (oh, a fin in war,

Damn'd in the first beginners!) 'gan to look
The way that they did, and to grin like lions
Upon the pikes o' th' hunters. Then began
A ftop i' th' chafer, a retire; anon,

A rout, confufion thick. Forthwith they flie
Chickens, the way which they ftoop'd eagles: flaves,
The ftrides they victors made; and now our cowards,
Like fragments in hard voyages, became

The life o' th' need; having found the back door open Of the unguarded hearts, heav'ns, how they wound Some flain before, fome dying; fome, their friends O'er-borne i' th' former wave; ten, chac'd by one, VOL. VII.

N

Are

Are now each one the flaughter-man of twenty;
Thofe, that would die or ere refift, are grown
The mortal bugs o' th' field.

Lord. This was ftrange chance,

A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys!
Poft. Nay, do but wonder at it; you are made (26)
Rather to wonder at the things you hear,
Than to work any. Will you rhime upon't?
And vent it for a mockery? here is one :
"Two boys, an old man, (twice a boy) a lane,
"Prefer'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane.
Lord. Nay, be not angry, Sir.

Poft. Lack! to what end?

Who dares not ftand his foe, I'll be his friend ;
For if he'll do, as he is made to do,

I know, he'll quickly fly my friendship too.
You have put me into rhimes.

Lord. Farewel, you are angry.

[Exit.

Poft. This is a lord-oh noble misery,
To be i' th' field, and ask what news, of me!
To day, how many would have given their honours
To've fav'd their carcaffes? took heel to do't,
And yet died too? I, in mine own woe charm'd,
Could not find death, where I did hear him groan;
Nor feel him, where he ftruck. This ugly monfter,
"Tis ftrange he hides him in fresh cups, foft beds,
Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we,
That draw his knives i' th' war-

him:

Well, I will find

For being now a favourer to the Briton,
No more a Briton, I've refum'd again

The part I came in. Fight I will no more,
But yield me to the verieft hind, that shall

(26) Nay, do not wonder at it; you are made
Rather to wonder at the Things you bear,
Than to work any.]

Sure, this is mock reasoning with a Vengeance. What! becaufe he was made fitter to wonder at great Actions, than to perform - any, is he therefore forbid to wonder? Not and but are perpetually mistaken for one another in the old Editions.

Once

Once touch my fhoulder. Great the flaughter is
Here made by th' Roman; great the answer be,
Britons must take. For me, my ranfom's death
On either fide I come to spend my breath;
Which neither here I'll keep, nor bear again,
But end it by fome means for Imogen.

Enter two British Captains, and Soldiers.

1 Cap. Great Jupiter be prais'd, Lucius is taken! 'Tis thought, the old man, and his fons, were angels. 2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a filly habit, That gave th'affront with them.

1 Cap. So 'tis reported;

But none of them can be found.
Poft. A Roman-

Stand, who's there?

Who had not now been drooping here, if Seconds
Had anfwer'd him.

2 Cap. Lay hands on him; a dog!

A leg of Rome fhall not return to tell

What crows have peck'd them here; he brags his fervice,

به

As if he were of note; bring him to th' King.

Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pifanio, and Roman captives. The captains prefent Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers him over to a Goaler. After which, all go out.

1 Goal.

SCENE changes to a Prifon.

Enter Pofthumus, and two goalers.

OU fhall not now be ftoln, you've locks

γου

upon you;

So, graze, as you find pasture.

2 Goal. Ay, or ftomach.

[Exeunt Goalers.

Poft. Moft welcome, bondage! for thou art a way,

I think, to liberty; yet am I better

Than one that's fick o' th' gout, fince he had rather
Groan fo in perpetuity than be cur'd

By th' fure phyfician, death; who is the key

N 2

T'unbar