« AnteriorContinuar »
Bel. I cannot tell: Long is it since I saw him, But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour! Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice, And burst of speaking, were as his: I am absolute, 'Twas very Cloten.
In this place we left them: I wish my brother make good time with him, You say he is so fell. Bel. Being scarce made up, I mean, to man, he had not apprehension Of roaring terrors: for the effect of judgment Is oft the cause of fear: But see, thy brother.
Re-enter Guiderius, with Cloten's head.
Gui. This Cloten was a fool; an empty purse, There was no money in't: Not Hercules Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none: Bet I not doing this, the fool had borne My head as I do his.
What hast thou done? Gui. I am perfect,2 what: cut off one Cloten's head,
Son to the queen, after his own report;
Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer; and swore,
With his own single hand he'd take us in,3
Displace our heads, where (thank the gods!) they
And set them on Lud's town.
We are all undone.
Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose,
But, that he swore to take, our lives? The law
Protects not us: Then why should we be tender,
To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us;
Play judge, and executioner, all himself;
For we do fear the law? What company
Discover you abroad?
Bel. No single soul Can we set eye on, but, in all safe reason, He must have some attendants. Though his humour Was nothing but mutation;5 ay, and that From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not Absolute madness could so far have rav'd, To bring him here alone: Although, perhaps, It may be heard at court, that such as we Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time May make some stronger head: the which he hearing
(As it is like him,) might break out, and swear He'd fetch us in; yet is't not probable
Come as the gods foresay it:
My brother hath done well.
I had no mind
To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness
Did make my way long forth.6
With his own sword,
Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en
His head from him: I'll throw't into the creek
Behind our rock; and let it to the sea,
And tell the fishes, he's the queen's son, Cloten:
That's all I reck.7
I fear, 'twill be reveng'd:
'Would, Polydore, thou had'st not done't! though
Becomes thee well enough.
(2) I am well-informed what. (3) Conquer, subdue. (5) Change, alteration.
'Would I had done't, So the revenge alone pursued me !-Polydore, I love thee brotherly; but envy much, Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would, revenges, That possible strength might meet, would seek us through,
And put us to our answer.
To come alone, either he so undertaking,
Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear, Re-enter Arviragus, bearing Imogen as dead in his
If we do fear this body hath a tail
More perilous than the head.
Bel. Well, 'tis done :We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger Where there's no profit. I pr'ythee, to our rock; You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him To dinner presently.
Poor sick Fidele!
I'll willingly to him: To gain his colour,
I'd let a parish of such Clotens blood,
And praise myself for charity.
O thou goddess,
Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
As zephyrs, blowing below the violet,
Not wagging his sweat head: and yet as rough,
Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful,
That an invisible instinct should frame them
To royalty unlearn'd; honour untaught;
Civility not seen from other; valour,
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
As if it had been sow'd! Yet still it's strange
What Cloten's being here to us portends;
Or what his death will bring us.
Where's my brother?
I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,
In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage
For his return.
My ingenious instrument!
Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!
Gui. Is he at home?
He went hence even now.
Gui. What does he mean? since death of my
It did not speak before. All solemn things
Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?
Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys,9
Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys.
Is Cadwal mad?
Bel. Look, here he comes, And brings the dire occasion in his arms, Of what we blame him for!
Arv. The bird is dead, That we have made so much on. I had rather Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty, To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch, Than have seen this.
Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily! My brother wears thee not the one half so well, As when thou grew'st thyself.
Bel. O, melancholy! Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crarel Might easiliest harbour in!-Thou blessed thing! Jove knows what man thou might'st have made; but I,
(6) Did make my walk tedious.
(7) Care. (8) Regain, restore. (9) Trifles. (10) A slow-sailing, unwieldy vessel.
Answer'd my steps too loud.
Why, he but sleeps:
If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed;
With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
And worms will not come to thee.
Arv. With fairest flowers, Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock3 would, With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie Without a monument!) bring thee all this; Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are
Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys:
And, though he came our enemy, remember,
He was paid for that: Though mean and mighty,
Together, have one dust; yet reverence
(That angel of the world) doth make distinction
Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely;
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him as a prince.
Pray you, fetch him hither.
Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.
If you'll go fetch him,
We'll say our song the whilst.-Brother, begin.
Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the
My father hath a reason for't.
Gui. Come on then, and remove him.
(2) Shoes plated with iron.
(3) The red-breast.
(4) Probably a corrupt reading, for, wither round thy corse. (5) Punished.
Gui. Fear no more the heat o'the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
· As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Arv. Fear no more the frown o'the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe, and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash, Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash; Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan: Both. All lovers young, all lovers must Consign' to thee, and come to dust. Gui. No exorciser harm thee! Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee! Arv. Nothing ill come near thee! Both. Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave !8
Re-enter Belarius, with the body of Cloten. Gui. We have done our obsequies: Come, lay him down.
Here's a few flowers; but about midnight,
The herbs, that have on them cold dew o'the night,
Are strewings fitt'st for graves.-Upon their faces:-
You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so
These herb'lets shall, which we upon you strew.-
Come on, away: apart upon our knees.
The ground, that gave them first, has them again;
Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.
[Exeunt Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. Imo. [Awaking] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; Which is the way?
I thank you.-By yon bush-Pray, how far thither? 'Ods pittikins!9 can it be six miles yet?
I have gone all night :-'Faith, I'll lie down and sleep.
But, soft! no bedfellow :-O, gods and goddesses! [Seeing the body. These flowers are like the pleasures of the world; This bloody man, the care on't.-I hope, I dream; For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper, And cook to honest creatures: But 'tis not so; 'Twas but a bolt10 of nothing, shot at nothing, Which the brain makes of fumes: Our very eyes Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
I tremble still with fear: But if there be
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!
The dream's here still: even when I wake, it is
Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
A headless man!-The garments of Posthumus!
I know the shape of his leg; this is his hand;
His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh;
The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face.-
Murder in heaven?-How?-'Tis gone.-Pisanio,
(6) Judgment. (7) Seal the same contract. (8) See W. Collins's song at the end of the Play. (9) This diminutive adjuration is derived from God's my pity. (10) An arrow.
(11) A face like Jove's.
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
Hast here cut off my lord.--To write, and read,
Be henceforth treacherous !-Damn'd Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters,-damn'd Pisanio-
From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the main-top!-O, Posthumus! alas,
Where is thy head? where's that? Ah me! where's
Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
And left this head on.-How should this be? Pi-
'Tis he, and Cloten: malice and lucre in them
Have laid this wo here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!2
The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it
Murd'rous to the senses? That confirms it home:
This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O!--
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may seem to those
Which chance to find us; O, my lord, my lord!
Enter Lucius, a Captain and other Officers, and a
Cap. To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia, After your will, have cross'd the sea; attending You here at Milford-Haven, with your ships: They are here in readiness.
But what from Rome?
Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners,
And gentlemen of Italy; most willing spirits,
That promise noble service: and they come
Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
When expect you them?
Cap. With the next benefit o'the wind.
Makes our hopes fair. Command, our present
Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same:
Thy name well fits thy faith; thy faith, thy name.
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say,
Thou shalt be so well master'd; but, be sure,
No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters,
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
Than thine own worth prefer thee: Go with me.
Imo. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the
I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep
As these poor pickaxes can dig: and when
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I have strew'd
And on it said a century of prayers,
Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep, and sigh;
And, leaving so his service, follow you,
So please you entertain me.
Ay, good youth;
And rather father thee, than master thee.-
The boy hath taught us manly duties: Let us
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,
And make him with our pikes and partisans
A grave: Come, arm him.-Boy, he is preferr'd
By thee to us; and he shall be interr'd,
Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't.-Now, sir, As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes;
What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's pur-Some falls are means the happier to arise. [Exeunt.
Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a vision:
(I fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence,) Thus:-
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
From the spongy south to this part of the west,
There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends
(Unless my sins abuse my divination,)
Success to the Roman host.
Dream often so,
And never false.-Soft, ho! what trunk is here,
Without his top? The ruin speaks, that sometime
It was a worthy building.-How! a page!-
Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead, rather:
For nature doth abhor to make his bed
With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.-
Let's see the boy's face.
Inform us of thy fortunes; for, it seems,
They crave to be demanded: Who is this,
Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who he,
That, otherwise than noble nature did,
Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest
In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it?
What art thou?
Imo. 1 am nothing or if not, Nothing to be were better. This was my master,
A very valiant Briton, and a good,
That here by mountaineers lies slain :-Alas!
There are no more such masters: I may wander
From east to occident,3 cry out for service,
Try many, all good, serve truly, never
Find such another master.
(1) Lawless, licentious.
(2) i. e. 'Tis a ready, opposite conclusion.
'Lack, good youth! Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than Thy master in bleeding: Say his name, good friend. Imo. Richard du Champ. If I do lie, and do No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope
They'll pardon it.-Say you, sir?
Sir, my life is yours,
He is alive, my lord. I humbly set it at your will: But, for my mistress, Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body.-I nothing know where she remains, why gone, Young one, Nor when she purposes return. 'Beseech your high
SCENE III-A room in Cymbeline's palace.
Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pisanio.
Cym. Again; and bring me word, how 'tis with
A fever with the absence of her son;
A madness, of which her life's in danger :-Heavens,
How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,
The great part of my comfort, gone: my queen
Upon a desperate bed; and in a time
When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,
So needful for this present: It strikes me, past
The hope of comfort.-But for thee, fellow,
Who needs must know of her departure, and
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
By a sharp torture.
Hold me your loyal servant.
Good my liege,
The day that she was missing, he was here:
I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform
All parts of his subjection loyally.
Good my liege,
Your preparation can affront? no less
Than what you hear of: come more, for more you're
The want is, but to put those powers3 in motion,
That long to move.
I thank you: 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.
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
These present wars shall find I love my country,
Even to the note4 o'the king, or I'll fall in them.
All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd:
Fortune brings in some boats, that are not steer'd.
SCENE IV-Before the cave. Enter Belarius,
Guiderius, and Arviragus.
Drawn on with torture.
This is, sir, a doubt,
such a time, nothing becoming you,
Nor satisfying us.
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,
That they will waste their time upon our note,?
To know from whence we are.
Gui. The noise is round about us.
Let us from it.
Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it From action and adventure?
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 revolts5
During their use, and slay us after.
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 render6
Where we have liv'd; and so extort from us
Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married ones,
If each of you would 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
That which we've done, whose answer would be Had liv'd to put on this: so had you sav'd
The noble Imogen to repent; and struck
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 doer's thrift.
But Imogen is your own: Do your best wills,
And make me bless'd 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 hea
O, I am known
Of many in the army: many years,
Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore
From my remembrance. And, besides, the king
Hath not deserv'd my service, nor your loves;
Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless
(1) Confounded by a variety of business.
(2) Encounter. (3) Forces.
To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd,
But to be still hot summer's tanlings, and
The shrinking slaves of winter.
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.
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 asham'd
To look upon the holy sun, to have
The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.
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!
So say I; Amen.
Bel. No reason I, since on 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.-The time seems long; their blood
Till it fly out, and show them princes born. [Exe.
SCENE I.—A field between the British and Ro man camps. Enter Posthumus, with a bloody handkerchief.
Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wish'd
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,
(6) An account.
(7) Noticing us (8) Deviating from the right way. (9) Incite, instigate,
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.
SCENE II-The same. Enter at one side, Lu-
cius, Iachimo, and the Roman army; at the
other side, the British army; Leonatus Posthu-
mus following it, like a poor soldier. They
march over, and
go out. Alarums. Then en-
ter again in skirmish, Iachimo and Posthumus:
he vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo, and then
Iach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom
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,1
A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd 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.
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.
Stand, stand, and fight!
Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons: They
rescue Cymbeline, and exeunt. Then, enter
cius, Iachimo, and Imogen.
Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself:
For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such
As war were hood-wink'd.
'Tis their fresh supplies. Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely: Or betimes Let's re-enforce, or fly. [Exeunt. SCENE III-Another part of the field. En
ter Posthumus and a British Lord.
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 turn'd
A distaff to a lance,) gilded pale looks,
|| Part, shame, part, spirit renew'd; that some, turn'd
An honest one, I warrant; who deserv'd
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,3 than to commit such slaughter;
With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
Made good the passage; cry'd to those that fled,
Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame,)
Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men:
To darkness fleet, souls that fly backwards! 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
Of the unguarded hearts, Heavens, how they wound! Some, slain before; some, dying; some, their friends Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty: O'erborne i'the former wave: ten, chac'd by one, Lu-Those, that would die or ere resist, are grown The mortal bugs1 o'the field.
This was strange chance : A narrow lane! an old man, and two boys! Post. Nay, do not wonder at it: You are made Rather to wonder at the things you hear, Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't, And vent it for a mockery? Here is one : Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane, Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane. Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir. 'Lack, to what end? Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend: stand? 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 rhyme.
Farewell, you are angry. [Exit.
Post. Still going?-This is a lord! O`noble
To be i'the field, and ask, what news, of me!
To-day, how many would have given their honours
To have sav'd their carcasses? took heel to do't,
And yet died too? I, in mine own wo charm'd,
Could not find death, where I did hear him groan;
Nor feel him, where he struck: Being an ugly
(1) Clown. (2) Block'd up.. (3) A country-game called prison-bars, vulgarly prison-base.
Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.
Post. No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost,
But that the heavens fought: The king himself
Of his wings destitute, the army broken,
And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying
Through a strait lane; the enemy full-hearted,
Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work||
More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down
Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
Merely through fear; that the strait pass was
With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living
To die with lengthen'd shame.
Where was this lane?
Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd and wall'd with
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,-
But by example (O, a sin 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'the hunters. Then began
A rout, confusion thick: Forthwith, they fly
A stop i'the chaser, a retire; anon,
Chickens, the way which they stoop'd 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
'Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, Sweet words, or hath more ministers than we That draw his knives i'the war.-Well, I will find him :
For being now a favourer to the Roman,
No more a Briton, I have resum'd again
The part I came in: Fight I will no more,
But yield me to the veriest hind, that shall
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is,