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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 revolts5
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 render6
Where we have liv'd; and so extort from us

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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

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

death

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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

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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, 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 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. [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.
Gui. Arv.

Stand, stand, and fight! Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons: They rescue Cymbeline, and exeunt. Then, enter Lucius, 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.
Iach.

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
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 turn'd
A distaff to a lance,) gilded pale looks,
Part, shame, part, spirit renew'd; that some, turn'd
coward

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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
open

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,
Those, that would die or ere resist, are grown
The mortal bugs1 o'the field.

Lord.

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, SCENE III-Another part of the field. En-Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane. Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir. Post.

'Tis their fresh supplies. Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely: Or betimes Let's re-enforce, or fly.

ter Posthumus and a British Lord.

[Exeunt.

'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,

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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
damm'd2

With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living
To die with lengthen'd shame.
Lord.
Where was this lane?
Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd and wall'd with
turf;

Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,

(1) Clown. (2) Block'd up.. (3) A country-game called prison-bars, vulgarly prison-base.

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

Lord.
Farewell, you are angry. [Exit.
Post. Still going?-This is a lord! O noble
misery!

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
monster,

'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,

(4) Terrors.

Here made by the Roman; great the answer be
Britons must take; For me, my ransom's death;
On either side I come to spend my breath;
Which neither here I'll keep, nor bear again,
But end it by some 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 sons were angels. 2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, That gave the affront! with them. 1 Cap.

So 'tis reported: But none of them can be found.-Stand! who is

there?

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mus, 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, show
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 staid

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 Posthúmus ript;
Came crying 'mongst his foes,
A thing of pity!

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

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

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

That could stand up his parallel;

Or fruitful object be

1 Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, you have In eye of Imogen, that best

locks upon you;

So, graze, as you find pasture. 2 Gaol.

Ay, or a stomach. [Exeunt Gaolers. Post. Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a way, I think, to liberty: Yet am I better Than one that's sick o'the gout: since he had rather Groan so in perpetuity, than be cur'd

By the sure physician, death; who is the key To unbar these locks. My conscience! thou art fetter'd

More than my shanks, and wrists: You good gods,

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,2
Desir'd, more than constrain'd: 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 'tis a life; you coin'd it:
'Tween man and man, they weigh not every stamp;
Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake:
You rather mine, being yours: And so, great powers,
If
you will take this audit, take this life,
And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!
I'll speak to thee in silence.

He sleeps.

Solemn music. Enter, as an apparition, Sicilius Leonatus, father to Posthumus, an old man, attired like a warrior; leading in his hand an

Could deem his dignity?

Moth. With marriage wherefore was he mock'd,
To be exil'd 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 geck4 and scorn
O'the other's villany?

2 Bro. For this, from stiller seats 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.

1 Bro. Like hardiment Posthúmus hath To Cymbeline perform'd: Then Jupiter, thou king of gods,

Why hast thou thus adjourn'd The graces for his merits due;

Being all to dolours turn'd?

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.

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

ancient Matron, his wife, and mother to Posthu-Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting

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

(4) The fool.

VOL. II,

3 F

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 opprest;

No care of yours it is, you know, 'tis ours.
Whom best I love, I cross; to make my gift,
The more delay'd, delighted. Be content;
Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:

His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in

Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish pays the shot.

Gaol. A heavy reckoning for you, sir: But the comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments, fear no more tavern bills; which are often the sadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth: you come in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with too much drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain both empty: the brain the heavier for being too light, the purse too light, being drawn of heaviness: O! of this contradiction you shall now be quit.-O the charity of a penny cord! it sums up

Our temple was he married.--Rise, and fade!-thousands in a trice: you have no true debtor and He shall be lord of lady Imogen,

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

Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine;
And so, away: no further with your din
Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.-
Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.

[Ascends
Sici. He came in thunder; his celestial breath
Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle
Stoop'd, as to foot us: his ascension is
More sweet than our bless'd fields: his royal bird
Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak,
As when his god is pleas'd.

All.
Thanks, Jupiter!
Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd
His radiant roof:-Away! and, to be blest,
Let us with care perform his great behest.

creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come, the discharge:-Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and counters; so the acquittance follows.

Post. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live. Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the tooth-ach: But a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think, he would change places with his officer: for, look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go. Post. Yes, indeed, do I, fellow.

Gaol. Your death has eyes in's head then; I have not seen him so pictured: you must either be directed by some that take upon them to know; or take upon yourself that, which I am sure you do not know; or jump the after-inquiry on your own peril: and how you shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll never return to tell one.

Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes [Ghosts vanish. to direct them the way I am going, but such as Post. [Waking.] Sleep, thou hast been a grand-wink, and will not use them. sire, and begot

A father to me: and thou hast created
A mother and two brothers: But (O scorn!)
Gone; they went hence so soon as they were born.
And so I am awake.-Poor wretches that depend
On greatness' favour, dream as I have done;
Wake, and find nothing.-But, alas, I swerve:
Many dream not to find, neither deserve,
And yet are steep'd in favours; so am I,
That have this golden chance, and know not why.
What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O, rare

one !

Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
Nobler than that it covers: let thy effects
So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers,
As good as promise.

[Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself
unknown, without seeking find, and be em-
braced by a piece of tender air; and when from
a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which,
being dead many years, shall after revive, be
jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow: then
shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be for-
tunate, and flourish in peace and plenty.

'Tis still a dream; or else such stuff as madmen
Tongue, and brain not: either both, or nothing:
Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such
As sense cannot untie. Be what it is,
The action of my life is like it, which
I'll keep, if but for sympathy.

Re-enter Gaolers.

Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for death? Post. Over-roasted rather: ready long ago. Gaol. Hanging is the word, sir; if you be ready for that, you are well cooked.

(1) Hazard. (2) Forward. (3) Target, shield.

Gaol. What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the best use of eyes, to see the way of blindness! I am sure, hanging's the way of winking. Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the king.

Post. Thou bringest good news;-I am called to be made free.

Gaol. I'll be hanged then. Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead.

[Exeunt Posthumus and Messenger. Gaol. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone.2 Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to live, for all he be a Roman: and there be some of them too, that die against their wills; so should I if I were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good; O, there were desolation of gaolers, and gallowses! I speak against my present profit; but my wish hath a preferment in't. [Exeunt.

SCENE V-Cymbeline's tent. Enter Cymbe line, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio, Lords, Officers, and Attendants.

Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have
made

Preservers of my throne. Wo is my heart,
That the poor soldier, that so richly fought,
Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast
Stepp'd before targe3 of proof, cannot be found:
He shall be happy that can find him, if
Our grace can make him so.

Bel.

I never saw
Such noble fury in so poor a thing;
Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought
But beggary and poor looks.
No tidings of him?

Cym.

Pis. He hath been search'd among the dead and | To have mistrusted her yet, O my daughter!

living,

But no trace of him.

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[To Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. By whom, I grant, she lives; 'Tis now the time To ask of whence you are:-report it.

Bel.

Sir,
In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen:
Further to boast, were neither true nor modest,
Unless I add, we are honest.

Cym.
Bow your knees:
Arise, my knights o'the battle: I create you
Companions to our person, and will fit you
With dignities becoming your estates.

Enter Cornelius and Ladies.

There's business in these faces :-Why so sadly
Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,
And not o'the court of Britain.
Cor.
Hail, great king!
To sour your happiness, I must report
The queen is dead.
Сут.
Whom worse than a physician
Would this report become? But I consider,
By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death
Will seize the doctor too.-How ended she?

Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life;
Which, being cruel to the world, concluded
Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd,
I will report, so please you: These her women
Can trip me, if I err; who, with wet cheeks,
Were present when she finish'd.

Cym

A

Pr'ythee, say.
Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you; only
Affected greatness got by you, not you:
Married your royalty, was wife to your place;
Abhorr'd your person.

Сут.

She alone knew this:

And, but she spoke it dying, I would not
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.

That it was folly in me, thou may'st say,
And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!
Enter Lucius, Iachimo, the Soothsayer, and other
Roman Prisoners, guarded; Posthumus behind,
and Imogen.

Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit,
That their good souls may be appeas'd with
slaughter

Of you their captives, which ourself have granted;
So, think of your estate.

Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day
Was yours by accident; had it gone with us,
We should not, when the blood was cool, have
threaten'd

Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods,
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
May be call'd ransom, let it come: sufficeth,
A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer:
Augustus lives to think on't: And so much
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will entreat; My boy, a Briton born,
Let him be ransom'd never master had
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
So tender over his occasions, true,

So feat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join
With my request, which, I'll make bold, your
highness

Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,
Though he have serv'd a Roman: save him, sir,
And spare no blood beside.

Сут.

I have surely seen him:

His favour2 is familiar to me.-
Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
And art mine own.-I know not why, nor where-

fore,

To say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master; live:
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I'll give it;
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,

Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to The noblest ta'en. love

With such integrity, she did confess

Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life,
But that her flight prevented it, she had
Ta'en off by poison.

Сут.
O most delicate fiend!
Who is't can read a woman?--Is there more?
Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did confess, she
had

For you a mortal mineral; which, being took,
Should by the minute feed on life, and, ling'ring,
By inches waste you: In which time she purpos'd,
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
O'ercome you with her show: yes, and in time
(When she had fitted you with her craft,) to work
Her son into the adoption of the crown.
But failing of her end by his strange absence,
Grew shameless desperate; open'd, in despite
Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented
The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so,
Despairing, died.

Cym.
Heard you all this, her women?
Lady. We did so, please your highness.
Cym

Mine eyes

Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;
Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart,
That thought her like her seeming; it had been
vicious,

(1) Ready, dextrous. (2) Countenance.

Imo.
I humbly thank your highness.
Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad;
And yet, I know, thou wilt.

Imo.
No, no: alack,
There's other work in hand; I see a thing,
Bitter to me as death: your life, good master,
Must shuffle for itself.

Luc.
The boy disdains me,
He leaves me, scorns me: Briefly die their joys,
That place them on the truth of girls and boys.--
Why stands he so perplex'd?

Cym.

What would'st thou, boy? I love thee more and more; think more and more What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on?

speak,

Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?
Imo. He is a Roman; no more kin to me,
Than I to your highness; who, being born your
vassal,
Am something nearer.

Cym.

Wherefore ey'st him so? Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing.

Cym.

Ay, with all my heart,

And lend my best attention. What's thy name?
Imo. Fidele, sir.

Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page;
I'll be thy master: Walk with me; speak freely.
[Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart.

Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death?

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