Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it|| Gui. Bel. Sons, We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us. 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 Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married ones, That which we've done, whose answer would be Had liv'd to put on this: so had you sav'd death The noble Imogen to repent; and struck 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 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 An honest one, I warrant; who deserv'd But by example (O, a sin in war, Of the unguarded hearts, Heavens, how they wound! 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, Post. No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost, With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living 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. Lord. To be i'the field, and ask, what news, of me! '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, (4) Terrors. Here made by the Roman; great the answer be 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? 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 Rates and revenges. Hath my poor boy done aught but well, 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 Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry, That he deserv'd the praise o'the world, 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, I know, you are more clement than vile men, 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, From her his dearest one, Sici. Why did you suffer Iachimo, To taint his nobler heart and brain And to become the geck4 and scorn 2 Bro. For this, from stiller seats we came, 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; Upon a valiant race, thy harsh And potent injuries: Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good, Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion; help! 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 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, No care of yours it is, you know, 'tis ours. 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; [Ascends All. 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 one ! Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment [Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself 'Tis still a dream; or else such stuff as madmen 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 Preservers of my throne. Wo is my heart, Bel. I never saw 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. [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, Cym. Enter Cornelius and Ladies. There's business in these faces :-Why so sadly Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life; Cym A Pr'ythee, say. Сут. She alone knew this: And, but she spoke it dying, I would not That it was folly in me, thou may'st say, Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that Of you their captives, which ourself have granted; Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods, So feat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm, Сут. I have surely seen him: His favour2 is familiar to me.- fore, To say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master; live: 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, Сут. For you a mortal mineral; which, being took, Cym. Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; (1) Ready, dextrous. (2) Countenance. Imo. Imo. Luc. 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? 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? Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page; Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death? |