Imágenes de páginas

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 there?

Post. A Roman;

Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds Had answer'd him. 2 Cap. Lay hands on him; a dog! A leg of Rome shall not return to tell, What crows have peck'd them here. He brags his service As if he were of note: bring him to the king. Enter Cymbeline, attended; Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio, and Roman captives. The Captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers him over to a Gaoler: after which, all go out.

SCENE IV-A prison. Enter Posthumus, and| two Gaolers.

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

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

1 Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, you have In eye of Imogen, that best locks upon you; Could deem his dignity? So, graze, as you find pasture. 2 Gaol.

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.

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.

(1) Encounter.

(2) Fetters.

(3) This scene is supposed not to be Shakspeare's, but foisted in by the Players for mere show.


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

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 geck 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 Posthumus hath To Cymbeline perform'd: Then Jupiter, thou king of gods, Why hast thou thus 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,

He sleeps. Solemn music.3 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 Posthu-Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an Eagle; he throws a thunder-bolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees.

Against thy deity.

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

(4) The fool. 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;

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 fade!-thousands in a trice: you have no true debtor and 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.

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
Our temple was he married.--Rise, 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 stir you up mine.Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.


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.


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 embraced 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 fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty.

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


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.
[Ghosts vanish.
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

'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.

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 to direct them the way I am going, but such as

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.

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Pis. He hath been search'd among the dead and | To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter! living, That it was folly in me, thou may'st say, But no trace of him. And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all! Enter Lucius, Iachimo, the Soothsayer, and other Roman Prisoners, guarded; Posthumus behind, and Imogen.

To my grief, I am
The heir of his reward; which I will add
To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain,
[To Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.
By whom, I grant, she lives; 'Tis now the time
To ask of whence you are:-report it.



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

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

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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.

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.

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,


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

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

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.

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

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


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


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


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.
She alone knew this:
And, but she spoke it dying, I would not
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.
Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to The noblest ta'en.


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

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

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-


I have surely seen him:

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,

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

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Not more resembles: That sweet rosy lad,
Who died, and was Fidele :-What think you?
Gui. The same dead thing alive.

Bel. Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not;
Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure
He would have spoke to us.
Bel. Be silent; let's see further.

But we saw him dead.

One sand another | And, not dispraising whom he prais'd (therein
He was as calm as virtue,) he began

His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being

|| And then a mind put in't, either our brags
Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description
Prov'd us unspeaking sots.


Nay, nay, to the purpose.
Iach. Your daughter's chastity-there it begins.
He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams,
And she alone were cold: Whereat, I, wretch !
Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him
Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain


In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring
By hers and mine adultery: he, true knight,
No lesser of her honour confident
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring,
And would so, had it been a carbuncle
Of Phoebus' wheel; and might so safely, had it
Been all the worth of his car. Away to Britain
Post I in this design: Well may you, sir,
Remember me at court, where I was taught
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'd
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
[Aside.'Gan in your duller Britain operate

It is my mistress:

Since she is living, let the time run on,
To good, or bad.

[Cymbeline and Imogen come forward.
Come, stand thou by our side;
Make thy demand aloud.-Sir, [To lach.] step you

Give answer to this boy, and do it freely;
Or, by our greatness, and the grace of it,
Which is our honour, bitter torture shall
Winnow the truth from falsehood.-On, speak to

Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may render
Of whom he had this ring.

What's that to him?

Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent;
And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd,
That I return'd with simular proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad,
By wounding his belief in her renown
With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet,
(O, cunning, how I got it!) nay, some marks
Of secret on her person, that he could not

Torments me to conceal. By villany

I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel:

Whom thou didst banish; and (which more may But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
grieve thee,
I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon,—
Methinks, I see him now,—

As it doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd
'Twixt sky and ground.
Wilt thou hear more, my
Cym. All that belongs to this.
That paragon, thy daughter,-
For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
Quail to remember,-Give me leave; I faint.
Cym. My daughter! what of her? Renew thy

I had rather thou should'st live while nature will,
Than die ere I hear more strive man, and speak.
lach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock
That struck the hour!) it was in Rome, (accurs'd
The mansion where!) 'twas at a feast, (O 'would
Our viands had been poison'd! or, at least,
Those which I heav'd to head!) the good Posthúmus
(What should I say? he was too good, to be
Where ill men were; and was the best of all
Amongst the rar'st of good ones,) sitting sadly,
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast
Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva,
Postures beyond brief nature; for condition,
A shop of all the qualities that man
Loves woman for; besides, that hook of wiving,
Fairness which strikes the eye :-


I stand on fire:

Come to the matter.
All too soon I shall,
Unless thou would'st grieve quickly.-This Pos-

(Most like a noble lord in love, and one
That had a royal lover,) took his hint;

(1) Sink into dejection.

Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say,
How came it yours?
Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that
Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.


How! me? lach. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that which

Ay, so thou dost,
[Coming forward.
Italian fiend!-Ah me, most credulous fool,
Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
That's due to all the villains past, in being,
To come!-O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out
For torturers ingenious: it is I

That all the abhorred things o'the earth amend,
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
That kill'd thy daughter:-villain-like, I lie;
That caus'd a lesser villain than myself,
A sacrilegious thief, to do't:—the temple
Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.2
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
The dogs o'the street to bay me: every villain
Be call'd, Posthúmus Leonatus ; and
Be villany less than 'twas!-O Imogen!
My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
Imogen, Imogen !

Peace, my lord; hear, hear,-
Post. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful


There lie thy part. [Striking her; she falls.
O, gentlemen, help, help
Mine, and your mistress :-O, my lord Posthumus!
You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now :-Help, help!-
Mine honour'd lady!

Does the world go round?
Post. How come these staggers on me?
Wake, my mistress!
Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me

(2) Not only the temple of virtue, but virtue her


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It poison'd me.

Cor. O gods! I left out one thing which the queen confess'd, Which must approve thee honest: If Pisanio Have, said she, given his mistress that confection Which I gave him for a cordial, she is serv'd As I would serve a rat.


What's this, Cornelius? Cor. The queen, sir, very oft impórtun'd me To temper1 poisons for her; still pretending The satisfaction of her knowledge, only In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose Was of more danger, did compound for her A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease The present power of life; but, in short time, All offices of nature should again Do their due functions.-Have you ta'en of it? Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead. Bel.

My boys,

There was our error.

Gui. This is sure, Fidele. Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from you? Think, that you are upon a rock; and now Throw me again. [Embracing him. Hang there like fruit, my soul,

Post. Till the tree die! Cym How now, my flesh, my child? What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act? Wilt thou not speak to me?


Your blessing, sir.

[Kneeling. Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blame ye

not; You had a motive for't. [To Gui. and Arv. Cym. My tears that fall, Prove holy water on thee! Imogen, Thy mother's dead.


I am sorry for't, my lord. Cym. O, she was naught; and 'long of her it was, That we meet here so strangely: But her son Is gone, we know not how, nor where.


My lord, Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lòrd Cloten, Upon my lady's missing, came to me With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and


If I discover'd not which way she was gone,
It was my instant death: By accident,
I had a feigned letter of my master's
Then in my pocket; which directed him
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments,
Which he inforc'd from me, away he posts
With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate
My lady's honour: what became of him,
I further know not.

I slew him there.

Let me end the story:

Marry, the gods forfend !2

(2) Forbid.

(1) Mix, compound.

I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
Pluck a hard sentence: pr'ythee, valiant youth,
Deny't again.
Gui. I have spoke it, and I did it.
Cym. He was a prince.

Gui. A most uncivil one: The wrongs he did me
Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
With language that would make me spurn the sea,
If it could roar so to me: I cut off's head;
And am right glad, he is not standing here
To tell this tale of mine.

Cym. I am sorry for thee: By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must Endure our law: Thou art dead.

That headless man


I thought had been my lord.
Bind the offender,
And take him from our presence.

Stay, sir king:
This man is better than the man he slew,
As well descended as thyself; and hath
More of thee merited, than a band of Clotens
Had ever scar for.-Let his arms alone;

[To the Guard.

They were not born for bondage.
Why, old soldier,
Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
As good as we?

In that he spake too far.
Cym. And thou shalt die for't.
We will die all three:
But I will prove, that two of us are as good
As I have given out him.-My sons, I must,
For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech,
Though, haply, well for you.

Your danger is


Gui. And our good his.

Have at it then.By leave;-Thou hadst, great king, a subject, whe Was call'd Belarius. Cym.

What of him? he is

A banish'd traitor.
He it is, that hath
Assum'd this age: indeed, a banish'd man;
I know not how, a traitor.
Take him hence;
The whole world shall not save him.
Not too hot:
First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;
And let it be confiscate all, so soon
As I have receiv'd it.


Nursing of my sons?

Bel. I am too blunt, and saucy: Here's my knee; Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons; Then, spare not the old father. Mighty sir, These two young gentlemen, that call me father, And think they are my sons, are none of mine; They are the issue of your loins, my liege, And blood of your begetting.


How! my issue?

Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan, Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd : Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd, Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes (For such, and so they are,) these twenty years Have I train'd up: those arts they have, as I Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile, Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children Upon my banishment: I mov'd her to't; Having receiv'd the punishment before,

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