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.

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.

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.

[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.

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 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.

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.
[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.

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.

Cym.
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.

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.

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,

A

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

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

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.

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

Cym

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.
Cym.
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.

love

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.

Cym
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,

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,

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.

Arv.
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;
forbear;
Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure
He would have spoke to us.
Gui.
Bel. Be silent; let's see further.
Pis.

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
made,

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

Cym.

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:
[Aside.

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

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

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
him.

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

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,—
Post.

As it doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd
'Twixt sky and ground.
Wilt thou hear more, my
lord?
Cym. All that belongs to this.
Iach.
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
strength:

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 :-

Cym.

I stand on fire:

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

(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.

Cym.

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 !

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

Pis.

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!

Cym.
Does the world go round?
Post. How come these staggers on me?
Pis.
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

self.