The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare

Arv.

One sand another
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.

But we saw him dead.
Bel. Be silent; let's see further.
Pis.

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.

| 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.
Сут.
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

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

What's that to him?

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.
Сут.

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

Torments me to conceal. By villany

got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel:

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,
(0, cunning, how I got it!) nay, some marks
Of secret on her person, that he could not

Whom thou didst banish; and (which more may But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,

grieve thee,

Wilt thou hear more, my

As it doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd
'Twixt sky and ground.
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.

Come to the matter.

Iach.

I stand on fire:

All too soon I shall,

I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon,-
Methinks, I see him now,-
Post.

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
There lie thy part. [Striking her; she falls.
Pis.
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!

page,

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 herself.

The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if That box I gave you was not thought by me A precious thing; I had it from the queen. Cym. New matter still?

Imo. Cor.

It poison'd me. 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.

Cym.
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.

There was our error.

Gui.

My boys,

This is sure, Fidele.

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.

They were not born for bondage. Cym

[To the Guard.

Why, old soldier, Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for, By tasting of our wrath? How of descent As good as we? Årv. In that he spake too far. Cym. And thou shalt die for't. Bel.

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. Arv.

Ours.

Gui. And our good his. Bel.

Your danger is

Have at it then.

By leave;-Thou hadst, great king, a subject, whe Was call'd Belarius.

Imo.

Your blessing, sir.

[Kneeling.

Сут. A banish'd traitor.

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

Bel.

What of him? he is

He it is, that hath Assum'd this age: indeed, a banish'd man; I know not how, a traitor.

Cym.

Take him hence; The whole world shall not save him. Bel.

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.
Сут.
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.

Cym.

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,

Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too, sir,For they shall taste our comfort. Imo.

For that which I did then: Beaten for loyalty
Excited me to treason: Their dear loss,
The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious
Here are your sons again; and I must lose
Two of the sweet'st companions in the world :-
The benediction of these covering heavens
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
To inlay heaven with stars.

Cym.
Thou weep'st, and speak'st.
The service that you three have done, is more
Unlike than this thou tell'st: I lost my children;
If these be they, I know not how to wish

Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
And your three motives to the battle, with
I know not how much more, should be demanded;
And all the other by-dependencies,
From chance to chance; but nor the time, nor place,
Will serve our long intergatories. See,
Posthúmus anchors upon Imogen;

And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
On him, her brothers, me, her master; hitting
Each object with a joy; the counterchange
Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground,
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.-
Thou art my brother; So we'll hold thee ever.
[To Belarius.
Imo. You are my father too; and did relieve me,

I will yet do you service.

Luc.

My good master,

Happy be you!

Cym. The forlorn soldier that so nobly fought, He would have well becom'd this place, and grac'd The thankings of a king.

Post.

am, sir,

The soldier that did company these three

In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for
The purpose I then follow'd;-That I was he,
Speak, Tachimo; I had you down, and might
Have made you finish.
Iach.

I am down again:

[Kneeling. But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, As then your force did. Take that life, 'beseech you, Which I so often owe: but, your ring first; And here the bracelet of the truest princess, That ever swore her faith.

Post.

Kneel not to me :

The power that I have on you, is to spare you; The malice towards you, to forgive you: Live, And deal with others better.

Сут. Nobly doom'd: We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;

Pardon's the word to all.

Arv.

You holp us, sir,

As you did mean indeed to be our brother:
Joy'd are we, that you are.

Post. Your servant, princes.-Good my lord of
Rome,

Call forth your soothsayer: As I slept, methought,
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back,
Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows3

Of mine own kindred: when I wak'd, I found
This label on my bosom; whose containing
Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
Make no collection of it; let him show
His skill in the construction.

Read, and declare the meaning. Sooth. [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. Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp; The fit and apt construction of thy name, Being Leo-natus, doth import so much : The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,

[To Cymbeline.

Which we call mollis aer; and mollis aer
We term it mulier: which mulier I divine,
Is this most constant wife; who, even now,
Answering the letter of the oracle,
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about
With this most tender air.
Сут.
This hath some seeming.
Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point
Thy two sons forth: who, by Belarius stolen,
For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd,
To the majestic cedar join'd; whose issue
Promises Britain peace and plenty.

(3) Ghostly appearances.

(4) Embraced.

Сут. Well, My peace we will begin :-And, Caius Lucius, Although the victor, we submit to Cæsar, And to the Roman empire; promising To pay our wonted tribute, from the which We were dissuaded by our wicked queen; Whom heavens, in justice (both on her and hers,) Have laid most heavy hand.

Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune The harmony of this peace. The vision Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant Is full accomplish'd: For the Roman eagle, From south to west on wing soaring aloft, Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o'the sun So vanish'd which foreshow'd our princely eagle, The imperial Cæsar, should again unite His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, Which shines here in the west.

Сут. Laud we the gods; And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils From our bless'd altars! Publish we this peace To all our subjects. Set we forward: Let A Ronan and a British ensign wave Friendly together: So through Lud's town march: And in the temple of great Jupiter Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.-Set on there :-Never was a war did cease, Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.

[Exeunt.

This play has many just sentiments, some natural dialogues, and some pleasing scenes, but they are obtained at the expense of much incongruity. To remark the folly of the fiction, the absurdity of the conduct, the confusion of the names and manners of different times, and the impossibility of the events in any system of life, were to waste criticism upon unresisting imbecility, upon faults too evident for detection, and too gross for aggravation. JOHNSON.

SONG,

SUNG BY GUIDERIUS AND ARVIRAGUS OVER FIDELE, SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD.

BY MR. WILLIAM COLLINS.

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb,

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet, of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing spring.

No wailing ghost shall dare appear To vex with shrieks his quiet grove, But shepherd lads assemble here,

And melting virgins own their love.

No wither'd witch shall here be seen, No goblins lead their nightly crew: The female fays shall haunt the green, And dress thy grave with pearly dew.

The red-breast oft at evening hours,

Shall kindly lend his little aid, With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers,

To deck the ground where thou art laid.

When howling winds, and beating rain,
In tempest shake the sylvan cell;
Or midst the chace on every plain,

The tender thought on thee shall dwell.

Each lonely scene shall thee restore ; For thee the tear be duly shed: Belov'd, till life could charm no more; And mourn'd till pity's self be dead.

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The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare: Accurately Printed from ..., Volumen2