SCENE I-A Field between the British and Roman Camps.
Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody handkerchief. Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wish'd Thou shoul'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 Had liv'd to put on this: so had you saved 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 doers' 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 heavens, Hear patiently my purpose; I'll disrobe me Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight Against the part I come with; so I'll die For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life Is, every breath, a death: and thus, unknown, Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know More valour in me, than my habits shew. Gods, put the strength o'the Leonati in me! To shame the guise o' the worid, I will begin The fashion, less without, and more within. [Exit.
Enter at one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman army; at the other side, the British army; LEONA- TUS POSTHUMUS following it, like a poor soldier. They march over, and go out. Alarums. Then enter again in skirmish, IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS: he van- quisheth 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, 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 The lane is guarded; nothing routs us, but [ground; The villany of our fears. 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. lach. 'Tis their fresh supplies. Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely: Or betimes Let's re-enforce, or fly.
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 dainin'd 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 Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,- [turf, 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, than to commit such slaughter; With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame.) Made good the passage; cry'd to those that fled, Our Britain's hurts die flying, not our men: To darkness feet, sols 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 But by example (O, a sin in war, [coward
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 stop i' the chaser, a retire; anon,
A rout, confusion thick: Forthwith, they fly 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 O'er-borne i'the former wave: ten, chac'd by one, Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty: Those, that would die or ere resist, are grown The mortal bugs 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, Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane. Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir. Post.
Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend: For if he'll do as he is made to do,
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 would have given their honours many To have sav'd their carcasses? took heel to do't, And yet died too? I, in my own woe 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 Here made by the Roman; great the answer be Britons must take; For me, my ransome'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 Cup. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit That gave the affront with them.
So 'tis reported: But none of them can be found.-Stand! who is Post. A Roman; [there?
Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds Had answer'd him.
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 As if he were of note: bring him to the king. [service
Enter CYMBELINE, attended; BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, and Roman Cantives. 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 Guolers.
1 Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, you have locks upon you;
So, graze, as you find pasture.
2 Gaol. Ay, or a stomach. [Exeunt Gaolers. Post. Most welcome, Londage! for thou art a way, I think, to liberty: Yet am 1 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 [ter'd To unbar these locks. My conscience! thou art fet- More than my shanks, and wrists: You good gods, The penitent instrument, to pick that bolt, [give me 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, 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.
Solemn Music. Enter, as an apparition, SICILIUS LEONATUS, father to POSTHUMUs, an old man, at- tired like a warrior; leading in his hand an ancient matron, his wife, and mother to POSTHUMUS, 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, shew 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 stay'd Attending Nature's law.
Whose father then (as men report,
Thou orphans' father art,)
Thou should'st 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 Posthumus rpt,
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.
i Bro. When once he was mature for man,
In Britain where was he
That could stand up his parallel;
Or fruitful object be
In eye of Imogen, that best
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 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 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.
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 Our temple was he married - Rise, and fade !He shall he 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.
Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd His radiant roof:-Away! and, to be blest, Let us with care verform his great behest.
[Ghosts vanish Post. [waking.] Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire A father to me and thou hast created [and bego' 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 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.
'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 unite. Be what it is, The action of my life is like it, which I'll keep, if but for sympathy.
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.
Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators,
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 thousands in a trice you have no true debitor 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.
Post. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live.
Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the tooth ache: 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; | By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death 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 wink, and will not use them.
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. [Exit POSTHUMUS & Messenger. Gaol. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. 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.
Such noble fury in so poor a thing; Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought But beggary and poor looks. Cym. No tidings of him? Pis. He has been search'd among the dead and But no trace of him.
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.
In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen: Further to boast, were neither true nor modest, Unless I add, we are honest. Cym.
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.
To sour your happiness, I must report The queen is dead.
Whom worse than a physician Would this report become? But I consider,
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 wome Can trip me, if I err; who, with wet cheeks, Were present when she finish'd. Cym. Pr'ythee, say.
Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you, o Affected greatness got by you, not you: Married your royalty, was wife to your place : Abhorr'd your person. Cym.
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 love With such integrity, she did confess Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life, But that her flight prevented it, she bad Ta'en off by poison. 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 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 The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so, Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented Despairing, died.
Cym. Heard you all this, her wome Lady. We did so, please your highness. Сут.
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 vi.
To have mistrusted her yet, O my daughter! 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 othe Roman prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS, behind, and IMOGEN.
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that 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 ourselves 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, [en d We should not, when the blood was cool, have threat Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives May be call'd ransome, 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 teat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join With my request, which, I'll make bold, your high Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm.
Though he have serv'd a Roman save him, sir, And spare no blood beside. Cym.
I have surely seen him : His favour is familiar to me.-- Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace, And art mine own.-I know not why, nor wherefore, 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, The noblest ta'en.
Imo. I humbly thank your highness. Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad; And yet, I know, thou wilt.
There's other work in hand;
No, no alack, I see a thing
Bitter to me as death: your life, good master, Must shuffle for itself.
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 vas- Am something nearer. [sal, Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so? Imo I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing. Cym.
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? 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. [forbear; 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. Gui.
But we saw him dead. Bel. Be silent, let's see further. Pis. It is my mistress. 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 IACH.] step you Give answer to this boy, and do it freely; [forth, 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?
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? Iach. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that which Torments me to conceal. By villany I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel: Whom thou didst banish; and (which more may grieve 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. Iach. 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 nead!) 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 :— Сут.
Come to the matter. lach.
Unless thou would'st grieve quickly.-This Posthú- (Most like a noble lord in love, and one That had a royal lover,) took his hint; And, not dispraising whom we 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.
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 quencb'd Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain 'Gan in your duller Britain operate 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 But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, 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
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