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 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 of way blindness! I am sure, hanging's the of winking.

Enter a Messenger.

way

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.

SCENE V.-Cymbeline's Tent.

Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRA-
GUS, PISANIO, Lords, Officers, and Attendants.
Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have
Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart, [made
That the poor soldier, that so richly fought,
Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast
Stepp'd before targe of proof, cannot be found:
He shall be happy that can find him, if
Our grace can make him so.

Bel.

I never saw
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.
[living,

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.

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.
Cor.
Hail, great king!
To sour your happiness, I must report
The queen is dead.
Cym.
Whom worse than a physician
Would this report become? But I consider,

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. Cym. Pr'ythee, say.

you, only

Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd 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 love
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.

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
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 vi-
cious,

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 other
Roman prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS, behind.
and IMOGEN.

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
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 feat, so nurse-like let his virtue join [ness
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.
Сут.

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.

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.

Luc.

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?

Сут.
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.

Arv.

Ay, with all my heart,

And lend my best attention. What's thy name?
Imo. Fidele, sir.
Cum.
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?
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.

[Aside.

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.
Сут
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?
Cum. That diamond upon your finger say,
How came it yours?

[Aside.

lach. 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

[thee,

"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, (Ò '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:

All too soon I shall,

Come to the matter.
Jach.
Unless thou would'st grieve quickly.-This Postbú-
(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

[inus,

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
'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,
(0, 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

That's due to all the villains past, in being,
To come!-0, 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.
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,
There lie thy part.
[Striking her: she falls.
O, gentlemen, help, help

Pis.

Mine, and your mistress :-O, my lord Posthumus!
You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now:-Help, help!-
Mine honour'd lady!
Cum.
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
To death with mortal joy.
Pis.

How fares my mistress?
Imo. O, get thee from my sight;
Thou gav'st me poison: dangerous fellow, hence!
Breathe not where princes are.
Cym.
Pis. Lady,

The tune of Imogen!

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.

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 cordial, she is serv'd As I would serve a rat.

Cym.

What's this, Cornelius?

Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importun'd me To temper 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.

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.
Pis.

Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth.

My lord, Lord 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, [swore,
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.

Gui.

I slew him there. Cym.

Let me end the story:

Marry, the gods forefend!
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 so roar to me: I cut off's head;
And am right glad, he is not standing here
To tell this tale of mine.

Сут.

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

Imo.

I thought had been my lord. Cym.

That headless man

Bind the offender,

And take him from our presence. Bel.

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;

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

Till the tree die '

Your danger is

Have at it then.

Cym. 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, 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 sir, 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 A pair of worthier sons.

Bel.

Be pleas'd awhile.This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius: This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arvirágus, Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand Of his queen mother, which, for more probation, I can with ease produce.

When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridg

ment,

Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
Distinction should be rich in.-Where, how liv'd you,
And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
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-dependancies,

From chance to chance; but nor the time, nor place,
Will serve our long interrogatories. See,
Posthumus 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,
To see this gracious season.
Cym.
All o'erjoy'd,
Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too,
For they shall taste our comfort.

Imo.

I will yet do you service.

My good master

Luc. 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. I am, sir,

Post.

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, Iachimo: 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.

Cym.

We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;

Pardon's the word to all.

Arv.

Nobly doom'd;

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 shows

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 shew
His skill in the construction.

Luc.

Sooth. Here, my good lord. Luc.

Philarmonus,

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.

Cym.
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.

Cym.

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 :

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.

Of the enormous injustice of the above sentence, nearly every page of Cymbeline will, to a reader of any taste or discrimination, bring the most decisive evidence. That it possesses many of the too common inattentions of Shakspeare, that it exhibits a frequent violation to costume, and a singular confusion of nomenclature, cannot be denied; but these are trifles light as air, when contrasted with its merits, which are of the very es sence of dramatic worth, rich and full in all that breathes of vigour, animation, and intellect; in all that elevates the fancy, and improves the heart. In possession of excellencies vital as those must be deemed, cold and fastidious is the criticism, that, on account of irregularities in mere technical detail, would shut its eyes upon their splendour. Nor are their wanting critics of equal learning with, and superior taste to, Johnson, who have considered what he has branded with the unqualified charge of "confusion of manners," as forming in a certain point of view,

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 foreshew'd our princely eagle, The imperial Cæsar, should again unite His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, Which shines here in the west.

Cym.

Laud we the gods;

one of the most pleasing recommendations of the piece. Thus Schlegel, after characterising Cymbeline, as one of Shakspeare's most wonderful compositions, adds, " He has here connected a novel of Boccacio with traditionary tales of the ancient Britons, reaching back to the times of the first Roman emperors; and he has contrived by the most gentle transitions, to blend together into a harmonious whole, the social manners of the latest times, with the heroic deeds, and even with the appearances, of the gods." (Essay on Dram. Lit. vol. ii. p. 183.) It may also be remarked, that if the unities of time and place be as little observed in this play, as in many others of the same poet, unity of character and feeling, the test of genius, and without which the utmost efforts of art will be unavailing, is uniformly and happily supported.

In this drama, poetical justice has been strictly observed, the vicious characters meet the punishment due to their crimes, while virtue in all its various degrees is proportionably rewarded. The scene of retribution, which is the closing one of the play, is a masterpiece of skill; the developement of the plot, for its fulness, completeness, and ingenuity, surpassing any ef fort of the kind among our author's contemporaries, and atoning for any partial incongruity which the structure or conduct of the story may have displayed.—Dr. DRAKE.