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.

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.

speak,

Ay, with all my heart,

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.

[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. 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?

[Aside.

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

[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, (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.

Cym.

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.

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!-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.
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.
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!
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
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.

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 cordial, she is serv'd
As I would serve a rat.
Сут.
What's this, Cornelius ?
Cor. The queen, sir, very oft impórtun'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.

My boys,

This is sure, Fidele.

Gui. 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.

Till the tree die '

Сут.

Hang there like fruit, my soul,

What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act? Wilt thou not speak to me?

How now, my flesh, my child?

[Kneeling.

Imo. Your blessing, sir.

Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not; You had a motive for it. [To GUI, and ARV. My tears that fall,

Сут.

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

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.

Bel.

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?

Сут.
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.

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,
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,
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.

Post.

I 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, 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.

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.

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. 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 manaers of different times, and the impossibility of the events in any system of life, were to waste criticism upon unresisting imbecihity, 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.

Laud we the gods;

Сут. 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 Roman 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.

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 Britous, 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 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.

as

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.

THIS play was entered at Stationers' Hall, Feb. 6, 1593-4; in which year (according to Langbaine, who alone appears to have seen the first edition) it was also printed. There were two editions in quarto, one in 1600, and another in 1611; but neither of these have the author's name on the title page. The tragedy however was written several years before; as it is mentioned in the induction to Ben Jonson's Bartholomew Fair in 1014, as one that had been exhibited five-and-twenty or thirty years: which, if we take the lowest number, throws it back to the year 1589, at which time Shakspeare was but twenty-five. It was most probably written two or three years earlier, and was the first production of our author. That it is his, there is not only the testimony of its having been printed in the players' edition; but the authority of Meres, a contemporary author, who in a little book called Palladis Tamia, printed in 1598, enumerates this tragedy among the works of Shakspeare.

The commentators have shewn themselves very desirons of discrediting the authenticity of this play; but they have nothing to oppose to the above strong evidence in its favour; but such inconclusive arguments as may be derived from the dissimilarity of its style, and the inferiority of its merit to the other works of our author, To which may be answered, that it was a boyish production; that it is, perhaps, superior to any

Young LUCIUS, a boy, son to Lucius.

PUBLIUS, son to Marcus the tribune.

EMILIUS, a noble Roman.

ALARBUS, CHIRON, DEMETRIUS, sons to Tamora.

AARON, a Moor, beloved by Tamora.

of the plays which were most popular at the period of its composition, and which a young writer would naturally be led to imitate in the first tumid experiment of his powers; and that however displeasing its horrors and its turgid declamation may be to us, they were particularly admired by our author's contemporaries. Much stress has been laid by Malone on the tradition mentioned by Ravenscroft; in his preface to the alteration of this play, published in 1687, he says, "I have been told by some anciently conversant with the stage, that it was not originally Shakspeare's; but brought by a private author to be acted, and he only gave some master touches to one or two of the principal parts or characters. This tradition, from whomsoever Ravenscroft received it, is overthrown by the slightest reference to dates. The play was produced, as we have already seen, certainly in 1589, probably as early as 1534; at this time Shakspeare was as yet unknown; a young man little more than twenty, without either literary reputation or theatrical influence, and the very last person to whom a play would be entrusted for the benefit of revision and correction. The plot, names, and characters of the play are from an old ballad, which the reader will find in the first volume of Percy's Reliques of Ancient English Poetry.

Keep then this passage to the Capitol;
And suffer not dishonour to approach
The imperial seat, to virtue consecrate,
To justice, continence, and nobility:
But let desert in pure election shine;
And, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice.
Enter MARCUS ANDRONICUS, aloft, with the crown.
Mar. Princes that strive by factions, and by
Ambitiously for rule and empery,- [friends,
Know, that the people of Rome, for whom we stand
A special party, have, by common voice,
In election for the Roman empery,
Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius,

Goths and Romans.

TAMORA, Queen of the Goths.

LAVINIA, daughter to Titus Andronicus.

A Nurse, and a black Child.

Kinsmen of Titus, Senators, Tribunes, Officers,
Soldiers, and Attendants.

SCENE,-ROME; and the Country near it.

Sat. Noble patricians, patrons of my right, Defend the justice of my cause with arms; And, countrymen, my loving followers, Plead my successive title with your swords: I am his first-born son, that was the last That ware the imperial diadem of Rome; Then let my father's honours live in me, Nor wrong mine age with this indignity. Bas. Romans, friends, followers, favourers of If ever Bassianus, Cæsar's son, [my right,Were gracious in the eyes of royal Rome,

-

From weary wars against the barbarous Goths;
That, with his sons, a terror to our foes,
Hath yok'd a nation strong, train'd up in arms.
Ten years are spent, since first he undertook
This cause of Rome, and chastised with arms
Our enemies' pride: Five times he hath return'd
Bleeding to Rome, bearing his valiant sons
In coffins from the field;

And now at last, laden with honour's spoils,
Returns the good Andronicus to Rome,
Renowned Titus, flourishing in arms.
Let us entreat. By honour of his name,
Whom, worthily, you would have now succeed,
And in the Capitol and senate's right,
Whom you pretend to honour and adore,—
That you withdraw you, and abate your strength;
Dismiss your followers, and, as suitors should,
Plead your deserts in peace and humbleness.

Sat. How fair the tribune speaks to calm my thoughts!
Bus. Marcus Andronicus, so do I affy
In thy uprightness and integrity,
And so I love and honour thee and thine,
Thy nobler brother Titus, and his sons,
And her, to whom my thoughts are humbled all,
Gracious Lavinia, Rome's rich ornament,
That I will here dismiss my loving friends;
And to my fortunes, and the people's favour,
Commit my cause in balance to be weigh'd.
[Exeunt the Followers of BASSIANUS.
Sat. Friends, that have been thus forward in my right