Of many in the army; many years,

Though Cloten then but young, (you fee,) not wore

him

From my remembrance. And, befides, the King
Hath not deferv'd my fervice, nor your loves,
Who find in my exile the want of breeding;
The certainty of this hard life, aye hopeless
To have the courtefie your cradle promis'd;
But to be ftill hot fummer's tanlings, and
The fhrinking flaves of winter.

Guid. Than be fo,

Better to cease to be. Pray, Sir, to th' army;
I and my brother are not known; your self
So out of thought, and thereto fo o'er-grown,
Cannot be queftion'd.

Aro. By this Sun that fhines,

I'll thither; what thing is it, that I never
Did fee man die, fcarce ever look'd on blood,
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venifon?
Never beftrid a horfe fave one, that had

A rider like my felf who ne'er wore rowel,
Nor iron on his heel? I am afham'd

To look upon the holy Sun, to have
The benefit of his best beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.

Guid. By heav'ns, I'll go;

If you will blefs me, Sir, and give me leave,
I'll take the better care, but if you will not,
The hazard therefore due fall on me, 'by

The hands of Romans!

Arv. So fay I, Amen.

Bel. No reafon I (fince of

lives your

you

fet

So flight a valuation) should reserve

My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys i If in your country wars you chance to die,

That is my bed too, lads; and there I'll lye.

Lead, lead; the time feems long: their blood thinks

fcorn

'Till it flie out, and fhew them Princes born.

Ff2

[Exe:

ACT

A CT V.

SCENE, a Field between the British and Roman Camps.

Enter Pofthumus, with a bloody handkerchief.

Y

POSTHUMUS.

EA, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wisht,
Thou should't be colour'd thus. You mar-
ried Ones,

If each of you would take this course, how many
Muft murther wives much better than themselves
For wrying but a little? oh, Pifanio!

Every good fervant does not all Commands;
No bond, but to do juft ones. Gods! if you
Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never
Had liv'd to put on this; fo had you faved
The noble Imogen to repent, and struck

Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But, alack,
You fnatch fome hence for little faults; that's love;
To have them fall no more; you fome permit (48)
To fecond ills with ills, each worse than other,
And make them dreaded, to the doers' thrift.-——————

To fecond Ills with Ills, each worse than other,

But

And make them dread it, to the Doer's thrift.] The DivinitySchools have not furnish'd jufter Obfervations on the Conduct of Providence, than Pofthumus gives us here in his private Reflections. You Gods, fays He, act in a different manner with your different Creatures; You fnatch fome hence for little Faults; that's Love; To have them fall no more.

This feems a fine fhort Comment on what St. Paul fays to the Hebrews, "Or ȧyana Kúel, raiddies. The Lord chafteneth whom he loveth. The Philofopher Seneca is more ample upon the fame Subject; Hos Deus, quos probat, quos amat, indurat, recognofcit, exercet. Others, fays our Poet, you permit to live on, to multiply and increase in Crimes, And make them dread it, to the Doer's Thrift.

Here's

But Imogen's your own: do your best wills,
And make me bleft t'obey! I am brought hither
Among th' Italian Gentry, and to fight
Against my lady's Kingdom; 'tis enough,
That, Britain, I have kill'd thy miftrefs: Peace!
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heav'ns,
Hear patiently my purpose. I'll difrobe me
Of these Italian weeds, and fuit

my felf
As do's a Britain peafant; fo I'll fight
Against the part I come with; so I'll die
For thee, O Imogen, for whom my life
Is, every breath, a death; and thus unknown,
Pitied, nor hated, to the face of peril
My felf I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me, than my Habits fhew;
Gods, put the ftrength o'th' Leonati in me!
To fhame the guife o'th' world, I will begin
The fashion, lefs without, and more within.
Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and the Roman army at one
door; and the British army at another: Leonatus
Pofthumus, following like a poor foldier. They march
over, and go out. Then enter again in skirmish
Iachimo, and Pofthumus; he vanquisheth and dif-
armeth Iachimo, and then leaves him.

[Exit.

Iach. The heavinefs, and guilt, within my bofom,
Takes off my manhood; I've bely'd a lady,
The Princess of this Country; and the air on't

Here's a Relative without an antecedent Subftantive; and a Genitive
Cafe Singular, when all the other Members of the Sentence run in the
plural. Both which are a Breach of Grammar. We must certainly

read,

And make them dreaded, to the Doers' Thrift. i. e. others you permit to aggravate one Crime with more: which Enormities not only make them revered and dreaded, but turn in other kinds to their Advantage. Dignity, Respect, and Profit, accrue to them from Crimes committed with Impunity.

-multi

Committunt eadem diverfo crimina fato:
Ille Crucem precium fceleris tulit, hic diadema.

Criminibus debent hortos, prætoria, menfas,
Argentum vetus, & ftantem extrà pocula caprum.
Ff3

Juven. Sat, 13.

Idem. Sat. 1.
Revengingly

Revengingly enfeebles me: or could this carle,
A very drudge of nature, have fubdu'd me
In my profeffion? Knighthoods, and Honours born,
As I wear mine, are titles but of fcorn;
If that thy gentry, Britain, go before

This lowt, as he exceeds our lords, the odds

Is, that we fcarce are men, and you are Gods. [Exit, The battle continues; the Britains fly, Cymbeline is taken; then enter to his rescue, Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.

Bel. Stand, ftand; we have th' advantage of the ground;

That lane is guarded: nothing routs us, but
The villany of our fears.

Guid. Arv. Stand, ftand, and fight.

Enter Pofthumus, and feconds the Britains. They refcue Cymbeline, and exeunt.

Then enter Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen.

Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and fave thy felf;

For friends kill friends, and the diforder's fuch

As war were hood-wink'd.

Iach. 'Tis their fresh supplies.

Luc. It is a day turn'd itrangely. Or betimes Let's re-inforce, or fly.

[Exeunt.

SCENE, another Part of the Field of Battel.

Enter Pofthumus, and a British lord.

Lord. Cam'ft thou from where they made the Stand?
Poft. I did.

Though you, it feems, came from the fliers.

Lord. I did.

Poft. No blame be to you, Sir, for all was loft,
But that the heavens fought: the King himself
Of his wings deftitute, the army broken,
And but the backs of Britain feen; all flying

Through

Through a ftraight lane; the enemy full-hearted,
Lolling the tongue with flaught'ring, having work
More plentiful, than tools to do't, ftruck down
Some mortally, fome flightly touch'd, fome falling
Meerly through fear, that the ftraight Pafs was
damm'd

With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living
To die with lengthen'd thame.

Lord. Where was this lane?

Poft. Clofe by the battel,ditch'd, and wall'd with turf, Which gave advantage to an ancient foldier, (An honest one, I warrant,) who deferv'd So long a breeding as his white beard came to, In doing this for's Country. Thwart the lane, He, with two ftriplings, (lads, more like to run The country Base, than to commit fuch flaughter; With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer Than those for prefervation cas'd, or fhame,) Made good the paffage, cry'd to thofe that fled, "Our Britaine's Harts die flying, not our men; (49) "To darknefs fleet fouls, that fly backwards! ftand, "Or we are Romans, and will give you That (50)

(49) Our Britaines Hearts die flying, not our Men;]

4

Thus all the Editions, and thus Mr. Pope in his Quarto Edition, moft implicitly obfequious to Nonfenfe. I corrected the Paflage in the Appendix to my SHAKESPEARE Reftor'd, as I have now reform'd it in the Text, (and as Dr. Thirlby likewife faw, it should be;) and Mr. Pope has follow'd my Correction in his last Edition of our Author.

(50)

and will give you That

Like Beafts, which you fhun beastly and may fave

But to look back in Front:]

Looking back in Front is a Phrafe, which Mr. Pope, if he pleases, may referve for his own Collection of Elegancies: but I can't admit it to be palm'd upon our Editor. We must read with the old Copies,

But to look back in Frown.

i. e. If you will but turn upon the Enemy, and fhew them you can look angry. So, in the Tempest.

They being penitent,

The fole Drift of my purpose doth extend
Not a Frown further.

And fo, in Antony and Cleopatra;

Good Brother,

Let me request you off

our graver Business

Frowns at this Levity.

Ff4

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