As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn. The lane is guarded: nothing routs us, but Gui. Arv. 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. [Exeunt. SCENE 111.-Another Part of the Field. Enter POSTHUMUS and a British LORD. Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the stand? Post. I did: Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. Post. No blame be to you, Sir; for all was lost, But that the heavens fought: The king himselt More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down Lord. Where was this lane? Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf; With their own nobleness, (which could have turn'd A distaff to a lance,) gilded pale looks, But by example (O, a sin in war, A rout, confusion thick: Forthwith they fly friends 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, Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend: Lord. Farewell, you are angry. [Exit. Post. Still going?-This is a lord! Onoble misery! To be i'the field, and ask, what news, of me! To-day, how many would have given their honours [do't, To have sav'd their carcasses? took heel to And yet died too? I, in mine own woe charm'd, Could not find death, where I did hear him Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,-'Tis He, with two striplings, (lads more like to run ter; find him: For being now a favourer to the Roman, Enter two British CAPTAINS, and Soldiers. 1 Cap. Great Jupiter be prais'd! Lucius is taken; [angels. 'Tis thought, the old man and his sons were 2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly That gave the affront with them. [habit, 1 Cap. So 'tis reported: But none of them can be found.-Stand! who is there? Post. A Roman, CYMBELINE. Who had not now been drooping here, if se- [conds 2 Cap. 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 service As if he were of note: bring him to the king. Enter CYMBELINE, attended; BELARIUS, GUI- SCENE IV.-A Prison. Enter POSTHUMUS, and two JAILERS. 1 Jail. You shall not now be stolen, you have looks upon you; So, graze, as you find pasture. 2 Jail. Ay, or a stomach. [Exeunt JAILERS. 1 think, to liberty: Yet am I better More than my shanks, and wrists: You good The penitent instrument, to pick that bolt, I know, you are more clement than vile men, Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake: If you will take this audit, take this life, [He sleeps. Solemn music.+ Enter, as an Apparition, SICI- Sici. No more, thou thunder master, show With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, Rates and revenges. Hath my poor boy done aught but well, I died, whilst in the womb he stay'd Whose father then (as men report, Thou orphans' father art,) 793 Thou should'st have been, and shielded him Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry, 1 Bro. When once he was mature for man, 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 From Leonati' seat, and cast From her his dearest one, Sici. Why did you suffer Iachimo, [mock'd, 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; With honour to maintain. 1 Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath Why hast thou thus adjourn'd Being all to dolours turn'd? Sici. Thy crystal window ope; look out; And potent injuries: Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good, Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion; help! To the shining synod of the rest, Against thy deity. 2 Bro. Help, Jupiter; or we appeal, JUPITER descends in Thunder and Lightning, sit- low, Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region No care of yours it is, you know, 'tis ours. * The fool And happier much by his affliction made. This tablet lay upon his breast; wherein 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 ts Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine; Sici. He came in thunder; his celestial breath Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, All. Thanks, Jupiter! Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is en- His radiant roof:-Away! and, to be blest, A father to me: and thou hast created [pend What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O, Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment Jail. 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. Jail. 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 an 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'l 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. Juil. 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 Mr.SSENGER. Mess. Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the king. Post. Thou bringest good news;-I am called to be made free. Jail. I'll be hang'd then. Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a jailer; no bolts for the dead. [Exeunt POSTHUMUS and MESSENGER. Jail. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, on my conscience, there are verier Reads. When as a lion's whelp shall, to him-knaves desire to live, for all he be a Roman: self unknown, without seeking find, and be emand there be some of them too, that die against braced by a piece of tender air; and when from their wills; so should I, if I were one. I would a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, we were all of one mind, and one mind good. being dead many years, shall after revive, beO, there were desolation of jailers, and galjointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then lowses! I speak against my present profit; shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be but my wish hath a preferment in't. [Exeunt. 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 untie. Be what it is, The action of my life is like it, which' I'll keep, if but for sympathy. Re-enter JAILERS. Jail. Come, Sir, are you ready for death? Post. Over-roasted rather: ready long ago. Jail. 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, the dish pays the shot. Jail. 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 SCENE V.-CYMBELINE'S Tent. Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart, Stepp'd before target of proof, cannot be found: Bel. I never saw Such noble fury in so poor a thing; [nough Cym. No tidings of him? Pis. He hath been search'd among the dead But no trace of him. and 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. By whom, I grant, she lives; "Tis now the time [To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. To ask of whence you are:-report it. + Forward. * Hazard, Target, shield 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 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 Cym. Whom worse than a physician Cym. Pr'ythee, say. Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you; only Affected greatness got by you, not you: Married your royalty, was wite to your place; Abhorr'd your person. Cym. She alone knew this: And, but she spoke it dying, I would not With such integrity, she did confess 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, Her son into the adoption of the crown. Cym. Heard you all this, her women? Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; 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, [slaughter That their good souls may be appeas'd with Of you their captives, which ourself have So, think of your estate. [granted; Luc. Consider, Sir, the chance of war: the day Was yours by accident; had it gone with us, Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm, Cym. I have surely seen him: Boy, thou hast look'd thy self into my grace, Imo. I humbly thank your highness. 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. on? speak, Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend? Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so? Cym. Ay, with all my heart, 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. [ČYMBELINE 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. Bel. Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us Gui. But we saw him dead. * Ready, dextrou [Avide 4 Countenance. Since she is living, let the time run on, [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN come forward. Cym. Come, stand thou by our side; Make thy demand aloud.-Sir, [To IACH.] step you forth; Give answer to this boy, and do it freely; Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken Which, to be spoke, would torture thee. [that Cym. How! me? Iuch. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that which I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel: Whom thou didst banish; and (which more may grieve thee, 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: [will, I had rather thou should'st live while nature Than die ere I hear more: strive man, and speak. Jach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock That struck the hour!) it was in Rome, (accurs'd 'would The mansion where!) 'twas at a feast, (O Our viands had been poison'd! or at least, Those which I heav'd to head!) the good Posthumus, (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 The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Min- Cym. I stand on fire: Come to the matter. Iach. All too soon I shall, Unless thou would'st grieve quickly.-This Posthumus, (Most like a noble lord in love, and one That had a royal lover,) took his hint; 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 descripProv'd us unspeaking sots. Cym. Nay, nay, to the purpose. [tion lach. Your daughter's chastity-there it begins. He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams, *Sink into dejection. Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore Post I in this design: Well may you, Sir, Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain (0, cunning, how I got it!) nay, some marks Post. Ay, so thou dost, [Coming forward. Imo. Peace, my lord; hear, hearPost. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page, There lie thy part. [Striking her: she falls. Pis. O gentlemen, help, help [húmus! Mine, and your mistress:-O, my lord PostYou ne'er kill'd Imogen till now:-Help, Mine honour'd lady! [help! 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, The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if *Not only the temple of virtue, but virtue hersele |