[thyself:

Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such As war were hood-wink'd.

Iach. 'Tis their fresh supplies.

Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely: or betimes Let's re-enforce, or fly.

[ereunt.

SCENE III. ANOTHER PART OF THE FIELD. Enter Posthumus and a British Lord. Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the Post. I did:

[stand?

Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.
Lord. I did.

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 straight pass was
damn'd

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

Lord. Where was this lane? [with turf; Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,— 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 Briton's harts die flying, not our men: To darkness fleet, souls 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 thousand confident, in act as many [three, (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, But by example (O, a sin in war, [turn'd 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 [open The life o'the need; having found the back-door Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound! Some, slain before; some, dying; some, their friends

O'erborne i'the former wave: ten, chac'd by one, Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:

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. 'Lack, to what end?

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 many would have given their honours
To have sav'd their carcasses? took heel to do't,
And yet died too? I, in mine 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
For being now a favourer to the Roman, [him;
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 Romans; 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 i

'Tis thought, the old man and his sons were angels. 2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, That gave the affront with them.

1 Cap. 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.

2. Cap. Lay hands on him; a dog!
A leg of Rome shall not return to tell [his service
What crows have peck'd them here.
He brags
As if he were of note: bring him to the king.
Enter Cymbeline, attended; Belarius, Guiderius,
Arviragus, Pisanio, and Roman Captives. The
Captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, whe
deliver? him over to a gaoler: after which, all

go out.

SCENE IV. A PRISON.

Enter Posthumus and two Gaolers.

1 Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, you have So, graze, as you find pasture. [locks upon you; 2 Gaol. Ay, or a stomach. [exeunt Gaolers. Post. Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a

way,

I think, to liberty. Yet am I better
Than one that's sick o'the gout: since he had
Groan so in perpetuity, than be cur'd [rather
By the sure physician, death; who is the key
To unbar these locks. My conscience! thou art
fetter'd
[give me
More than my shanks, and wrists: you, good gods,
The penitent instrument, to pick that bolt,
Then, free for ever! I'st 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 then 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
If you will take this audit, take this life, [powers,
And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen !
I'll speak to thee in silence.
[he sleeps.
Solemn music. Enter, as an apparition, Sicilius
Leonatus, father to Posthumus, an old man,
attired like a warrior; leading in his hand an
ancient matron, his wife, and mother to Posthu-
mus, 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, show
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 staid
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 me not her aid,
But took me in my throes:
That from me was Posthumus ript;
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.

1 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's 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 villainy?

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.

Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion; help!
Or we poor ghosts will cry

To the shining synod of the rest,
Against thy deity.

2 Bro. Help, Jupiter; or we appeal,

And from thy justice fly.

Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle; he throws a thunder-bolt. The ghosts fall on their knees.

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 be 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.

All. Thanks, Jupiter!

Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd

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, 200
That have this golden chance, and know not why.
What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O, rare
one !

Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
Nobler than 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 opped 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 untie. Be what it is,
The action of my life is like it, which
I'll keep, if but for sympathy.

Re-enter Gaolers.

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, the dish pays the shot.

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 aquittance follows. Post. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live. Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothach 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; 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.

be 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 pri soner 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. [exeunt Post. and Mess.

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, Arviragus, Pisanio, Lords, Officers, and Attendants. by Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods

have made

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 hath 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,

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

vicious,

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, Soothsayer, and 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 ourself have granted: So think of your estate.

Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day

Was yours by accident; had gone with us,

We should not, when the blood was cool, have threaten'd

[gods Our prisoners with the sword. But since the 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
With my request, which, I'll make bold, your
highness

Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,
Though he hath 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,