The

JUPITER descends in thunder and lightning, sitting
upon an eagle: he throws a thunder-bolt.
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.

AU.

Thanks, Jupiter! Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd His radiant roof: Away! and, to be blest, Let us with care perform his great behest.

[Ghosts vanish. Post. [Waking.] Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot

A father to me: and thou hast created
A mother, and two brothers: But (O scorn!)
Gone! they went hence so soon as they were born.
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,
That have this golden chance, and know not why."
What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O, rare

one!

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: 0 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 acquittance follows.

Post. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live.

Gaol. 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.

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

Enter a Messenger.

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.

[Exeunt POSTHUMUS and 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 bath a preferment [Exeunt

in't.

What's thy name?

Imo. Fidele, sir. Gym. 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.

Bel. Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; forbear;

Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure
He would have spoke to us.

Gui.

But we saw him dead. Bel. Be silent; let's see further. Pis.

It is my mistress: [Aside.

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 forth;

Give answer to this boy, and do it freely;
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?

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 villainy

I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel:

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
Among'st 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.
Come to the matter.
Iach.
All too soon I shall,
Unless thou would'st grieve quickly. — This Post-

húmus,

(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 villainous. 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,

grieve thee,

As it doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd

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 Irer? 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

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 Posthúmus,

Cym.

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,

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

swore,

If I discover'd not which way she was gone,
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.

Cym. 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;

[To the guard.

They were not born for bondage.
Cym.
Why, old soldier,
Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
As good as we ?

Arv.
In that he spake too far.
Cym. And thou shalt die for't.
Bel.

We will die all thrée :
But I will prove, that two of us are as good
As I have given out him. My sons, I must,
For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech,
Though, haply, well for you.

Arv.

Ours.

Gui. And our good his. Bel.

Your danger is

Have at it then.

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.

Cym.

Guiderius had

Continued so, until we thought he died.

Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd. Cym. O rare instinct! When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgement,

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 intergatories. 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,

Happy be you!

Luc. Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, He would have well becom'd this place, and graci The thankings of a king.

Post.

I am, sir,

The power that I have on you, is to spare you; The malice towards you, to forgive you: Live, And deal with others better.

Cym. Nobly doom'd; We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law; Pardon's the word to all.

As you did mean indeed to be our brother; Joy'd are we, that you are.

Post. Your servant, princes. - Good my lord e

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 show
His skill in the construction,