I tremble still with fear: But if there be
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!
The dream's here still: even when I wake, it is
Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
A beadless man!-The garments of Posthumus!
I know the shape of his leg: this is his hand;
His foot Mercurial: his Martial thigh;

The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face-
Murder in heaven?-How?-'tis gone.-Pisanio,
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
Hast here cut off my lord.-To write, and read,
Be henceforth treacherous!-Damn'd Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters,-damn'd Pisanio-
From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the main-top?-O, Posthumus! alas,
Where is thy head? where's that? Ah me! where's
that?

Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
And left this head on.-How should this be? Pisanio?
"Tis he, and Cloten: malice and lucre in them
Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it

Murd'rous to the senses? that confirms it home:
This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's! O!-
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may seem to those
Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord!
Enter LUCIUS, a Captain, and other Officers, and a
Soothsayer.

Cap. To them, the legions garrison'd in Gallia, After your will, have cross'd the sea; attending You here at Milford-Haven, with your ships: They are here in readiness.

Luc.
But what from Rome?
Cap. The senate bath stirr'd up the confiners,
And gentlemen of Italy; most willing spirits,
That promise noble service; and they come
Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
Sienna's brother.

Luc.
When expect you them?
Cap. With the next benefit o'the wind.
Lue.

This forwardness Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers

Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he,
That, otherwise than noble nature did,
Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest
In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it?
What art thou?

wander

Imo. I am nothing or if not, Nothing to be were better. This was my master, A very valiant Britain, and a good, That here by mountaineers lies slain :-Alas! There are no more such masters: I may From east to occident, cry out for service, Try many, all good, serve truly, never Find such another master. Luc. Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than Thy master in bleeding; say his name, good friend. Imo. Richard du Champ. If I do lie, and do No harm by it, though the go is hear, I hope They'll pardon it. Say you, sir?

Luc. Imo.

'Lack, good youth!

(Aside.)

Thy name?

Fidele.

Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same: Thy name well fits thy faith; thy faith, thy name. Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say, Thou shalt be so well master'd; but be sure, No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters, Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner Than thine own worth prefer thee: Go with me.

Imo. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods,
I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep
As these poor pickaxes can dig: and when
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I have strew'd
his grave,

And on it said a century of prayers,
Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep, and sigh,
And, leaving so his service, follow you,
So please you entertain me.
Luc.
Ay, good youth;
And rather father thee, than master thee.-
My friends,

The boy hath taught us many duties: Let us
Find out the prettiest daizied plot we can,
And make him with our pikes and partisans
A grave: Come, arm him.-Boy, he is prefer'd
By thee to us; and he shall be interr'd,"
As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes:
Some falls are means the happier to arise. [Exeunt,

SCENE III.-A Room in Cymbeline's Palace.

Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, and PISANIO. Cym. Again; and bring me word,how 'tis with her. A fever with the absence of her son;

pose? [vision: Sooth. Last night the very gods shew'd me a (I fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence,) Thus :I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd From the spungy south to this part of the west, There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends, (Unless my sins abuse my divination,) Success to the Roman host.

Pis.

I humbly set it at your will: But, for my mistress,
I nothing know, where she remains, why gone,
Nor when she purposes return.
'Beseech your

highness,

Hold me your loyal servant.

1 Lord.

Good my liege,

The day that she was missing, he was here:
I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform
All parts of his subjection loyally.
For Cloten,-

There wants no diligence in seeking him,
And will, no doubt, be found.

Cym

The time's troublesome :

We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy (To Pisanio.) Does yet depend. 1 Lord.

So please your majesty,

The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your coast; with a supply
Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent.
Cym. Now for the counsel of my son, and queen!
I am amaz'd with matter.

1 Lord.

Good my liege, Your preparation can affront no less

Than what you hear of: come more, for more you're ready:

The want is, but to put those powers in motion, That long to move.

Cym. I thank you: Let's withdraw; And meet the time, as it seeks us. We fear not What can from Italy annoy us; but We grieve at chances here.-Away.

[Exeunt.

Pis. I heard no letter from my master, since I wrote him, Imogen was slain: 'Tis strange: Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise To yield me often tidings: Neither know I What is betid to Cloten; but remain Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work : Wherein I am false, I am honest; not true, to be true. These present wars shall find I love my country, Even to the note o'the king, or I'll fall in them. All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd: Fortune brings in some boats, that are not steer'd. [Exit.

SCENE IV. Before the Cave. Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. Gui. The noise is round about us. Bel.

Let us from it. Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it

From action and adventure?

Gui.
Nay, what hope
Have we in hiding us? this way, the Romans
Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us
For barbarous and unnatural revolts
During their use, and slay us after.

Sons,

Bel. We'll higher to the mountains; there secure as. To the king's party there's no going: newness Of Cloten's death (we being not known,not muster'd Among the bands) may drive us to a render Where we have liv'd; and so extort from us That which we've done, whose answer would be Drawn on with torture. [death

Gui.

This is, sir, a doubt, In such a time, nothing becoming you,

Nor satisfying us.

Ary.

It is not likely,

That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,
Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes
And ears so cloy'd importantly as now,

That they will waste their time upon our note,
To know from whence we are.
Bel.

O, I am known
Of many in the army: many years,
[him
Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore
From my remembrance. And, besides, the king
Hath not deserv'd my service, nor your loves;
Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless
To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd,
But to be still hot summer's tanlings, and
The shrinking slaves of winter.

Gui
Than be so,
Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army:
I and my brother are not known; yourself,
So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown,
Cannot be question'd.

Arv.
By this sun that shines,
I'll thither: What thing is it, that I never
Did see man die? scarce ever look'd on blood,
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison?
Never bestrid a horse, save one, that had

A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel

Nor iron on his heel? I am asham'd

To look upon the holy sun, to have

The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.

Arv.

So say I; Amen.
Bel. No reason I, since on your lives you set
So slight a valuation, should reserve

My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys:
If in your country wars you chance to die,
That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie :
Lead, lead.-The time seems long; their blood
thinks scorn,
(A side.)
Till it fly out, and shew them princes born. [Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I.-A Field between the British and Roman
Camps.

Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody handkerchief.
Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I
wish'd
[ones,
Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married
If each of you would take this course, how many
Must murder wives much better than themselves,
For wrying but a little !-O, Pisanio!
Every good servant does not all commands:
No bond, but to do just ones.-Gods! if you
Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never
Had liv'd to put on this: so had you saved
The noble Imogen to repent; and struck
Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. Bat,
You snatch some hence for little faults; that's
alack,
[love,
To have them fall no more: you some permit
To second ills with ills, each elder worse;
And make them dread it to the doer's thrift.
But Imogen is your own: Do your best wills,
And make me bless'd to obey!-I am brought hither
Among the Italian gentry, and to fight
Against my lady's kingdom: 'Tis enough,
That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace!
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,
Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me
Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself
As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight
Against the part I come with; so I'll die
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
Is, every breath, a death: and thus, unknown,
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril
Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me, than my habits shew.
Gods, put the strength o'the Leonati in me!
To shame the guise o'the world, I will begin
The fashion, less without, and more within. [Exil.
SCENE II. The same.

Enter, at one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman army; at the other side, the British army; LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following it, like a poor soldier. They march over, and go out. Alarums. Then enter again in skirmish, IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS; he vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo, and then leaves him.

Iach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady, The princess of this country, and the air on't Revengingly enfeebles me; Or could this carl, A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me, In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn. [borne If that thy gentry, Britain, go before This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gods. [Exil. The battle continues; the Britons fly; CYMBELINE is taken; then enter, to his rescue, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.

Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground;

The lane is guarded: nothing routs
The villany of our fears.
Gui. & Arv.

us,

but

Stand, stand, and fight'

Then, enter

Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself:

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. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Another Part of the Field. Enter POSTHUMUS and a British Lord. Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the stand?

I did: I did.

Post.
Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.
Lord.

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 strait pass was
damm'd

With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living
To die with lengthen'd shame.
Lord.
Where was this lane?

[turf;
Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with
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 Britain'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'er-borne i'the former wave: ten, chac'd by one,
Are now each one the slaughter man of twenty:
Those, that would die or ere resist, are grown
The mortal bugs o'the field.

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:

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,

[him:

'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,
No more a Briton, I have re-sum'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. taken: "Tis thought, the old man and his sons were 1 Cap. Great Jupiter be prais'd! Lucius is 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 [service
What crows have peck'd them here: He brags his
As if he were of note: bring him to the king.
Enter CYMBELINE, attended; BELARIUS, GUI-
DERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, and Roman
Captives. The Captains present POSTHUMUS to
CYMBELINE, who delivers 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 locks upon you;

So graze, as you find pasture.

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 a'the gout; since he had rather Groan so in perpetuity, than be cur'd By the sure physician, death; who is the key To unbar these looks. 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! Is't 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 than 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 powers,

If you will take this audit, take this life,

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-ach: But a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, 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. [be made free. Post. Thou bringest good news;-I am called to Gaol. I'll be hanged then.

Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead. [Exeunt Posthumus 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 [Exeunt. SCENE V.-Cymbeline's Tent. Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, Lords, Officers, and Attendants. Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods

in't.

have made

Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart,
That the poor soldier, that so richly fought,
Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked
breast

Stepp'd before targe of proof, cannot be found:
He shall be happy that can find him, if
Our grace can make him so.

Bel.

I never saw Such noble fury in so poor a thing; Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought But beggary and poor looks. Сут. 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, Guidernus, 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.
Cym.
Whom worse than a physician
Would this report become? But I consider,
By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death
Will seize the doctor too.-How ended she?

Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life;
Which, being cruel to the world, concluded
Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd,
I will report, so please you: These her women
Can trip me, if I err; who, with wet cheeks,
Were present when she finish'd.
Cym.
Pr'ythee, say.
Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you;
Affected greatness got by you, not you: (only
Married your royalty, was wife to your place;
Abhorr'd your person.

Сут.

She alone knew this: And, but she spoke it dying, I would not Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to With such integrity, she did confess [love Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life, But that her flight prevented it, she had Ta'en off by poison. Cym.

O most delicate fiend!
Who is't can read a woman? Is there more? [had
Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did confess, she
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 shew: 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, the Soothsayer, and other
Roman prisoners, guarded: POSTHUMUS behind,
and IMOGEN.

Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that
The Briton's 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 granted: So, think of your estate.

Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day Was yours by accident; had it gone with us, We should not, when the blood was cool, have

threaten'd

Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods
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 high-
Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,
Though he have serv'd a Roman: save him, sir,
And spare no blood beside.

[ness