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 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, 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 jump11 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.

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.

11 i. e. hazard. See vol. iv. p. 221, note 2.

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 prone12. 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; 0, there were desolation of gaolers, and gallowses! I speak against my present profit; but my wish hath a preferment in't. [Exeunt.

SCENE V1. Cymbeline's Tent.

Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, Lords, Officers, and Attendants.

Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods 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.

12 Prone here signifies ready, prompt. As in Measure for Measure, Act i. Sc. 3, p. 16:

in her youth

There is a prone and speechless dialect,
Such as moves men.'

Thus also in Lucan's Pharsalia, translated by Sir Arthur Gorges, b. vi. :

" Thessalian fierie steeds,

For use of war so prone and fit.'

And in Wilfride Holme's poem, entitled The Fall and Evil Success of Rebellion, &c. 1537:

With bombard and basilisk, with men prone and vigorous.`

In the scene before us, all the surviving characters are assembled; and at the expense of whatever incongruity the former events may have been produced, perhaps little can be discovered on this occasion to offend the most scrupulous advocate for regularity and as little is found wanting to satisfy the spectator by a catastrophe which is intricate without confusion, and not more rich in ornament than nature.—Steevens.

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.

Cym.

No tidings of him?

Pis. He hath been search'd among the dead and

living,

But no trace of him.

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 ARV. 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 battle2: 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 faces3.-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 too4.-How ended she?

2 Thus in Stowe's Chronicle, p. 164, edit. 1615:- Philip of France made Arthur Plantagenet Knight of the Fielde.'

a So in Macbeth :

"The business of this man looks out of him.'

4 This observation has already occurred in the Funeral Song,

p. 99:

The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.'

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; only
Affected greatness got by you, not you:

Married your royalty, was wife to your place;
Abhorr'd your person.

Cym.

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 hand5 to

love

With such integrity, she did confess

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?
Cor. More, sir, and worse.

she had

She did confess,

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?

To bear in hand is to delude by false appearances.' See vol. v. p. 253, note 9.

Lady. We did, so please your highness.
Cym.

Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;

Mine eyes

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 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 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 nurselike: let his virtue join
With my request, which, I'll make bold, your
highness

Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,

6 Feat is ready, dexterous.