As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn..
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.
[Exit.

The Battle continues; the Britons fly; CYMBE-
LINE is taken: then enter to his rescue, BE-
LARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.
Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage
of the ground;

The lane is guarded: nothing routs us, but
The villany of our fears.

Gui. Are. Stand, stand, and fight!
Enter POSTHUMUS, and seconds the Britans:
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 III.—Another Part of the Field. Enter POSTHUMUS and a British Lor.D. Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made

the stand?

Post. I did:

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
[damm'd*
Merely through fear; that the strait pass was
With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards liv-
To die with lengthen'd shame.
[ing

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,
Part, shame, part, spirit renew'd; that some,
turn'd coward

But by example (O, a sin in war,
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,
[cowards
The strides they victors made: and now our
(Like fragments in hard voyages,) became
The life o'the need; having found the back-
door open
[wound!
Of the unguarded hearts, Heavens, how they
Some, slain before; some, dying; some, their

friends

Lone, O'erborne i'the former wave: ten, chac'd by 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:
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. [Erit. Post. Still going?-This is a lord! O noble misery!

honours

To be i'the field, and ask, what news, of me! To-day, how many would have given their [do't, To have sav'd their carcasses? took heel to And yet died too? I, in mine own woe charm'. Could not find death, where I did hear him

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 [is
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter
Here made by the Roman; great the answer be
Britons must take; for me my ransom'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; [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?

[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, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, and ROMAN CAPTIVES. The CAPTAINS present POSTHUMUS to CYMBELINE, who delivers him over to a JAILER: after which, all go out.

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. 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

More than my shanks, and wrists: You good gods, give me

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,
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 POSTHUMUS, 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 stay'd
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 not me her aid,
But took me in my throes;
That from me was Posthúmus 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
To be exil'd and thrown
From Leonati' 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 villany?

[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;
Our fealty, and Tenantius' right,

With honour to maintain.

1 Bre. 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, silting upon an Eagle: he throws a Thunder-bolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees.

low,

Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region Ighosts, Offend our hearing; hush!-How dare you 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 He shall be lord of lady Imogen,

* The fool.

[fade!

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; 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 hand
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 did confess,

she had

For you a mortal mineral; which, being took,
Should by the minute feed on life, and,
ling'ring,
[pos'd,
By inches waste you: In which time she pur-
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; reperted
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,
[vicious,
That thought her like her seeming; it had been
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, [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,
We should not, when the blood was cool, have
threaten'd
(gods

Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
Our prisoners with the sword. But since the
May be call'd ransom, 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,
With my request, which, I'll make bold, your
So feat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join
highness

Though he have serv'd a Roman: save him,
Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,
And spare no blood beside.
[Sir,

Cym. I have surely seen him :
His favourt is familiar to me.-

Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
And art mine own.-I know not why, nor
To say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master;
wherefore,
[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,

There's other work in hand; I see a thing Bitter to me as death: your life, good master, Must shuffle for itself.

He leaves me, scorns me: Briefly die their Luc. The boy disdains me, [joys, Why stands he so perplex'd? That place them on the truth of girls and [boys.

Cym. What would'st thou, boy? [more I love thee more and more; think more and What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st

Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend? on? speak, Imo. He is a Roman; no more kin to me, Than I to your highness; who, being born your Am something nearer. [vassal,

Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so? Imo. I'll tell you, Sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing.

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. [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN converse apart. Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death? Not more resembles: That sweet rosy lad, Arv. One sand another Who died, and was Fidele:-What think you? Gui. The same dead thing alive.

Bel. Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us
Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure
not; forbear;
He would have spoke to us.

Gui. But we saw him dead.
Bel. Be silent; let's see further.
Pis. It is my mistress:

* Ready, dextrous.

[Aside.

+ Countenance.

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 Of whom he had this ring. [render

Post. What's that to him? Aside. Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say, How came it yours?

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

Torments me to conceal. By villany
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. Juch. 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
Of him that best could speak; for feature,
laming
[erva,

The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Min-
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:-

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,
And she alone were cold: Whereat, I, wretch!

* Sink into dejection.

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 ta
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 villanous. Being thes
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 brace
let,

(0, cunning, how I got it!) nay, some marks
Of secret on her person, that he could not
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon,—
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 Posthumus, That kill'd thy daughter:-villain like, I lie; That caus'd a lesser villain than myself, A sacrilegious thief, to do't:-the temple Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.* Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set The dogs o'the street to bay me: every villajn Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus; and Be villany less than 'twas! O Imogen! My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen, Imogen, Imogen!

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:-0, 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;

[hence!

Thou gav'st me poison: dangerous fellow,
Breathe not where princes are.
Cym. The tune of Imogen!
Pis. Lady,

The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if
That box I gave you was not thought by me
A precious thing; I had it from the queen.
Cym. New matter still?

*Not only the temple of virtue, but virtue herself.