Bel.

I had no mind
To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness
Did make my way long forth.
Gui.
With his own sword,
Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en
His head from him: I'll throw't into the creek
Behind our rock; and let it to the sea,
And tell the fishes he's the queen's son, Cloten:
That's all I reck.3
[Exit.
Bel.
I fear, 'twill be revenged:
'Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't! though
valor

Becomes thee well enough.
Arv.

'Would I had done't, So the revenge alone pursued me!-Polydore, I love thee brotherly; but envy much, Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would, revenges, That possible strength might meet, would seek us through,

And put us to our answer.

Well, 'tis done:

Bel. We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger Where there's no profit. I pr'ythee, to our rock; You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him To dinner presently.

Arv.

Poor sick Fidele'

I'll willingly to him: To gain his color, I'd let a parish of such Clotens' blood," And praise myself for charity.

[Exit.

Bel.
O thou goddess,
Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
As zephyrs, blowing below the violet,
Not wagging his sweet head: and yet as rough,
Their royal blood enchafed, as the rud'st wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him stoop to the vale. "Tis wonderful,

That an invisible instinct should frame them
To royalty unlearn'd; honor untaught;
Civility not seen from other; valor,

That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
As if it had been sow'd! Yet still it's strange
What Cloten's being here to us portends;
Or what his death will bring us.

How found you him? Arv.

Stark, as you see:

Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at: his right cheek

Answer'd my steps too loud.
Gui.

Why, he but sleeps
If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed;
With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
And worms will not come to thee.
Arv.
With fairest flowers,
Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack
The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor
The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the rudduck would,
With charitable bill, (O bill, sore-shaming
Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a monument!) bring thee all this;
Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are
none,

To winter-ground thy corse.
Gui.

Pr'ythee, have done, And do not play in wench-like words, with that Which is so serious. Let us bury him,

And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt.-To the grave.

Arv.

Say, where shall's lay him! Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. Arv.

Be't so: And let us, Polydore, though now our voices Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the

ground,

As once our mother; use like note, and words, Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

I cannot sing: 'I'll weep, and word it with thee:
Gui. Cadwal,

For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse
Than priests and fanes that lie.

Arv.

We'll speak it, then. Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less: lor

Cloten

Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys:
And, though he came our enemy, remember,
He was paid for that: Though mean and mighty,

rotting

Together, have one dust; yet reverence
(That angel of the world) doth make distinction
Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely:
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him as a prince.

Gui.

'Pray you, fetch him hither. Thersites' body is as good as Ajax, When neither are alive.

Arv.

If you'll go fetch him. We'll say our song the whilst.--Brother, begin. Exit BELARITS Gui Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the

east:

My father hath a reason for't.

Arv.

'Tis true.

So,-begin

Gui. Come on then, and remove him. Arv.

SONG.

Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta`en thy wages.
Golden lads and girls all must.
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe, and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Gui. Fear no more the lightning flash,
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Gui. Fear not slander, censure1 rash;
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must

Consign to thee, and come to dust.

Gui. No exorciser harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have ;

And renowned be thy grave!

Re-enter BELARIUS, with the Body of CLOTEN. Gui. We have done our obsequies: Come, lay

him down.

thither?

Ods pittikins 13-can it be six miles yet?

I have gone all night:-'Faith, I'll lie down and sleep.

But, soft, no bedfellow :-0, gods and goddesses!
[Seeing the Body.
These flowers are like the pleasures of the world;
This bloody man, the care on't.-I hope I dream;
For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper,

And cook to honest creatures: But 'tis not so;
'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing.
Which the brain makes of fumes: Our very eyes
Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good

faith,

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 headless 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 faceMurder 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!-0, Posthumus! alas,
Where is thy head! where's that? Ah me! where's
that!

Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
And let this head on.-How should this be? Pi-
sanio?

Tis he, and Cloten: malice and lucre in them
Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, preg-
nant !7

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: 0!--
Gave color to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may seem to those
Which chance to find us: 0, my lord, my lord!

Enter LUCIUS, a Captain, and other Officers, and a Soothsayer.

Cap. To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia, 'Judgment. 2 Seal the same contract. This diminutive adjuration is derived from God's my pty.

4 An arrow. Lawless, licentious.

A face like Jove's.
Tis a ready apposite conclusion.

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
And on it said a century of prayers,
his grave,
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,
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,
The boy hath taught us manly duties: Let us
And make him with our pikes and partizans
A grave: Come, arm him.--Boy, he is preferr'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.

• Her fingers.

[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;

A madness, of which her life's in danger:-
Heavens,

How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,
The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen
Upon a desperate bed; and in a time
When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,
So needful for this present: It strikes me, past
The hope of comfort.-But for thee, fellow,
Who needs must know of her departure, and
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
By a sharp torture.
Pis.

Sir, my life is yours:

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.
Cum.

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.9

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 note2 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.

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. Bel. Sons, We'll higher to the mountains; there secure s 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 renders Where we have liv'd; and so extort from us That which we've done, whose answer would be death

Drawn on with torture.

Gui.

This is, sir, a doubt, In such a time, nothing becoming you, Nor satisfying us. Arv. It is not likely, That when they hear the Roman horses neiga, 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,
Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore
him

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.

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 ashamed To look upon the holy sun, to have The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining So long a poor unknown. Gui.

By heavens, I'll go: If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, I'll take the better care; but if you will not, The hazard therefore due fall on me, by The hands of Romans!

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 he: Lead, lead. The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn, ¡Asie. Till it fly out, and show them princes born.

[Exeun.

SCENE I-A Field between the British and Ro

man Camps.

Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody Handkerchief. Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wish'd

Thou shouldst be color'd thus. You married ones,
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
Confounded by a variety of business. Encounter.
Notice.
Deviating from the right way.

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
0: these Italian weeds, and suit myself
As does a Briton peasant: so l'll fight
Against the part I come with; so I'll die

For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
1s, 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 valor in me, than my habits show.
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. [Exit.

SCENE II.-The sume.

Enter at one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman Army; at the other side, the British Army; LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following it, like a poor Sellier. They march over, and go out. Alarums. Then enter again in skirmish, LACHIMO 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,s A very drudge of nature's, have subdued me, In my profession? Knighthoods and honors, borne 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; 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 us, but
The villany of our fears.

Gui. Arv.

Stand, stand, and fight!

SCENE III-Another Part of the Field.
Enter POSTHUMUS and a British Lord.

Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the
stand?
Post.
I did:

Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.

I did.

Lord. Post. No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost, But that the heavens fought: The king himself Whis wings destitute, the army broken, And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying Through a straight 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 path was damm'd9

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

Lord. Where was this lane?

Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd and wall'd with turf;

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 cased, 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,

Three thousand confident, in act as many,
(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'e
A distaff to a lance,) gilded pale looks,

Part, shame, part, spirit renew'd; that some turn'c 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 of 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 cowardi
(Like fragments in hard voyages) became
The life o' the need; having found the back-door
open

Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!
Some, slain before; some, dying; some, their friends
O'erborne i' the former wave: ten, chased 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 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, 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 have sav'd their carcasses? took heels to do't,
To-day, how many would given their honors
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 him:

For being now a favorer to the Roman,
No more a Briton, I have resumed 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 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: 'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels, 2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit. That gave the affronts with them.

1 Cap.

So 'tis reported: But none of them can be found.-Stand! who is there?

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,4
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 'tís 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?

J died whilst in the womb he stay'd,
Attending Nature's law.

Whose father then (as men report,

Thou orphans' father art)

Thou shouldst 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 mock'd, To be exiled 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?

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 honor to maintain."

1 Bro. Like hardiment, Posthúmus 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 dolors 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, sit ting upon an Eagle; he throws a Thunderbolt. 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 weli 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 contine; 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 His radiant roof:-Away! and to be blest, Let us with care perform his great behest.

[Ghosts onnist

Post. [Waking.] Sleep, thou hast been a grand-
sire, and begot

A father to me: and thou hast created
A mother and two brothers: But (0 scorn!)
Gone! they went hence so soon as they were born.
And so I am awake.-Poor wretches that depend
On greatness' favor, 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 favors; so am 1,
That have this golden chance, and know not why-
What fairies haunt this ground? A book! 0, rare
one!

Be not, as in our fangled world, a garment
Nobler than that 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 lopped branches, which, being dead many years, shall after revive, de jomlet to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shad Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be for tundle and flourish in peace and plenty.

'Tis still a dream; or else such stuff as ma imen Tongue, and brain not either both, ar noll ing; Or senseless speaking, or a speaking sucă