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As sense cannot untie Be what it is, The action of my life is like it, which I'll keep, if but for sympathy.

Re-enter Gaolers.

Cool. 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 specfators, the dish pays the shot.

Gal. 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 sadLess 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 heaviress: O! of this contradiction you shall now be quit.-0 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. Gool. 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 Fave 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 jumps the after-inquiry on your own perii: 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. Gool. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and bezet 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; 0, there were desolation of gaolers, and gallowses! I speak against ny present profit; but my wish hath a preferment [Exeunt.

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Cor.

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. Hail, great king. To sour your happiness, I must report The queen is dead. Cym. Whom worse than a physic.ar 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,
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 eflected: 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 Britons have razed out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made
suit

That their good souls maybe appeas'dwithslaughter
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 ransom, let it come: sutliceth,
A Roman with a Roman's heart can sufler:

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 high

ness

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

Cym.

I have surely seen him:
His favor is familiar to me.-
Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
And art mine own.-I know not why, nor where-
fore,

To say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master: 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.

Luc.

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

What wouldst thou, boy? I love thee more and more; think more and more What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? speak,

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

Ay, with all my heart,

Am something nearer.
Cym.
Wherefore ey'st him so
so?
Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please
To give me hearing.
Cym.
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 revived 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 honor, 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?

[Aside. Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say, How came it yours?

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 villany

I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel;

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 daughte For whom my heart drops blood and my false spints Quail to remember,-Give me leave; I faint.

Cym. My daughter! what of her! Renew thy strength:

I had rather thou shouldst 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 The mansion where!) 'twas a feast, (0, would Our viands had been poison'd! or, at least, Those which I heav'd to head!) the good Posthú

mus,

(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
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva
Postures beyond brief nature: for condition,
A shop of all the qualities that man
Loves women 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 wouldst 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, 1, wretch!
Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him
Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore
Upon his honor'd finger, to attain

In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring
By her's and mine adultery: he, true knight,
No lesser of her honor 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 villanous. 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,
(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 forwar
Italian fiend!-Ah me, most credulous tool,
Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
That's due to all the villains past, in being,
To come!-0, 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 of the earth amend,
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
That kill'd thy daughter:-villain-like, 1 be
That caus'd a lesser villain than myself,
A sacrilegious thief, to do't: the temple

Whom thou didst banish; and (which more may Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.

grieve thee,

Ready, dexterous.

Corntenance.

Sink into dejection.

Not only the temple of virtue, but virtue he self

SCENE V.

CYMBELINE.

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The tune of Imogen!

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

Imo.

Cor.

It poison'd me.

O gods!I left out one thing which the queen confess'd, Which must approve thee honest: If Pisanio Have, said she, given his mistress that confection Which I gave him for a cordial, she is serv'd As I would serve a rat. Cym. What's this, Cornelius? Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importun'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. Gui.

My boys,

This is sure, Fidele.

Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from
you?

Think, that you are upon a rock; and now
Throw me again.

Post.

Till the tree die! Cym.

[Embracing him.
Hang there like fruit, my soul,

How now, my flesh, my child?
What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act?
Wilt thou not speak to me?

Imn.

Your blessing, sir. [Kneeling.

Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blaine

you not;

You had a motive for't.

[To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS.
My tears that fall,

Cym.
Prove holy-water on thee! Imogen,
Thy mother's dead.
Imo.
I am sorry for't, my lord.
Cym. O, she was naught; and 'long of her it was,
That we meet here so strangely: But her son
Is gone, we know not how nor where.
Pis.

My lord,

Now fear is from me, I'll speak truth. 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 see her on the mountains near to Milford;
Where, in a frenzy, in iny master's garments,
Which he enforced from me, away he posts
With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate
My lady's honor: what became of him,
I further know not.
Gui.

I slew him there.

Let me end the story:

•Mix, compound.

Cym.

Marry, the gods forefend !5
I would not thy good deeds should from my lip
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 mut
Endure our law: Thou art dead.
That headless man

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And take him from our presence.
Bel.
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.
Why, old soldier,
Cym.
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 three:
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.

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First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;
And let it be confiscate all, so soon
As I have receiv'd it.

Nursing of my sons?
Cym.
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.
How! my issue'
Cym.
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 punishmat
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 shaped
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.

Thou weep'st, and speak'st. Cym. 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 pan of worthier sons.

• Forbid.

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Hath to it circumstantial branches, which Distinction should be rich in.6-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-dependencies,
From chance to chance; but nor the time, nor place,
Will serve long interrogatories. See,
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen;

And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
On him, her brothers, me, her master; hitting
Each object with 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 mc,
To see this gracious season.
Cym.
All o'erjoyed,
Save these in bonds: let them be joyful too,
For they shall taste our comfort.

Imo.

I will yet do you service.

Luc.

My good master,

Happy be you!

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

Post.

I am, sir,

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

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

Rome,

Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought,
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back.

Appear'd to me, with other sprightly shows?
Of mine own kindred: when I waked, I tound
This label on my bosom; whose containing
Is so from sense and hardness, that I can
Make no collection of it; let him show
His skill in the construction.
Luc.

Sooth. Here, my good lord.
Luc.

Philarmonus,

Read, and declare the meaning.

Sooth. [Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, withinit seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air; and wher from a stately cedar shall be lopp'd branches, which being dead many years, shall after revive, be jiantea to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty.

Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
The tit and apt construction of thy name,
Being Leo-natus, doth import so much:
The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
[To CYMBELINE
Which we call mollis aër; and mollis air
We term it mulier: which mulier I divine,
Is this most constant wife; who, even now,
Answering the letter of the oracle,
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd3 about

With this most tender air.
Cym.

This hath some seeming
Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point
Thy two sons forth: who, by Belarius stolen,
For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd,
Promises Britain peace and plenty.
To the majestic cedar join'd; whose issue

Cym.

Well, My peace we will begin :-And, Caius Lucius, And to the Roman empire; promising Although the victor, we submit to Cæsar, To pay our wonted tribute, from the which We were dissuaded by our wicked queen; Whom heavens, in justice, (both on her and hers,} Have laid most heavy hand.

Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune The harmony of this peace. The vision Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant Is full accomplish'd: For the Roman eagle, From south to west on wing soaring aloft, Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle, The imperial Cæsar, should again unite His favor with the radiant Cymbeline, Which shines here in the west.

Cym. Laud we the gods. And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostris From our bless'd altars! Publish we this peace To all our subjects. Set we forward: Let A Roman and a British ensign wave Friendly together: so through Lud's town march: And in the temple of great Jupiter Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.Set on there:-Never was a war did cease, Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace

A SONG,

[Exeunt

SUNG BY GUIDERIUS AND ARVIRAGUS OVER FIDELE. SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD.

BY MR. WILLIAM COLLINS.

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb,
Soft maids and village hinds shall bring
Each opening sweet, of earliest bloom,
And rifle all the breathing spring.

No wailing ghost shall dare appear
To vex with shrieks his quiet grove;
But shepherd lads assemble here,
And melting virgins own their love.
་ Ghostly appearances.
• Embracot

No wither'd witch shall here be seen,
No goblins lead their nightly crew:
The female fays shall haunt the green,
And dress thy grave with pearly dew.

The red-breast oft at evening hours
Shall kindly lend his little ait,
With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers,

To deck the ground where thou art luid

When howling winds, and beating rain,
In tempests shake the sylvan cell;
Or midst the chase on every plain,
The tender thought on thee shall dwell,

Each lonely scene shall thee restore;
For thee the tear be duly shed:
Belon'd, till life coua charm no more;
And mourr`d, till pity's self be dead.

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