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. 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. 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: With such integrity, she did confess For you a mortal mineral; which, being took, VICIOUS, To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter! Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that That their good souls maybe appeas'dwithslaughter Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods Augustus lives to think on't: And so much 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: To say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master: live: Imo. Imo. 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? Ay, with all my heart, Am something nearer. Bel. Peace, peace! see further, he eyes us not; forbear: Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure But we saw him dead. [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: Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may render 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 For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast Cym. I stand on fire: (Most like a noble lord in love, and one 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 In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring That all the abhorred things of the earth amend, 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. The tune of Imogen! The gods throw stones of sulphur at me, if 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 Do their due functions.-Have you ta'en of it? There was our error. Gui. My boys, This is sure, Fidele. Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from Think, that you are upon a rock; and now Post. Till the tree die! Cym. [Embracing him. How now, my flesh, my child? 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. Cym. My lord, Now fear is from me, I'll speak truth. Lord Cloten, With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and swore, If I discover'd not which way she was gone, I had a feigned letter of my master's To see her on the mountains near to Milford; I slew him there. Let me end the story: •Mix, compound. Cym. Marry, the gods forefend !5 Gui. A most uncivil one: The wrongs he did me I am sorry for thee: And take him from our presence. (To the Guard. In that he spake too far. We will die all three: First pay me for the nursing of thy sons; Nursing of my sons? 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. 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 she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye 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, As you did mean indeed to be our brother; Post. Your servant, princes.-Good my lord of Rome, Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought, Appear'd to me, with other sprightly shows? Sooth. Here, my good lord. 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; With this most tender air. This hath some seeming 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, No wailing ghost shall dare appear No wither'd witch shall here be seen, The red-breast oft at evening hours To deck the ground where thou art luid When howling winds, and beating rain, Each lonely scene shall thee restore; |