SCENE II.-The same.

Enter at one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman Army;
at the other side the British Army; LEONATUS POSTHUMUS
following it, like a poor Soldier. They march
over, and go out.
Alarums. Then enter again in skirmish, IACHIMO and POST-
HUMUS: he vanquisheth and disarmeth IACHIMO, and then
leaves him.

Iach. This 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,*
A very drudge of nature's, have subdued me,

In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, 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 ARVI

RAGUS.

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!

Enter POSTHUMUS, and seconds the Britons: 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.

Iach. "Tis their fresh supplies.

Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely or betimes Let's reinforce, or fly.

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.

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
Merely through fear; that the strait pass was damm'd
* Churi, peasant.

[Exeunt.

.

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 deserved

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

*

Stand;

Than those for preservation cased, or shame),†
Made good the passage; cried to those that fled,
Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men:
To darkness fleet, souls that fly backwards!
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'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,
The strides they victors made: and now our cowards
(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, chaced 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 a mockery? Here is one:
Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,
Preserved 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:

*Prisoner's base.

+ Modesty.

* Bugbears.

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.

Post. Still going ?-This is a lord! O noble misery!
To be i' the field, and ask, what news, of me!
To-day, how many would have given their honours
To have saved their carcasses? took heel to do't,
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 favourer 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 praised! 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 affront † with them.

1 Cap. So 'tis reported:

But none of them can be found.-Stand! who is there?
Post. A Roman,

Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds

Had answer'd him.

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.

[Exit.

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 rather
Groan so in perpetuity, than be cured

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,*
Desired, 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 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!

* Fetters.

Sici. Great Nature, like his ancestry,
Moulded the stuff so fair,

That he deserved 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 honour 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 dolours turn'd?

Sici. The 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, sitting upon an Eagle: he throws a Thunder-bolt. 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?

*The fool.