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
Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself
As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight
Against the part I come with; so I'll die
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
Is, 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 same.

Enter at one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman Army; at the other sile, the British Army; LEONATUS POSTHUMCS following it, like a poor Sellier. They march over, and go out. Alarums. Then enter again in skirmish. LACHIMO and POSTHUMOS; 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;

Stand, stand, and fight!

The lane is guarded: nothing routs us, but
The villany of our fears.
Gui. Arv.
Enter POSTHUMUS, an 1 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. [Exeunt.

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 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,
• Clown.

• Blocked up. A country game called prison-bars, vulgarly prisonbusa

Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men:
To darkness fleet, souls that fly backwards! Stand;
Or we are Romans, an Lwill give you that
Like beasts, which you an beastly; and may save,
But to look back in frown: stand, stund.-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, (0, 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 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, 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:
Preservil the Britons, was the Romans' bane.
Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,
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 mrde to do,

I know he'll quickly tly 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 affront3 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 answered him.

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 a Bug-bears, terrors. Encounter.

Ay, or a stomach. Exeunt Gaolers.

Post. Most welcome bondage! for thou art a way, I think, to liberty: Yet I am 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,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 '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 POST-
HUMUS, with Music before them. Then, after
other Music, follow the two young Leonati, Bro-
thers 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 Posthumus 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, 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 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, sitting 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 well 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 confine; 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 vanish. Post. [Waking.] Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot

A father to me: and thou hast created
A mother and two brothers: But (O 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 I,

That have this golden chance, and know not why.-
What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O, 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, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty.

"Tis still a dream; or else such stuff as madmen Tongue, and brain not either both, or nothing; Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such

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.

Gaol. 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 spectators, the dish pays the shot.

Gaol. 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 sadness 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 heaviness: O! of this contradiction you shall now be quit.-O 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. Gaol. 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 have 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 peril: 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. Gaol. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and beget 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 ali of one mind, and one mind good; O, there were desolation of gaolers, and gallowses! I speak against my present profit; but my wish hath a preferment in't. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.-Cymbeline's Tent.
Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRA-
GUS, PISANIO, Lords, Officers, and Attendants.
Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods
have made

Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart,
That the poor soldier, that so richly fought,
Whose rags shamed gilded arms, whose naked
breast

Stepp'd before targes of proof, cannot be found:
He shall be happy that can find him, if
Our grace can make him so.

Bel.

I never saw Such noble fury in so poor a thing; Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought But beggary and poor looks. Cym. No tidings of him? Pis. He hath been search'd among the dead and living, But no trace of him. Cym.

To my grief I am

Cor.

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 titted 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 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,
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; POSTIUMUS 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: sufficeth,
A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer: