Of Cloten's death (we being not known, not muster'd
Among the bands) may drive us to a render
Where we have liv'd; and so extort from 's that

Which we have done, whose answer would be death
Drawn on with torture.

That when they hear the Roman horses neigh",
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.

Gui.
Than be so,
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 't, 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

3 THE Roman horses neigh,] The old folios have their for "the;" probably, but not necessarily, an error of the press: "their" runs through all the folios.

A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel,
Nor iron, on his heel? I am asham'd

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 of 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 lie:

Lead, lead.-[Aside.] The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn,

Till it fly out, and show them princes born.

[Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I.

A Field between the British and Roman Camps.

Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody Handkerchief.

Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wish'd Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married ones, If each of you should take this course, how many Must murder wives much better than themselves,

6 for I wish'd] "For I am wish'd" in the editions before that of Pope. Perhaps "I am wish'd" ought to be taken for "I have wish'd;" one auxiliary verb being used instead of another.

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
Had liv'd to put on this': so had you saved

The noble Imogen to repent, and struck

Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But, alack !
You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love,
To have them fall no more: you some permit
To second ills with ills, each elder worse;
And make them dread it, to the doer's thrift.
But Imogen is your own: do your best wills,

And make me bless'd to obey!—-I am brought hither
Among the Italian gentry, and to fight

Against my lady's kingdom: 'tis enough
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 valour 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.

put on is to incite or instigate. See

"Of deaths put on by cunning."

• And make them dread it, to the doer's thrift.] This obscure line has occasioned dispute; but Monck Mason seems to have best given the sense of the original words, (from which some of the commentators have varied) when he says that they mean, "Some you snatch from hence for little faults; others you suffer to heap ills on ills, and afterwards make them dread their having done so, to the eternal welfare of the doers."

SCENE II.

The Same.

Enter at one Side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman Army: at the other Side, the British Army; LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following like a poor Soldier. They march over and go out. Alarums. Then enter again in skirmish, IACHIMO 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,
A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd 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 ARVIRAGUS.

Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the

ground.

The lane is guarded: nothing routs us, but

The villainy of our fears.

Gui. Arv.

Stand, stand, and fight!

9 - or could this CARL,] "Carl" and churl seem to have been the same word, and both derived from the Saxon ceorl, or from the Gothic karl. It means a rustic or clown, and it is so used by Chaucer. We have had carlot in Vol. iii. p. 70.

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.

[Exeunt.

Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely: or betimes

Let's re-enforce, 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.

Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.

Lord.

I did;

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 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,