His head from him. I'll throw it into the creek Behind our rock; and let it to the sea,
And tell the fishes, he's the queen's son, Cloten : That's all I reck.
Bel. I fear 'twill be reveng'd:
Might easiliest harbour in?-Thou blessed thing! Jove knows what man thou might'st have made; but !, Thou died'st, a most rare boy, of melancholy!How found you him?
'Would, Polydore, thou had'st not done't! though va-Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,
Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
As zephyrs, blowing below the violet,
Not wagging his sweet head: and yet as rough,
Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful,
That an invisible instinct should frame them
To royalty unlearn'd; honour untaught;
Civility not seen from other; valour,
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
As if it had been sow'd! Yet still it's strange,
What Cloten's being here to us portends;
Or what his death will bring us.
Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at: his right check Reposing on a cushion.
Gui. Where?
Arv. O'the floor;
His arms thus leagu'd: I thought, he slept and pat My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness Answer'd my steps too loud.
Gui. Why, he but sleeps:
If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed;
With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
And worms will not come to thee.
Arv. With fairest flowers,
Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack
The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; Bor
The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would,
With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming
Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a monument!) bring thee all this;
Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
To winter-ground thy corse!
Gui. Pry'thee have done!
And do not play in wench-like words with that
Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt.-To the grave!
Arv. Say, where shall's lay him?
Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother.
Arv. Be't so!
And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground,
As once our mother; use like note, and words,
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.
I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with the: For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse Than priests and fanes that lie.
Arv. We'll speak it then.
Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less; for Cloten Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys: And, though he came our enemy, remember, He was paid for that: though mean and mighty,'rotting. Together, have one dust; yet reverence, (That angel of the world,) doth make distinction Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely; And though you took his life, as being our foe, Yet bury him as a prince.
Gui. Pray you, fetch him hither."! Thersives' body is as good as Ajax,
Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, bearing IMOGEN, as dead, in When neither are alive!
Bel. Look, here he comes,
And brings the dire occasion in his arms, Of what we blame him for!
Arv. The bird is dead,
That we have made so much on. I had rather Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty, To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch, Than have seen this.
Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily!
My brother wears thee not the one half so well, As when thou grew'st thyself.
Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare
Arv. If you'll go fetch him,
We'll say our song the whilst.-Brother, begin!
Arv. Fear no more the frown o'the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe, and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Gai. Fear no more the lightning flash, Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash: Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan; Both. All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust. Gai. No exorciser harm thee! Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee! Arv.. Nothing ill come near thee! Both. Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!
Cap. To them, the legions garrison'd in Gallia,
After your will, have cross'd the sea: attending
You here at Milford-Haven, with your ships:
They are here in readiness.
Bel. Here's a few flowers; but about midnight, more. The herbs, that have on them cold dew o'the night, Are strewings fitt'st for graves.-Upon their faces :You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so These herb'lets shall, which we upon you strow.-Come on, away! apart upon your knees. The ground, that gave them firs, has them again: Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.
Luc. But what from Rome?
Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners,
And gentlemen of Italy; most willing spirits,
That promise noble service; and they come
Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
Sienna's brother.
[Exeunt Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. Imo. [Awaking.] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven! Which is the the way?
I thank you!-By yon bush?-Pray, how far thither?
'Ods pittikins! can it be six miles yet?
I have gone all night. -'Faith, I'll lie down and sleep.
But, soft! no bedfellow! - O, gods and goddesses!
[Seeing the body.
These flowers are like the pleasures of the world;
This bloody man the care on't. I hope, I dream;
For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper,
Luc. When expect you them?
Cap. With the next benefit o'the wind.
Luc. This forwardness
Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers
Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't.- Now, sir,
What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's purpose?
Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a vision:
(I fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence,) Thus : —
saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
From the spongy south to this part of the west,
There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends,
(Unless my sins abuse my divination,)
Success to the Roman host.
Luc. Dream often so,
And cook to honest creatures: but 'tis not so;
"Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes
Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
I tremble still with fear: but if there be
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity,
As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!
The dream's here still: even when I make, it is
Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
A headless man!-The garments of Posthumus!
I know the shape of his leg: this is his hand;
His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh:
The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face-
And never false. - Soft, ho! what trunk is here,
Without his top? The ruin speaks, that sometime
It was a worthy building. How! a page!-
Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead, rather:
For nature doth abhor to make his bed
With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.-
Let's see the boy's face.
Cap. He is alive, my lord!
Luc.He'll then instruct us of this body.-Young one,
Inform us of thy fortunes; for it seems,
They crave to be demanded: Who is this.
Thon mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he,
That, otherwise than noble nature did,
Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest
In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it?
What art thou?
Murder in heaven? How?-'tis gone!-Pisanio,
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
Hast here cut off my lord.-To write, and read,
Be henceforth treacherous!-Damn'd Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters,- damn'd Pisanio-
From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the main-top!-O Posthumus! alas,
Where is thy head? where's that? Ah me! where's
Imo. I am nothing: or if not, Nothing to be were better. This was my master, A very valiant Briton, and a good, That here by mountaineers lies slain:- alas! There are no more such masters: I From cast to occident, cry out for service, Try many, all good, serve truly, never Find such another master.
Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
And left this head on.- How should this be? Pisanio?
'Tis he, and Cloten: malice and lucre in them
Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it
Murd'rous to the senses? That confirms it home:
This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's! O!-
Luc. 'Lack, good youth! Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend! Imo. Richard du Champ. If I do lie, and do No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope [Aside They'll pardon it. Say you, sir?
Luc. Thy name?
Imo. Fidele,
Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same: Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name. Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say, Thou shalt be so well master'd; but be sure, No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters, Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
the gods, Than thine own worth prefer thee. Go with me! I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep As these poor pickaxes can dig: and when With wild wood-leaves and weeds I have strew'd
And on it said a century of prayers,
Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep, and sigh,
And, leaving so his service, follow you,
So please you entertain me.
Luc. Ay, good youth!
And rather father thee, than master thee!-
My friends,
The boy hath taught us many duties. Let us
Find out the prettiest daizied plot we can,
And make him with our pikes and partisans
A grave: come, arm him!-Boy, he is prefer'd
By thee to us; and he shall be interr'd,
As soldiers can. Be cheerful! wipe thine eyes!
Some falls are means the happier to arise! [Exeunt.
A room in CYMBELINE's palace.
Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, and PISANIO.
Cym. Again! and bring me word, how 'tis with her!
A fever with the absence of her son;
A madness, of which her life's in danger:- Heavens,
How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,
The great part of my comfort, gone! my queen
Upon a desperate bed; and in a time,
When fearful wars point at me! her son gone,
So needful for this present! It strikes me, past
The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,
Who needs must know of her departure, and
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
By a sharp torture.
Pis. Sir, my life is yours,
I humbly set it at your will: but, for my mistress,
I nothing know where she remains, why gone,
Nor when she purposes return.
'Beseech your
Hold me your loyal servant!
1 Lord. Good my liege,
The day that she was missing, he was here.
I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform
All parts of his subjection loyally.
1 Lord. Good my liege,
Your preparation can affront no less,
Than what you hear of: come more, for more you're
ready:
The want is, but to put those powers in motion,
That long to move.
Cym. I thank you! Let's withdraw;
And meet the time, as it seeks us. We fear not
What can from Italy annoy us; but
We grieve at chances here.-Away!
Pis. I heard no letter from my master, since
I wrote him, Imogen was slain. 'Tis strange:
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise
To yield me often tidings: neither know I
What is betid to Cloten; but remain
Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work:
Wherein I am false, I am honest; not true, to be true.
These present wars shall find I love my country,
Even to the note o'the king, or I'll fall in them.
All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd:
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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 it, 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
A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel
Nor iron on his heel? I am asham'd
The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining
To look upon the holy sun, to have
So long a poor unknown.
Gui. By heavens, I'll go!
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 on 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! The time seems long; their blood
[Aside.
Till it fly out, and show them princes born. [Exeunt.
SCENE I. - A field between the British and Roman
Enter POSTпtts, 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 would take this course, how many
Must murder wives much better than themselves,
For wrying but a little!-0, 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 hea-
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!
Jach. 'Tis their fresh supplies.
Luc. It is a day turu'd strangely: or betimes
Let's re-enforce, or fly!
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,
Lord. I did.
it seems, come from the fliers.
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 straight pass was
With death 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 cas'd, or shame,)
Made good the passage; cry'd to those that fled,
Our Briton's harts die flying, not our men:
To darkness fleet, souls that fly backwards! Stand!
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,
Enter, at one side, Lucius, IACHIMO, and the Ro-Three thousand confident, in act as many,
man army; at the other side, the British army; (For three performers are the file, when all
LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following it, like a poor sol- The rest do nothing.) with this word, stand, stand,
dier. They march over, and go out. Alarums. Then Accommodated by the place, more charming,
enter again in skirmish, IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS; With their own nobleness, (which could have turn'
he vanquisheth and disarmeth IACHIMO, and then A distaff to a lance,) gilded pale looks,
leaves him.
Part, shame, part, spirit renew'd; that
coward
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.
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 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 [Exit. cowards
The battle continues; the Britons fly; CYMBELINE (Like fragments in hard voyages,) became is taken; then enter, to his rescue, BELARIUS, GUI- The life o'the need; having found the back-door
Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the
ground;
The lane is guarded: nothing routs us, but
The villainy of our fears.
Gui. et 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.
Of the unguarded hearts, Heavens, how they wound!
Some, slain before; some, dying; some, their friends
O'er-borne i'the former wave: ten, chac'd 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!
made
Post. Nay, do not wonder at it! You are
Rather to wonder at the things you hear,
Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't,
Post. Still going?-This is a lord! O noble sery!
To be i'the field, and ask, what news, of me!
To-day, how many would have given their honours
To have sav'd 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 gioan;
Nor feel him, where he struck: being an ugly mon-
ster,
'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 re-sum'd 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 Romans; great the answer be
Britons must take: for me, my ransome'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 affront with them.
Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent?
I cannot do it better, than in gyves,
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 pow-
If you will take this audit, take this life, And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen! I'll speak to thee in silence. Solemn music. Enter, as an apparition, SICILIUS LEONATUS, father to POSTHUMUs, an old Man, at tired 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
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 should'st have been, and shielded him From this earth-vexing smart.
But none of them can be found. Stand! who is Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid,
Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds
Had answer'd him.
2 Cap. Lay hands on him; a dog!
A leg of Rome shall not return to tell
But took me in my throes;
That from me was Posthúmus ript,
Came crying 'mongst his foes,
A thing of pity!
Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry,
Moulded the stuff so fair,
What crows have peck'd them here: he brags his That he deserv'd the praise o'the world, service
As if he were of note: bring him to the king!
Enter CYMBELINE, attended; BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS,
ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, and Roman Captives. The
Captains present POSTHUMUS to CYMBELINE, who de-
livers him over to a Gaoler; after which, all
SCENE IV.-A prison.
Enter POSTHUMUS, ant two Gaolers.
1 Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, you have locks upon you;
So graze, as you find pasture.
2 Gaol. Ay, or a stomach.
[Exeunt Gaolers. 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 cur'd
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;
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
eye of Imogen, that best
Could deem his dignity?
Moth. With marriage wherefore was he mock'd, To be exil'd, 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 taiut his nobler heart and brain
With needless jealousy;
And to become the geck and scorn
O'the other's villainy?
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 Posthumus hath To Cymbeline perform'd:
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