Though his humour

Can we set eye on, but in all safe reason
He must have some attendants.
Was nothing but mutation,-ay, and that
From one bad thing to worse,-not frenzy, not
Absolute madness could so far have raved,
To bring him here alone: although, perhaps,

It may be heard at court, that such as we
Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time

May make some stronger head; the which he hearing,
(As it is like him,) might break out, and swear
He'd fetch us in; yet is 't not probable

To come alone, either he so undertaking,

Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear,

If we do fear this body hath a tail

More perilous than the head.

Arv. Let ordinance

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 enchafed, as the rudest 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.

Re-enter GUIDErius.

Gui. Where's my brother?

I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,
In embassy to his mother: his body 's hostage
For his return.

[Exit.

[Solemn music.

Bel. My ingenious instrument! Hark, Polydore, it sounds! but what occasion Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark! Gui. Is he at home?

Bel. He went hence even now.

Gui. What does he mean? since death of my dear'st mother

It did not speak before. All solemn things
Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?
Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys,

Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys.

Is Cadwal mad?

Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, bearing IMOGEN, as dead, in his

arms.

Bel. Look, here he comes,

And brings the dire occasion in his arms, Of what we blame him for!

Are. 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.

His arms thus leagued: I thought he slept; and put 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.
Arr. 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; nor
The azured harebell, 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. Pr'ythee, 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.

Gui. Cadwal,

I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee;

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.

Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.

Are. If you'll go fetch him,

We'll say our song the whilst.-Brother, begin.

[Exit BELARIOS.

Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east; My father hath a reason for 't.

Are. 'Tis true.

SONG.

Gui. "Fear no more the heat o' the sun,

Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust."

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."

Gui. "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."

Gui. "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!"

Re-enter BELARIUS, with the body of CLOTEN. Gui. We have done our obsequies: come, lay him

down.

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 herblets shall, which we upon you strow.Come on, away: apart upon our knees. The ground that gave them first has them again: Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.

[Exeunt BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. Imo. Awaking.] Yes, Sir, to Milford-Haven; which is the way?

I thank you.-By yon bush?-Pray, how far thither? 'Ods pittikins! can it be six miles yet?

Good faith,

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, 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. 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 wake, it is Without me, as within me; not imagined, 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 faceMurder in heaven!-How?-'Tis gone.-Pisanio, All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou, Conspired with that irregulous devil, Cloten, Hast here cut off my lord.-To write and read Be henceforth treacherous!-Damn'd Pisanio Hath with his forgèd letters,-damn'd PisanioFrom this most bravest vessel of the world Struck the main-top!-0 Posthumus! alas, Where is thy head? where's that? 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

Ah me! where's

[that?

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

Murderous to the senses? That confirms it home:
This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O!-
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may seem to those
Which chance to find us. O, my lord, my lord!
Enter LUCIUS, a Captain, and other Officers, and a
Soothsayer.

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.

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.

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 shew'd me a vision,
(I fast and pray'd for their intelligence,) thus:-
I 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 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
Thou 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?

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 may wander
From east to occident, cry out for service,
Try many, all good, serve truly, never
Find such another master.

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-[Aside. If I do lie, and

No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope
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 beloved. The Roman emperor's letters, Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with me.

[do

SCENE III-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

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 ashamed
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 on your lives you set So slight a valuation, should reserve

1 Lord. So please your majesty,

The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,

Are landed on your coast; with a supply

Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent.

Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and queen!-

I am amazed with matter.

1 Lord. Good my liege,

Your preparation can affront no less

Than what you hear of: come more, for more you're

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 shew them princes born. [Exeun

ACT V.

We fear not

Cym. I thank you. Let's withdraw; And meet the time, as it seeks us. What can from Italy annoy us; but We grieve at chances here.-Away!

[Exeunt.

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; Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd.

Roman Camps.

Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody handkerchief Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wish'd Thou shouldst 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 lived to put on this: so had you saved The noble Imogen to repent; and struck Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. 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,

But, alack,

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 shew.
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.

SCENE II.-The same.

[Exit

Enter at one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman army: at the other side, the British army: LEONATTS POSTHUMUS following it, like a poor soldier. They march over and go out. Alarums. Then enter again in skirmish, IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS: 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 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. [Erit
The battle continues; the Britons fly; CYMBELINE

taken, then enter, to his rescue, BELARIUS, GUIDE
RIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.

Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the The lane is guarded: nothing routs us, but ground; The villany of our fears

Gui. Arv. Stand. stand, and fight!

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,-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 Than those for preservation cased, or shame,) Made good the passage; cried to those that ffed, "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

Stand;

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,

[coward

Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some, turn'd
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 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 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:
For if he'll do, as he is made to do,

I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too.

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.

Had answer'd 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
Captains present PоSTHUMUS to CYMBELINE, who
delivers him over to a Jailer; after which, all go
out.

SCENE IV.-BRITAIN. A Prison.
Enter POSTHUMUS and two Jailers.

1 Jail. You shall not now be stolen, you have locks So, graze as you find pasture. [upon you; [Exeunt Jailers.

2 Jail. Ay, or a stomach. 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
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

[me

'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 LEO-
NATUS, 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, shew
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 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 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 dolours 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.

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 contine; And so, away: no further with your din Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. Sici. He came in thunder; his celestial breath Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle Stoop'd, as to foot us: his ascension is

[Ascends.

More sweet than our bless'd fields: his royal bird Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, As when his god is pleased.

And yet are steep'd in favours; 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 is 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] Whenas a lion's whelp shall, to himself un known, 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 Jailers.

Jail. Come, Sir, are you ready for death? Post. Over-roasted rather: ready long ago. Jail. 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.

Jail. A heavy reckoning for you, Sir: but the comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments, eart 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: 0, 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.

Jail. Indeed, Sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache; 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.

Jail. 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 jump the after-inquiry on your own peril: and how you -hall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll never retura 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.

Jail. 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.

Jail. I'll be hang'd then.

Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a jailer; no bolts for the dead. [Exeunt POSTHUMUS and Mess. Jail. 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 all of one mind, and one mind good; 0, there were desolation of jailers, and gallowses! | I speak against my present profit; but my wish hath a preferment in 't. [Exeunt.