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 in

terest

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

|

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

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.

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
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 highness,

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.
For Cloten,—

There wants no diligence in seeking him,
And will, no doubt, be found.

Cym. The time's troublesome : We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy [To Pisanio.

Does yet depend.

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 amaz'd with matter.

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.

[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

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 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
To look upon the holy sun, to have
The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.

If

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!

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.

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! 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 re-enforce, 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 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 fall

ing

Merely through fear; that the straight 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 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, 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'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!
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,
Preserv'd 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.
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-day, how many would have given their ho

nours

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

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 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.

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.

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; BELlarius, GuiDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, and Roman Captives. The Captains present POSTHUMUS to CYMBELINE, who delivers him over to a Gaoler; after which, all go out.

SCENE IV.-A prison.

Enter POSTHUMUS, and 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 ;
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

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.
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!

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 exil'd, and thrown

From Leonati' seat, and cast

From her his dearest one,
Sweet Imogen?

Siei. 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 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 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. 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

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? 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' favour, 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 favours; so am I,
That have this golden chance, and know not why.
What fairies haunt this ground? A book? Ö,
rare one!

Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
Nobler than 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 him