Murd'rous to th' fenfes ? that confirms it home:
This is Pifanio's deed, and Cloten's. Oh!
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,"
That we the horrider may feem to those
Which chance to find us. Oh, my Lord! my
SCENE VII.
Enter Lucius, Captains, and a Soothsayer. Cap. To them, the legions garrifon'd in Gallia After your will, have crofs'd the sea, attending You here at Milford-Haven, with your fhips: They are in readiness.
Luc. But what from Rome?
Cap. The Senate hath stirr'd up the confiners.
And gentlemen of Italy, moft willing spirits,
That promife noble service: and they come
Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
Syenna's brother.
Luc. When expect you them?
Cap. With the next benefit o' th' wind.
Luc. This forwardness
Makes our hopes fair. Command our prefent numbers
Be mufter'd, bid the captains look to't. Now, Sir,
[To the Soothsayer.
What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's purpofe?
Sootb. Laft very night the Gods fhew'd me a vifion;
(I fafting pray'd for their intelligence)
I faw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing
From th' fpungy fouth, to this part of the weft,
There vanish in the fun-beams, which portends
(Unless my fins abuse my divination)
Succefs to th' Roman hoft.
And never false.-Soft, ho, what trunk is here,
Without his top? the ruin fpeaks, that fometime
It was a worthy building. How! a page!
Or dead, or fleeping on him: but dead rather
For nature doth abhor to make his couch
With the defunct, or fleep upon the dead.
Let's fee the boy's face.
Cap. He's alive, my Lord.
Luc. He'll then inftruct us of this body. Young one Inform us of thy fortunes, for it feems
They crave to be demanded: who is this
Thou mak'ft thy bloody pillow? who was he
That, otherwife than noble nature did it,
Hath alter'd that good picture? what's thy interest
In this fad wreck? how came it, and who is it?
What art thou ?
Imo. I am nothing; or if not,
Nothing to be, were better. This was my mafter,
A very valiant Briton, and a good,
That here by mountaineers lyes flain: alas!
There are no more fuch mafters: I may wander
From eaft to occident, cry out for fervice,
Try many, all good, ferve them truly, never
Find fuch another mafter.
Luc. 'Lack, good youth!
Thou mov'ft no less with thy complaining, than
Thy mafter bleeding: fay his name, good friend.
Imo. Richard du Camp. If I do lie, and do
No harm by it, though the Gods hear, I hope
They'll pardon't. Say you, Sir P
Luc. Thy name?
Imo. Fidele.
Luc. Thou doft approve thy felf the very fame;
Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name.
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not fay
Thou shalt be fo well master'd, but be fure
No lefs belov'd. The Roman Emperor's letters
Sent by a Conful to me should no fooner
Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with me.
Imo. I'll follow, Sir. But firft, an't please the Gods, I'll hide my mafter from the flies as deep.
As thefe poor pickaxes can dig: and when
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' ftrew'd his grave And on it faid a century of pray'rs,..
(Such as I can,) twice o'er, I'll weep and figh, And leaving fo his fervice follow you to
So please you entertain me.
Luc. Ay, good youth,
And rather father thee, than mafter thee.
The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us
Find out the prettieft dazied-plot we can,
And make him with our pikes and partizans
A grave; come, arm him: boy, he is preferr'd
By thee to us, and he fhall be interr'd
As foldiers can. Be chearful, wipe thine eyes.
Some falls are means the happier to arife.
Enter Bellarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.
Guid. The noife is round about us.
Bel. Let us from it.
Aru. What pleasure, Sir, find we in life, to lock it From action and adventure?
Guid. Nay, what hope,
Have we in hiding us? this way the Romans
Muft or for Britons flay us, or receive us
For barb'rous and unnatural revolters
During their use, and flay us after.
We'll higher to the mountains, there fecure us.
To the King's party there's no going; newness
Of Cloten's death, we being not known nor muster'd
Among the bands may drive us to a render
Where we have liv'd: and fo extort from us
That which we've done, whofe anfwer would be death
Drawn on with torture,
Guid. This is, Sir, a doubt
(In fuch a time) nothing becoming you,
Nor fatisfying us.
Arv. It is not likely,
That when they hear the Roman horfes neigh,
Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes
And ears fo cloy'd importantly as now,
That they will wafte their time upon our note
To know from whence we are.
Bel. Oh, I am known
Of many in the army; many years,
Though Cloten then but young, (you fee,) not wore him
From my remembrance. And befides, the King
That is, Take him up in your arms.
Hath not deferv'd my fervice, nor your loves;
Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
The certainty of this hard life, aye hopeless
To have the courtefie your cradle promis'd,
But to be ftill hot fummer's tanlings, and
The fhrinking flaves of winter.
Better to cease to be. Pray, Sir, to th' army;
I and my brother are not known; your felf
So out of thought, and thereto fo o'er-grown,
Cannot be question'd.
Arv. By this fun that shines,
I'll thither; what thing is it, that I never
Did fee man die, fcarce ever look'd on blood,
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venifon?
Never beftrid a horfe fave one, that had
A rider like my felf who ne'er wore rowel,
Nor iron on his heel? I am afham'd
To look upon the holy fun, to have
The benefit of his bleft beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.
Guid. By heav'ns, I'll go ;
If you will blefs 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!
Aru. So fay I, Amen!
Bel. No reafon I, fince of your lives you fet So flight a valuation, fhould referve
My crack'd one to more care.
If in your country wars you chance to die,
That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lye.
Lead, lead; the time feems long, their blood thinks fcorn,
'Till it flie out, and fhew them Princes born.
A Field between the British and Roman Camps. Enter Pofthumus with a bloody handkerchief. Poft.EA, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wifht Thou should't be colour'd thus, You married ones,
If each of you would take this course, how many
Muft murder wives much better than themfelves
For wrying but a little? oh Pifanin!·
Every good fervant does not all commands ;
No bond, but to do just ones.
Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never
Had liv'd to put on this; fo had you faved
The noble Imogen to repent, and ftruck
Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But alac,
You fnatch fome hence for little faults; that's love
To have them fall no more; you fome permit
To fecond ills with ills, each worfe than other,
And make them dreaded, to the doers thrift.
But Imogen's your own: do your beft wills,
And make me bleft t' obey! I am brought hither
Among th' Italian gentry, and to fight
Against my Lady's Kingdom; 'tis enough
That, Britain, I have kill'd thy miftrefs: Peace,
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heav'ns,
Hear patiently my purpofe. I'll difrobe me
Of thefe Italian weeds, and fuit my felf
As do's a Briton peafant; fo I'll fight
Against the part I come with; fo I'll die
For thee, O Imogen, for whom my life.
Is every breath a death; and thus not known,
Pitied, or hated, to the face of peril
My felf I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me, than my habit fhews;
Gods, put the ftrength o' th' Leonati in me!
To fhame the guife o' th' world, I will begin,
The fashion, lefs without, and more within.
Eater Lucius, Iachimo, and the Roman army at one door
and the British army at another: Leonatus Pofthumus
following like a poor Soldier. They march over, and go
out. Then enter again in fkirmish Iachimo, and Poft-
humus; be vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo, and
then leaves him.
lach. The heavinefs and guilt within my bofom
Takes off my manhood; I've bely'd a Lady,
The Princefs of this country; and the air on't
VOL. VIII.
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