Posthumus.
^{4 note}Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wisht,
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? Oh, 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 ne'er

Had liv'd ^{5 note}to put on this; so had you sav'd
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, ^{6 note}

But Imogen's your own. ^{8 note}


Do your best wills,
And make me blest 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 mistress. Peace!
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heav'ns,
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, not 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' th' Leonati in me!
To shame the guise o' th' world, I will begin
The fashion. Less without, and more within. [Exit. Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and the Roman army at one door; and the Britain army at another; Leonatus Posthumus following the British like a poor soldier. They march over, and go out. 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've bely'd a lady,
The Princess of this country; and the air on't
Revengingly enfeebles me, or could this carle,
A very drudge of nature, have subdu'd me
In my profession? Knighthoods and Honours born
As I wear mine are titles but of scorn.
If that thy gentry, Britain, go before

This lowt, 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 th' advantage of the ground;
That lane is guarded; nothing routs us, but
The villany of our fears.

Guid. 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-inforce, or fly. [Exeunt.

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