So, get you gone—if this penetrate, I will consider your musick the better: if it do not, it is a vice in her ears; which horse-hairs, and cats-guts, nor the voice of unpav'd eunuch to boot, can never amend.

2 Lord.

Here comes the King.

Clot.

I am glad I was up so late, for that's the reason I was up so early: he cannot chuse but take this service I have done, fatherly. Good-morrow to your majesty, and to my gracious mother.

Cym.
Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?
Will she not forth?

Clot.

I have assail'd her with musicks, but she vouchsafes no notice.

Cym.
The exile of her minion is too new.
She hath not yet forgot him: some more time
Must wear the print of his remembrance out,
And then she's yours.

Queen.
You are most bound to th' King,
Who lets go by no vantages, that may
Prefer you to his daughter. Frame your self
To orderly solicits; and befriended
With aptness of the season, make denials
Encrease your services; so seem, as if
You are inspir'd to do those duties which
You tender to her: that you in all obey her,
Save when command to your dismission tends,
And therein you are senseless.

Clot.
Senseless? not so. Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
So like you, Sir, ambassadors from Rome;
The one is Caius Lucius.

Cym.
A worthy fellow,
Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;

But that's no fault of his: we must receive him
According to the honour of his sender;
And towards himself, his goodness fore-spent on
We must extend our notice: our dear son,
When you have giv'n good-morning to your mistress,
Attend the Queen and us; we shall have need
T' employ you towards this Roman. Come, our Queen. [Exeunt. SCENE IV.

Clot.
If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
Let her lye still, and dream. By your leave ho!
I know her women are about her—what
If I do line one of their hands?—'tis gold
Which buy admittance, oft it doth, yea makes
Diana's rangers false themselves, and yield
Their deer to th' stand o'th' stealer: and 'tis gold
Which makes the true man kill'd, and saves the thief;
Nay, sometimes hangs both thief and true-man: what
Can it not do, and undo? I will make
One of her women lawyer to me, for
I yet not understand the case my self.
By your leave. [knocks. Enter a Lady.

Lady.
Who's there that knocks?

Clot.
A gentleman.

Lady.
No more?

Clot.
Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.

Lady.
That's more
Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours,
Can justly boast of: what's your lordship's pleasure?

Clot.
Your lady's person, is she ready?

Lady.
Ay, to keep her chamber.

Clot.
There is gold for you, sell me your good report.

Lady.
How, my good name? or to report of you
What I shall think is good? The princess— Enter Imogen.

Clot.
Good-morrow fairest, sister your sweet hand.

Imo.
Good-morrow, Sir; you lay out too much pains
For purchasing but trouble: the thanks I give
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,
And scarce can spare them.

Clot.
Still I swear I love you.

Imo.
If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me:
If you swear still, your recompence is still
That I regard it not.

Clot.
This is no answer.

Imo.
But that you shall not say I yield, being silent,
I would not speak. I pray you spare me, faith
I shall unfold equal discourtesie
To your best kindness: one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

Clot.
To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin,
I will not.

Imo.
Fools are not mad folks.

Clot.
Do you call me fool?

Imo.
As I am mad I do:
If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad,
That cures us both. I am much sorry, Sir,
You put me to forget a lady's manners
By being so verbal: and learn now for all,
That I who know my heart, do here pronounce
By th' very truth of it, I care not for you:
And am so near the lack of charity
T' accuse my self, I hate you: which I had rather

You felt, than make my boast.

Clot.
You sin against
Obedience, which you owe your father; for
The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
(One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes,
With scraps o'th' court,) it is no contract, none:
And though it be allow'd in meaner parties,
(Yet who than he more mean?) to knit their souls
On whom there is no more dependency
But brats and beggary, in self-figur'd knot;
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement, by
The consequence o'th' crown, and must not foil
The precious note of it with a base slave,
A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth,
A pantler; not so eminent.

Imo.
Prophane fellow!
Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more
But what thou art besides, thou wert too base
To be his groom: thou wert dignify'd enough,
Ev'n to the point of envy, if 'twere made
Comparative for your virtues to be stil'd
The under hangman of his realm; and hated
For being preferr'd so well.

Clot.
The south-fog rot him!

Imo.
He never can meet more mischance, than come
To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment
That ever hath but clipt his body,'s dearer
In my respect, than all the hairs above thee,
Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio? Enter Pisanio.

Clot.
His garment? now the devil.

Imo.
To Dorothy, my woman, hye thee presently.

Clot.
His garment?

Imo.
I am sprighted with a fool,
Frighted, and angred worse—go bid my woman
Search for a jewel, that too casually
Hath left mine arm—it was thy master's. Shrew me
If I would lose it for a revenue
Of any king in Europe. I do think
I saw't this morning; confident I am,
Last night 'twas on my arm; I kissed it.
I hope it be not gone, to tell my lord
That I kiss ought but him.

Pis.
'Twill not be lost.

Imo.
I hope so; go and search.

Clot.
You have abused me—his meanest garment?—

Imo.
Ay, I said so, Sir,
If you will make't an action, call witness to't.

Clot.
I will inform your father.

Imo.
Your mother too;
She's my good lady; and will conceive, I hope,
But the worst of me. So I leave you, Sir,
To th' worst of discontent. [Exit.

Clot.
I'll be reveng'd;
His meanest garment?—well. [Exit. SCENE V. ROME. Enter Posthumus, and Philario.

Post.
Fear it not, Sir; I would I were so sure
To win the king, as I am bold her honour
Will remain hers.

Phi.
What means do you make to him?

Post.
Not any, but abide the change of time,
Quake in the present winter's state, and wish
That warmer days would come; in these fear'd hopes
Ibarely gratifie your love; they failing,
I must die much your debtor.

Phi.
Your very goodness, and your company,
O'er-pays all I can do. By this, your king
Hath heard of great Augustus; Caius Lucius
Will do's commission throughly. And I think
He'll grant the tribute; send th' arrearages,
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in their grief.

Post.
I do believe,
(Statist though I am none, nor like to be,)
That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
The legion now in Gallia, sooner landed
In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
Are men more order'd than when Julius Cæsar
Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage
Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline
Now mingled with their courages, will make known
To their approvers, they are people such
As mend upon the world. SCENE VI. Enter Iachimo.

Phi.
See Iachimo.

Post.
Sure the swift harts have posted you by land;
And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails,
To make your vessel nimble.

Phi.
Welcome, Sir.

Post.
I hope the briefness of your answer, made
The speediness of your return.

Iach.
Your lady,
Is of the fairest I e'er look'd upon.

Post.
And therewithal the best, or let her beauty
Look through a casement to allure false hearts,
And be false with them.

Iach.
Here are letters for you.

Post.
Their tenure good, I trust.

Iach.
'Tis very like.

Post.
Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court,
When you were there?

Iach.
He was expected then,
But not approach'd.

Post.
All is well yet.
Sparkles this stone as it was wont, or is't not
Too dull for your good wearing?

Iach.
If I've lost it,
I should have lost the worth of it in gold;
I'll make a journey twice as far, Penjoy
A second night of such sweet shortness, which
Was mine in Britain, for the ring is won.

Post.
The stone's too hard to come by.

Iach.
Not a whit,
Your lady being so easie.

Post.
Make not, Sir,
Your loss your sport; I hope you know that we
Must not continue friends.

Iach.
Good Sir, we must,
If you keep covenant; had I not brought
The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant
We were to question farther; but I now

Profess my self the winner of her honour,
Together with your ring; and not the wronger
Of her, or you, having proceeded but
By both your wills.

Post.
If you can make't apparent
That you have tasted her in bed; my hand,
And ring is yours. If not, the foul opinion
You had of her poor honour, gains, or loses
Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both
To who shall find them.

Iach.
Sir, my circumstances
Being so near the truth, as I will make them,
Must first induce you to believe; whose strength
I will confirm with oath, which I doubt not
You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find
You need it not.

Post.
Proceed.

Iach.
First, her bed-chamber,
(Where I confess I slept not, but profess
Had that was well worth watching) it was hang'd
With tapestry of silver and silk; the story
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
And Cidnus swell'd above the banks or for
The press of boats, or pride: a piece of work
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
In workmanship, and value; which I wonder'd
Could be so rarely and exactly wrought,
Since the true life on't was—

Post.
This is true;
And this you might have heard of here, by me,
Or by some other.

Iach.
More particulars
Must justifie my knowledge.

Post.
So they must,
Or do your honour injury.

Iach.
The chimney
Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece
Chast Dian, bathing; never saw I figures
So likely to report themselves; the cutter
Was as another nature dumb, out-went her,
Motion and breath left out.

Post.
This is a thing
Which you might from relation likewise read;
Being, as it is, much spoke of.

Iach.
The roof o'th' chamber
With golden cherubims is fretted. Her andirons,
(I had forgot them) were two winking Cupids
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
Depending on their brands.

Post.
This is her honour;
Let it be granted you have seen all this,
Praise be to your remembrance, the description
Of what is in her chamber nothing saves
The wager you have laid.

Iach.
Then if you can [Pulling out the Bracelet.
Be pale, I beg but leave to air this jewel: see!—
And now 'tis up again; it must be married
To that your diamond. I'll keep them.

Post.
Jove!—
Once more let me behold it: Is it that
Which I left with her?

Iach.
Sir, I thank her, that:
She strip'd it from her arm, I see her yet,
Her pretty action did out-sell her gift,
And yet enrich'd it too; she gave it me,
And said she priz'd it once.

Post.
May be, she pluck'd it off
To send it me.

Iach.
She writes so to you? doth she?

Post.
O no, no, no, 'tis true. Here take this too,
It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
Kills me to look on't: let there be no honour,
Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; love,
Where there's another man. The vows of women
Of no more bondage be, to where they're made,
Then they are to their virtues, which is nothing;
O, above measure false!—

Phi.
Have patience, Sir,
And take your ring again: 'tis not yet won;
It may be probable she lost it; or
Who knows, one of her women, being corrupted,
Might stoln it from her.

Post.
Very true,
And so I hope he came by't; back my ring,
Render to me some corporal sign about her
More evident than this; for this was stole.

Iach.
By Jupiter, I had it from her arm.

Post.
Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.
'Tis true—nay keep the ring—'tis true; I'm sure
She could not lose it; her attendants are
All honourable; they induc'd to steal it!
And by a stranger!—no, he hath enjoy'd her.
The cognizance of her incontinency
Is this: sh'hath bought the name of whore thus dearly.
There, take thy hire, and all the fiends of hell
Divide themselves between you.

Phi.
Sir, be patient;
This is not strong enough to be believ'd,
Of one persuaded well of—

Post.
Never talk on't;
She hath been colted by him.

Iach.
If you seek
For further satisfying; under her breast,
Worthy the pressing, lyes a mole, right proud
Of that most delicate lodging. By my life
I kist it, and it gave me present hunger
To feed again, though full. You do remember
This stain upon her?

Post.
Ay, and it doth confirm
Another stain, as big as hell can hold,
Were there no more but it.

Iach.
Will you hear more?

Post.
Spare your arithmetick.
Count not the turns: once, and a million!

Iach.
I'll be sworn—

Post.
No swearing:
If you will swear you have not done't, you lie.
And I will kill thee if thou dost deny
Thou'st made me cuckold.

Iach.
I'll deny nothing.

Post.
O that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal;
I will go there and do't i'th' court, before
Her father—I'll do something— [Exit.

Phi.
Quite besides
The government of patience! you have won;
Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath
He hath against himself.

Iach.
With all my heart. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII. Enter Posthumus.

&plquo;Post.
&plquo;Is there no way for men to be, but women
&plquo;Must be half-workers? we are bastards all,
&plquo;And that most venerable man which I
&plquo;Did call my father, was I know not where,
&plquo;When I was stampt. Some coyner with his tools
&plquo;Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seem'd
&plquo;The Dian of that time; so doth my wife
&plquo;The non-pareil of this—Oh vengeance, vengeance!
&plquo;Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd,
&plquo;And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with
&plquo;A pudency so rosie, the sweet view on't
&plquo;Might well have warm'd old Saturn—that I thought her
&plquo;As chaste, as unsunn'd snow. Oh, all the devils!
&plquo;This yellow Iachimo in an hour—was't not?—
&plquo;Or less; at first? perchance he spoke not, but
&plquo;Like a full-acorn'd boar, ^{a note}a-churning on,
&plquo;Cry'd oh! and mounted; found no opposition
&plquo;But what he look'd for should oppose, and she
&plquo;Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
&plquo;The woman's part in me—for there's no motion
&plquo;That tends to vice in man, but I affirm
&plquo;It is the woman's part; be't lying, note it,
&plquo;The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
&plquo;Lust, and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
&plquo;Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
&plquo;Nice-longings, slanders, mutability:
&plquo;All faults that may be nam'd, nay that hell knows,
&plquo;Why hers, in part, or all; but rather all—for even to vice
&plquo;They are not constant, but are changing still;
&plquo;One vice, but of a minute old, for one

&plquo;Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
&plquo;Detest them, curse them—yet 'tis greater skill
&plquo;In a true hate, to pray they have their will;
&plquo;The very devils cannot plague them better. [Exit. ACT III. SCENE I. Cymbeline's Palace. Enter in state, Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, and lords at one door; and at another, Caius Lucius and attendants.

Cymbeline.
Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with us?

Luc.
When Julius Cæsar, (whose remembrance yet
Lives in mens eyes, and will to ears and tongues
Be theme, and hearing ever) was in Britain,
And conquer'd it, Cassibelan thine uncle
(Famous in Cæsar's praises, no whit less
Than in his feats deserving it) for him
And his succession, granted Rome a tribute,
Yearly three thousand pounds; which by thee lately
Is left untender'd.

Queen.
And, to kill the marvail,
Shall be so ever.

Clot.
There be many Cæsars,
Ere such another Julius: Britain is
A world it self, and we will nothing pay
For wearing our own noses.

Queen.
That opportunity

Which then they had to take from's, to resume
We have again. Remember, Sir my liege,
The kings your ancestors; together with
The nat'ral brav'ry of your isle, which stands
As Neptune's park ribbed and paled in
With oaks unskaleable, and roaring waters,
With sand that will not bear your enemies boats,
But suck them up to th' top-mast. A kind of conquest
Cæsar made here, but made not here his brag
Of, came, and saw, and overcame: With shame,
(The first that ever touch'd him) he was carried
From off our coast, 'twice beaten; and his shipping,
(Poor ignorant baubles,) on our terrible seas,
Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd
As easily 'gainst our rocks. For joy whereof,
The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point
(Oh giglet fortune!) to master Cæsar's sword,
Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright,
And Britains strut with courage.

Clot.

Come, there's no more tribute to be paid. Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no more such Cæsars; other of them may have crook'd noses, but to own such strait arms, none.

Cym.

Son, let your mother end.

Clot.

We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan, I do not say I am one; but I have a hand. Why tribute? Why should we pay tribute? if Cæsar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light; else, Sir, no more tribute, pray you now.

Cym.
You must know,
'Till the injurious Romans did extort
This tribute from us, we were free. Cæsar's ambition,
Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretch

The sides o'th' world, against all colour here
Did put the yoke upon's; which to shake off
Becomes a warlike people, (which we reckon
Our selves to be) to do. Say then to Cæsar,
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, who
Ordain'd our laws, whose use the sword of Cæsar
Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise,
Shall by the power we hold be our good deed,
Though Rome be therefore angry. That Mulmutius
Who was the first of Britain, which did put
His brows within a golden crown, and call'd
Himself a King.

Luc.
I'm sorry, Cymbeline,
That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar,
(Cæsar that hath more kings his servants, than
Thy self domestick officers) thine enemy.
Receive it from me then. War and confusion
In Cæsar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
For fury, not to be resisted. Thus defy'd,
I thank thee for my self.

Cym.
Thou'rt welcome, Caius,
Thy Cæsar knighted me; my youth I spent
Much under him: of him I gather'd honour,
Which he to seek of me again perforce,
Behooves me keep at variance. I am perfect,
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for
Their liberties, are now in arms: a precedent
Which not to read, would shew the Britains cold:
So Cæsar shall not find them.

Luc.

Let proof speak.

Clot.

His Majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day or two, or longer: if you seek us afterwards on other terms, you shall find us in our salt-water girdle: if you beat us out of it,

it is yours: if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the better for you; and there's an end.

Luc.

So, Sir.

Cym.
I know your master's pleasure, and he mine:
All the remain, is welcome. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Enter Pisanio reading a letter.

Pis.
How? of adultery? wherefore write you not
What monsters have accus'd her? Leonatus!
Oh master, what a strange infection
Is fall'n into thy ear? what false Italian,
As pois'nous tongu'd as handed, hath prevail'd
On thy too ready ear! Disloyal? no,
She's punish'd for her truth; and undergoes
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
As would take in some virtue. Oh my master!
Thy mind to her is now as low, as were
Thy fortunes. How? that I should murther her?
Upon the love and truth and vows, which I
Have made to thy command!—I her!—her blood!
If it be so to do good service, never
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
That I should seem to lack humanity,
So much as this fact comes to? Do't—the letter [Reading.
That I have sent her, by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity. Damn'd paper!
Black as the ink that's on thee: senseless bauble!
Art thou a fœdarie for this act; that look'st
So virgin-like without? Lo here she comes.

Enter Imogen.
I'm ignorant in what I am commanded.

Imo.
How now, Pisanio?

Pis.
Madam, here is a letter from my lord.

Imo.
Who! thy lord? that is my lord Leonatus:
Oh, learn'd indeed were that astronomer
That knew the stars, as I his characters:
He'd lay the future open. You good gods,
Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not
That we two are asunder; let that grieve him!
Some griefs are medicinable, that is one of them,
For it doth physick love of his content,
All but in that. Good wax, thy leave—blest be
You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers,
And men in dang'rous bonds pray not alike.
Though forfeitures you cast in prison, yet
You clasp young Cupid's tables: good news, gods! [Reading.

Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me; but you, oh the dearest of creatures, would even renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria at Milford-Haven: what your own love will out of this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your increasing in love,

Leonatus Posthumus.

Who long'st like me to see thy lord; who long'st,
(Oh let me bate) but not like me, yet long'st,
But in a fainter kind—oh not like me;
For mine's beyond, beyond—say, and speak thick;
Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing
To th'smoth'ring of the sense—how far it is
To this same blessed Milford? and by th' way
Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as
T'inherit such a haven. But first of all,
How may we steal from hence? and for the gap
That we shall make in time, from our hence going
Till our return, t' excuse—but first, how get hence?
Why should excuse be born or-ere begot?
Well talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee speak,
How many score of miles may we well ride
'Twixt hour and hour?

Pis.
One score 'twixt sun and sun,
Madam's enough for you: and too much too.

Imo.
Why, one that rode to's execution, man,
Could never go so slow: I've heard of riding wagers,
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
That run i'th' clock's behalf. But this is fool'ry.
Go, bid my woman feign a sickness, say
She'll home t'her father: and provide me present
A riding suit; no costlier than would fit
A Franklin's housewife.

Pis.
Madam, you'd best consider.

Imo.
I see before me, man, nor here nor here,
Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them,
That I cannot look thro'. Away, I pr'ythee,
Do as I bid thee; there's no more to say;
Accessible is none but Milford way. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. A Forest with a cave, in Wales. Enter Bellarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.

&plquo;Bell.
&plquo;A goodly day! not to keep house with such,
&plquo;Whose roof's as low as ours: see, boys! this gate
&plquo;Instructs you how t'adore the heav'ns; and bows you
&plquo;To morning's holy office. Gates of monarchs
&plquo;Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet through
&plquo;And keep their impious turbands on, without
&plquo;Good-morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heav'n!
&plquo;We house i'th' rock, yet use thee not so hardly
&plquo;As prouder livers do.

Guid.
Hail, heaven!

Arv.
Hail, heav'n!

&plquo;Bel.
&plquo;Now for our mountain sport, up to yond hill,
&plquo;Your legs are young: I'll tread these flats. Consider,
&plquo;When you above perceive me like a crow,
&plquo;That it is place which lessens and sets off;
&plquo;And you may then revolve what tales I told you,
&plquo;Of courts of princes, of the tricks in war,
&plquo;That service is not service, so being done,
&plquo;But being so allow'd. To apprehend thus,
&plquo;Draws us a profit from all things we see:
&plquo;And often to our comfort, shall we find
&plquo;The sharded beetle in a safer hold
&plquo;Than is the full-wing'd eagle. Oh this life,
&plquo;Is nobler than attending for a check;
&plquo;Richer, than doing nothing for a bauble;
&plquo;Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
&plquo;Such gain the cap of him that makes them fine,

&plquo;Yet keeps his book uncross'd; no life to ours.

&plquo;Guid.
&plquo;Out of your proof you speak; we poor unfledg'd
&plquo;Have never wing'd from view o'th' nest; nor know
&plquo;What air's from home. Hap'ly this life is best,
&plquo;If quiet life is best, sweeter to you
&plquo;That have a sharper known: well corresponding
&plquo;With your stiff age; but unto us, it is
&plquo;A cell of ign'rance; travelling a-bed,
&plquo;A prison, ^{a note}for a debtor that not dares
&plquo;To stride a limit.

&plquo;Arv.
&plquo;What should we speak of
&plquo;When we are old as you? when we shall hear
&plquo;The rain and wind beat dark December? how
&plquo;In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
&plquo;The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing,
&plquo;We're beastly; subtle as the fox for prey,
&plquo;Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat:
&plquo;Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage
&plquo;We make a choir, as doth the prison'd bird,
&plquo;And sing our bondage freely.

&plquo;Bel.
&plquo;How you speak!
&plquo;Did you but know the city's usuries,
&plquo;And felt them knowingly; the art o'th' court,
&plquo;As hard to leave, as keep; whose top to climb
&plquo;Is certain falling, or so slipp'ry that
&plquo;The fear's as bad as falling. The toil of war,
&plquo;A pain, that only seems to seek out danger
&plquo;I'th' name of fame and honour; which dies i'th' search,
&plquo;And hath as oft a sland'rous epitaph,
&plquo;As record of fair act; nay, many time
&plquo;Doth ill deserve, by doing well: what's worse,
&plquo;Must curt'sie at the censure. Oh boys, this story
The world may read in me: my body's mark'd

With Roman swords; and my report was once
First with the best of note. Cymbeline lov'd me,
And when a soldier was the theam, my name
Was not far off: then was I as a tree
Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But in one night,
A storm, or robbery, call it what you will,
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay my leaves,
And left me bare to weather.

Guid.
Uncertain favour!

Bel.
My fault being nothing, as I told you oft,
But that two villains (whose false oaths prevail'd
Before my perfect honour) swore to Cymbeline,
I was confed'rate with the Romans: so
Follow'd my banishment; and this twenty years,
This rock and these demesnes have been my world;
Where I have liv'd at honest freedom, pay'd
More pious debts to heaven, than in all
The fore-end of my time—but, up to th' mountains!
This is not hunters language; he that strikes
The venison first, shall be the lord o'th' feast;
To him the other two shall minister,
And we will fear no poison, which attends
In place of greater state:
I'll meet you in the valleys. [Exeunt boys.
  How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature?
These boys know little they are sons to th' king,
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think they're mine; tho' trained up thus meanly
Here in the cave, wherein their thoughts do hit
The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them
In simple and low things, to prince it, much
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydor,
(The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom

The king his father call'd Guiderius,) Jove!
When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell
The warlike feats I've done, his spirits fly out
Into my story: say, thus mine enemy fell,
And thus I set my foot on's neck—even then
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture
That acts my words—The younger brother Cadwall,
(Once Arviragus,) in as like a figure
Strikes life into my speech, and shews much more
His own conceiving. Hark, the game is rouz'd—
Oh Cymbeline! heav'n and my conscience know
Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon
At three, and two years old, I stole these babes,
Thinking to bar thee of succession, as
Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,
Thou wast their nurse, they take thee for their mother,
And every day do honour to her grave;
My self Belarius that am Morgan call'd,
They take for natural father. The game's up. [Exit. SCENE IV. Enter Pisanio and Imogen.

Imo.
Thou told'st me when we came from horse, the place
Was near at hand. Ne'er long'd my mother so
To see me first, as I have now—Pisanio,
Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind
That makes thee stare thus? wherefore breaks that sigh
From th' inward of thee? one but painted thus
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond self-explication. Put thy self
Into a 'haviour of less fear, ere wildness

Vanquish thy steadier senses—what's the matter?
Why offer'st thou that paper to me, with
A look untender? if't be summer news,
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that count'nance still. My husband's hand?
That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
And he's at some hard point. Speak, man; thy tongue
May take off some extremity, which to read
Would be ev'n mortal to me.

Pis.
Please you read,
And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
The most disdain'd of fortune. Imogen reads.

Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play'd the strumpet in my bed: the testimonies whereof lye bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises, but from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part thou Pisanio must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers; let thine own hands take away her life: I shall give thee opportunity at Milford-Haven. She hath my letter for the purpose; where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the Pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal.

&plquo;Pis.
&plquo;What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper
&plquo;Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander,
&plquo;Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
&plquo;Out-venoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath
&plquo;Rides on the posting winds, and doth belye
&plquo;All corners of the world. Kings, Queens, and states,
&plquo;Maids, matrons, nay the secrets of the grave
&plquo;This viperous slander enters. What chear, madam?

Imo.
False to his bed! what is it to be false?

&plquo;To lye in watch there, and to think on him?
&plquo;To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge nature,
&plquo;To break it with a fearful dream of him,
&plquo;And cry my self awake? that false to's bed!

Pis.
Alas, good lady!

Imo.
I false? thy conscience witness, Iachimo,
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency,
Thou then look'dst like a villain: now, methinks,
Thy favour's good enough. Some Jay of Italy
(Whose mother was her painting) hath betray'd him:
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion,
And for I'm richer than to hang by th' walls,
I must be ript: to pieces with me: oh,
Mens vows are womens traitors. All good seeming
By thy revolt, oh husband, shall be thought
Put on for villany: not born where't grows,
But worn, a bait for ladies.

Pis.
Madam, hear me—

&plquo;Imo.
&plquo;True honest men being heard, like false Æneas,
&plquo;Were in his time thought false: and Synon's weeping
&plquo;Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity
&plquo;From most true wretchedness. So thou Posthumus,
&plquo;Wilt lay the leven to all proper men;
&plquo;Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and perjur'd,
&plquo;From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest,
Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou seest him,
A little witness my obedience. Look!
I draw the sword my self, take it, and hit
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart;
Fear not, 'tis empty of all things, but grief;
Thy master is not there; who was indeed
The riches of it. Do his bidding, strike;
Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause,

But now thou seem'st a coward.

Pis.
Hence, vile instrument!
Thou shalt not damn my hand.

Imo.
Why, I must die;
And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
No servant of thy master's. 'Gainst self-slaughter
There is a prohibition so divine
That † ^notecravens my weak hand: come, here's my heart—
(Something's afore't—soft, soft, we'll no defence; [Opening her breast.)
Obedient as the scabbard!—What is here?
The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus,
All turn'd to heresie? away, away, [Pulling his letters out of her bosom.
Corrupters of my faith, you shall no more
Be stomachers to my heart: thus may poor fools
Believe false teachers: those that are betray'd
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe. And thou Posthumus,
That set my disobedience 'gainst the king,
And mad'st me put into contempt the suits
Of princely fellows; shalt hereafter find
It is no act of common passage, but
A strain of rareness: and I grieve my self,
To think, when thou shalt be dis-edg'd by her
Whom now thou tir'st on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me—Pr'ythee dispatch,
The lamb entreats the butcher. Where's the knife?
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
When I desire it too.

Pis.
O gracious lady!
Since I receiv'd command to do this business,
I have not slept one wink.

Imo.
Do't, and to bed then.

Pis.
I'll break mine eye-balls first.

Imo.
Ah wherefore then
Didst undertake it? why hast thou abus'd
So many miles, with a pretence? this place?
Mine action? and thine own? our horses labour?
The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court
For my being absent? whereunto I never
Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far
To be unbent? when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
Th' elected deer before thee?

Pis.
But to win time
To lose so bad employment, in the which
I have consider'd of a course; good lady,
Hear me with patience.

Imo.
Talk thy tongue weary, speak.
I've heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear
(Therein false struck) can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.

Pis.
Then, madam.
I thought you would not back again.

Imo.
Most like
Bringing me here to kill me.

Pis.
Not so neither;
But if I were as wise as honest, then
My purpose would prove well; it cannot be
But that my master is abus'd, some villain
And singular in his art, hath done you both
This cursed injury.

Imo.
Some Roman curtezan?

Pis.
No, on my life.
I'll give him notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody sign of it: for 'tis commanded
I should do so. You shall be miss'd at court,

And that will well confirm it.

Imo.
Why, good fellow;
What shall I do the while? where bide? how live?
Or in my life what comfort, when I am
Dead to my husband?

Pis.
If you'll back to th' court—

Imo.
No court, no father; nor no more ado
With that harsh, noble, simple nothing, Cloten:
Whose love-suit hath been to me
As fearful as a siege.

Pis.
If not at court,
Then not in Britain must you bide.

Imo.
Where then?
Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day? night?
Are they not but in Britain? i'th' world's volume
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it;
In a great pool a swan's nest. Pr'ythee think
There's living out of Britain.

Pis.
I'm most glad
You think of other place: th' Ambassador,
Lucius the Roman comes to Milford-Haven
To-morrow. Now, if you could wear a mind
Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise
That which t'appear it self, must not yet be,
But by self-danger; you should tread a course
Pretty, and full of view; yea haply near
The residence of Posthumus; so nigh, at least,
That though his action were not visible,
Report should render him hourly to your ear,
As truly as he moves.

Imo.
Oh! for such means,
(Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,)
I would adventure.

Pis.
Well then, here's the point:
&plquo;You must forget to be a woman, change
&plquo;Command into obedience; fear and niceness,
&plquo;(The handmaids of all women, or more truly
&plquo;Woman its pretty self,) to waggish courage,
&plquo;Ready in gybes, quick-answer'd, sawcy, and
&plquo;As quarrellous as the weazel: nay, you must
&plquo;Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
&plquo;Exposing it (but oh the harder heart,
&plquo;Alack, no remedy) to th' greedy touch
&plquo;Of common-kissing Titan; and forget
&plquo;Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
&plquo;You made great Juno angry.

Imo.
Nay, be brief:
I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already.

Pis.
First, make your self but like one.
Fore-thinking this, I have already fit,
('Tis in my cloak-bag) doublet, hat, hose, all
That answer to them. Would you in their serving,
And with what imitation you can borrow
From youth of such a season, before Lucius
Present your self, desire his service; tell him
Wherein you're happy, which will make him know,
If that his head have ear in musick, doubtless
With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable,
And doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad;
You have me rich, and I will never fail
Beginning, nor supply.

Imo.
Thou'rt all the comfort
The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee away.
There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even
All that good time will give us. This attempt

I'm soldier to, and will abide it with
A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee.

Pis.
Well, madam, we must take a short farewel.
Lest being miss'd, I be suspected of
Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress,
Here is a box, I had it from the queen,
What's in't is precious: if you're sick at sea,
Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
Will drive away distemper—to some shade,
And fit you to your manhood; may the gods
Direct you to the best!

Imo.
Amen: I thank thee. [Exeunt. SCENE V. The Palace of Cymbeline. Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords.

Cym.
Thus far, and so farewel.

Luc.
Thanks, royal Sir.
My Emperor hath wrote; I must from hence,
And am right sorry, that I must report ye
My master's enemy.

Cym.
Our subjects, Sir,
Will not endure his yoak; and for our self
To shew less soveraignty then they, must needs
Appear un-kinglike.

Luc.
So, Sir: I desire of you
A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.
Madam, all joy befal your grace; and you.

Cym.
My lords, you are appointed for that office;
The due of honour in no point omit:
So farewel, noble Lucius.

Luc.
Your hand, my lord.

Clot.
Receive it friendly; but from this time forth
I wear it as your enemy.

Luc.
Th'event
Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.

Cym.
Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,
'Till he have crost the Severn. Happiness! [Exit Lucius, &c.

Queen.
He goes hence frowning; but it honours us
That we have giv'n him cause.

Clot.
'Tis all the better,
Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

Cym.
Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor,
How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely,
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness;
The powers that he already hath in Gallia
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
His war for Britain.

Queen.
'Tis not sleepy business,
But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly.

Cym.
Our expectation that it should be thus
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,
Where is our daughter? she hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
The duty of the day. She looks as like
A thing more made of malice, than of duty;
We've noted it. Call her before us, for
We've been too light in sufferance.

Queen.
Royal Sir,
Since th' exile of Posthumus, most retir'd
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
'Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty,
Forbear sharp speeches to her. She's a lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes,
And strokes death to her.

Enter a Messenger.

Cym.
Where is she? how
Can her contempt be answer'd?

Mes.
Please you Sir,
Her chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer
That will be giv'n to th' loudest noise we make.

Queen.
My lord, when last I went to visit her,
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close,
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity,
She should that duty leave unpaid to you
Which daily she was bound to proffer; this
She wish'd me to make known; but our great court
Made me to blame in mem'ry.

Cym.
Her doors lock'd?
Not seen of late? grant heav'ns, that which I fear
Prove false! [Exit.

Queen.
Son, I say; follow the king.

Clot.
That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
I have not seen these two days. [Exit.

Queen.
Go, look after—
Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus!—
He hath a drug of mine; I pray, his absence
Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes
It is a thing most precious. But for her,
Where is she gone? haply despair hath seiz'd her;
Or wing'd with fervor of her love, she's flown
To her desir'd Posthumus; gone she is
To death, or to dishonour, and my end
Can make good use of either. She being down,
I have the placing of the British crown.

Re-enter Cloten.
How now, my son?

Clot.
'Tis certain she is fled.
Go in and cheer the king, he rages, none
Dare come about him.

Queen.
All the better; may
This night fore-stall him of the coming day! [Exit Queen.

Clot.
I love and hate her; for she's fair and royal,
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman; from each one
The best she hath, and she of all compounded
Out-sells them all. I love her therefore; but
Disdaining me, and throwing favours on
The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgment,
That what's else rare, is choak'd, and in that point
I will conclude to hate her, nay indeed
To be reveng'd upon her. For when fools— SCENE VI. Enter Pisanio.

Who is here? what are you packing, sirrah?
Come hither; ah you precious pandar, villain,
Where is thy lady? in a word, or else
Thou'rt straightway with the fiends.

Pis.
Oh, good my lord!

Clot.
Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter,
I will not ask again. Close villain,
I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?
From whose so many weights of baseness, cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.

Pis.
Alas, my lord,
How can she be with him? when was she miss'd?
He is in Rome.

Clot.
Where is she, Sir? come nearer;
No farther halting; satisfie me home,
What is become of her.

Pis.
Oh, my all-worthy lord!

Clot.
All-worthy villain!
Discover where thy mistress is, at once,
At the next word; no more of worthy lord.
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
Thy condemnation and thy death.

Pis.
Then, Sir,
This paper is the history of my knowledge
Touching her flight.

Clot.
Let's see't; I will pursue her
Even to Augustus' throne.

Pis.
Or this, or perish. [aside.
She's far enough, and what he learns by this,
May prove his travel, not her danger.

Clot.
Humh.

Pis.
I'll write to my lord she's dead. Oh, Imogen,
Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again.

Clot.

Sirrah, is this letter true?

Pis.

Sir, as I think.

Clot.

It is Posthumus's hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou would'st not be a villain, but to do me true service; undergo those employments wherein I should have cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is, what villany soe'er I bid thee do to perform it, directly and truly; I would think thee an honest man, thou shouldst neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment.

Pis.

Well, my good lord.

Clot.

Wilt thou serve me? for since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou can'st not in the course of gratitude but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serve me?

Pis.

Sir, I will.

Clot.

Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast any of thy late master's garments in thy possession?

Pis.

I have, my lord, at the lodging, the same suit hewore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.

Clot.

The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither; let it be thy first service, go.

Pis.

I shall, my lord.

Clot.

Meet thee at Milford-Haven? I forgot to ask him one thing, I'll remember't anon; even there, thou villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these garments were come. She said upon a time, (the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart,) that she held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect than my noble and natural person, together with the adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my back will I ravish her; first kill him, and in her eyes—there shall she see my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and when my lust hath dined, (which as I say, to vex her, I will execute in the cloaths that she so prais'd) to the court I'll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath despis'd me rejoycingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge.

Be those the garments?

Pis.

Ay, my noble lord.

Clot.

How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven?

Pis.

She can scarce be there yet.

Clot.

Bring this apparel to my chamber, that is the second thing that I have commanded thee. The third is, that thou wilt

be a voluntary mute to my design. Be but duteous, and true preferment shall tender it self to thee. My revenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to follow it! come and be true.

Pis.
Thou bidd'st me to my loss: for true to thee,
Were to prove false, which I will never be,
To him that is most true. To Milford go,
And find not her, whom thou pursu'st. Flow, flow,
You heav'nly blessings on her! this fool's speed
Be crost with slowness; labour be his meed! [Exit. SCENE VII. The Forest and Cave. Enter Imogen in boys cloaths.

Imo.
I see a man's life is a tedious one:
I've tired my self; and for two nights together
Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick,
But that my resolution helps me. Milford,
When from the mountain top Pisanio shew'd thee,
Thou wast within a ken. Oh Jove, I think
Foundations fly the wretched, such I mean,
Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me,
I could not miss my way. Will poor folks lie
That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
A punishment, or tryal? yes no wonder,
When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fullness
Is sorer, than to lye for need; and falshood
Is worse in kings, than beggars. My dear lord!
Thou'rt one o'th' false ones; now I think on thee,
My hunger's gone; but ev'n before, I was
At point to sink for food. But what is this? [Seeing the cave.
Here is a path to't—'tis some savage hold;

'Twere best not call; I dare not call; yet famine,
Ere it clean o'er-throw nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty and peace breeds cowards, hardness ever
Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who's here?
If any thing that's civil, speak; if savage,
Take, or lend—ho! no answer? then I'll enter.
Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy
But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
Grant such a foe, good heav'ns! [She goes into the cave. Enter Bellarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.

Bel.
You Polidore have prov'd best woodman, and
Are master of the feast; Cadwal and I
Will play the cook, and servant, 'tis our match:
The sweat of industry would dry, and die
But for the end it works to. Come, our stomachs
Will make what's homely savo'ry; weariness
Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth
Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be here,
Poor house, that keep'st thy self!

Guid.
I'm throughly weary.

Arv.
I'm weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.

Guid.
There is cold meat i'th' cave, we'll brouze on that
Whilst what we've kill'd be cook'd.

Bel.
Stay, come not in— [Looking in.
But that it eats our victuals, I should think
It were a Fairy.

Guid.
What's the matter, Sir?

Bel.
By Jupiter an Angel! or if not,
An earthly paragon. Behold divineness
No elder than a boy. Enter Imogen.

Imo.
Good master, harm me not;
Before I enter'd here, I call'd, and thought

T' have begg'd, or bought, what I have took: good troth
I have stoln nought, nor would not, though I'd found
Gold strew'd i'th' floor. Here's mony for my meat,
I would have left it on the board so soon
As I had made my meal: and parted thence
With prayers for the provider.

Guid.
Mony, youth?

Arv.
All gold and silver rather turn to dirt!
As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those
Who worship dirty gods.

Imo.
I see you're angry:
Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
Have dy'd, had I not made it.

Bel.
Whither bound?

Imo.
To Milford-Haven.

Bel.
What's your name?

Imo.
Fidele, Sir; I have a kinsman, who
Is bound for Italy: he'embark'd at Milford,
To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
I'm faln in this offence.

Bel.
Pr'ythee, fair youth,
Think us no churls; nor measure our good minds
By this rude place we live in. Well-encounter'd!
'Tis almost night, you shall have better cheer
Ere you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it.
Boys, bid him welcome.

Guid.
Were you a woman, youth,
I should wooe hard, but be your groom in honesty;
I bid for you, as I do buy.

Arv.
I'll make't my comfort
He is a man; I'll love him as my brother:
And such a welcome as I'd give to him,
After long absence, such is yours. Most welcome!

Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends.

Imo.
'Mongst friends? [aside.
If brothers, would it had been so, that they
Had been my father's sons; then had my prize
Been less, and so more equal ballasting
To thee, Posthumus.

Bel.
He wrings at some distress.

Guid.
Would I could free't!

Arv.
Or I, whate'er it be,
What pain it cost, what danger; gods!

Bel.
Hark, boys. [Whispering.

Imo.
Great men,
That had a court no bigger than this cave,
That did attend themselves, and had the virtue
Which their own conscience seal'd them; laying by
That nothing-gift of differing multitudes,
Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me gods,
I'd change my sex to be companion with them,
Since Leonatus is false.

Bel.
It shall be so:
Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. Fair youth come in;
Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we've supp'd
We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story,
So far as thou wilt speak.

Guid.
I pray draw near.

Arv.
The night to th' owl, and morn to th'lark, less welcome! [Exeunt.* ^note

SCENE VIII. 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;
Madness, of which her life's in danger; heav'ns!
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 force it from thee
By a sharp torture.

Pis.
Sir, my life is yours,
I 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.

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 is troublesome;
We'll slip you for a season, but our jealousie
Do's yet depend.

Lord.
So please your majesty,
The Roman legions all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your coast, with large supply
Of Roman Gentlemen, by th' senate sent.

Cym.
Now for the counsel of my son and queen:
I am amaz'd with matter.

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 these 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
To yield me often tidings. Neither know I
What is betide to Cloten, but remain
Perplext in all. The heavens still must work;
Wherein I'm false, I'm honest; not true, to be true.
These present wars shall find I love my country,
Ev'n to the note o'th' 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. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I. The Forest.

Enter Cloten alone.

I am near to th' place where they should meet, if Pisanio have mapp'd it truly. How fit his garments serve me! why should his mistress, who was made by him that made the tailor, not be fit too? the rather, (saving reverence of the word,) because 'tis said, a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must play the workman, I dare speak it to my self, for it is vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer in his own chamber; I mean, the lines of my body are as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong, not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike conversant in general services, and more remarkable in single oppositions; yet this imperseverant thing loves him in my despight. What mortality is! Posthumus, thy head which is now growing upon thy shoulders, shall within this hour be off, thy mistress enforc'd, thy garments cut to pieces before thy face; and all this done, spurn her home to her father, who may, happily, be a little angry for my so rough usage; but my mother having power of his testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. My horse is ty'd up safe: out sword, and to a sore purpose! fortune put them into my hand; this is the very description of their meeting place, and the fellow dares not deceive me.

SCENE II. Enter Bellarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, and Imogen, from the cave.

Bel.
You are not well: remain here in the cave,
We'll come t'you after hunting.

Arv.
Brother, stay here:
Are we not brothers?

Imo.
So man and man should be,
But clay and clay differs in dignity,
Whose dust is both alike. I'm very sick.

Guid.
Go you to hunting, I'll abide with him.

Imo.
So sick I am not, yet I am not well,
But not so citizen a wanton, as
To seem to die, ere sick: so please you leave me,
Stick to your journal course; the breach of custom,
Is breach of all. I'm ill, but your being by me
Cannot amend me. Society is no comfort
To one not sociable: I'm not very sick,
Since I can reason of it. Pray you trust me here,
I'll rob none but my self, and let me die
Stealing so poorly.

Guid.
I love thee: I have spoke it,
How much the quantity, the weight as much,
As I do love my father.

Bel.
What? how? how?

Arv.
If it be sin to say so, Sir, I yoak me
In my good brother's fault: I know not why
I love this youth, and I have heard you say,
Love reasons without reason. The bier at door,
And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say
“My father, not this youth.

Bel.
Oh noble strain!
O worthiness of nature, breed of greatness!* ^note




I'm not their father, yet who this should be
Doth miracle it self; lov'd before me!
'Tis the ninth hour o'th' morn.

Arv.
Brother, farewell.

Imo.
I wish ye sport.

Arv.
You health—so please you, Sir.

Imo.
These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I've heard!
Our courtiers say, all's savage, but at court:* ^note





I am sick still, heart-sick—Pisanio,
I'll now taste of thy drug. [Drinks out of the viol.

Guid.
I could not stir him;
He said that he was gentle, but unfortunate;
Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.

Arv.
Thus did he answer me; yet said, hereafter
I might know more.

Bel.
To th' field, to th' field:
We'll leave you for this time; go in, and rest.

Arv.
We'll not be long away.

Bel.
Pray be not sick,
For you must be our housewife.

Imo.
Well or ill,
I am bound to you. [Exit Imogen.

Bel.
And shalt be ever.
This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears to have had

Good ancestors.

Arv.
How angel-like he sings?

Guid.
But his neat cookery?

Arv.
He cut our roots in characters,
And sauc'd our broth, as Juno had been sick,
And he her dieter.

Arv.
Nobly he yokes
A smiling with a sigh.* ^note

Guid.
I do note,
That grief and patience rooted in him both,
Mingle their ^{a note}pow'rs together.* ^note

Bel.
It is great morning. Come away: who's there? SCENE III. Enter Cloten.

Clot.
Icannot find those runagates: that villain
Hath mock'd me. I am faint.

Bel.
Those runagates!
Means he not us? I partly know him; 'tis
Cloten, the son o'th' queen; I fear some ambush—
I saw him not these many years, and yet
I know 'tis he: we are held as out-laws; hence.

Guid.
He is but one; you and my brother search

What companies are near: pray you away,
Let me alone with him. [Exeunt Bellarius and Arviragus.

Clot.
Soft, what are you
That fly me thus? some villain-mountainers—
I've heard of such. What slave art thou?

Guid.
A thing
More slavish did I ne'er, than answering
A slave without a knock.

Clot.
Thou art a robber,
A law-breaker, a villain; yield thee, thief.

Guid.
To whom? to thee? what art thou? have not I
An arm as big as thine? a heart as big?
Thy words I grant are bigger: for I wear not
My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art,
Why I should yield to thee?

Clot.
Thou villain base,
Know'st me not by my cloaths?

Guid.
No nor thy tailor,
Who is thy grandfather; he made those cloaths,
Which, as it seems, make thee.

Clot.
Thou precious varlet!
My tailor made them not.

Guid.
Hence then, and thank
The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool,
I'm loath to beat thee.

Clot.
Thou injurious thief,
Hear but my name, and tremble.

Guid.
What's thy name?

Clot.
Cloten, thou villain.

Guid.
Cloten, then double villain be thy name,
I cannot tremble at it; were it toad, adder, spider,
'Twould move me sooner.

Clot.
To thy further fear,

Nay, to thy meer confusion, thou shalt know
I'm son to th' queen.

Guid.
I'm sorry for't; not seeming
So worthy as thy birth.

Clot.
Art not afraid?

&plquo;Guid.
&plquo;Those that I rev'rence, those I fear; the wise:
&plquo;At fools I laugh, not fear them.

Clot.
Die the death:
When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
I'll follow those that even now fled hence,
And on the gates of Lud's town set your heads;
Yield rustick mountaineer. [Fight and Exeunt. SCENE IV. Enter Bellarius and Arviragus.

Bel.
No company's abroad.

Arv.
None in the world; you did mistake him sure.

Bel.
I cannot tell: long is it since I saw him,
But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour
Which then he wrote; the snatches in his voice,
And burst of speaking, were as his: I'm absolute
'Twas very Cloten.

Arv.
In this place we left them;
I wish my brother make good time with him,
You say he is so fell.

Bel.
Being scarce made up,
I mean to man; he had not apprehension
Of roaring terrors; for defect of judgment
Is oft the cause of fear. But see thy brother. Enter Guiderius.

Guid.
This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse,

There was no mony in't; not Hercules
Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none:
Yet I not doing this, the fool had born
My head, as I do his.

Bel.
What hast thou done?

Guid.
I'm perfect what; cut off one Cloten's head,
Son to the queen, after his own report,
Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore
With his own single hand he'd take us in,
Displace our heads, where, thanks to th' gods, they grow,
And set them on Lud's town.

Bel.
We're all undone!

Guid.
Why, worthy father, what have we to lose,
But what he swore to take, our lives? the law
Protects not us; then why should we be tender,
To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us?
Play judge, and executioner, all himself?
For we do fear no law. What company
Discover you abroad?

Bel.
No single soul
Can we set eye on; but in all safe reason
He must have some attendants. Though his honour
Was nothing but mutation, ay and that
From one bad thing to worse; yet not his frenzy,
Not absolute madness, could so far have rav'd,
To bring him here alone; although perhaps
It may be heard at court, that such as we
Cave here, haunt here, are out-laws, 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, nor he so undertaking,
Nor 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
Come, as the gods foresay it, howsoe'er
My brother hath done well.

Bel.
I had no mind
To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness
Did make my way long forth.

Guid.
With his own sword,
Which he did wave against my throat, I've ta'en
His head from him: I'll throw't 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 † ^notereck. [Exit.

Bel.
I fear 'twill be reveng'd:
Would, Polidore, thou hadst not don't! though valour
Becomes thee well enough.

Arv.
Would I had done't,
So the revenge alone pursu'd me! Polidore,
I love thee brotherly, but envy much
Thou'st robb'd me of this deed; I would revenges
That possible strength might meet, would seek us thro',
And put us to our answer.

Bel.
Well, 'tis done:
We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger
Where there's no profit. Pr'ythee to our rock,
You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay
'Till hasty Polidore return, and bring him
To dinner presently.

Arv.
Poor sick Fidele!
I'll willingly to him: to gain his colour
I'd let a parish of such Clotens blood,
And praise my self for charity. [Exit.

Bel.
O thou goddess,
Thou divine nature! how thy self thou blazon'st
&plquo;In these two princely boys? they are as gentle
&plquo;As Zephyrs blowing below the violet,
&plquo;Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
&plquo;(Their royal blood enchaf'd,) as the rude wind,
&plquo;That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
&plquo;And make him stoop to th' vale. 'Tis wonderful
&plquo;That an invisible instinct should frame them
&plquo;To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,
&plquo;Civility not seen from other; valour,
&plquo;That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
&plquo;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.

Guid.
Where's my brother?
I have sent Cloten's clot-pole down the stream,
In embassie to his mother; his body's hostage
For his return. [Solemn musick.

Bel.
My ingenious instrument!
Hark Polidore, it sounds: but what occasion
Hath Cadwall now to give it motion? hark.

Guid.
Is he at home?

Bel.
He went hence even now.

Guid.
What does he mean? Since death of my dear mother
It did not speak before. All solemn things
Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?* ^note

SCENE V. Enter Arviragus, with Imogen dead, bearing her in his arms.

Bel.
Look, here he comes!
And brings the dire occasion in his arms,
Of what we blame him for.

&plquo;Arv.
&plquo;The bird is dead
&plquo;That we have made so much on! I had rather
&plquo;Have skipt from sixteen years of age, to sixty;
&plquo;And turn'd my leaping time into a crutch,
&plquo;Than have seen this.

&plquo;Guid.
&plquo;Oh sweetest, fairest lilly!
&plquo;My brother wears thee not one half so well,
&plquo;As when thou grew'st thy self.

&plquo;Bel.
&plquo;Oh melancholy!
&plquo;Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
&plquo;The ooze, to shew what coast thy sluggish care
&plquo;Might eas'liest harbour in?—thou blessed thing!
&plquo;Jove knows what man thou might'st have made? but ah!
&plquo;Thou dy'dst, a most rare boy, of melancholy!
&plquo;How found you him?

&plquo;Arv.
&plquo;Stark, as you see:
&plquo;Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,
&plquo;Not as death's dart being laugh'd at: his right cheek
&plquo;Reposing on a cushion.

&plquo;Guid.
&plquo;Where?

&plquo;Arv.
&plquo;O'th' floor:
&plquo;His arms thus leagu'd; I thought he slept, and put
&plquo;My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
&plquo;Answer'd my steps too loud.

&plquo;Guid.
&plquo;Why, he but sleeps;

If he be gone he'll make his grave a bed,
With female Fairies will his tomb he haunted,
And worms will not come near thee.

Arv.
With fairest flow'rs,
(Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,)
I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack
The flow'r that's like thy face, pale Primrose, nor
The azur'd Hare-bell, like thy veins; no nor
The leaf of Eglantine, which not to slander,
Out-sweetn'd not thy breath. The raddock would
With charitable bill (oh bill sore shaming
Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lye
Without a monument) bring thee all this,
Yea, and furr'd moss besides. When flow'rs are none
To winter-ground thy coarse—

Guid.
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 th' grave.

Arv.
Say, where shall's lay him?

Guid.
By good Euriphile, our mother.

Arv.
Be't so:
And let us, Polidore, though now our voices
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to th' ground
As once our mother: use like note, and words,
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

Guid.
Cadwall,
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 med'cine the less. For Cloten

Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys,
And though he came our enemy, remember
Was paid for that: the mean and mighty rotting
Together have one dust; yet reverence,
(The angel of the world,) doth make distinction
Of place 'twixt high and low. Our foe was princely,
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him, as a prince.

Guid.
Pray fetch him hither.
Thersites body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.

Arv.
If you'll go fetch him,
We'll say our song the whilst: brother begin.

Guid.
Nay, Cadwall, we must lay his head to th' east;
My father hath a reason for't.

Arv.
'Tis true.

Guid.
Come on then, and remove him.

Arv.
So, begin.
SONG. &plquo;Guid.
&plquo;Fear no more the heat o'th' sun,
  &plquo;Nor the furious winter's rages;
&plquo;Thou thy worldly task hast done,
  &plquo;Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages.
Golden lads and girls all must
As chimney sweepers, come to dust. &plquo;Arv.
&plquo;Fear no more the frown o'th' great,
  &plquo;Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
&plquo;Care no more to cloath and eat;
  &plquo;To thee the reed is as the oak:
The scepter, learning, physick, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

&plquo;Guid.
&plquo;Fear no more the lightning-flash. &plquo;Arv.
&plquo;Nor th' all dreaded thunder-stone. &plquo;Guid.
&plquo;Fear no slander, censure rash. &plquo;Arv.
&plquo;Thou hast finish'd joy and moan. Both.
All lovers young, all lovers must
  Consign to thee, and come to dust. Guid.
No exorciser harm thee! Arv.
And no witchcraft charm thee! Guid.
Ghost unlaid forbear thee! Arv.
Nothing ill come near thee! Both.
Quiet consummation have,
And renowned be thy grave! Enter Bellarius with the body of Cloten.

Guid.
We've done our obsequies: come lay him down.

Bel.
Here's a few flow'rs, but about midnight more;
The herbs that have on them cold dew o'th' night
Are strewings fitt'st for graves.—Upon their faces—
You were as flow'rs, now wither'd; even so
These herbelets shall, which we upon you strow.
Come on, away, apart upon our knees—
The ground that gave them first, has them again:
Their pleasure here is past, so is their pain. [Exeunt. SCENE VI.

Imogen awakes.
&plquo;Yes, Sir, to Milford-Haven, which is the way?—
&plquo;I thank you—by yond bush—pray how far thither?—
&plquo;'Ods pittikins—can it be six mile yet?—
&plquo;I've gone all night—'faith, I'll lye down and sleep.
&plquo;But soft! no bedfellow!—oh gods, and goddesses! [Seeing the body.

&plquo;The flow'rs are like the pleasures of the world;
&plquo;This bloody man the care on't.—Sure I dream;
&plquo;For sure I thought I was a cave-keeper,
&plquo;And cook to honest creatures. 'Tis not so:
&plquo;'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
&plquo;Which the brain makes of fumes: Our very eyes
&plquo;Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith
&plquo;I tremble still with fear; but if there be
&plquo;Yet left in heav'n as small a drop of pity
&plquo;As a wren's eye, oh gods! a part of it!
&plquo;The dream's here still; ev'n when I wake, it is
&plquo;Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
A headless man!—the garments of Posthumus?
I know the shape of's leg, this is his hand,
His foot mercurial, his martial thigh,
The arms of Hercules: but his jovial face—
Murther in heav'n!—how!—'tis gone—Pisanio!—
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! thou,
'Twas thou conspiring with that devil Cloten,
Hast here cut off my lord. To write, and read,
Be henceforth treach'rous. Damn'd Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters—damn'd Pisanio—
From this the bravest vessel of the world
Struck the main top! oh Posthumus, alas,
Where is thy head? where's that? ay me, where's that?
Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
And left his head on. How should this be, Pisanio!—
'Tis he and Cloten. Malice and lucre in them
Have laid this woe here. Oh '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 th' senses? that confirms it home:

This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's. Oh!
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may seem to those
Which chance to find us. Oh, my lord! my lord! SCENE VII. Enter Lucius, Captains, 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 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,
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 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)
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
From th' spungy south, to this part of the west,
There vanish'd in the sun-beams; which portends
(Unless my sins abuse my divination)
Success to th' 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 couch
With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.
Let's see the boy's face.

Cap.
He's alive, my lord.

Luc.
He'll then instruct us of this body. Young one,
Inform us of the fortunes, for it seems
They crave to be demanded: who is this
Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? 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, and 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 Britain, and a good,
That here by mountaineers lyes slain: alas!
There are no more such masters: I may wander
From east to occident, cry out for service,
Try many, all good, serve them truly, never
Find such another master.

Luc.
'Lack, good youth!
Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than
Thy master bleeding: say his name, good friend.

Imo.
Richard du Camp. If I do lye, 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, Sir.

Luc.
Thou dost approve thy self 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 no sooner
Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with me.

Imo.
I'll follow, Sir. But first, an't please the gods,
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 ha' strew'd his grave,
And on it said a century of pray'rs,
(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 manly duties: let us
Find out the prettiest 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 shall be interr'd
As soldiers can. Be chearful, wipe thine eyes.
Some falls are means the happier to arise. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII. Enter Bellarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.

Guid.
The noise is round about us.

Bel.
Let us from it.

Arv.
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

Must or for Britains slay us, or receive us
For barb'rous and unnatural revolters
During their use, and slay us after.

Bel.
Sons,
We'll higher to the mountains, there secure 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 confession
Where we have liv'd: and so extort from us
That which we've done, whose answer would be death
Drawn on with torture.

Guid.
This is, Sir, a doubt
(In such a time) nothing becoming you,
Nor satisfying us.

Arv.
It is not likely,
That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,
Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes
And ears so cloy'd importantly as now,
That they will waste 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 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 courtesie your cradle promis'd,
But to be still hot summer's tanlings, and
The shrinking slaves of winter.

Guid.
Than be so,
Better to cease to be. Pray, Sir, to th' army;
I and my brother are not known; your self

So out of thought, and thereto so o'er-grown,
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 my self 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 blest beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.

Guid.
By heav'ns 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 of 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 lye.
Lead, lead; the time seems long: their blood thinks scorn
'Till it flie out, and shew them princes born. [Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I. A Field between the British and Roman Camps. Enter Posthumus with a bloody handkerchief.

Posthumus.
Yea bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wisht
Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married ones,
If each of you would take this course, how many
Must murther 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 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 worse than other,
And make them dread it, to the doer's thrift.
But Imogen's your own: 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 my self
As do's a Britain peasant; so I'll fight
Against the part I come with; so I'll die
For thee, O Imogen, for whom my life
Is every breath, a death; and thus unknown,
Pitied, nor hated, to the face of peril
My self I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me, than my habit's 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 British army at another: Leonatus Posthumus following 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, 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 battel continues; the Britains fly, Cymbeline is taken; then enter to his rescue, Bellarius, 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 Britains. They rescue Cymbeline, and exeunt. Then enter Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen.

Luc.
Away, boy, from the troops, and save thy self;
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. SCENE II. Enter Posthumus, and a British lord.

Lord.
Cam'st thou from where they made the stand?

Post.
I did.
Though you it seems came 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
&plquo;Of his wings destitute, the army broken,
&plquo;And but the backs of Britains seen; all flying
&plquo;Through a straight lane, the enemy full-hearted,
&plquo;Lolling the tongue with slaught'ring, having work
&plquo;More plentiful, than tools to do't, struck down
&plquo;Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
&plquo;Meerly through fear, that the straight pass was damn'd
&plquo;With dead men, hurt behind; and cowards living
&plquo;To die with lengthen'd shame.

Lord.
Where was this lane?

Post.
Close by the battel, 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's country. 'Thwart 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 Britains hearts 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 front: 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 (oh 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'th' hunters. Then began
A stop i'th' chaser, a retire; anon
A rout, confusion thick. Forthwith they flie
Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles: slaves,
The strides the victors made; and now our cowards
Like fragments in hard voyages, became
The life o'th' need; having found the back door open
Of the unguarded hearts, heav'ns, how they wound!
Some slain before, some dying; some their friends

O'er-born i'th' 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'th' 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.* ^note

Lord.
Farewel, you are angry. [Exit.

Post.
This is a lord; oh noble misery
To be i'th' field, and ask what news, of me?
To-day, how many would have given their honours
To've sav'd their carkasses? 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. This ugly monster,
'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,
Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we
That draw his knives in war. Well I will find him.
For being now a favourer to the Britain,
No more a Britain, I've resum'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 th' Roman; great the answer be,
Britains 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 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 th' affront with them.

1 Cap.
So 'tis reported;
But none of 'em can be found. Stand, who's 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 th' king. Enter Cymbeline, Bellarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio, and Roman captives. The captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers him over to a goaler. SCENE III. A Prison. Enter Posthumus, and two goalers.

1 Goal.
You shall not now be stoln, you've locks upon you;
So graze, as you find pasture.

2 Goal.
Ay, or stomach. [Exeunt Goalers.

Post.
Most welcome bondage! for thou art a way,
I think, to liberty; yet am I better
Than one that's sick o'th' gout, since he had rather
Groan so in perpetuity than be cur'd
By th' sure physician, death; who is the key
T'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'm sorry?
So children temp'ral 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 satisfie
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 powers,
If you will take this audit, take this life,
And cancel those old bonds. Oh Imogen!
I'll speak to thee in silence.— [He sleeps.

**** ^{note note}

SCENE IV. Cymbeline's Tent. Enter Cymbeline, Bellarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio, and lords.

Cym.
Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made
Preservers of my throne. Wo is my heart,
That the poor soldier that so richly fought,
(Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast

Stept before shields of proof,) cannot be found:
He shall be happy that can find him, if
Our grace can make him so.

Bel.
I never saw
Such noble fury in so poor a thing:
Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought
But begg'ry and poor looks.

Cym.
No tidings of him?

Pis.
He hath been search'd among the dead and living,
But no trace of him.

Cym.
To my grief, I am
The heir of his reward, which I will add
To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain, [To Bell. Guid. and Arvirag.
By whom, I grant, she lives. 'Tis now the time
To ask of whence you are. Report it.

Bel.
Sir,
In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen:
Further to boast, were neither true nor modest,
Unless I add, we're honest.

Cym.
Bow your knees,
Arise my knights o'th' battel, I create you

Companions to our person, and will fit you
With dignities becoming your estates. Enter Cornelius and Ladies.
There's business in these faces: why so sadly
Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,
And not o'th' court of Britain.

Cor.
Hail, great king!
To sour your happiness, I must report
The queen is dead.

Cym.
Whom worse than a physician
Would this report become? but I consider,
By med'cine life may be prolong'd, yet death
Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?

Cor.
With horror, madly dying, like her self,
Who being cruel to the world, concluded
Most cruel to her self. What she confest,
I will report, so please you. These her women
Can trip me, if I err; who with wet cheeks
Were present when she finish'd.

Cym.
Pr'ythee say.

Cor.
First, she confess'd she never lov'd you, only
Affected greatness got by you, not you:
Married your royalty, wife to your place,
Abhorr'd your person.

Cym.
She alone knew this:
And but she spoke it dying, I would not
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.

Cor.
Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love
With such integrity, she did confess
Was as a scorpion to her sight, whose life,
But that her flight prevented it, she had
Ta'en off by poison.

Cym.
O most delicate fiend!
Who is't can read a woman? is there more?

Cor.
More, Sir, and worse. She did confess she had
For you a mortal mineral, which being took
Should by the minute feed on life, and lingring
By inches waste you. In which time she purpos'd
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
O'ercome you with her shew: yes, and in time
When she had fitted you with her craft, to work
Her son into th' adoption of the crown:
But failing of her end by his strange absence,
Grew shameless, desperate; open'd in despight
Of heav'n and men, her purposes: repented
The ills she hatch'd were not effected: so
Despairing, dy'd.

Cym.
Heard you all this, her women?

Lady.
We did, so please your highness.

Cym.
Mine eyes
Were not in fault, for she was beautiful:
Mine ears, that heard her flattery, nor my heart,
That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious

To have mistrusted her. Yet oh my daughter!
That it was folly in me, thou may'st say,
And prove it in thy feeling. Heav'n mend all! SCENE V. Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and other Roman prisoners, Leonatus behind, and Imogen.

Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that
The Britains have rac'd out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit
That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter
Of you their captives, which our self have granted.
So think of your estate.

Luc.
Consider, Sir, the chance of war; the day
Was yours by accident: had it gone with us,
We should not, when the blood was cool, have threatned
Our pris'ners with the sword. But since the gods
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
May be call'd ransome, let it come. Sufficeth,
A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer.—
Augustus lives to think on't.—And so much
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will intreat; my boy, a Britain born,
Let him be ransom'd; never master had
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
So tender over his occasions, true,
So feat, so nurse-like; let his virtue join
With my request, which I'll make bold your highness
Cannot deny: he hath done no Britain harm,
Though he hath serv'd a Roman. Save him, Sir,
And spare no blood beside.

Cym.
I've surely seen him;
His favour is familiar to me. Boy,

Thou hast look'd thy self into my grace,
And art mine own. I know not why, nor wherefore
To say, live boy: ne'er thank thy master, live;
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I'll give it:
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
The noblest ta'en.

Imo.
I humbly thank your highness.

Luc.
I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad,
And yet I know thou wilt.

Imo.
No, no, alack,
There's other work in hand; I see a thing
Bitter to me as death; your life, good master,
Must shuffle for it self.

Luc.
The boy disdains me,
He leaves me, scorns me: briefly die their joys,
That place them on the truth of girls and boys!
Why stands he so perplext?

Cym.
What wouldst thou, boy?
I love thee more and more: think more and more,
What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? speak,
Wilt have him live? is he thy kin? thy friend?

Imo.
He is a Roman, no more kin to me,
Than I to your highness, who being born your vassal
Am something nearer.

Cym.
Wherefore eye'st him so?

Imo.
I'll tell you, Sir, in private, if you please
To give me hearing.

Cym.
Ay, with all my heart,
And lend my best attention. What's thy name?

Imo.
Fidele, Sir.

Cym.
Thou'rt my good youth, my page,
I'll be thy master: walk with me, speak freely.

Bel.
Is not this boy reviv'd from death?

Arv.
One sand another
Not more resembles that sweet rosie lad,
Who dy'd, and was Fidele. What think you?

Guid.
The same dead thing alive.

Bel.
Peace, peace, see more; he eyes us not, forbear,
Creatures may be alike: were't he, I'm sure
He would have spoke t'us.

Guid.
But we saw him dead.

Bel.
Be silent: let's see further.

Pis.
'Tis my mistress— [aside.
Since she is living, let the time run on,
To good, or bad.

Cym.
Come, stand thou by our side.
Make thy demand aloud. Sir, step you forth, [To Iach.
Give answer to this boy, and do it freely,
Or by our greatness and the grace of it
Which is our honour, bitter torture shall
Winnow the truth from falshood. On, speak to him.

Imo.
My boon is, that this gentleman may render
Of whom he had this ring.

Post.
What's that to him?

Cym.
That diamond upon your finger, say
How came it yours?

Iach.
Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken, that
Which to be spoke would torture thee.

Cym.
How? me?

Iach.
I'm glad to be constrain'd to utter what
Torments me to conceal. By villany
I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel,
Whom thou didst banish: and, (which more may grieve thee,
As it doth me) a nobler Sir ne'er liv'd
'Twixt sky and ground. Will you hear more, my lord?

Cym.
All that belongs to this.

Iach.
That paragon, thy daughter,
For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
Quail to remember—give me leave, I faint— [Swoons.

Cym.
My daughter, what of her? renew thy strength,
I'ad rather thou shouldst live while nature will,
Than die ere I hear more: strive man, and speak.

Iach.
Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock
That struck the hour) it was in Rome, (accurs'd
The mansion where) 'twas at a feast, (oh would
Our viands had been poison'd! or at least
Those which I heav'd to head:) the good Posthumus—
What should I say? he was too good to be
Where ill men were, and was the best of all
Amongst the rar'st of good ones—sitting sadly,
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
For beauty, that made barren the swell'd boast
Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva;
Postures, beyond brief nature; for condition,
A shop of all the qualities, that man
Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving,
Fairness, which strikes the eye—

Cym.
I stand on fire.
Come to the matter.

Iach.
All too soon I shall,
Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus,
(Most like a noble lord in love, and one
That had a royal lover) took his hint;
And, not dispraising whom we prais'd, (therein
He was as calm as virtue) he began
His mistress' picture; which by his tongue made,
And then a mind put in't; either our brags

Were crack'd of kitching-trulls, or his description
Prov'd us unspeaking sots.

Cym.
Nay, nay, to th'purpose.

Iach.
Your daughter's chastity; there it begins:
He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams,
And she alone were cold; whereat, I wretch
Made scruple of his praise, and wag'd with him
Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
In suit the place of's bed, and win this ring,
By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight,
No lesser of her honour confident
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring,
(And would so, had it been a carbuncle
Of Phæbus' wheel; and might so safely, had it
Been all the worth of's car.) Away to Britain
Post I in this design: well may you, Sir,
Remember me at court, where I was taught
By your chaste daughter the wide difference
'Twixt amorous, and villainous. Being thus quench'd
Of hope, not longing; mine Italian brain
'Gan in your duller Britain operate
Most vilely: for my vantage excellent,
And to be brief, my practice so prevail'd,
That I return'd with simular proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad,
By wounding his belief in her renown,
With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet
(Oh cunning how I got it) nay some marks
Of secret on her person, that he could not
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
I having ta'en the forfeit; whereupon,

Methinks I see him now—

Post.
Ay, so thou do'st, [Coming forward.
Italian fiend! ay me, most credulous fool,
Egregious murtherer, thief, any thing
That's due to all the villains past, in being,
To come—oh give me cord, or knife, or poison,
Some upright justicer! Thou king, send out
For torturers ingenious; it is I
That all th'abhorred things o'th' earth amend,
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
That kill'd thy daughter: villain-like, I lie,
That caus'd a lesser villain than my self
A sacrilegious thief to do't. The temple
Of virtue was she, yea, and she her self—
Spit, and throw stones, cast myre upon me, set
The dogs o'th' street to bait me: every villain
Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus, and
Be villainy less than 'twas. Oh Imogen!
My queen, my life, my wife! oh Imogen,
Imogen, Imogen!

Imo.
Peace, my lord, hear, hear—

Post.
Shall's have a play of this?
Thou scornful page, there lie thy part. [Striking her, she falls.

Pis.
Oh gentlemen, help,
Mine and your mistress—Oh, my lord Posthumus!
You ne'er kill'd Imogen 'till now—help, help,
Mine honour'd lady—

Cym.
Does the world go round?

Post.
How come these staggers on me?

Pis.
Wake, my mistress.

Cym.
If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
To death with mortal joy.

Pis.
How fares my mistress?

Imo.
Oh get thee from my sight,
Thou gav'st me poison: dang'rous fellow hence,
Breathe not where princes are.

Cym.
The tune of Imogen!

Pis.
Lady, the gods throw stones of sulphur on me,
If what I gave you was not thought by me
A precious thing, I had it from the queen.

Cym.
New matter still?

Imo.
It poison'd me.

Cor.
Oh gods!
I left out one thing which the queen confess'd,
Which must approve thee honest. If Pisanio
Have, said she, giv'n his mistress that confection
Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv'd
As I would serve a rat.

Cym.
What's this, Cornelius?

Cor.
The queen, Sir, very oft importun'd me
To temper poisons for her; still pretending
The satisfaction of her knowledge, only
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs
Of no esteem; I dreading that her purpose
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain stuff, which being ta'en would seize
The present power of life, but in short time
All offices of nature should again
Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?

Imo.
Most like I did, for I was dead.

Bel.
My boys, there was our error.

Guid.
This is sure Fidele.

Imo.
Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?
Think that you are upon a rock, and now
Throw me again.

Post.
Hang there like fruit, my soul,
'Till the tree die!

Cym.
How now, my flesh? my child?
What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act?
Wilt thou not speak to me?

Imo.
Your blessing, Sir. [Kneeling.

Bel.
Tho' you did love this youth, I blame you not,
You had a motive for't. [To Guid. Arvir.

Cym.
My tears that fall
Prove holy-water on thee; Imogen,
Thy mother's dead.

Imo.
I'm sorry for't, my lord.

Cym.
Oh, she was naught; and long of her it was
That we meet here so strangely; but her son
Is gone, we know not how, nor where.

Pis.
My lord,
Now fear is from me, I'll speak truth. Lord Cloten,
Upon my lady's missing, came to me
With his sword drawn, foam'd at the mouth, and swore
If I discover'd not which way she went
It was my instant death. By accident
I had a feigned letter of my master's
Then in my pocket, which directed her
To seek him on the mountains near to Milford:
Where in a frenzy, in my master's garments,
Which he inforc'd from me, away he posts
With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate
My lady's honour: What became of him,
I further know not.

Guid.
Let me end the story;
I slew him there.

Cym.
Marry, the gods forefend.
I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
Pluck a hard sentence: pr'ythee valiant youth
Deny't again.

Guid.
I've spoke it, and I did it.

Cym.
He was a prince.

Guid.
A most incivil one. The wrongs he did me
Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
With language that would make me spurn the sea,
Could it so roar to me. I cut off's head,
And am right glad he is not standing here
To tell this tale of mine.

Cym.
I'm sorry for thee;
By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must
Endure our law: thou'rt dead.

Imo.
That headless man
I thought had been my lord.

Cym.
Bind the offender,
And take him from our presence.

Bel.
Stay, Sir King,
This man is better than the man he slew,
As well descended as thy self, and hath
More of thee merited, than a band of Clotens
Had ever scar for. Let his arms alone,
They were not born for bondage.

Cym.
Why old soldier
Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
By tasting of our wrath? how of descent
As good as we?

Arv.
In that he spake too far.

Cym.
And thou shalt die for't.

Bel.
We will die all three,
But I will prove that two on's are as good
As I've giv'n out of him. My sons, I must,
For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech,
Though haply well for you.

Arv.
Your danger's ours.

Guid.
And our good his.

Bel.
Have at it then, by leave:
Thou hadst, great king, a subject, who was call'd
Bellarius.

Cym.
What of him? a banish'd traitor.

Bel.
He it is that hath
Assum'd this age; indeed a banish'd man,
I know not how a traitor.

Cym.
Take him hence,
The whole world shall not save him.

Bel.
Not too hot:
First pay me for the nursing of thy sons,
And let it be confiscate all, so soon
As I've receiv'd it.