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

Luc.
When Julius Cæsar, (whose remembrance yet
Lives in men's eyes, and will to ears and tongues
Be theme, and hearing ever) was in this Britaine,
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: Britaine is
A world by't 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
(a) ^noteWith rocks unskaleable, and roaring waters;
With Sands, 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,
(^{1 note}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,
Mad Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright,
And Britons 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 Roman 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 Britaine, 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
Thyself 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 ^{2 note}keep at utterance. I am perfect,
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for
Their Liberties, are now in arms: a Precedent
Which, not to read, would shew the Britons 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.

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