Prithee, have done;

Gui.

that

230

Arv.

Gui.

No exorciser harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

And do not play in wench-like words with

Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt. To the grave!
Arv.

Say, where shall 's lay him?
Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother.
Arv.
Be't so
;
And let us, Polydore, though now our voices 235
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the
ground,

As once our mother; use like note and words, Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

Gui. Cadwal,

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.

240

We'll speak it, then. Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less; for Cloten

Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys;
And though he came our enemy, remember 245
He was paid for that. Though mean and mighty,
rotting

Together, have one dust, yet reverence,
That angel of the world, doth make distinc-

tion

250

By yond bush? - Pray, how far thither?

'Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet? I have gone all night. Faith, I'll lie down and

sleep.

But, soft! no bedfellow!-O gods and goddesses! [Seeing the body of Cloten.] These flowers are like the pleasures of the world;

This bloody man, the care on 't. I hope I dream;

For so I thought I was a cave-keeper

And cook to honest creatures. But 't is not so. 'T was but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, a Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very

eyes

Are sometimes like our judgements, blind.
Good faith,

I tremble still with fear; but if there be
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!
The dream's here still, even when I wake. It is

805

310

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 brawns of Hercules; but his Jovial face-
Murder in heaven?- How!-'Tis gone. Pi-
sanio,

All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten, 315
Hath here cut off my lord. To write and read
Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters, damn'd Pi-
sanio-

Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems
They crave to be demanded. Who is this
Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who was
he

That, otherwise than noble nature did,
Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy

Сут. The time is troublesome. [To Pisanio.] We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy

Does yet depend.
1. Lord.
So please your Majesty,
The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your coast, with a supply
Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent.
Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and
queen!

I am amaz'd with matter.

1. Lord.

Good my liege,

Your preparation can affront no less

25

Than what you hear of. Come more, for more

you're ready;

The want is but to put those powers in motion That long to move.

30

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!

35

[Exeunt [all but Pisanio].

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 betid to Cloten; but remain
Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work.

40

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.

O, I am known
Of many in the army. Many years,
Though Cloten then but young, you see, not
wore him

From my remembrance. And, besides, the
King

Hath not deserv'd my service nor your loves, 25
Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless
To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd,
But to be still hot Summer's tanlings and
The shrinking slaves of Winter.
Gui.
Than be so 34
Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army.
I and my brother are not known; yourself
So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown,
Cannot be question'd.

34

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

10

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 elder worse,
And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift.
But Imogen is your own; do your best wills, 16
And make me blest to obey! I am brought
hither

Among the Italian gentry, and to fight
Against my lady's kingdom. T is enough
That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress;
peace!

20

I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,

Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me
Of these Italian weeds and suit myself
As does a Briton peasant; so I'll fight
Against the part I come with; so I'll die
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
Is every breath a death; and thus, unknown,
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril

25

Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know More valour in me than my habits show.

30

Gods, put the strength o' the Leonati in me! To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin The fashion, less without and more within.

[Exit.

SCENE II. [Field of battle between the British and Roman camps.]

Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman Army at one door; and the Briton Army at another; LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following, like a poor soldier. They march over and go out. Then enter again, in skirmish, LACHIMO and POSTHUMUS: he vanquisheth and disarmeth LACHIMO, and then leaves him.

Iach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom

Takes off my manhood. I have belied a lady,
The Princess of this country, and the air on 't
Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl,
A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me s
In my profession? Knighthoods and honours,
borne

As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.
If that thy gentry, Britain, go before
This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds
Is that we scarce are men and you are gods. 10
[Exit.

The battle continues; the Britons fly; CYMBE-
LINE is taken: then enter, to his rescue, BELA-
RIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.

Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground;

The lane is guarded. Nothing routs us but
The villainy of our fears.

Gui.
Arv.
Re-enter POSTHUMUS, and seconds the Britons.
They rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then
re-enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and IMOGEN.

Stand, stand, and fight!

Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;

For friends kill friends, and the disorder's