All curfes madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! thou,
"Twas thou, confpiring with that devil Cloten,
Haft here cut off my Lord. To write, and read,
Be henceforth treach'rous!-Damn'd Pifanio
Hath with his forged letters-damn'd Pisanio !.
From this the braveft veffel of the world
Struck the main-top! oh Pofthumus, alas,

Where is thy head? where's that? ah me, where's that?
Pifanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,

And left his head on. How fhould this be, Pifanio?— '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 faid, was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it

Murd'rous to th' fenfes ? that confirms it home:
This is Pifanio's deed, and Cloten's. Oh!
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may feem to thofe
Which chance to find us.

Oh, my Lord! my Lord!

Enter Lucius, Captains, and a Soothsayer.

Cap. To them, the legions garrifon'd in Gallia, After your will, have crofs'd the fea, 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, moft willing fpirits, That promife noble fervice: 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 mufter'd; bid the Captains look to't. Now, Sir,
What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's purpose?
Sooth. Laft night, the very Gods fhew'd me a vision.

(I faft,

(I faft, and pray'd for their intelligence)
I faw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
From the fpungy fouth, to this part of the Weft,
There vanish'd in the fun-beams; which portends
(Unless my fins abuse my divination)
Succefs to th' Roman Hoft.

Luc. Dream often fo,

And never falfe! -Soft, ho, what Trunk is here
Without his top? the ruin fpeaks, that fometime
It was a worthy building. How! a page!-
Or dead, or fleeping on him? but dead, rather:
For Nature doth abhor to make his couch

With the defunct, or fleep upon the dead.
Let's fee the boy's face.

Cap. He's alive, my Lord.

Luc. He'll then inftruct us of this body. Young one, Inform us of thy fortunes, for, it feems,

They crave to be demanded: who is this,

Thou mak'ft thy bloody pillow?, who was he,

That, otherwife than noble Nature did,

Hath alter'd that good picture? what's thy intereft
In this fad wreck ? how came it, and who is it?
What art thou?

Imo. I am nothing; or if not,

Nothing to be, were better. This was my master,
A very valiant Briton, and a good,

That here by mountaineers lies flain: alas!
There are no more fuch masters: I may wander
From Eaft to Occident, cry out for service,
Try many, all good, ferve them truly, never
Find fuch another mafter.

Luc. 'Lack, good youth!

Thou mov't no lefs with thy complaining, than
Thy mafter in bleeding: fay his name, good friend.
Imo. Richard du Champ. If I do lye, and do

No harm by it, though the Gods hear, I hope, [afide.
They'll pardon it. Say you, Sir?

Luc. Thy name?

Imo. Fidele, Sir.

Luc. Thou doft approve thyself the very fame;

Thy

Thy name well fits thy faith; thy faith, thy name.
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not fay
Thou shalt be fo well master'd, but, be fure,
No lefs belov'd. The Roman Emperor's letters,
Sent by a Conful to me, should no fooner,
Than thine own worth, prefer thee: go with me.
Imo. I'll follow, Sir. But first, an't please the Gods,
I'll hide my mafter from the flies as deep

As thefe poor pickaxes can dig: and when

With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' ftrew'd his Grave, And on it faid a century of pray'rs,

(Such as I can,) twice o'er, I'll weep and figh;

And, leaving fo his fervice, follow you,

So please you entertain me.

Luc. Ay, good youth,

And rather father thee, than mafter 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 fhall be interr'd
As foldiers can. Be chearful, wipe thine eyes:
Some Falls are means the happier to arise.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Cymbeline's Palace.

Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pifanio.

Cym. A Gain; and bring me word, how 'tis with her;

A fever with the abfence of her fon;

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 defperate bed, and in a time

When fearful wars point at me! her fon gone,
So needful for this prefent! it strikes me, paft
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

By

a fharp torture.

Pif. Sir, my life is yours,

I fet it at your will: but, for my mistress,

I nothing know where the remains; why, gone;
Nor when the purposes Return. 'Befeech your Highness,
Hold me your loyal servant.

Lord. Good my Liege,

The day that she was miffing, he was here;
I dare be bound he's true, and fhall perform
All parts of his fubjection loyally. For Cloten,
There wants no diligence in feeking him,
And will no doubt be found.

Cym. The time is troublesome;

We'll flip you for a season, but our jealousy
Does yet depend.

Lord. So pleafe your Majefty,

The Roman Legions, all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your coat, with large fupply

Of Roman Gentlemen, by th' Senate fent.

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 lefs

Than what you hear of. Come more, for more you're ready;

The want is, but to put thefe Powers in motion,
That long to move.

Cym. I thank you; let's withdraw,

And meet the time, as it feeks us. We fear not
What can from Italy annoy us, but

We grieve at chances here.-Away.

[Exeunt

Pif. I heard no letter from my mafter, fince I wrote him, Imogen was flain. 'Tis ftrange; Nor hear I from my miftrefs, who did promise To yield me often tidings. Neither know I, What is betide to Cloten; but remain Perplext in all. The heavens ftill muft work; Wherein I'm falfe, I'm honeft: not true, to be true: These prefent wars fhall 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.

Guid.

SCENE changes to the Foreft.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.

“Τ

HE noife 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
Mult or for Britons flay us, or receive us
For barb'rous and unnatural Revolts

During their ufe, and flay us after.

Bel. Sons,

We'll higher to the mountains, there fecure us.
To the King's Party there's no going; newness
Of Cloten's death (we being not known, nor muster'd
Among the bands) may drive us to a Render

Where we have liv'd: and fo extort from us

That which we've done, whose answer would be death Drawn on with torture.

Guid. This is, Sir, a doubt

(In fuch a time) nothing becoming you,

Nor fatisfying us.

Arv. It is not likely,

That when they hear the Roman horfes neigh,
Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes

And ears fo cloy'd importantly as now,

That they will 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, befides, the King

Hath not deferv'd my fervice, nor your loves,
Who find in my exile the want of breeding;
The certainty of this hard life, ay hopeless

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