From the spongy south to this part of the west, 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!- Cap. He is alive, my lord. Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body.- Inform us of thy fortunes; for it seems, Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy in terest In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it? What art thou? Imo. I am nothing: or if not, That here by mountaineers lies slain :-Alas! Luc. 'Lack, good youth! Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than Thy master in bleeding: Say his name, good | I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep Find out the prettiest daizied plot we can, [Exeunt. SCENE III-A room in CYMBELINE's palace. How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen, Pis. Sir, my life is yours, I humbly 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. 1 Lord. Good my liege, The day that she was missing, he was here: There wants no diligence in seeking him, Cym. The time's troublesome : We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy [To Pisanio. 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 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. 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 Bel. O, I am known' Of many in the army: many years, From my remembrance. And, besides, the king Gui. Than be so, Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army: Arv. By this sun that shines, I'll thither: What thing is it, that I never If Gui. By heavens, I'll go : 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! Among the Italian gentry, and to fight Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me The battle continues; the Britons fly; CYMBELINE is taken; then enter, to his rescue, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground; The lane is guarded: nothing routs us, but Gui. & Arv. Stand, stand, and fight! Enter POSTHUMUS, and seconds the Britons : They rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then, enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and IMOGEN. Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself: For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such As war were hood-wink'd. Iach. "Tis their fresh supplies. Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely: Or betimes Let's re-enforce, or fly. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Another part of the field. Enter POSTHUMUS, and a British Lord. Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the stand? Post. I did: Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. Post. No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost, More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some fall ing Merely through fear; that the straight pass was damm'd With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living To die with lengthen'd shame. Lord. Where was this lane? Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf; Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,- Or we are Romans, and will give you that save, But to look back in frown: 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, But by example, (O, a sin in war, A rout, confusion thick: Forthwith, they fly Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves, The strides they victors made: And now our cowards (Like fragments in hard voyages,) became The life o'the need; having found the back-door open Of the unguarded hearts, Heavens, how they wound! Some, slain before; some, dying; some, their friends O'er-borne i'the 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'the field. Lord. This was strange chance: A narrow lane! an old man, and two boys! Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend : I know, he'll quickly fly my friendship too. Lord. Farewell; you are angry. [Exit. Post. Still going?-This is a lord! O noble misery! To be i'the field, and ask, what news, of me! To-day, how many would have given their ho nours To have sav'd their carcasses? 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: Being an ugly monster, 'Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we That draw his knives i'the war.-Well, I will find him : For being now a favourer to the Roman, Enter two British Captains, and Soldiers. 'Tis thought, the old man and his sons were angels. 2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, That gave the affront with them. 1 Cap. So 'tis reported: But none of them can be found.-Stand! who is 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 the king. Enter CYMBELINE, attended; BELlarius, GuiDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, and Roman Captives. The Captains present POSTHUMUS to CYMBELINE, who delivers him over to a Gaoler; after which, all go out. SCENE IV.-A prison. Enter POSTHUMUS, and two Gaolers. 1 Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, you have locks upon you; So graze, as you find pasture. 2 Gaol. Ay, or a stomach. [Exeunt Gaolers. Post. Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a way, I think, to liberty: Yet am I better Groan so in perpetuity, than be cur'd More than my shanks, and wrists: You, good gods, give me The penitent instrument, to pick that bolt, I know, you are more clement than vile men, died in the wars. They circle POSTHUMUS | To the shining synod of the rest, round, as he lies sleeping. Sici. No more, thou thunder-master, show With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, Rates and revenges. Hath my poor boy done aught but well, I died, whilst in the womb he stay'd Whose father then (as men report, Thou orphans' father art,) Thou should'st have been, and shielded him Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry, That he deserv'd the praise o'the world, 1 Bro. When once he was mature for man, In Britain where was he That could stand up his parallel; Or fruitful object be In eye of Imogen, that best Could deem his dignity? Moth. With marriage wherefore was he mock'd, To be exil'd, and thrown From Leonati' seat, and cast From her his dearest one, Siei. Why did you suffer Iachimo, To taint his nobler heart and brain And to become the geck and scorn O'the other's villainy? 2 Bro. For this, from stiller seats we came, Our parents, and us twain, That, striking in our country's cause, Our fealty, and Tenantius' right, With honour to maintain. 1 Bro. Like hardiment Posthúmus hath To Cymbeline perform'd: Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods, Why hast thou thus adjourn'd The graces for his merits due; Being all to dolours turn'd? Sici. Thy crystal window ope; look out; Upon a valiant race, thy harsh And potent injuries: Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good, Take off his miseries. Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion; help! Or we poor ghosts will cry Against thy deity. 2 Bro. Help, Jupiter; or we appeal, And from thy justice fly. JUPITER descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle; he throws a thunder-bolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees. Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region low, Offend our hearing; hush!-How dare you, ghosts, Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know, Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts? Poor shadows of Elysium, hence; and rest Upon your never-withering banks of flowers: Be not with mortal accidents opprest; No care of yours it is; you know, 'tis ours. Whom best I love, I cross; to make my gift, The more delay'd, delighted. Be content; Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift: His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in Our temple was he married.-Rise, and fade!-He shall be lord of lady Imogen, And happier much by his affliction made. This tablet lay upon his breast; wherein Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine; And so, away: no further with your din Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. Ascends. Sici. He came in thunder; his celestial breath Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle Stoop'd, as to foot us: his ascension is More sweet than our bless'd fields: his royal bird Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, As when his god is pleas'd. All. Thanks, Jupiter! Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd His radiant roof:-Away! and, to be blest, Let us with care perform his great behest. [Ghosts vanish. Post. [Waking.] Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot A father to me: and thou hast created And so I am awake.-Poor wretches, that depend Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment [Reads. When as a lion's whelp shall, to him |