Cymbeline/Source

DRAMATIS PERSONAE (Persons Represented):


 * CYMBELINE, king of Britain.
 * CLOTEN, son to the Queen by a former husband.
 * POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, a gentleman, husband to Imogen.
 * BELARIUS, a banished lord disguised under the name of Morgan.
 * GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS, sons to Cymbeline, disguised under the names of POLYDORE and CADWAL, supposed sons to Morgan.
 * PHILARIO, Italian, friend to Posthumus.
 * IACHIMO, Italian, friend to Philario.
 * CAIUS LUCIUS, general of the Roman forces.
 * PISANIO, servant to Posthumus.
 * CORNELIUS, a physician.
 * A Roman Captain.
 * Two British Captains.
 * A Frenchman, friend to Philario.
 * Two Lords of Cymbeline's court.
 * Two Gentlemen of the same.
 * Two Gaolers.


 * Queen, wife to Cymbeline.
 * Imogen, daughter to Cymbeline by a former Queen.
 * Helen, a lady attending on Imogen.


 * Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, a Soothsayer, a
 * Dutchman, a Spaniard, Musicians, Officers, Captains, Soldiers,
 * Messengers, and other Attendants.


 * Apparitions.

SCENE: Britain; Rome.

SCENE I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline's palace.
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
 * You do not meet a man but frowns. Our bloods
 * No more obey the heavens than our courtiers
 * Still seem as does the King.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.
 * But what's the matter?

FIRST GENTLEMAN.
 * His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom
 * He purpos'd to his wife's sole son—a widow
 * That late he married—hath referr'd herself
 * Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. She's wedded,
 * Her husband banish'd, she imprison'd; all
 * Is outward sorrow; though I think the King
 * Be touch'd at very heart.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.
 * None but the King?

FIRST GENTLEMAN.
 * He that hath lost her too; so is the Queen,
 * That most desir'd the match: but not a courtier,
 * Although they wear their faces to the bent
 * Of the King's looks, hath a heart that is not
 * Glad at the thing they scowl at.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.
 * And why so?

FIRST GENTLEMAN.
 * He that hath miss'd the Princess is a thing
 * Too bad for bad report; and he that hath her—
 * I mean, that married her, alack, good man!
 * And therefore banish'd—is a creature such
 * As, to seek through the regions of the earth
 * For one his like, there would be something failing
 * In him that should compare. I do not think
 * So fair an outward and such stuff within
 * Endows a man but he.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.
 * You speak him far.

FIRST GENTLEMAN.
 * I do extend him, sir, within himself;
 * Crush him together rather than unfold
 * His measure duly.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.
 * What's his name and birth?

FIRST GENTLEMAN.
 * I cannot delve him to the root. His father
 * Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour
 * Against the Romans with Cassibelan,
 * But had his titles by Tenantius whom
 * He serv'd with glory and admir'd success,
 * So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus;
 * And had, besides this gentleman in question,
 * Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time,
 * Died with their swords in hand; for which their father,
 * Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow
 * That he quit being, and his gentle lady,
 * Big of this gentleman our theme, deceas'd
 * As he was born. The King he takes the babe
 * To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,
 * Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,
 * Puts to him all the learnings that his time
 * Could make him the receiver of; which he took,
 * As we do air, fast as 'twas minist'red,
 * And in's spring became a harvest; liv'd in court—
 * Which rare it is to do—most prais'd, most lov'd,
 * A sample to the youngest, to the more mature
 * A glass that feated them, and to the graver
 * A child that guided dotards; to his mistress,
 * For whom he now is banish'd—her own price
 * Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;
 * By her election may be truly read
 * What kind of man he is.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.
 * I honour him
 * Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me,
 * Is she sole child to the King?

FIRST GENTLEMAN.
 * His only child.
 * He had two sons,—if this be worth your hearing,
 * Mark it—the eldest of them at three years old,
 * I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery
 * Were stolen, and to this hour no guess in knowledge
 * Which way they went.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.
 * How long is this ago?

FIRST GENTLEMAN. Some twenty years.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.
 * That a king's children should be so convey'd,
 * So slackly guarded, and the search so slow,
 * That could not trace them!

FIRST GENTLEMAN.
 * Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
 * Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
 * Yet is it true, sir.

SECOND GENTLEMAN.
 * I do well believe you.

FIRST GENTLEMAN.
 * We must forbear; here comes the gentleman,
 * The Queen, and Princess.

[Exeunt.]

[Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS, and IMOGEN.]

QUEEN.
 * No, be assur'd you shall not find me, daughter,
 * After the slander of most stepmothers,
 * Evil-ey'd unto you. You're my prisoner, but
 * Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
 * That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
 * So soon as I can win the offended King,
 * I will be known your advocate. Marry, yet
 * The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good
 * You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience
 * Your wisdom may inform you.

POSTHUMUS.
 * Please your Highness,
 * I will from hence to-day.

QUEEN.
 * You know the peril.
 * I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
 * The pangs of barr'd affections, though the King
 * Hath charg'd you should not speak together.

[Exit.]

IMOGEN.
 * O dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant
 * Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,
 * I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing—
 * Always reserv'd my holy duty—what
 * His rage can do on me. You must be gone;
 * And I shall here abide the hourly shot
 * Of angry eyes, not comforted to live,
 * But that there is this jewel in the world
 * That I may see again.

POSTHUMUS.
 * My queen! my mistress!
 * O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause
 * To be suspected of more tenderness
 * Than doth become a man. I will remain
 * The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth.
 * My residence in Rome at one Philario's,
 * Who to my father was a friend, to me
 * Known but by letter; thither write, my queen,
 * And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,
 * Though ink be made of gall.

[Re-enter QUEEN.]

QUEEN.
 * Be brief, I pray you.
 * If the King come, I shall incur I know not
 * How much of his displeasure.

[Aside.]

Yet I'll move him
 * To walk this way. I never do him wrong
 * But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;
 * Pays dear for my offences.

[Exit.]

POSTHUMUS.
 * Should we be taking leave
 * As long a term as yet we have to live,
 * The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!

IMOGEN.
 * Nay, stay a little.
 * Were you but riding forth to air yourself,
 * Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;
 * This diamond was my mother's. Take it, heart;
 * But keep it till you woo another wife,
 * When Imogen is dead.

POSTHUMUS.
 * How, how! another?
 * You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
 * And cere up my embracements from a next
 * With bonds of death! Remain, remain thou here

[Putting on the ring.]

While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest,
 * As I my poor self did exchange for you,
 * To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles
 * I still win of you; for my sake wear this.
 * It is a manacle of love; I'll place it
 * Upon this fairest prisoner.

[Putting a bracelet upon her arm.]

IMOGEN.
 * O the gods!
 * When shall we see again?

[Enter CYMBELINE and LORDS.]

POSTHUMUS.
 * Alack, the King!

CYMBELINE.
 * Thou basest thing, avoid! Hence, from my sight!
 * If after this command thou fraught the court
 * With thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away!
 * Thou'rt poison to my blood.

POSTHUMUS.
 * The gods protect you!
 * And bless the good remainders of the court!
 * I am gone.

[Exit.]

IMOGEN.
 * There cannot be a pinch in death
 * More sharp than this is.

CYMBELINE.
 * O disloyal thing,
 * That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st
 * A year's age on me!

IMOGEN.
 * I beseech you, sir,
 * Harm not yourself with your vexation.
 * I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare
 * Subdues all pangs, all fears.

CYMBELINE.
 * Past grace? obedience?

IMOGEN.
 * Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.

CYMBELINE.
 * That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!

IMOGEN.
 * O blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle,
 * And did avoid a puttock.

CYMBELINE.
 * Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne
 * A seat for baseness.

IMOGEN.
 * No; I rather added
 * A lustre to it.

CYMBELINE.
 * O thou vile one!

IMOGEN.
 * Sir, It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus.
 * You bred him as my playfellow, and he is
 * A man worth any woman; overbuys me
 * Almost the sum he pays.

CYMBELINE.
 * What, art thou mad?

IMOGEN.
 * Almost, sir; heaven restore me! Would I were
 * A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus
 * Our neighbour shepherd's son!

[Re-enter QUEEN.]

CYMBELINE. Thou foolish thing!
 * —They were again together; you have done
 * Not after our command. Away with her,
 * And pen her up.

QUEEN.
 * Beseech your patience. Peace,
 * Dear lady daughter, peace! Sweet sovereign,
 * Leave us to ourselves, and make yourself some comfort
 * Out of your best advice.

CYMBELINE.
 * Nay, let her languish
 * A drop of blood a day; and, being aged,
 * Die of this folly!

[Exeunt CYMBELINE and LORDS.]

[Enter PISANIO.]

QUEEN.
 * Fie! you must give way.
 * Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news?

PISANIO.
 * My lord your son drew on my master.

QUEEN.
 * Ha! No harm, I trust, is done?

PISANIO.
 * There might have been,
 * But that my master rather play'd than fought
 * And had no help of anger. They were parted
 * By gentlemen at hand.

QUEEN.
 * I am very glad on't.

IMOGEN.
 * Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part
 * To draw upon an exile. O brave sir!
 * I would they were in Afric both together;
 * Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
 * The goer-back. Why came you from your master?

PISANIO.
 * On his command. He would not suffer me
 * To bring him to the haven; left these notes
 * Of what commands I should be subject to,
 * When't pleas'd you to employ me.

QUEEN.
 * This hath been
 * Your faithful servant. I dare lay mine honour
 * He will remain so.

PISANIO.
 * I humbly thank your Highness.

QUEEN.
 * Pray, walk a while.

IMOGEN.
 * About some half-hour hence,
 * I Pray you, speak with me; you shall at least
 * Go see my lord aboard. For this time leave me.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. The same. A public place.
[Enter CLOTEN and two LORDS.]

FIRST LORD.
 * Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the violence of action
 * hath made you reek as a sacrifice. Where air comes out, air
 * comes in; there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.

CLOTEN.
 * If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him?

SECOND LORD.

[Aside.]

No, faith; not so much as his patience.

FIRST LORD.
 * Hurt him! His body's a passable carcass, if he be not
 * hurt; it is a throughfare for steel, if it be not hurt.

SECOND LORD.

[Aside.]

His steel was in debt; it went o' the backside the town.

CLOTEN.
 * The villain would not stand me.

SECOND LORD.

[Aside.]

No; but he fled forward still, toward your face.

FIRST LORD.
 * Stand you! You have land enough of your own; but he
 * added to your having, gave you some ground.

SECOND LORD.

[Aside.]

As many inches as you have oceans. Puppies!

CLOTEN.
 * I would they had not come between us.

SECOND LORD.

[Aside.]

So would I, till you had measur'd how long a fool you
 * were upon the ground.

CLOTEN.
 * And that she should love this fellow and refuse me!

SECOND LORD.

[Aside.]

If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damn'd.

FIRST LORD.
 * Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go
 * not together. She's a good sign, but I have seen small
 * reflection
 * of her wit.

SECOND LORD.

[Aside.]

She shines not upon fools, lest the reflection should hurt her.

CLOTEN.
 * Come, I'll to my chamber. Would there had been some hurt
 * done!

SECOND LORD.

[Aside.]

I wish not so; unless it had been the fall of an ass, which is no
 * great hurt.

CLOTEN.
 * You'll go with us?

FIRST LORD.
 * I'll attend your lordship.

CLOTEN.
 * Nay, come, let's go together.

SECOND LORD.
 * Well, my lord.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III. A room in CYMBELINE'S palace.
[Enter IMOGEN and PISANIO.]

IMOGEN.
 * I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' the haven,
 * And question'dst every sail. If he should write
 * And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost,
 * As offer'd mercy is. What was the last
 * That he spake to thee?

PISANIO.
 * It was his queen, his queen!

IMOGEN.
 * Then wav'd his handkerchief?

PISANIO.
 * And kiss'd it, madam.

IMOGEN.
 * Senseless linen! happier therein than I!
 * And that was all?

PISANIO.
 * No, madam; for so long
 * As he could make me with this eye or ear
 * Distinguish him from others, he did keep
 * The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,
 * Still waving, as the fits and stirs of's mind
 * Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on,
 * How swift his ship.

IMOGEN.
 * Thou shouldst have made him
 * As little as a crow, or less, ere left
 * To after-eye him.

PISANIO.
 * Madam, so I did.

IMOGEN.
 * I would have broke mine eye-strings; crack'd them, but
 * To look upon him, till the diminution
 * Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle;
 * Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from
 * The smallness of a gnat to air, and then
 * Have turn'd mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio,
 * When shall we hear from him?

PISANIO.
 * Be assured, madam,
 * With his next vantage.

IMOGEN.
 * I did not take my leave of him, but had
 * Most pretty things to say. Ere I could tell him
 * How I would think on him at certain hours
 * Such thoughts and such, or I could make him swear
 * The shes of Italy should not betray
 * Mine interest and his honour, or have charg'd him,
 * At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,
 * To encounter me with orisons, for then
 * I am in heaven for him; or ere I could
 * Give him that parting kiss which I had set
 * Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father
 * And like the tyrannous breathing of the north
 * Shakes all our buds from growing.

[Enter a LADY.]

LADY.
 * The Queen, madam,
 * Desires your Highness' company.

IMOGEN.
 * Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd.
 * I will attend the Queen.

PISANIO.
 * Madam, I shall.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE IV. Rome. PHILARIO'S house.
[Enter PHILARIO, IACHIMO, a FRENCHMAN, a DUTCHMAN, and a SPANIARD.]

IACHIMO.
 * Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain. He was then of a
 * crescent note, expected to prove so worthy as since he hath
 * been allowed the name of; but I could then have look'd on him
 * without the help of admiration, though the catalogue of his
 * endowments had been tabled by his side and I to peruse him by
 * items.

PHILARIO.
 * You speak of him when he was less furnish'd than now he
 * is with that which makes him both without and within.

FRENCHMAN.
 * I have seen him in France. We had very many there could
 * behold the sun with as firm eyes as he.

IACHIMO.
 * This matter of marrying his king's daughter, wherein he
 * must be weighed rather by her value than his own, words him, I
 * doubt not, a great deal from the matter.

FRENCHMAN.
 * And then his banishment.

IACHIMO.
 * Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this lamentable
 * divorce under her colours are wonderfully to extend him; be it
 * but to fortify her judgement, which else an easy battery might
 * lay flat, for taking a beggar without less quality. But how
 * comes it he is to sojourn with you? How creeps acquaintance?

PHILARIO.
 * His father and I were soldiers together; to whom I have been
 * often bound for no less than my life.

[Enter POSTHUMUS.]

Here comes the Briton. Let him be so entertained amongst you as
 * suits with gentlemen of your knowing to a stranger of his
 * quality.—I beseech you all, be better known to this gentleman,
 * whom I commend to you as a noble friend of mine. How worthy he
 * is I will leave to appear hereafter, rather than story him in
 * his own hearing.

FRENCHMAN.
 * Sir, we have known together in Orleans.

POSTHUMUS.
 * Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies,
 * which I will be ever to pay and yet pay still.

FRENCHMAN.
 * Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness. I was glad I did atone my
 * countryman and you. It had been pity you should have been put
 * together with so mortal a purpose as then each bore, upon
 * importance of so slight and trivial a nature.

POSTHUMUS.
 * By your pardon, sir, I was then a young traveller; rather shunn'd
 * to go even with what I heard than in my every action to be guided
 * by others' experiences: but upon my mended judgement—if I offend
 * [not] to say it is mended—my quarrel was not altogether slight.

FRENCHMAN.
 * Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords, and by such
 * two that would by all likelihood have confounded one the other, or
 * have fallen both.

IACHIMO.
 * Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference?

FRENCHMAN.
 * Safely, I think; 'twas a contention in public, which may, without
 * contradiction, suffer the report. It was much like an argument
 * that fell out last night, where each of us fell in praise of our
 * country-mistresses; this gentleman at that time vouching—and
 * upon warrant of bloody affirmation—his to be more fair, virtuous,
 * wise, chaste, constant, qualified, and less attemptable than any
 * the rarest of our ladies in France.

IACHIMO.
 * That lady is not now living, or this gentleman's opinion by this
 * worn out.

POSTHUMUS.
 * She holds her virtue still, and I my mind.

IACHIMO.
 * You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours of Italy.

POSTHUMUS.
 * Being so far provok'd as I was in France, I would abate her
 * nothing, though I profess myself her adorer, not her friend.

IACHIMO.
 * As fair and as good—a kind of hand-in-hand comparison—had been
 * something too fair and too good for any lady in Britain. If she
 * went before others I have seen, as that diamond of yours outlustres
 * many I have beheld, I could not [but] believe she excelled many.
 * But I have not seen the most precious diamond that is, nor you the
 * lady.

POSTHUMUS.
 * I prais'd her as I rated her; so do I my stone.

IACHIMO.
 * What do you esteem it at?

POSTHUMUS.
 * More than the world enjoys.

IACHIMO.
 * Either your unparagon'd mistress is dead, or she's outpriz'd by a
 * trifle.

POSTHUMUS.
 * You are mistaken. The one may be sold, or given, if there were
 * wealth enough for the purchase, or merit for the gift; the other is
 * not a thing for sale, and only the gift of the gods.

IACHIMO.
 * Which the gods have given you?

POSTHUMUS.
 * Which, by their graces, I will keep.

IACHIMO.
 * You may wear her in title yours; but, you know, strange fowl
 * light upon neighbouring ponds. Your ring may be stolen too;
 * so your brace of unprizable estimations, the one is but frail
 * and the other casual. A cunning thief, or a that-way-
 * accomplish'd courtier, would hazard the winning both of first
 * and last.

POSTHUMUS.
 * Your Italy contains none so accomplish'd a courtier to convince
 * the honour of my mistress, if, in the holding or loss of that,
 * you term her frail. I do nothing doubt you have store of thieves;
 * notwithstanding, I fear not my ring.

PHILARIO.
 * Let us leave here, gentlemen.

POSTHUMUS.
 * Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I thank him, makes
 * no stranger of me; we are familiar at first.

IACHIMO.
 * With five times so much conversation, I should get ground of your
 * fair mistress, make her go back, even to the yielding, had I
 * admittance, and opportunity to friend.

POSTHUMUS.
 * No, no.

IACHIMO.
 * I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to your ring;
 * which, in my opinion, o'ervalues it something. But I make my
 * wager rather against your confidence than her reputation; and,
 * to bar your offence herein too, I durst attempt it against any
 * lady in the world.

POSTHUMUS.
 * You are a great deal abus'd in too bold a persuasion; and I doubt
 * not you sustain what you're worthy of by your attempt.

IACHIMO.
 * What's that?

POSTHUMUS.
 * A repulse; though your attempt, as you call it, deserve more,—a
 * punishment too.

PHILARIO.
 * Gentlemen, enough of this; it came in too suddenly. Let it die
 * as it was born, and, I pray you, be better acquainted.

IACHIMO.
 * Would I had put my estate and my neighbour's on the approbation
 * of what I have spoke!

POSTHUMUS.
 * What lady would you choose to assail?

IACHIMO.
 * Yours, whom in constancy you think stands so safe. I will lay you
 * ten thousand ducats to your ring, that, commend me to the court
 * where your lady is, with no more advantage than the opportunity of
 * a second conference, and I will bring from thence that honour of
 * hers which you imagine so reserv'd.

POSTHUMUS.
 * I will wage against your gold, gold to it. My ring I hold dear as
 * my finger; 'tis part of it.

IACHIMO.
 * You are afraid, and therein the wiser. If you buy ladies' flesh
 * at a million a dram, you cannot preserve it from tainting. But I
 * see you have some religion in you, that you fear.

POSTHUMUS.
 * This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a graver purpose, I
 * hope.

IACHIMO.
 * I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo what's spoken,
 * I swear.

POSTHUMUS.
 * Will you? I shall but lend my diamond till your return. Let
 * there be covenants drawn between's. My mistress exceeds in
 * goodness the hugeness of your unworthy thinking. I dare you to
 * this match: here's my ring.

PHILARIO.
 * I will have it no lay.

IACHIMO.
 * By the gods, it is one. If I bring you no sufficient testimony
 * that I have enjoy'd the dearest bodily part of your mistress, my
 * ten thousand ducats are yours; so is your diamond too. If I come
 * off, and leave her in such honour as you have trust in, she your
 * jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are yours; provided I have
 * your commendation for my more free entertainment.

POSTHUMUS.
 * I embrace these conditions; let us have articles betwixt us.
 * Only, thus far you shall answer: if you make your voyage upon her
 * and give me directly to understand you have prevail'd, I am no
 * further your enemy; she is not worth our debate. If she remain
 * unseduc'd, you not making it appear otherwise, for your ill
 * opinion and the assault you have made to her chastity you shall
 * answer me with your sword.

IACHIMO.
 * Your hand; a covenant. We will have these things set down by
 * lawful counsel, and straight away for Britain, lest the bargain
 * should catch cold and starve. I will fetch my gold and have our
 * two wagers recorded.

POSTHUMUS.
 * Agreed.

[Exeunt POSTHUMUS and IACHIMO.]

FRENCHMAN.
 * Will this hold, think you?

PHILARIO.
 * Signior Iachimo will not from it. Pray, let us follow 'em.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE V. Britain. A room in CYMBELINE'S palace.
[Enter QUEEN, LADIES, and CORNELIUS.]

QUEEN.
 * Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather those flowers;
 * Make haste. Who has the note of them?

FIRST LADY.
 * I, madam.

QUEEN.
 * Dispatch.

[Exeunt LADIES.]

Now, master doctor, have you brought those drugs?

CORNELIUS.
 * Pleaseth your Highness, ay. Here they are, madam.

[Presenting a small box.]

But I beseech your Grace, without offence,—
 * My conscience bids me ask—wherefore you have
 * Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds,
 * Which are the movers of a languishing death,
 * But though slow, deadly?

QUEEN.
 * I wonder, doctor,
 * Thou ask'st me such a question. Have I not been
 * Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how
 * To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so
 * That our great king himself doth woo me oft
 * For my confections? Having thus far proceeded,—
 * Unless thou think'st me devilish—is't not meet
 * That I did amplify my judgement in
 * Other conclusions? I will try the forces
 * Of these thy compounds on such creatures as
 * We count not worth the hanging,—but none human—
 * To try the vigour of them and apply
 * Allayments to their act, and by them gather
 * Their several virtues and effects.

CORNELIUS.
 * Your Highness
 * Shall from this practice but make hard your heart.
 * Besides, the seeing these effects will be
 * Both noisome and infectious.

QUEEN. O, content thee.

[Enter PISANIO.]

[Aside.]

Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him
 * Will I first work. He's for his master,
 * An enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio!
 * Doctor, your service for this time is ended;
 * Take your own way.

CORNELIUS.

[Aside.]

I do suspect you, madam;
 * But you shall do no harm.

QUEEN.

[To PISANIO]

Hark thee, a word.

CORNELIUS.

[Aside.]

I do not like her. She doth think she has
 * Strange ling'ring poisons. I do know her spirit,
 * And will not trust one of her malice with
 * A drug of such damn'd nature. Those she has
 * Will stupefy and dull the sense a while,
 * Which first, perchance, she'll prove on cats and dogs,
 * Then afterward up higher; but there is
 * No danger in what show of death it makes,
 * More than the locking-up the spirits a time,
 * To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd
 * With a most false effect; and I the truer,
 * So to be false with her.

QUEEN.
 * No further service, doctor,
 * Until I send for thee.

CORNELIUS.
 * I humbly take my leave.

[Exit.]

QUEEN.
 * Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou think in time
 * She will not quench and let instructions enter
 * Where folly now possesses? Do thou work.
 * When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son,
 * I'll tell thee on the instant thou art then
 * As great as is thy master,—greater, for
 * His fortunes all lie speechless and his name
 * Is at last gasp. Return he cannot, nor
 * Continue where he is. To shift his being
 * Is to exchange one misery with another,
 * And every day that comes comes to
 * A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect,
 * To be depender on a thing that leans,
 * Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends
 * So much as but to prop him?

[The QUEEN drops the box: PISANIO takes it up.]

Thou tak'st up
 * Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour.
 * It is a thing I made, which hath the King
 * Five times redeem'd from death. I do not know
 * What is more cordial. Nay, I prithee, take it;
 * It is an earnest of a further good
 * That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how
 * The case stands with her; do't as from thyself.
 * Think what a chance thou changest on; but think
 * Thou hast thy mistress still; to boot, my son,
 * Who shall take notice of thee. I'll move the King
 * To any shape of thy preferment such
 * As thou'lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly,
 * That set thee on to this desert, am bound
 * To load thy merit richly. Call my women.
 * Think on my words.

[Exit PISANIO.]

A sly and constant knave,
 * Not to be shak'd; the agent for his master
 * And the remembrancer of her to hold
 * The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that
 * Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her
 * Of liegers for her sweet, and which she after,
 * Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd
 * To taste of too.

[Re-enter PISANIO and LADIES.]

So, so; well done, well done.
 * The violets, cowslips, and the primroses,
 * Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio;
 * Think on my words.

[Exeunt QUEEN and LADIES.]

PISANIO.
 * And shall do;
 * But when to my good lord I prove untrue,
 * I'll choke myself. There's all I'll do for you.

[Exit.]

SCENE VI. The same. Another room in the palace.
[Enter IMOGEN.]

IMOGEN.
 * A father cruel, and a step-dame false;
 * A foolish suitor to a wedded lady,
 * That hath her husband banish'd;—O, that husband!
 * My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated
 * Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stolen,
 * As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable
 * Is the desire that's glorious. Blessed be those,
 * How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills,
 * Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie!

[Enter PISANIO and IACHIMO.]

PISANIO.
 * Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome
 * Comes from my lord with letters.

IACHIMO.
 * Change you, madam?
 * The worthy Leonatus is in safety
 * And greets your Highness dearly.

[Presents a letter]

IMOGEN.
 * Thanks, good sir;
 * You're kindly welcome.

IACHIMO.

[Aside.]

All of her that is out of door most rich!
 * If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare,
 * She is alone, the Arabian bird, and I
 * Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
 * Arm me, audacity, from head to foot!
 * Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;
 * Rather, directly fly.

IMOGEN.

[Reads]

"—He is one of the noblest note, to whose
 * kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon him
 * accordingly, as you value your trust— LEONATUS"

So far I read aloud—
 * But even the very middle of my heart
 * Is warm'd by the rest—and take it thankfully.
 * You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I
 * Have words to bid you; and shall find it so
 * In all that I can do.

IACHIMO.
 * Thanks, fairest lady.
 * What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes
 * To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
 * Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
 * The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones
 * Upon the number'd beach, and can we not
 * Partition make with spectacles so precious
 * 'Twixt fair and foul?

IMOGEN.
 * What makes your admiration?

IACHIMO.
 * It cannot be i' the eye, for apes and monkeys
 * 'Twixt two such shes would chatter this way and
 * Contemn with mows the other; nor i' the judgement,
 * For idiots in this case of favour would
 * Be wisely definite; nor i' the appetite;
 * Sluttery to such neat excellence oppos'd
 * Should make desire vomit emptiness,
 * Not so allur'd to feed.

IMOGEN.
 * What is the matter, trow?

IACHIMO.
 * The cloyed will,—
 * That satiate yet unsatisfi'd desire, that tub
 * Both fill'd and running,—ravening first the lamb,
 * Longs after for the garbage.

IMOGEN.
 * What, dear sir,
 * Thus raps you? Are you well?

IACHIMO.
 * Thanks, madam; well.

[To PISANIO.]

Beseech you, sir, desire
 * My man's abode where I did leave him.
 * He is strange and peevish.

PISANIO.
 * I was going, sir,
 * To give him welcome.

[Exit.]

IMOGEN.
 * Continues well my lord? His health, beseech you?

IACHIMO.
 * Well, madam.

IMOGEN.
 * Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope he is.

IACHIMO.
 * Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there
 * So merry and so gamesome. He is call'd
 * The Briton reveller.

IMOGEN.
 * When he was here,
 * He did incline to sadness, and oft-times
 * Not knowing why.

IACHIMO.
 * I never saw him sad.
 * There is a Frenchman his companion, one
 * An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves
 * A Gallian girl at home. He furnaces
 * The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton—
 * Your lord, I mean—laughs from's free lungs, cries "O,
 * Can my sides hold, to think that man, who knows
 * By history, report, or his own proof,
 * What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
 * But must be, will his free hours languish for
 * Assured bondage?"

IMOGEN.
 * Will my lord say so?

IACHIMO.
 * Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter.
 * It is a recreation to be by
 * And hear him mock the Frenchman. But, heavens know,
 * Some men are much to blame.

IMOGEN.
 * Not he, I hope.

IACHIMO.
 * Not he; but yet heaven's bounty towards him might
 * Be used more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
 * In you—which I account his—beyond all talents.
 * Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
 * To pity too.

IMOGEN.
 * What do you pity, sir?

IACHIMO.
 * Two creatures heartily.

IMOGEN.
 * Am I one, sir?
 * You look on me; what wreck discern you in me
 * Deserves your pity?

IACHIMO.
 * Lamentable! What,
 * To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace
 * I' the dungeon by a snuff?

IMOGEN.
 * I pray you, sir,
 * Deliver with more openness your answers
 * To my demands. Why do you pity me?

IACHIMO.
 * That others do,
 * I was about to say, enjoy your—But
 * It is an office of the gods to venge it,
 * Not mine to speak on't.

IMOGEN.
 * You do seem to know
 * Something of me, or what concerns me: pray you,—
 * Since doubting things go ill often hurts more
 * Than to be sure they do; for certainties
 * Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing,
 * The remedy then born—discover to me
 * What both you spur and stop.

IACHIMO.
 * Had I this cheek
 * To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
 * Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
 * To the oath of loyalty; this object, which
 * Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
 * Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then,
 * Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
 * That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
 * Made hard with hourly falsehood—falsehood, as
 * With labour; then lie peeping in an eye
 * Base and illustrious as the smoky light
 * That's fed with stinking tallow: it were fit
 * That all the plagues of hell should at one time
 * Encounter such revolt.

IMOGEN.
 * My lord, I fear,
 * Has forgot Britain.

IACHIMO.
 * And himself. Not I,
 * Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce
 * The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces
 * That from my mutest conscience to my tongue
 * Charms this report out.

IMOGEN.
 * Let me hear no more.

IACHIMO.
 * O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart
 * With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady
 * So fair, and fasten'd to an empery
 * Would make the great'st king double,—to be partner'd
 * With tomboys hir'd with that self-exhibition
 * Which your own coffers yield! with diseas'd ventures
 * That play with all infirmities for gold
 * Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff
 * As well might poison poison! Be reveng'd;
 * Or she that bore you was no queen, and you
 * Recoil from your great stock.

IMOGEN.
 * Reveng'd!
 * How should I be reveng'd? If this be true,
 * As I have such a heart that both mine ears
 * Must not in haste abuse—if it be true,
 * How should I be reveng'd?

IACHIMO.
 * Should he make me
 * Live, like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets,
 * Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps,
 * In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.
 * I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,
 * More noble than that runagate to your bed,
 * And will continue fast to your affection,
 * Still close as sure.

IMOGEN.
 * What ho, Pisanio!

IACHIMO.
 * Let me my service tender on your lips.

IMOGEN.
 * Away! I do condemn mine ears that have
 * So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,
 * Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not
 * For such an end thou seek'st,—as base as strange.
 * Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far
 * From thy report as thou from honour, and
 * Solicit'st here a lady that disdains
 * Thee and the devil alike. What, ho, Pisanio!
 * The King my father shall be made acquainted
 * Of thy assault. If he shall think it fit
 * A saucy stranger in his court to mart
 * As in a Romish stew, and to expound
 * His beastly mind to us, he hath a court
 * He little cares for and a daughter who
 * He not respects at all. What, ho, Pisanio!

IACHIMO.
 * O happy Leonatus! I may say.
 * The credit that thy lady hath of thee
 * Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness
 * Her assur'd credit. Blessed live you long
 * A lady to the worthiest sir that ever
 * Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only
 * For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.
 * I have spoke this, to know if your affiance
 * Were deeply rooted, and shall make your lord,
 * That which he is, new o'er; and he is one
 * The truest manner'd, such a holy witch
 * That he enchants societies into him;
 * Half all men's hearts are his.

IMOGEN.
 * You make amends.

IACHIMO.
 * He sits 'mongst men like a descended god:
 * He hath a kind of honour sets him off,
 * More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,
 * Most mighty princess, that I have adventur'd
 * To try your taking of a false report; which hath
 * Honour'd with confirmation your great judgement
 * In the election of a sir so rare,
 * Which you know cannot err. The love I bear him
 * Made me to fan you thus; but the gods made you,
 * Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.

IMOGEN.
 * All's well, sir. Take my power i' the court for yours.

IACHIMO.
 * My humble thanks. I had almost forgot
 * To entreat your Grace but in a small request,
 * And yet of moment too, for it concerns
 * Your lord, myself, and other noble friends,
 * Are partners in the business.

IMOGEN.
 * Pray, what is't?

IACHIMO.
 * Some dozen Romans of us and your lord—
 * The best feather of our wing—have mingled sums
 * To buy a present for the Emperor;
 * Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
 * In France. 'Tis plate of rare device, and jewels
 * Of rich and exquisite form, their values great;
 * And I am something curious, being strange,
 * To have them in safe stowage. May it please you
 * To take them in protection?

IMOGEN.
 * Willingly;
 * And pawn mine honour for their safety. Since
 * My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them
 * In my bedchamber.

IACHIMO.
 * They are in a trunk,
 * Attended by my men. I will make bold
 * To send them to you, only for this night;
 * I must aboard to-morrow.

IMOGEN.
 * O, no, no.

IACHIMO.
 * Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word
 * By lengthening my return. From Gallia
 * I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise
 * To see your Grace.

IMOGEN.
 * I thank you for your pains:
 * But not away to-morrow!

IACHIMO.
 * O, I must, madam;
 * Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please
 * To greet your lord with writing; do't to-night.
 * I have outstood my time; which is material
 * To the tender of our present.

IMOGEN.
 * I will write.
 * Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept,
 * And truly yielded you. You're very welcome.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE I. Britain. Before CYMBELINE'S palace.
[Enter CLOTEN and the two LORDS.]

CLOTEN.
 * Was there ever man had such luck! When I kiss'd the jack,
 * upon an up-cast to be hit away! I had a hundred pound on't; and
 * then a whoreson jackanapes must take me up for swearing, as if I
 * borrowed mine oaths of him and might not spend them at my
 * pleasure.

FIRST LORD.
 * What got he by that? You have broke his pate with your bowl.

SECOND LORD.

[Aside.]

If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have run all
 * out.

CLOTEN.
 * When a gentleman is dispos'd to swear, it is not for any
 * standers-by to curtail his oaths, ha?

SECOND LORD.
 * No, my lord;

[Aside.]

nor crop the ears of them.

CLOTEN.
 * Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction? Would he had been one of
 * my rank!

SECOND LORD.

[Aside.]

To have smelt like a fool.

CLOTEN.
 * I am not vex'd more at anything in the earth; a pox on't! I had
 * rather not be so noble as I am. They dare not fight with me,
 * because of the Queen my mother. Every Jack-slave hath his
 * bellyful of fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock
 * that nobody can match.

SECOND LORD.

[Aside.]

You are cock and capon too; and you crow, cock, with your comb
 * on.

CLOTEN.
 * Sayest thou?

SECOND LORD.
 * It is not fit your lordship should undertake every companion that
 * you give offence to.

CLOTEN.
 * No, I know that; but it is fit I should commit offence to my
 * inferiors.

SECOND LORD.
 * Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.

CLOTEN.
 * Why, so I say.

FIRST LORD.
 * Did you hear of a stranger that's come to court to-night?

CLOTEN.
 * A stranger, and I not known on't!

SECOND LORD.

[Aside.]

He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it not.

FIRST LORD.
 * There's an Italian come; and, 'tis thought, one of Leonatus'
 * friends.

CLOTEN.
 * Leonatus! a banish'd rascal; and he's another, whatsoever he be.
 * Who told you of this stranger?

FIRST LORD.
 * One of your lordship's pages.

CLOTEN.
 * Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation in't?

SECOND LORD.
 * You cannot derogate, my lord.

CLOTEN.
 * Not easily, I think.

SECOND LORD.

[Aside.]

You are a fool granted; therefore your issues, being foolish, do
 * not derogate.

CLOTEN.
 * Come, I'll go see this Italian. What I have lost to-day at bowls
 * I'll win to-night of him. Come, go.

SECOND LORD.
 * I'll attend your lordship.

[Exeunt CLOTEN and FIRST LORD.]

That such a crafty devil as is his mother
 * Should yield the world this ass! A woman that
 * Bears all down with her brain; and this her son
 * Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart,
 * And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess,
 * Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'st,
 * Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd,
 * A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer
 * More hateful than the foul expulsion is
 * Of thy dear husband! Then that horrid act
 * Of the divorce he'd make! The heavens hold firm
 * The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshak'd
 * That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand
 * To enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land!

[Exit.]

SCENE II. IMOGEN'S bedchamber in CYMBELINE'S palace
[A trunk in one corner of it]

[IMOGEN in bed [reading]; a LADY [attending.]]

IMOGEN.
 * Who's there? My woman Helen?

LADY.
 * Please you, madam.

IMOGEN.
 * What hour is it?

LADY.
 * Almost midnight, madam.

IMOGEN.
 * I have read three hours then. Mine eyes are weak.
 * Fold down the leaf where I have left. To bed.
 * Take not away the taper, leave it burning;
 * And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock,
 * I prithee, call me. Sleep hath seiz'd me wholly.

[Exit LADY.]

To your protection I commend me, gods.
 * From fairies and the tempters of the night
 * Guard me, beseech ye.

[Sleeps. IACHIMO comes from the trunk.]

IACHIMO.
 * The crickets sing, and man's o'erlabour'd sense
 * Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
 * Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd
 * The chastity he wounded. Cytherea!
 * How bravely thou becom'st thy bed, fresh lily,
 * And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
 * But kiss one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd,
 * How dearly they do't! 'Tis her breathing that
 * Perfumes the chamber thus. The flame o' the taper
 * Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids
 * To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
 * Under these windows white and azure, lac'd
 * With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my design,
 * To note the chamber. I will write all down:
 * Such and such pictures; there the window; such
 * The adornment of her bed; the arras; figures,
 * Why, such and such; and the contents o' the story.
 * Ah, but some natural notes about her body,
 * Above ten thousand meaner moveables
 * Would testify, to enrich mine inventory.
 * O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
 * And be her sense but as a monument,
 * Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off!

[Taking off her bracelet.]

As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!
 * 'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
 * As strongly as the conscience does within,
 * To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
 * A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
 * I' the bottom of a cowslip. Here's a voucher,
 * Stronger than ever law could make; this secret
 * Will force him think I have pick'd the lock and ta'en
 * The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?
 * Why should I write this down, that's riveted,
 * Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late
 * The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down
 * Where Philomel gave up. I have enough.
 * To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
 * Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning
 * May bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear;
 * Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.

[Clock strikes.]

One, two, three; time, time!

[Goes into the trunk.]

SCENE III. An ante-chamber adjoining IMOGEN'S apartments.
[Enter CLOTEN and LORDS.]

FIRST LORD.
 * Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most
 * coldest that ever turn'd up ace.

CLOTEN.
 * It would make any man cold to lose.

FIRST LORD.
 * But not every man patient after the noble temper of your
 * lordship.
 * You are most hot and furious when you win.

CLOTEN.
 * Winning will put any man into courage. If I could get this
 * foolish
 * Imogen, I should have gold enough. It's almost morning, is't not?

FIRST LORD.
 * Day, my lord.

CLOTEN.
 * I would this music would come. I am advised to give her music o'
 * mornings; they say it will penetrate.

[Enter Musicians.]

Come on; tune. If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so;
 * we'll try with tongue too. If none will do, let her remain; but
 * I'll never give o'er. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing;
 * after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it; and
 * then let her consider.

SONG

Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
 * And Phoebus gins arise
 * His steeds to water at those springs
 * On chalic'd flowers that lies;
 * And winking Mary-buds begin
 * To ope their golden eyes;
 * With every thing that pretty is,
 * My lady sweet, arise,
 * Arise, arise.

So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider your music
 * the better; if it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which
 * horse-hairs and calves'-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch
 * to boot, can never amend.

[Exeunt Musicians.]

[Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN.]

SECOND LORD.
 * Here comes the King.

CLOTEN.
 * I am glad I was up so late, for that's the reason I was up so
 * early.
 * He cannot choose but take this service I have done fatherly.
 * —Good morrow to your Majesty and to my gracious mother!

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

CLOTEN.
 * I have assail'd her with musics, but she vouchsafes no notice.

CYMBELINE.
 * The exile of her minion is too new;
 * She hath not yet forgot him. Some more time
 * Must wear the print of his remembrance on't,
 * And then she's yours.

QUEEN.
 * You are most bound to the King,
 * Who lets go by no vantages that may
 * Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
 * To orderly soliciting, and be friended
 * With aptness of the season; make denials
 * Increase your services; so seem as if
 * You were 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.

CLOTEN.
 * Senseless? Not so.

[Enter a MESSENGER.]

MESSENGER.
 * So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
 * The one is Caius Lucius.

CYMBELINE.
 * 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 forespent on us,
 * We must extend our notice. Our dear son,
 * When you have given good morning to your mistress,
 * Attend the Queen and us; we shall have need
 * To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.

[Exeunt all but CLOTEN.]

CLOTEN.
 * If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
 * Let her lie still and dream. By your leave, ho!

[Knocks.]

I know her women are about her; what
 * If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold
 * Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes
 * Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up
 * Their deer to the stand o' the stealer; and 'tis gold
 * Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief,
 * Nay, sometime 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 myself.
 * By your leave.

[Knocks.]

[Enter a LADY.]

LADY.
 * Who's there that knocks?

CLOTEN.
 * A gentleman.

LADY.
 * No more?

CLOTEN.
 * 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?

CLOTEN.
 * Your lady's person. Is she ready?

LADY.
 * Ay,
 * To keep her chamber.

CLOTEN.
 * 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.]

CLOTEN.
 * Good morrow, fairest. Sister, your sweet hand.

[Exit LADY.]

IMOGEN.
 * 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.

CLOTEN.
 * Still, I swear I love you.

IMOGEN.
 * If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me.
 * If you swear still, your recompense is still
 * That I regard it not.

CLOTEN.
 * This is no answer.

IMOGEN.
 * But that you shall not say I yield being silent,
 * I would not speak. I pray you, spare me. Faith,
 * I shall unfold equal discourtesy
 * To your best kindness. One of your great knowing
 * Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

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

IMOGEN.
 * Fools are not mad folks.

CLOTEN.
 * Do you call me fool?

IMOGEN.
 * 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, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
 * By the very truth of it, I care not for you,
 * And am so near the lack of charity
 * To accuse myself I hate you; which I had rather
 * You felt than make't my boast.

CLOTEN.
 * 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' the court, it is no contract, none;
 * And though it be allowed 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' the 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!

IMOGEN.
 * Profane 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 dignified enough,
 * Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
 * Comparative for your virtues, to be styl'd
 * The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
 * For being preferr'd so well.

CLOTEN.
 * The south-fog rot him!

IMOGEN.
 * He never can meet more mischance than come
 * To be but nam'd of thee. His mean'st garment
 * That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer
 * In my respect than all the hairs above thee,
 * Were they all made such men. How now?

[Missing the bracelet.]

Pisanio!

[Enter PISANIO.]

CLOTEN.
 * "His garments!" Now the devil—

IMOGEN.
 * To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently—

CLOTEN.
 * "His garment!"

IMOGEN.
 * I am sprited with a fool,
 * Frighted, and ang'red 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's in Europe. I do think
 * I saw't this morning; confident I am
 * Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it.
 * I hope it be not gone to tell my lord
 * That I kiss aught but he.

PISANIO.
 * 'Twill not be lost.

IMOGEN.
 * I hope so; go and search.

[Exit PISANIO.]

CLOTEN.
 * You have abus'd me
 * "His meanest garment!"

IMOGEN.
 * Ay, I said so, sir.
 * If you will make't an action, call witness to't.

CLOTEN.
 * I will inform your father.

IMOGEN.
 * Your mother too.
 * She's my good lady, and will conceive, I hope,
 * But the worst of me. So, I leave you, sir,
 * To the worst of discontent.

[Exit.]

CLOTEN.
 * I'll be reveng'd.
 * "His meanest garment!" Well.

[Exit.]

SCENE IV. Rome. PHILARIO'S house.
[Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO.]

POSTHUMUS.
 * Fear it not, sir; I would I were so sure
 * To win the King as I am bold her honour
 * Will remain hers.

PHILARIO.
 * What means do you make to him?

POSTHUMUS.
 * 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,
 * I barely gratify your love; they failing,
 * I must die much your debtor.

PHILARIO.
 * Your very goodness and your company
 * O'erpays 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 the arrearages,
 * Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
 * Is yet fresh in their grief.

POSTHUMUS.
 * I do believe,
 * Statist though I am none, nor like to be,
 * That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
 * The legions 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 Caesar
 * Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage
 * Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline,
 * Now wing-led with their courages, will make known
 * To their approvers they are people such
 * That mend upon the world.

[Enter IACHIMO.]

PHILARIO.
 * See! Iachimo!

POSTHUMUS.
 * The swiftest harts have posted you by land;
 * And winds of all the comers kiss'd your sails,
 * To make your vessel nimble.

PHILARIO.
 * Welcome, sir.

POSTHUMUS.
 * I hope the briefness of your answer made
 * The speediness of your return.

IACHIMO.
 * Your lady
 * Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon.

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

IACHIMO.
 * Here are letters for you.

POSTHUMUS.
 * Their tenour good, I trust.

IACHIMO.
 * 'Tis very like.

PHILARIO.
 * Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court
 * When you were there?

IACHIMO.
 * He was expected then,
 * But not approach'd.

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

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

POSTHUMUS.
 * The stone's too hard to come by.

IACHIMO.
 * Not a whit,
 * Your lady being so easy.

POSTHUMUS.
 * Make not, sir,
 * Your loss your sport. I hope you know that we
 * Must not continue friends.

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

POSTHUMUS.
 * 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 pure honour gains or loses
 * Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both
 * To who shall find them.

IACHIMO.
 * 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.

POSTHUMUS.
 * Proceed.

IACHIMO.
 * First, her bedchamber,—
 * Where, I confess, I slept not, but profess
 * Had that was well worth watching—it was hang'd
 * With tapestry of silk and silver; the story
 * Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
 * And Cydnus 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—

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

IACHIMO.
 * More particulars
 * Must justify my knowledge.

POSTHUMUS.
 * So they must,
 * Or do your honour injury.

IACHIMO.
 * The chimney
 * Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece
 * Chaste Dian bathing. Never saw I figures
 * So likely to report themselves. The cutter
 * Was as another Nature, dumb; outwent her,
 * Motion and breath left out.

POSTHUMUS.
 * This is a thing
 * Which you might from relation likewise reap,
 * Being, as it is, much spoke of.

IACHIMO.
 * The roof o' the chamber
 * With golden cherubins is fretted. Her andirons—
 * I had forgot them—were two winking Cupids
 * Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
 * Depending on their brands.

POSTHUMUS.
 * This is her honour!
 * Let it be granted you have seen all this—and praise
 * Be given to your remembrance—the description
 * Of what is in her chamber nothing saves
 * The wager you have laid.

IACHIMO.
 * Then, if you can,

[Showing 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.

POSTHUMUS.
 * Jove!
 * Once more let me behold it. Is it that
 * Which I left with her?

IACHIMO.
 * Sir—I thank her—that.
 * She stripp'd it from her arm. I see her yet.
 * Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
 * And yet enrich'd it too. She gave it me, and said
 * She priz'd it once.

POSTHUMUS.
 * May be she pluck'd it off
 * To send it me.

IACHIMO.
 * She writes so to you, doth she?

POSTHUMUS.
 * O, no, no, no! 'tis true. Here, take this too;

[Gives the ring.]

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 are made,
 * Than they are to their virtues, which is nothing.
 * O, above measure false!

PHILARIO.
 * Have patience, sir,
 * And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won.
 * It may be probable she lost it, or
 * Who knows if one her women, being corrupted,
 * Hath stolen it from her?

POSTHUMUS.
 * 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 stolen.

IACHIMO.
 * By Jupiter, I had it from her arm.

POSTHUMUS.
 * Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.
 * 'Tis true—nay, keep the ring—'tis true. I am sure
 * She would not lose it. Her attendants are
 * All sworn and honourable. They induced to steal it!
 * And by a stranger! No, he hath enjoy'd her.
 * The cognizance of her incontinency
 * Is this. She hath bought the name of whore thus dearly.
 * There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell
 * Divide themselves between you!

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

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

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

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

IACHIMO.
 * Will you hear more?

POSTHUMUS.
 * Spare your arithmetic; never count the turns;
 * Once, and a million!

IACHIMO.
 * I'll be sworn—

POSTHUMUS.
 * 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.

IACHIMO.
 * I'll deny nothing.

POSTHUMUS.
 * O, that I had her here, to tear her limbmeal!
 * I will go there and do't, i' the court, before
 * Her father. I'll do something—

[Exit.]

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

IACHIMO.
 * With all my heart.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE V. Another room in PHILARIO'S house.
[Enter POSTHUMUS.]

POSTHUMUS.
 * Is there no way for men to be, but women
 * Must be half-workers? We are all bastards;
 * And that most venerable man which I
 * Did call my father, was I know not where
 * When I was stamp'd. Some coiner with his tools
 * Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seem'd
 * The Dian of that time. So doth my wife
 * The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!
 * Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd
 * And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with
 * A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on't
 * Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her
 * As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O, all the devils!
 * This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,—was't not?—
 * Or less,—at first?—perchance he spoke not, but,
 * Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,
 * Cried "O!" and mounted; found no opposition
 * But what he look'd for should oppose and she
 * Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
 * The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
 * That tends to vice in man, but I affirm
 * It is the woman's part; be it lying, note it,
 * The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
 * Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
 * Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
 * Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
 * All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knows,
 * Why, hers, in part or all; but rather, all.
 * For even to vice
 * They are not constant, but are changing still
 * One vice, but of a minute old, for one
 * Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
 * Detest them, curse them; yet 'tis greater skill
 * In a true hate, to pray they have their will.
 * The very devils cannot plague them better.

[Exit.]

SCENE I Britain. A hall in 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 Caesar with us?

CAIUS LUCIUS
 * When Julius Caesar, whose remembrance yet
 * Lives in men's eyes and will to ears and tongues
 * Be theme and hearing ever, was in this Britain
 * And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,—
 * Famous in Caesar'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 marvel,
 * Shall be so ever.

CLOTEN
 * There be many Caesars,
 * Ere such another Julius. Britain is
 * A world by itself; 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 natural bravery of your isle, which stands
 * As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in
 * With rocks unscalable and roaring waters,
 * With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats,
 * But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquest
 * Caesar made here; but made not here his brag
 * Of 'Came' and 'saw' and 'overcame: ' with shame—
 * That first that ever touch'd him—he was carried
 * From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping—
 * Poor ignorant baubles!— upon our terrible seas,
 * Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crack'd
 * As easily 'gainst our rocks: for joy whereof
 * The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point—
 * O giglot fortune!—to master Caesar's sword,
 * Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright
 * And Britons strut with courage.

CLOTEN
 * 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 moe such Caesars: other of
 * them may have crook'd noses, but to owe such
 * straight arms, none.

CYMBELINE
 * Son, let your mother end.

CLOTEN
 * 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
 * Caesar 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.

CYMBELINE
 * You must know,
 * Till the injurious Romans did extort
 * This tribute from us, we were free:
 * Caesar's ambition,
 * Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch
 * The sides o' the world, against all colour here
 * Did put the yoke upon 's; which to shake off
 * Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
 * Ourselves to be.

CLOTEN & Lords
 * We do.

CYMBELINE
 * Say, then, to Caesar,
 * Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which
 * Ordain'd our laws, whose use the sword of Caesar
 * Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise
 * Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
 * Though Rome be therefore angry: Mulmutius made our laws,
 * Who was the first of Britain which did put
 * His brows within a golden crown and call'd
 * Himself a king.

CAIUS LUCIUS
 * I am sorry, Cymbeline,
 * That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar—
 * Caesar, that hath more kings his servants than
 * Thyself domestic officers—thine enemy:
 * Receive it from me, then: war and confusion
 * In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
 * For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,
 * I thank thee for myself.

CYMBELINE
 * Thou art welcome, Caius.
 * Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent
 * Much under him; of him I gather'd honour;
 * Which he to seek of me again, perforce,
 * Behoves me 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 show the Britons cold:
 * So Caesar shall not find them.

CAIUS LUCIUS
 * Let proof speak.

CLOTEN
 * His majesty bids you welcome. Make
 * pastime with us a day or two, or longer: if
 * you seek us afterwards in 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.

CAIUS LUCIUS
 * So, sir.

CYMBELINE
 * I know your master's pleasure and he mine:
 * All the remain is 'Welcome!'

[Exeunt]

SCENE II Another room in the palace.
[Enter PISANIO, with a letter]

PISANIO
 * How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not
 * What monster's her accuser? Leonatus,
 * O master! what a strange infection
 * Is fall'n into thy ear! What false Italian,
 * As poisonous-tongued as handed, hath prevail'd
 * On thy too ready hearing? 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. O my master!
 * Thy mind to her is now as low as were
 * Thy fortunes. How! that I should murder 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?

[Reading]


 * 'Do't: the letter
 * that I have sent her, by her own command
 * Shall give thee opportunity.' O damn'd paper!
 * Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless bauble,
 * Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st
 * So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.
 * I am ignorant in what I am commanded.

[Enter IMOGEN]

IMOGEN
 * How now, Pisanio!

PISANIO
 * Madam, here is a letter from my lord.

IMOGEN
 * Who? thy lord? that is my lord, Leonatus!
 * O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer
 * That knew the stars as I his characters;
 * He'ld 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 med'cinable; that is one of them,
 * For it doth physic 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 dangerous bonds pray not alike:
 * Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
 * You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods!

[Reads]


 * 'Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me
 * in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as
 * you, O 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.'
 * O, for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
 * He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me
 * How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
 * May plod it in a week, why may not I
 * Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio,—
 * Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who long'st,—
 * let me bate,-but not like me—yet long'st,
 * But in a fainter kind:—O, not like me;
 * For mine's beyond beyond—say, and speak thick;
 * Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,
 * To the smothering of the sense—how far it is
 * To this same blessed Milford: and by the way
 * Tell me how Wales was made so happy as
 * To inherit such a haven: but first of all,
 * How we may steal from hence, and for the gap
 * That we shall make in time, from our hence-going
 * And our return, to excuse: but first, how get hence:
 * Why should excuse be born or e'er begot?
 * We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee, speak,
 * How many score of miles may we well ride
 * 'Twixt hour and hour?

PISANIO
 * One score 'twixt sun and sun,
 * Madam, 's enough for you:

[Aside]
 * and too much too.

IMOGEN
 * Why, one that rode to's execution, man,
 * Could never go so slow: I have heard of
 * riding wagers,
 * Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
 * That run i' the clock's behalf. But this is foolery:
 * Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say
 * She'll home to her father: and provide me presently
 * A riding-suit, no costlier than would fit
 * A franklin's housewife.

PISANIO
 * Madam, you're best consider.

IMOGEN
 * I see before me, man: nor here, nor here,
 * Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them,
 * That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee;
 * Do as I bid thee: there's no more to say,
 * Accessible is none but Milford way.

[Exeunt]

SCENE III Wales: a mountainous country with a cave.
[Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS; GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS following]

BELARIUS
 * A goodly day not to keep house, with such
 * Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate
 * Instructs you how to adore the heavens and bows you
 * To a morning's holy office: the gates of monarchs
 * Are arch'd so high that giants may jet through
 * And keep their impious turbans on, without
 * Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!
 * We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly
 * As prouder livers do.

GUIDERIUS
 * Hail, heaven!

ARVIRAGUS
 * Hail, heaven!

BELARIUS
 * Now for our mountain sport: up to yond hill;
 * Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider,
 * When you above perceive me like a crow,
 * That it is place which lessens and sets off;
 * And you may then revolve what tales I have told you
 * Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
 * This service is not service, so being done,
 * But being so allow'd: to apprehend thus,
 * Draws us a profit from all things we see;
 * And often, to our comfort, shall we find
 * The sharded beetle in a safer hold
 * Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life
 * Is nobler than attending for a cheque,
 * Richer than doing nothing for a bauble,
 * Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
 * Such gain the cap of him that makes 'em fine,
 * Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours.

GUIDERIUS
 * Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledged,
 * Have never wing'd from view o' the nest, nor know not
 * What air's from home. Haply this life is best,
 * If quiet life be best; sweeter to you
 * That have a sharper known; well corresponding
 * With your stiff age: but unto us it is
 * A cell of ignorance; travelling a-bed;
 * A prison for a debtor, that not dares
 * To stride a limit.

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

BELARIUS
 * How you speak!
 * Did you but know the city's usuries
 * And felt them knowingly; the art o' the court
 * As hard to leave as keep; whose top to climb
 * Is certain falling, or so slippery that
 * The fear's as bad as falling; the toil o' the war,
 * A pain that only seems to seek out danger
 * I' the name of fame and honour; which dies i'
 * the search,
 * And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph
 * As record of fair act; nay, many times,
 * Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
 * Must court'sy at the censure:—O 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 loved me,
 * And when a soldier was the theme, 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.

GUIDERIUS
 * Uncertain favour!

BELARIUS
 * My fault being nothing—as I have told you oft—
 * But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd
 * Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline
 * I was confederate with the Romans: so
 * Follow'd my banishment, and this twenty years
 * This rock and these demesnes have been my world;
 * Where I have lived at honest freedom, paid
 * More pious debts to heaven than in all
 * The fore-end of my time. But up to the mountains!
 * This is not hunters' language: he that strikes
 * The venison first shall be the lord o' the 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 GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS]


 * How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
 * These boys know little they are sons to the king;
 * Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
 * They think they are mine; and though train'd
 * up thus meanly
 * I' the cave wherein they bow, 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 Polydore,
 * The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who
 * The king his father call'd Guiderius,—Jove!
 * When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell
 * The warlike feats I have 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, Cadwal,
 * Once Arviragus, in as like a figure,
 * Strikes life into my speech and shows much more
 * His own conceiving.—Hark, the game is roused!
 * O Cymbeline! heaven and my conscience knows
 * 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 took thee for
 * their mother,
 * And every day do honour to her grave:
 * Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
 * They take for natural father. The game is up.

[Exit]

SCENE IV Country near Milford-Haven.
[Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN]

IMOGEN
 * 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! man!
 * Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind,
 * That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh
 * From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus,
 * Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
 * Beyond self-explication: put thyself
 * Into a havior of less fear, ere wildness
 * Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter?
 * Why tender'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 countenance 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 even mortal to me.

PISANIO
 * Please you, read;
 * And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
 * The most disdain'd of fortune.

IMOGEN
 * [Reads] 'Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the
 * strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie
 * 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 pandar to her dishonour and
 * equally to me disloyal.'

PISANIO
 * What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper
 * Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander,
 * Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
 * Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath
 * Rides on the posting winds and doth belie
 * All corners of the world: kings, queens and states,
 * Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
 * This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam?

IMOGEN
 * False to his bed! What is it to be false?
 * To lie in watch there and to think on him?
 * To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep
 * charge nature,
 * To break it with a fearful dream of him
 * And cry myself awake? that's false to's bed, is it?

PISANIO
 * Alas, good lady!

IMOGEN
 * 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 am richer than to hang by the walls,
 * I must be ripp'd:—to pieces with me!—O,
 * Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming,
 * By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
 * Put on for villany; not born where't grows,
 * But worn a bait for ladies.

PISANIO
 * Good madam, hear me.

IMOGEN
 * True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas,
 * Were in his time thought false, and Sinon's weeping
 * Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity
 * From most true wretchedness: so thou, Posthumus,
 * Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men;
 * Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjured
 * From thy great fall. Come, fellow, be thou honest:
 * Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou see'st him,
 * A little witness my obedience: look!
 * I draw the sword myself: 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 mayst be valiant in a better cause;
 * But now thou seem'st a coward.

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

IMOGEN
 * Why, I must die;
 * And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
 * No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter
 * There is a prohibition so divine
 * That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart.
 * Something's afore't. Soft, soft! we'll no defence;
 * Obedient as the scabbard. What is here?
 * The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus,
 * All turn'd to heresy? Away, away,
 * Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more
 * Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools
 * Believe false teachers: though those that
 * are betray'd
 * Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
 * Stands in worse case of woe.
 * And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up
 * My disobedience 'gainst the king my father
 * And make 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 myself
 * To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her
 * That now thou tirest on, how thy memory
 * Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee, dispatch:
 * The lamb entreats the butcher: where's thy knife?
 * Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
 * When I desire it too.

PISANIO
 * O gracious lady,
 * Since I received command to do this business
 * I have not slept one wink.

IMOGEN Do't, and to bed then.

PISANIO
 * I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first.

IMOGEN
 * Wherefore then
 * Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abused
 * 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,
 * The elected deer before thee?

PISANIO
 * 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.

IMOGEN
 * Talk thy tongue weary; speak
 * I have heard I am a strumpet; and mine ear
 * Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
 * Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.

PISANIO
 * Then, madam,
 * I thought you would not back again.

IMOGEN
 * Most like;
 * Bringing me here to kill me.

PISANIO
 * 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 abused:
 * Some villain, ay, and singular in his art.
 * Hath done you both this cursed injury.

IMOGEN
 * Some Roman courtezan.

PISANIO
 * No, on my life.
 * I'll give but 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.

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

PISANIO
 * If you'll back to the court—

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

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

IMOGEN
 * Where then
 * Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,
 * Are they not but in Britain? I' the world's volume
 * Our Britain seems as of it, but not in 't;
 * In a great pool a swan's nest: prithee, think
 * There's livers out of Britain.

PISANIO
 * I am most glad
 * You think of other place. The 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, to appear itself, 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 actions were not visible, yet
 * Report should render him hourly to your ear
 * As truly as he moves.

IMOGEN
 * O, for such means!
 * Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,
 * I would adventure.

PISANIO
 * Well, then, here's the point:
 * You must forget to be a woman; change
 * Command into obedience: fear and niceness—
 * The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
 * Woman its pretty self—into a waggish courage:
 * Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy and
 * As quarrelous as the weasel; nay, you must
 * Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
 * Exposing it—but, O, the harder heart!
 * Alack, no remedy!—to the greedy touch
 * Of common-kissing Titan, and forget
 * Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
 * You made great Juno angry.

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

PISANIO
 * First, make yourself 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, 'fore noble Lucius
 * Present yourself, desire his service, tell him
 * wherein you're happy,—which you'll make him know,
 * If that his head have ear in music,—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 supplyment.

IMOGEN
 * Thou art all the comfort
 * The gods will diet me with. Prithee, away:
 * There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even
 * All that good time will give us: this attempt
 * I am soldier to, and will abide it with
 * A prince's courage. Away, I prithee.

PISANIO
 * Well, madam, we must take a short farewell,
 * 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 are 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!

IMOGEN
 * Amen: I thank thee.

[Exeunt, severally]

SCENE V A room in Cymbeline's palace.
[Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, Lords, and Attendants]

CYMBELINE
 * Thus far; and so farewell.

CAIUS LUCIUS
 * Thanks, royal sir.
 * My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence;
 * And am right sorry that I must report ye
 * My master's enemy.

CYMBELINE
 * Our subjects, sir,
 * Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
 * To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
 * Appear unkinglike.

CAIUS LUCIUS
 * So, sir: I desire of you
 * A conduct over-land to Milford-Haven.
 * Madam, all joy befal your grace!

QUEEN
 * And you!

CYMBELINE
 * My lords, you are appointed for that office;
 * The due of honour in no point omit.
 * So farewell, noble Lucius.

CAIUS LUCIUS
 * Your hand, my lord.

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

CAIUS LUCIUS
 * Sir, the event
 * Is yet to name the winner: fare you well.

CYMBELINE
 * Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,
 * Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness!

[Exeunt LUCIUS and Lords]

QUEEN
 * He goes hence frowning: but it honours us
 * That we have given him cause.

CLOTEN
 * 'Tis all the better;
 * Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

CYMBELINE
 * 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.

CYMBELINE
 * Our expectation that it would 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 us like
 * A thing more made of malice than of duty:
 * We have noted it. Call her before us; for
 * We have been too slight in sufferance.

[Exit an Attendant]

QUEEN
 * Royal sir,
 * Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired
 * 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.

[Re-enter Attendant]

CYMBELINE
 * Where is she, sir? How
 * Can her contempt be answer'd?

Attendant
 * Please you, sir,
 * Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer
 * That will be given to the 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 memory.

CYMBELINE
 * Her doors lock'd?
 * Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear
 * Prove false!

[Exit]

QUEEN
 * Son, I say, follow the king.

CLOTEN
 * That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
 * have not seen these two days.

QUEEN
 * Go, look after.

[Exit CLOTEN]


 * 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 seized her,
 * Or, wing'd with fervor of her love, she's flown
 * To her desired 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!

CLOTEN
 * 'Tis certain she is fled.
 * Go in and cheer the king: he rages; none
 * Dare come about him.

QUEEN
 * [Aside]           All the better: may
 * This night forestall him of the coming day!

[Exit]

CLOTEN
 * 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 every one
 * The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
 * Outsells 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 choked; and in that point
 * I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
 * To be revenged upon her. For when fools Shall—

[Enter PISANIO]


 * Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?
 * Come hither: ah, you precious pander! Villain,
 * Where is thy lady? In a word; or else
 * Thou art straightway with the fiends.

PISANIO
 * O, good my lord!

CLOTEN
 * 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.

PISANIO
 * Alas, my lord,
 * How can she be with him? When was she missed?
 * He is in Rome.

CLOTEN
 * Where is she, sir? Come nearer;
 * No further halting: satisfy me home
 * What is become of her.

PISANIO
 * O, my all-worthy lord!

CLOTEN
 * 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.

PISANIO
 * Then, sir,
 * This paper is the history of my knowledge
 * Touching her flight.

[Presenting a letter]

CLOTEN
 * Let's see't. I will pursue her
 * Even to Augustus' throne.

PISANIO
 * [Aside]                Or this, or perish.
 * She's far enough; and what he learns by this
 * May prove his travel, not her danger.

CLOTEN
 * Hum!

PISANIO
 * [Aside] I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen,
 * Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!

CLOTEN
 * Sirrah, is this letter true?

PISANIO
 * Sir, as I think.

CLOTEN
 * It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. Sirrah, if thou
 * wouldst not be a villain, but 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.

PISANIO
 * Well, my good lord.

CLOTEN
 * Wilt thou serve me? for since patiently and
 * constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of
 * that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the
 * course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of
 * mine: wilt thou serve me?

PISANIO
 * Sir, I will.

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

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

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

PISANIO
 * I shall, my lord.

[Exit]

CLOTEN
 * 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 clothes that she so
 * praised,—to the court I'll knock her back, foot
 * her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly,
 * and I'll be merry in my revenge.

[Re-enter PISANIO, with the clothes]


 * Be those the garments?

PISANIO
 * Ay, my noble lord.

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

PISANIO
 * She can scarce be there yet.

CLOTEN
 * 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 itself
 * to thee. My revenge is now at Milford: would I had
 * wings to follow it! Come, and be true.

[Exit]

PISANIO
 * Thou bid'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 pursuest. Flow, flow,
 * You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed
 * Be cross'd with slowness; labour be his meed!

[Exit]

SCENE VI Wales. Before the cave of Belarius.
[Enter IMOGEN, in boy's clothes]

IMOGEN
 * I see a man's life is a tedious one:
 * I have tired myself, 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 show'd thee,
 * Thou wast within a ken: O Jove! I think
 * Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean,
 * Where they should be relieved. Two beggars told me
 * I could not miss my way: will poor folks lie,
 * That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
 * A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder,
 * When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness
 * Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood
 * Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord!
 * Thou art one o' the false ones. Now I think on thee,
 * My hunger's gone; but even before, I was
 * At point to sink for food. But what is this?
 * Here is a path to't: 'tis some savage hold:
 * I were best not to call; I dare not call:
 * yet famine,
 * Ere clean it o'erthrow 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.
 * Such a foe, good heavens!

[Exit, to the cave]

[Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]

BELARIUS
 * You, Polydote, have proved 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 savoury: weariness
 * Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth
 * Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be here,
 * Poor house, that keep'st thyself!

GUIDERIUS
 * I am thoroughly weary.

ARVIRAGUS
 * I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.

GUIDERIUS
 * There is cold meat i' the cave; we'll browse on that,
 * Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd.

BELARIUS [Looking into the cave]
 * Stay; come not in.
 * But that it eats our victuals, I should think
 * Here were a fairy.

GUIDERIUS
 * What's the matter, sir?

BELARIUS
 * By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not,
 * An earthly paragon! Behold divineness
 * No elder than a boy!

[Re-enter IMOGEN]

IMOGEN
 * Good masters, harm me not:
 * Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought
 * To have begg'd or bought what I have took:
 * good troth,
 * I have stol'n nought, nor would not, though I had found
 * Gold strew'd i' the floor. Here's money for my meat:
 * I would have left it on the board so soon
 * As I had made my meal, and parted
 * With prayers for the provider.

GUIDERIUS
 * Money, youth?

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

IMOGEN
 * I see you're angry:
 * Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
 * Have died had I not made it.

BELARIUS
 * Whither bound?

IMOGEN
 * To Milford-Haven.

BELARIUS
 * What's your name?

IMOGEN
 * 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 am fall'n in this offence.

BELARIUS
 * Prithee, 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.

GUIDERIUS
 * Were you a woman, youth,
 * I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty,
 * I bid for you as I'd buy.

ARVIRAGUS
 * 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.

IMOGEN
 * 'Mongst friends,
 * If brothers.

[Aside]


 * 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.

BELARIUS
 * He wrings at some distress.

GUIDERIUS
 * Would I could free't!

ARVIRAGUS
 * Or I, whate'er it be,
 * What pain it cost, what danger. God's!

BELARIUS
 * Hark, boys.

[Whispering]

IMOGEN
 * 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's false.

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

GUIDERIUS
 * Pray, draw near.

ARVIRAGUS
 * The night to the owl and morn to the lark
 * less welcome.

IMOGEN
 * Thanks, sir.

ARVIRAGUS
 * I pray, draw near.

[Exeunt]

SCENE VII Rome. A public place.
[Enter two Senators and Tribunes]

First Senator
 * This is the tenor of the emperor's writ:
 * That since the common men are now in action
 * 'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians,
 * And that the legions now in Gallia are
 * Full weak to undertake our wars against
 * The fall'n-off Britons, that we do incite
 * The gentry to this business. He creates
 * Lucius preconsul: and to you the tribunes,
 * For this immediate levy, he commends
 * His absolute commission. Long live Caesar!

First Tribune
 * Is Lucius general of the forces?

Second Senator
 * Aye.

First Tribune
 * Remaining now in Gallia?

First Senator
 * With those legions
 * Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy
 * Must be supplyant: the words of your commission
 * Will tie you to the numbers and the time
 * Of their dispatch.

First Tribune
 * We will discharge our duty.

[Exeunt]

SCENE I Wales: near the cave of Belarius.
[Enter CLOTEN]

CLOTEN
 * I am near to the place where they should meet, if
 * Pisanio have mapped 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—for 'tis said
 * a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must
 * play the workman. I dare speak it to myself—for it
 * is not 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 imperceiverant
 * thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is!
 * Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy
 * shoulders, shall within this hour be off; thy
 * mistress enforced; thy garments cut to pieces before
 * thy face: and all this done, spurn her home to her
 * father; who may haply 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 tied 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.

[Exit]

SCENE II Before the cave of Belarius.
[Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, and IMOGEN]

BELARIUS
 * [To IMOGEN] You are not well: remain here in the cave;
 * We'll come to you after hunting.

ARVIRAGUS
 * [To IMOGEN] Brother, stay here
 * Are we not brothers?

IMOGEN
 * So man and man should be;
 * But clay and clay differs in dignity,
 * Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.

GUIDERIUS
 * Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him.

IMOGEN
 * 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 am ill, but your being by me
 * Cannot amend me; society is no comfort
 * To one not sociable: I am not very sick,
 * Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here:
 * I'll rob none but myself; and let me die,
 * Stealing so poorly.

GUIDERIUS
 * I love thee; I have spoke it
 * How much the quantity, the weight as much,
 * As I do love my father.

BELARIUS
 * What! how! how!

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

BELARIUS
 * [Aside] O noble strain!
 * O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness!
 * Cowards father cowards and base things sire base:
 * Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace.
 * I'm not their father; yet who this should be,
 * Doth miracle itself, loved before me.
 * 'Tis the ninth hour o' the morn.

ARVIRAGUS
 * Brother, farewell.

IMOGEN
 * I wish ye sport.

ARVIRAGUS
 * You health. So please you, sir.

IMOGEN
 * [Aside] These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies
 * I have heard!
 * Our courtiers say all's savage but at court:
 * Experience, O, thou disprovest report!
 * The imperious seas breed monsters, for the dish
 * Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish.
 * I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio,
 * I'll now taste of thy drug.

[Swallows some]

GUIDERIUS
 * I could not stir him:
 * He said he was gentle, but unfortunate;
 * Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.

ARVIRAGUS
 * Thus did he answer me: yet said, hereafter
 * I might know more.

BELARIUS
 * To the field, to the field!
 * We'll leave you for this time: go in and rest.

ARVIRAGUS
 * We'll not be long away.

BELARIUS
 * Pray, be not sick,
 * For you must be our housewife.

IMOGEN
 * Well or ill,
 * I am bound to you.

BELARIUS
 * And shalt be ever.

[Exit IMOGEN, to the cave]


 * This youth, how'er distress'd, appears he hath had
 * Good ancestors.

ARVIRAGUS
 * How angel-like he sings!

GUIDERIUS
 * But his neat cookery! he cut our roots
 * In characters,
 * And sauced our broths, as Juno had been sick
 * And he her dieter.

ARVIRAGUS
 * Nobly he yokes
 * A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh
 * Was that it was, for not being such a smile;
 * The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly
 * From so divine a temple, to commix
 * With winds that sailors rail at.

GUIDERIUS
 * I do note
 * That grief and patience, rooted in him both,
 * Mingle their spurs together.

ARVIRAGUS
 * Grow, patience!
 * And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine
 * His perishing root with the increasing vine!

BELARIUS
 * It is great morning. Come, away!—
 * Who's there?

[Enter CLOTEN]

CLOTEN
 * I cannot find those runagates; that villain
 * Hath mock'd me. I am faint.

BELARIUS
 * 'Those runagates!'
 * Means he not us? I partly know him: 'tis
 * Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some ambush.
 * I saw him not these many years, and yet
 * I know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws: hence!

GUIDERIUS
 * He is but one: you and my brother search
 * What companies are near: pray you, away;
 * Let me alone with him.

[Exeunt BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS]

CLOTEN
 * Soft! What are you
 * That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers?
 * I have heard of such. What slave art thou?

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

CLOTEN
 * Thou art a robber,
 * A law-breaker, a villain: yield thee, thief.

GUIDERIUS
 * To who? 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?

CLOTEN
 * Thou villain base,
 * Know'st me not by my clothes?

GUIDERIUS
 * No, nor thy tailor, rascal,
 * Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes,
 * Which, as it seems, make thee.

CLOTEN
 * Thou precious varlet,
 * My tailor made them not.

GUIDERIUS
 * Hence, then, and thank
 * The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool;
 * I am loath to beat thee.

CLOTEN
 * Thou injurious thief,
 * Hear but my name, and tremble.

GUIDERIUS
 * What's thy name?

CLOTEN
 * Cloten, thou villain.

GUIDERIUS
 * Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name,
 * I cannot tremble at it: were it Toad, or
 * Adder, Spider,
 * 'Twould move me sooner.

CLOTEN
 * To thy further fear,
 * Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
 * I am son to the queen.

GUIDERIUS
 * I am sorry for 't; not seeming
 * So worthy as thy birth.

CLOTEN
 * Art not afeard?

GUIDERIUS
 * Those that I reverence those I fear, the wise:
 * At fools I laugh, not fear them.

CLOTEN
 * 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, rustic mountaineer.

[Exeunt, fighting]

[Re-enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS]

BELARIUS
 * No companies abroad?

ARVIRAGUS
 * None in the world: you did mistake him, sure.

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

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

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

[Re-enter GUIDERIUS, with CLOTEN'S head]

GUIDERIUS
 * This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse;
 * There was no money in't: not Hercules
 * Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none:
 * Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne
 * My head as I do his.

BELARIUS
 * What hast thou done?

GUIDERIUS
 * I am 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'ld take us in
 * Displace our heads where—thank the gods!—they grow,
 * And set them on Lud's-town.

BELARIUS We are all undone.

GUIDERIUS
 * Why, worthy father, what have we to lose,
 * But that 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 the law? What company
 * Discover you abroad?

BELARIUS
 * No single soul
 * Can we set eye on; but in all safe reason
 * He must have some attendants. Though his humour
 * Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that
 * From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not
 * Absolute madness could so far have raved
 * To bring him here alone; although perhaps
 * It may be heard at court that such as we
 * Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time
 * May make some stronger head; the which he hearing—
 * As it is like him—might break out, and swear
 * He'ld fetch us in; yet is't not probable
 * To come alone, either he so undertaking,
 * Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear,
 * If we do fear this body hath a tail
 * More perilous than the head.

ARVIRAGUS
 * Let ordinance
 * Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er,
 * My brother hath done well.

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

GUIDERIUS
 * With his own sword,
 * Which he did wave against my throat, I have 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 reck.

[Exit]

BELARIUS
 * I fear 'twill be revenged:
 * Would, Polydote, thou hadst not done't! though valour
 * Becomes thee well enough.

ARVIRAGUS
 * Would I had done't
 * So the revenge alone pursued me! Polydore,
 * I love thee brotherly, but envy much
 * Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would revenges,
 * That possible strength might meet, would seek us through
 * And put us to our answer.

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

ARVIRAGUS
 * Poor sick Fidele!
 * I'll weringly to him: to gain his colour
 * I'ld let a parish of such Clotens' blood,
 * And praise myself for charity.

[Exit]

BELARIUS
 * O thou goddess,
 * Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
 * In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
 * As zephyrs blowing below the violet,
 * Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
 * Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind,
 * That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
 * And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonder
 * That an invisible instinct should frame them
 * To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,
 * Civility not seen from other, valour
 * That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
 * 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]

GUIDERIUS
 * Where's my brother?
 * I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,
 * In embassy to his mother: his body's hostage
 * For his return.

[Solemn music]

BELARIUS
 * My ingenious instrument!
 * Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion
 * Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!

GUIDERIUS
 * Is he at home?

BELARIUS
 * He went hence even now.

GUIDERIUS
 * What does he mean? since death of my dear'st mother
 * it did not speak before. All solemn things
 * Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?
 * Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys
 * Is jollity for apes and grief for boys.
 * Is Cadwal mad?

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

[Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, with IMOGEN, as dead, bearing her in his arms]

ARVIRAGUS
 * The bird is dead
 * That we have made so much on. I had rather
 * Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
 * To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch,
 * Than have seen this.

GUIDERIUS
 * O sweetest, fairest lily!
 * My brother wears thee not the one half so well
 * As when thou grew'st thyself.

BELARIUS
 * O melancholy!
 * Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
 * The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare
 * Might easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing!
 * Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,
 * Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy.
 * How found you him?

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

GUIDERIUS
 * Where?

ARVIRAGUS
 * O' the floor;
 * His arms thus leagued: I thought he slept, and put
 * My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
 * Answer'd my steps too loud.

GUIDERIUS
 * Why, he but sleeps:
 * If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed;
 * With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
 * And worms will not come to thee.

ARVIRAGUS
 * With fairest flowers
 * Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,
 * I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack
 * The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor
 * The azured harebell, like thy veins, no, nor
 * The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
 * Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would,
 * With charitable bill,—O bill, sore-shaming
 * Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie
 * Without a monument!—bring thee all this;
 * Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
 * To winter-ground thy corse.

GUIDERIUS
 * Prithee, 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 the grave!

ARVIRAGUS
 * Say, where shall's lay him?

GUIDERIUS
 * By good Euriphile, our mother.

ARVIRAGUS
 * Be't so:
 * And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
 * 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.

GUIDERIUS
 * 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.

ARVIRAGUS
 * We'll speak it, then.

BELARIUS
 * 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
 * He was paid for that: though mean and
 * mighty, rotting
 * Together, have one dust, yet reverence,
 * That angel of the world, doth make distinction
 * Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely
 * And though you took his life, as being our foe,
 * Yet bury him as a prince.

GUIDERIUS
 * Pray You, fetch him hither.
 * Thersites' body is as good as Ajax',
 * When neither are alive.

ARVIRAGUS
 * If you'll go fetch him,
 * We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.

[Exit BELARIUS]

GUIDERIUS
 * Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east;
 * My father hath a reason for't.

ARVIRAGUS
 * 'Tis true.

GUIDERIUS
 * Come on then, and remove him.

ARVIRAGUS
 * So. Begin.

[SONG]

GUIDERIUS
 * Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
 * Nor the furious winter's rages;
 * Thou thy worldly task hast done,
 * Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
 * Golden lads and girls all must,
 * As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

ARVIRAGUS
 * Fear no more the frown o' the great;
 * Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
 * Care no more to clothe and eat;
 * To thee the reed is as the oak:
 * The sceptre, learning, physic, must
 * All follow this, and come to dust.

GUIDERIUS
 * Fear no more the lightning flash,

ARVIRAGUS
 * Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;

GUIDERIUS
 * Fear not slander, censure rash;

ARVIRAGUS
 * Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:

GUIDERIUS & ARVIRAGUS
 * All lovers young, all lovers must
 * Consign to thee, and come to dust.

GUIDERIUS
 * No exorciser harm thee!

ARVIRAGUS
 * Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

GUIDERIUS
 * Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

ARVIRAGUS
 * Nothing ill come near thee!

GUIDERIUS & ARVIRAGUS
 * Quiet consummation have;
 * And renowned be thy grave!

[Re-enter BELARIUS, with the body of CLOTEN]

GUIDERIUS
 * We have done our obsequies: come, lay him down.

BELARIUS
 * Here's a few flowers; but 'bout midnight, more:
 * The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night
 * Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their faces.
 * You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so
 * These herblets shall, which we upon you strew.
 * Come on, away: apart upon our knees.
 * The ground that gave them first has them again:
 * Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.

[Exeunt BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]

IMOGEN
 * [Awaking] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; which is
 * the way?—
 * I thank you.—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 'tis not so;
 * 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
 * Which the brain makes of fumes: our very eyes
 * Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
 * I tremble stiff 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
 * Without me, as within me; not imagined, 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. Pisanio,
 * All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
 * And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
 * Conspired with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
 * Hast here cut off my lord. To write and read
 * Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio
 * Hath with his forged letters,—damn'd Pisanio—
 * From this most bravest vessel of the world
 * Struck the main-top! O 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 this head on. How should this be? Pisanio?
 * 'Tis he and Cloten: malice and lucre in them
 * Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
 * The drug he gave me, which he said was precious
 * And cordial to me, have I not found it
 * Murderous to the senses? That confirms it home:
 * This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O!
 * Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
 * That we the horrider may seem to those
 * Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord!

[Falls on the body]

[Enter LUCIUS, a Captain and other Officers, and a Soothsayer]


 * Captain To them the legions garrison'd in Gailia,
 * After your will, have cross'd the sea, attending
 * You here at Milford-Haven with your ships:
 * They are in readiness.

CAIUS LUCIUS
 * But what from Rome?

Captain
 * 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.

CAIUS LUCIUS
 * When expect you them?

Captain
 * With the next benefit o' the wind.

CAIUS LUCIUS
 * 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?

Soothsayer
 * Last night the very gods show'd me a vision—
 * I fast and pray'd for their intelligence—thus:
 * I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
 * From the spongy south to this part of the west,
 * There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends—
 * Unless my sins abuse my divination—
 * Success to the Roman host.

CAIUS LUCIUS
 * 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 bed
 * With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.
 * Let's see the boy's face.

Captain
 * He's alive, my lord.

CAIUS LUCIUS
 * He'll then instruct us of this body. Young one,
 * Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems
 * They crave to be demanded. Who is this
 * Thou makest thy bloody pillow? Or 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? Who is it?
 * What art thou?

IMOGEN
 * 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 slain. Alas!
 * There is no more such masters: I may wander
 * From east to occident, cry out for service,
 * Try many, all good, serve truly, never
 * Find such another master.

CAIUS LUCIUS
 * 'Lack, good youth!
 * Thou movest no less with thy complaining than
 * Thy master in bleeding: say his name, good friend.

IMOGEN
 * Richard du Champ.

[Aside]


 * If I do lie and do
 * No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope
 * They'll pardon it.—Say you, sir?

CAIUS LUCIUS
 * Thy name?

IMOGEN
 * Fidele, sir.

CAIUS LUCIUS
 * Thou dost approve thyself 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 beloved. The Roman emperor's letters,
 * Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
 * Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with me.

IMOGEN
 * 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 prayers,
 * Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh;
 * And leaving so his service, follow you,
 * So please you entertain me.

CAIUS LUCIUS
 * 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 daisied plot we can,
 * And make him with our pikes and partisans
 * A grave: come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr'd
 * By thee to us, and he shall be interr'd
 * As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes
 * Some falls are means the happier to arise.

[Exeunt]

SCENE III A room in Cymbeline's palace.
[Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, PISANIO, and Attendants]

CYMBELINE
 * Again; and bring me word how 'tis with her.

[Exit an Attendant]


 * A fever with the absence of her son,
 * A madness, of which her life's in danger. Heavens,
 * 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 enforce it from thee
 * By a sharp torture.

PISANIO
 * 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.


 * First 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.

CYMBELINE
 * The time is troublesome.

[To PISANIO]


 * We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy
 * Does yet depend.

First 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.

CYMBELINE
 * Now for the counsel of my son and queen!
 * I am amazed with matter.

First 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.

CYMBELINE
 * 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 all but PISANIO]

PISANIO
 * 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.
 * Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true.
 * These present wars shall find I love my country,
 * Even to the note o' the 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]

SCENE IV Wales: before the cave of Belarius.
[Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.]

GUIDERIUS
 * The noise is round about us.

BELARIUS
 * Let us from it.

ARVIRAGUS
 * What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it
 * From action and adventure?

GUIDERIUS
 * Nay, what hope
 * Have we in hiding us? This way, the Romans
 * Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us
 * For barbarous and unnatural revolts
 * During their use, and slay us after.

BELARIUS
 * 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, not muster'd
 * Among the bands—may drive us to a render
 * Where we have lived, and so extort from's that
 * Which we have done, whose answer would be death
 * Drawn on with torture.

GUIDERIUS
 * This is, sir, a doubt
 * In such a time nothing becoming you,
 * Nor satisfying us.

ARVIRAGUS
 * 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.

BELARIUS
 * 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 deserved 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 courtesy your cradle promised,
 * But to be still hot summer's tamings and
 * The shrinking slaves of winter.

GUIDERIUS
 * Than be so
 * 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.

ARVIRAGUS
 * 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 myself, who ne'er wore rowel
 * Nor iron on his heel! I am ashamed
 * To look upon the holy sun, to have
 * The benefit of his blest beams, remaining
 * So long a poor unknown.

GUIDERIUS
 * By heavens, 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!

ARVIRAGUS
 * So say I amen.

BELARIUS
 * 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, an there I'll lie:
 * Lead, lead.

[Aside]


 * The time seems long; their blood
 * thinks scorn,
 * Till it fly out and show them princes born.

[Exeunt]

SCENE I. Britain. The Roman camp.
[Enter POSTHUMUS [with a bloody handkerchief.]

POSTHUMUS.
 * Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee, for I wish'd
 * Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones,
 * If each of you should take this course, how many
 * Must murder wives much better than themselves
 * For wrying but a little! O 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 elder worse,
 * And make them dread it, to the doer's thrift.
 * But Imogen is your own; do your best wills,
 * And make me blest to obey! I am brought hither
 * Among the 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 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
 * Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
 * More valour in me than my habits show.
 * 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. Alarums. Then enter again, in skirmish, IACHIMO, and POSTHUMUS: he vanquisheth and disarmeth IACHIMO, and then leaves him.]

IACHIMO.
 * 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
 * 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.

[Exit.]

[The battle continues; the BRITONS fly; CYMBELINE is taken:
 * then enter, to his rescue, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.]

BELARIUS.
 * Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground;
 * The lane is guarded. Nothing routs us but
 * The villainy of our fears.

GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS.
 * Stand, stand, and fight!

[Re-enter POSTHUMUS, and seconds the Britons. They rescue
 * CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then re-enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO,
 * and IMOGEN.]

LUCIUS.
 * Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;
 * For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such
 * As war were hoodwink'd.

IACHIMO.
 * 'Tis their fresh supplies.

LUCIUS.
 * It is a day turn'd strangely. Or betimes
 * Let's reinforce, or fly.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III. Another part of the field.
[Enter POSTHUMUS and a Briton LORD.]

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

POSTHUMUS.
 * I did;
 * Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.

LORD.
 * I did.

POSTHUMUS.
 * No blame be to you, sir, for all was lost,
 * But that the heavens fought; the King himself
 * Of his wings destitute, the army broken,
 * And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying,
 * Through a strait lane; the enemy full-hearted,
 * Lolling the tongue with slaught'ring, having work
 * More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down
 * Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
 * Merely through fear, that the straight pass was damm'd
 * With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living
 * To die with length'ned shame.

LORD.
 * Where was this lane?

POSTHUMUS.
 * Close by the battle, 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. Athwart 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; cried to those that fled,
 * "Our Britain's harts 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 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.
 * Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some, turn'd coward
 * But by example—O, 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' the hunters. Then began
 * A stop i' the chaser, a retire, anon
 * 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'erborne i' the former wave; ten, chas'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!

POSTHUMUS.
 * Nay, do not wonder at it; you are made
 * Rather to wonder at the things you hear
 * Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't,
 * And vent it for a mockery? Here is one:
 * "Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,
 * Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane."

LORD.
 * Nay, be not angry, sir.

POSTHUMUS.
 * 'Lack, to what end?
 * Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend;
 * For if he'll do as he is made to do,
 * I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too.
 * You have put me into rhyme.

LORD.
 * Farewell; you're angry.

[Exit.]

POSTHUMUS.
 * 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 honours
 * 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 moe ministers than we
 * That draw his knives i' the war. Well, I will find him;
 * For being now a favourer to the Briton,
 * No more a Briton, I have 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 the Roman; great the answer be
 * Britons 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 [BRITISH] CAPTAINS and soldiers.]

FIRST CAPTAIN.
 * Great Jupiter be prais'd! Lucius is taken.
 * 'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.

SECOND CAPTAIN.
 * There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,
 * That gave the affront with them.

FIRST CAPTAIN.
 * So 'tis reported;
 * But none of 'em can be found. Stand! who's there?

POSTHUMUS.
 * A Roman,
 * Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds
 * Had answer'd him.

SECOND CAPTAIN.
 * 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, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS,
 * PISANIO, [SOLDIERS, ATTENDANTS] and Roman captives.
 * The CAPTAINS present POSTHUMUS to CYMBELINE, who
 * delivers him over to a Gaoler. [Then exeunt omnes.]

SCENE IV. A British prison.
[Enter POSTHUMUS and two GAOLERS.]

FIRST GAOLER.
 * You shall not now be stolen, you have locks upon you;
 * So graze as you find pasture.

SECOND GAOLER.
 * Ay, or a stomach.

[Exeunt GAOLERS.]

POSTHUMUS.
 * Most welcome bondage! for thou art a way,
 * I think, to liberty; yet am I better
 * Than one that's sick o' the gout; since he had rather
 * Groan so in perpetuity than be cur'd
 * By the sure physician, Death, who is the key
 * To 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 am sorry?
 * So children temporal 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 satisfy,
 * 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 these cold bonds. O Imogen!
 * I'll speak to thee in silence.

[Sleeps.]

[Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, SICILIUS
 * LEONATUS, father to POSTHUMUS, an old man, attired
 * like a warrior; leading in his hand an ancient matron, his wife,
 * and mother to POSTHUMUS, with music before them. Then,
 * after other music, follow the two young LEONATI, brothers
 * to POSTHUMUS, with wounds as they died in the wars. They
 * circle POSTHUMUS round, as he lies sleeping.]

SICILIUS.
 * No more, thou thunder-master, show
 * Thy spite on mortal flies:
 * With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,
 * That thy adulteries
 * Rates and revenges.
 * Hath my poor boy done aught but well,
 * Whose face I never saw?
 * I died whilst in the womb he stay'd
 * Attending Nature's law;
 * Whose father then, as men report
 * Thou orphans' father art,
 * Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him
 * From this earth-vexing smart.

MOTHER.
 * Lucina lent not me her aid,
 * But took me in my throes,
 * That from me was Posthumus ript,
 * Came crying 'mongst his foes,
 * A thing of pity!

SICILIUS.
 * Great Nature, like his ancestry,
 * Moulded the stuff so fair,
 * That he deserv'd the praise o' the world,
 * As great Sicilius' heir.

FIRST BROTHER.
 * 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?

MOTHER.
 * With marriage wherefore was he mock'd,
 * To be exil'd, and thrown
 * From Leonati seat, and cast
 * From her his dearest one,
 * Sweet Imogen?

SICILIUS.
 * Why did you suffer Iachimo,
 * Slight thing of Italy,
 * To taint his nobler heart and brain
 * With needless jealousy;
 * And to become the geck and scorn
 * O' the other's villainy?

SECOND BROTHER.
 * For this from stiller seats we came,
 * Our parents and us twain,
 * That striking in our country's cause
 * Fell bravely and were slain,
 * Our fealty and Tenantius' right
 * With honour to maintain.

FIRST BROTHER.
 * Like hardiment Posthumus 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?

SICILIUS.
 * Thy crystal window ope; look out;
 * No longer exercise
 * Upon a valiant race thy harsh
 * And potent injuries.

MOTHER.
 * Since, Jupiter, our son is good,
 * Take off his miseries.

SICILIUS.
 * Peep through thy marble mansion; help;
 * Or we poor ghosts will cry
 * To the shining synod of the rest
 * Against thy deity.

BOTH BROTHERS.
 * Help, Jupiter; or we appeal,
 * And from thy justice fly.

[JUPITER descends in thunder and lightning, sitting
 * upon an eagle; he throws a thunderbolt. The GHOSTS
 * fall on their knees.]

JUPITER.
 * 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 farther with your din
 * Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.
 * Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.

[Ascends.]

SICILIUS.
 * 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 blest fields. His royal bird
 * Prunes the immortal wing and cloys his beak,
 * As when his god is pleas'd.

ALL.
 * Thanks, Jupiter!

SICILIUS.
 * The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd
 * His radiant roof. Away! and, to be blest,
 * Let us with care perform his great behest.

[The GHOSTS] vanish.]

POSTHUMUS.

[Waking.]

Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot
 * A father to me, and thou hast created
 * A mother and two brothers; but, O scorn!
 * Gone! they went hence so soon as they were born.
 * And so I am awake. Poor wretches that depend
 * On greatness' favour dream as I have done,
 * Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve.
 * Many dream not to find, neither deserve,
 * And yet are steep'd in favours; so am I,
 * That have this golden chance and know not why.
 * What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one!
 * Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
 * Nobler than that it covers! Let thy effects
 * So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers,
 * As good as promise!

[Reads.]

"Whenas a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without
 * seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air; and
 * when from a stately cedar shall be lopp'd branches, which,
 * being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old
 * stock and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries,
 * Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty."

'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen
 * Tongue and brain not; either both or nothing,
 * Or senseless speaking or a speaking such
 * As sense cannot untie. Be what it is,
 * The action of my life is like it, which
 * I'll keep, if but for sympathy.

[Re-enter GAOLER.]

GAOLER.
 * Come, sir, are you ready for death?

POSTHUMUS.
 * Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.

GAOLER.
 * Hanging is the word, sir If you be ready for that, you are
 * well cook'd.

POSTHUMUS.
 * So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish
 * pays the shot.

GAOLER.
 * A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is, you shall
 * be called to no more payments, fear no more tavern-bills,
 * which are often the sadness of parting, as the procuring of
 * mirth. You come in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with
 * too much drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry that
 * you are paid too much; purse and brain both empty; the brain the
 * heavier for being too light, the purse too light, being drawn of
 * heaviness. O, of this contradiction you shall now be quit. O, the
 * charity of a penny cord! It sums up thousands in a trice. You
 * have no true debitor and creditor but it; of what's past, is, and
 * to come, the discharge. Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and counters;
 * so the acquittance follows.

POSTHUMUS.
 * I am merrier to die than thou art to live.

GAOLER.
 * Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache; but a man
 * that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I
 * think he would change places with his officer; for, look you, sir,
 * you know not which way you shall go.

POSTHUMUS.
 * Yes, indeed do I, fellow.

GAOLER.
 * Your Death has eyes in's head, then; I have not seen him so
 * pictur'd. You must either be directed by some that take upon them
 * to know, or to take upon yourself that which I am sure you do not
 * know, or jump the after inquiry on your own peril. And how you
 * shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll never return to
 * tell one.

POSTHUMUS.
 * I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them the
 * way I am going, but such as wink and will not use them.

GAOLER.
 * What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the best
 * use of eyes to see the way of blindness! I am sure hanging's the
 * way of winking.

[Enter a MESSENGER.]

MESSENGER.
 * Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the King.

POSTHUMUS.
 * Thou bring'st good news; I am call'd to be made free.

GAOLER.
 * I'll be hang'd then.

POSTHUMUS.
 * Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead.

[Exeunt all but the GAOLER.]

GAOLER.
 * Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget young gibbets, I
 * never saw one so prone. Yet, on my conscience, there are verier
 * knaves desire to live, for all he be a Roman; and there be some
 * of them too that die against their wills. So should I, if I were
 * one. I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good. O, there
 * were desolation of gaolers and gallowses! I speak against my
 * present profit, but my wish hath a preferment in't.

[Exit.]

SCENE V. CYMBELINE'S tent.
[Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO,
 * LORDS, [OFFICERS, and Attendants.]

CYMBELINE.
 * Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made
 * Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart
 * That the poor soldier that so richly fought,
 * Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast
 * Stepp'd before targes of proof, cannot be found.
 * He shall be happy that can find him, if
 * Our grace can make him so.

BELARIUS.
 * I never saw
 * Such noble fury in so poor a thing;
 * Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought
 * But beggary and poor looks.

CYMBELINE.
 * No tidings of him?

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

CYMBELINE.
 * To my grief, I am
 * The heir of his reward;

[To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.]

which I will add
 * To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain,
 * By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the time
 * To ask of whence you are. Report it.

BELARIUS.
 * Sir,
 * In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen.
 * Further to boast were neither true nor modest,
 * Unless I add, we are honest.

CYMBELINE.
 * Bow your knees.
 * Arise my knights o' the battle. 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' the court of Britain.

CORNELIUS.
 * Hail, great King!
 * To sour your happiness, I must report
 * The Queen is dead.

CYMBELINE.
 * Who worse than a physician
 * Would this report become? But I consider
 * By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death
 * Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?

CORNELIUS.
 * With horror, madly dying, like her life,
 * Which, being cruel to the world, concluded
 * Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd
 * 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.

CYMBELINE.
 * Prithee, say.

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

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

CORNELIUS.
 * 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.

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

CORNELIUS.
 * 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 ling'ring
 * By inches waste you; in which time she purpos'd,
 * By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
 * O'ercome you with her show, and, in time,
 * When she had fitted you with her craft, to work
 * Her son into the adoption of the crown;
 * But, failing of her end by his strange absence,
 * Grew shameless-desperate; open'd, in despite
 * Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented
 * The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so
 * Despairing died.

CYMBELINE.
 * Heard you all this, her women?

LADY.
 * We did, so please your Highness.

CYMBELINE.
 * 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, O my daughter!
 * That it was folly in me, thou mayst say,
 * And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!

[Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, [the SOOTHSAYER] and other
 * Roman prisoners [guarded]; POSTHUMUS behind, and IMOGEN.]

Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that
 * The Britons have raz'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 ourself have granted.
 * So think of your estate.

LUCIUS.
 * 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 threaten'd
 * Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods
 * Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
 * May be call'd ransom, 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 entreat: my boy, a Briton 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 Briton harm,
 * Though he have serv'd a Roman. Save him, sir,
 * And spare no blood beside.

CYMBELINE.
 * I have surely seen him;
 * His favour is familiar to me. Boy,
 * Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
 * And art mine own. I know not why, 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.

IMOGEN.
 * I humbly thank your Highness.

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

IMOGEN.
 * 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 itself.

LUCIUS.
 * 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 perplex'd?

CYMBELINE.
 * 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?

IMOGEN.
 * He is a Roman, no more kin to me
 * Than I to your Highness; who, being born your vassal,
 * Am something nearer.

CYMBELINE.
 * Wherefore ey'st him so?

IMOGEN.
 * I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please
 * To give me hearing.

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

IMOGEN.
 * Fidele, sir.

CYMBELINE.
 * Thou'rt my good youth, my page;
 * I'll be thy master. Walk with me; speak freely.

[CYMBELINE and IMOGEN talk apart.]

BELARIUS.
 * Is not this boy, reviv'd from death,—

ARVIRAGUS.
 * One sand another
 * Not more resembles,—that sweet rosy lad
 * Who died, and was Fidele. What think you?

GUIDERIUS.
 * The same dead thing alive.

BELARIUS.
 * Peace, peace! see further. He eyes us not; forbear;
 * Creatures may be alike. Were't he, I am sure
 * He would have spoke to us.

GUIDERIUS.
 * But we saw him dead.

BELARIUS.
 * Be silent; let's see further.

PISANIO.

[Aside.]

It is my mistress.
 * Since she is living, let the time run on
 * To good or bad.

[CYMBELINE and IMOGEN come forward.]

CYMBELINE.
 * Come, stand thou by our side;
 * Make thy demand aloud.

[To IACHIMO.]

Sir, step you forth;
 * 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 falsehood. On, speak to him.

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

POSTHUMUS.

[Aside.]

What's that to him?

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

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

CYMBELINE.
 * How! me?

IACHIMO.
 * I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that
 * Which torments me to conceal. By villainy
 * 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. Wilt thou hear more, my lord?

CYMBELINE.
 * All that belongs to this.

IACHIMO.
 * That paragon, thy daughter,—
 * For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
 * Quail to remember,—Give me leave; I faint.

CYMBELINE.
 * My daughter! What of her? Renew thy strength.
 * I had rather thou shouldst live while Nature will
 * Than die ere I hear more. Strive, man, and speak.

IACHIMO.
 * Upon a time,—unhappy was the clock
 * That struck the hour!—it was in Rome,—accurs'd
 * The mansion where!—'twas at a feast,—O, 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—

CYMBELINE.
 * I stand on fire:
 * Come to the matter.

IACHIMO.
 * 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 being made,
 * And then a mind put in't, either our brags
 * Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description
 * Prov'd us unspeaking sots.

CYMBELINE.
 * Nay, nay, to th' purpose.

IACHIMO.
 * 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 wager'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 Phoebus' 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
 * Of 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 similar 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,—
 * O 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—

POSTHUMUS.

[Advancing.]

Ay, so thou dost,
 * Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool,
 * Egregious murderer, thief, anything
 * That's due to all the villains past, in being,
 * To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
 * Some upright justicer! Thou, King, send out
 * For torturers ingenious; it is I
 * That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend
 * By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
 * That kill'd thy daughter:—villain-like, I lie—
 * That caused a lesser villain than myself,
 * A sacrilegious thief, to do't. The temple
 * Of Virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
 * Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
 * The dogs o' the street to bay me; every villain
 * Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus; and
 * Be villainy less than 'twas! O Imogen
 * My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
 * Imogen, Imogen!

IMOGEN.
 * Peace, my lord; hear, hear—

POSTHUMUS.
 * Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page,
 * There lies thy part.

[Striking her; she falls.]

PISANIO.
 * O gentlemen, help
 * Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus!
 * You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now. Help, help!
 * Mine honour'd lady!

CYMBELINE.
 * Does the world go round?

POSTHUMUS.
 * How comes these staggers on me?

PISANIO.
 * Wake, my mistress!

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

PISANIO.
 * How fares my mistress?

IMOGEN.
 * O, get thee from my sight;
 * Thou gav'st me poison. Dangerous fellow, hence!
 * Breathe not where princes are.

CYMBELINE.
 * The tune of Imogen!

PISANIO.
 * Lady,
 * The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if
 * That box I gave you was not thought by me
 * A precious thing! I had it from the Queen.

CYMBELINE.
 * New matter still?

IMOGEN.
 * It poison'd me.

CORNELIUS.
 * O gods!
 * I left out one thing which the Queen confess'd,
 * Which must approve thee honest. "If Pisanio
 * Have," said she "given his mistress that confection
 * Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv'd
 * As I would serve a rat."

CYMBELINE.
 * What's this, Cornelius?

CORNELIUS.
 * 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 cease
 * 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?

IMOGEN.
 * Most like I did, for I was dead.

BELARIUS.
 * My boys,
 * There was our error.

GUIDERIUS.
 * This is, sure, Fidele.

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

[Embracing him.]

POSTHUMUS.
 * Hang there like fruit, my soul,
 * Till the tree die!

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

IMOGEN.

[Kneeling.]

Your blessing, sir.

BELARIUS.

[To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS.]

Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not;
 * You had a motive for't.

CYMBELINE.
 * My tears that fall
 * Prove holy water on thee! Imogen,
 * Thy mother's dead.

IMOGEN.
 * I am sorry for't, my lord.

CYMBELINE.
 * O, 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.

PISANIO.
 * My lord,
 * Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. 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 was gone,
 * It was my instant death. By accident,
 * I had a feigned letter of my master's
 * Then in my pocket, which directed him
 * To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
 * Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments,
 * Which he enforc'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.

GUIDERIUS.
 * Let me end the story:
 * I slew him there.

CYMBELINE.
 * Marry, the gods forfend!
 * I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
 * Pluck a hard sentence. Prithee, valiant youth,
 * Deny't again.

GUIDERIUS.
 * I have spoke it, and I did it.

CYMBELINE.
 * He was a prince.

GUIDERIUS.
 * 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,
 * If it could so roar to me. I cut off's head;
 * And am right glad he is not standing here
 * To tell this tale of mine.

CYMBELINE.
 * I am sorry for thee.
 * By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must
 * Endure our law. Thou'rt dead.

IMOGEN.
 * That headless man
 * I thought had been my lord.

CYMBELINE.
 * Bind the offender,
 * And take him from our presence.

BELARIUS.
 * Stay, sir King;
 * This man is better than the man he slew,
 * As well descended as thyself; and hath
 * More of thee merited than a band of Clotens
 * Had ever scar for.

[To the Guard.]

Let his arms alone;
 * They were not born for bondage.

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

ARVIRAGUS.
 * In that he spake too far.

CYMBELINE.
 * And thou shalt die for't.

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

ARVIRAGUS.
 * Your danger's ours.

GUIDERIUS.
 * And our good his.

BELARIUS.
 * Have at it then, by leave.
 * Thou hadst, great King, a subject who
 * Was call'd Belarius.

CYMBELINE.
 * What of him? He is
 * A banish'd traitor.

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

CYMBELINE.
 * Take him hence,
 * The whole world shall not save him.

BELARIUS.
 * Not too hot.
 * First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;
 * And let it be confiscate all so soon
 * As I have receiv'd it.

CYMBELINE.
 * Nursing of my sons!

BELARIUS.
 * I am too blunt and saucy; here's my knee.
 * Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons;
 * Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
 * These two young gentlemen, that call me father,
 * And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
 * They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
 * And blood of your begetting.

CYMBELINE.
 * How! my issue!

BELARIUS.
 * So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
 * Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd.
 * Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
 * Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd
 * Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes—
 * For such and so they are—these twenty years
 * Have I train'd up. Those arts they have as
 * Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as
 * Your Highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
 * Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children.
 * Upon my banishment I mov'd her to't,
 * Having receiv'd the punishment before,
 * For that which I did then. Beaten for loyalty
 * Excited me to treason. Their dear loss,
 * The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd
 * Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
 * Here are your sons again; and I must lose
 * Two of the sweet'st companions in the world.
 * The benediction of these covering heavens
 * Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
 * To inlay heaven with stars.

CYMBELINE.
 * Thou weep'st, and speak'st.
 * The service that you three have done is more
 * Unlike than this thou tell'st. I lost my children;
 * If these be they, I know not how to wish
 * A pair of worthier sons.

BELARIUS.
 * Be pleas'd awhile.
 * This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
 * Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius;
 * This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,
 * Your younger princely son. He, sir, was lapp'd
 * In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand
 * Of his queen mother, which for more probation
 * I can with ease produce.

CYMBELINE.
 * Guiderius had
 * Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
 * It was a mark of wonder.

BELARIUS.
 * This is he,
 * Who hath upon him still that natural stamp.
 * It was wise Nature's end in the donation,
 * To be his evidence now.

CYMBELINE.
 * O, what, am I
 * A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother
 * Rejoic'd deliverance more. Blest pray you be,
 * That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
 * You may reign in them now! O Imogen,
 * Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.

IMOGEN.
 * No, my lord;
 * I have got two worlds by 't. O my gentle brothers,
 * Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter
 * But I am truest speaker. You call'd me brother,
 * When I was but your sister; I you brothers,
 * When ye were so indeed.

CYMBELINE.
 * Did you e'er meet?

ARVIRAGUS.
 * Ay, my good lord.

GUIDERIUS.
 * And at first meeting lov'd;
 * Continu'd so, until we thought he died.

CORNELIUS.
 * By the Queen's dram she swallow'd.

CYMBELINE.
 * O rare instinct!
 * When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgment
 * Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
 * Distinction should be rich in. Where, how liv'd you?
 * And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
 * How parted with your brothers? How first met them?
 * Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
 * And your three motives to the battle, with
 * I know not how much more, should be demanded;
 * And all the other by-dependencies,
 * From chance to chance; but nor the time nor place
 * Will serve our long inter'gatories. See,
 * Posthumus anchors upon Imogen,
 * And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
 * On him, her brothers, me, her master, hitting
 * Each object with a joy; the counterchange
 * Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground,
 * And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.

[To BELARIUS.]

Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever.

IMOGEN.
 * You are my father too, and did relieve me,
 * To see this gracious season.

CYMBELINE.
 * All o'erjoy'd,
 * Save these in bonds. Let them be joyful too,
 * For they shall taste our comfort.

IMOGEN.
 * My good master,
 * I will yet do you service.

LUCIUS.
 * Happy be you!

CYMBELINE.
 * The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought,
 * He would have well becom'd this place, and grac'd
 * The thankings of a king.

POSTHUMUS.
 * I am, sir,
 * The soldier that did company these three
 * In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for
 * The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he,
 * Speak, Iachimo. I had you down and might
 * Have made you finish.

IACHIMO.

[Kneeling.]

I am down again;
 * But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,
 * As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you,
 * Which I so often owe; but your ring first,
 * And here the bracelet of the truest princess
 * That ever swore her faith.

POSTHUMUS.
 * Kneel not to me.
 * The power that I have on you is to spare you,
 * The malice towards you to forgive you. Live,
 * And deal with others better.

CYMBELINE.
 * Nobly doom'd!
 * We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
 * Pardon's the word to all.

ARVIRAGUS.
 * You holp us, sir,
 * As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
 * Joy'd are we that you are.

POSTHUMUS.
 * Your servant, Princes. Good my lord of Rome,
 * Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought
 * Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd,
 * Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows
 * Of mine own kindred. When I wak'd, I found
 * This label on my bosom; whose containing
 * Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
 * Make no collection of it. Let him show
 * His skill in the construction.

LUCIUS.
 * Philarmonus!

SOOTHSAYER.
 * Here, my good lord.

LUCIUS.
 * Read, and declare the meaning.

SOOTHSAYER.

[Reads.]

"Whenas a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without
 * seeking find, and be embrac'd by a piece of tender air; and
 * when from a stately cedar shall be lopp'd branches, which,
 * being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the
 * old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his
 * miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty."
 * Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
 * The fit and apt construction of thy name,
 * Being leo-natus, doth import so much.

[To CYMBELINE.]

The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
 * Which we call mollis aer; and mollis aer
 * We term it mulier; which mulier I divine
 * Is this most constant wife, who, even now
 * Answering the letter of the oracle,
 * Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about
 * With this most tender air.

CYMBELINE.
 * This hath some seeming.

SOOTHSAYER.
 * The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
 * Personates thee; and thy lopp'd branches point
 * Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stolen,
 * For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd,
 * To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue
 * Promises Britain peace and plenty.

CYMBELINE.
 * Well;
 * My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius,
 * Although the victor, we submit to Caesar,
 * And to the Roman empire, promising
 * To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
 * We were dissuaded by our wicked queen;
 * Whom heavens, in justice, both on her and hers,
 * Have laid most heavy hand.

SOOTHSAYER.
 * The fingers of the powers above do tune
 * The harmony of this peace. The vision
 * Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke
 * Of yet this scarce-cold battle, at this instant
 * Is full accomplish'd; for the Roman eagle,
 * From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
 * Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun
 * So vanish'd; which foreshow'd our princely eagle,
 * The imperial Caesar, should again unite
 * His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
 * Which shines here in the west.

CYMBELINE.
 * Laud we the gods;
 * And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
 * From our bless'd altars. Publish we this peace
 * To all our subjects. Set we forward. Let
 * A Roman and a British ensign wave
 * Friendly together. So through Lud's town march;
 * And in the temple of great Jupiter
 * Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.
 * Set on there! Never was a war did cease,
 * Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.

[Exeunt.]