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or if he’ll do, as he is made to do,
Lord. Farewell; you are angry.
Post. Still going?—This is a lord. Onoblemisery! o be i' the field, and ask, what news, of me. o-day, how many would have given their honours 'o have sav'd their carcases l took heel to do.'t, nd yet died too ! I, in mine own woe charm'd, ould not find death where I did hear him groan, or feel him where he struck: being an ugly
monster, Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, weet words; or hath more ministers than we Yhat draw his knives i' the war.—Well, I will find him ;
Tor being now a favourer to the Briton,
1 Jail. You shall not now be stolen; you have locks upon you: So, graze as you find pasture. 2 Jail. Ay, or a stomach. [Ereunt Jailers. Post. 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 setter'd More than my shanks, and wrists: you good gods, give me The penitent instrument to pick that bolt, Then, free for ever! Ist enough, I am sorry? So children temporal fathers do appease; Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent 1
I cannot do it better than in gyves,
Solemn music. Enter, as an Apparition, Sicilius L EoN Att's, Father to Postii U MUs, an old Man, attired like a Warrior; leading in has 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 Postii U Mus, with wounds as they died in the wars. They circle Posthumus round, as he lies sleeping.
Sici. 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 ?
Moth. 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! Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry, Moulded the stuff so fair, That he deserv'd the praise o' the world, As great Sicilius' heir. 1 Bro. When once he was mature for man, In Britain where was he, That could stand up his parallel, Or fruitful object be In eye of Imogen, that best Could deem his dignity?
Moth. With marriage wherefore was he mock'd, To be exil'd, and thrown From Leonati' seat, and cast From her his dearest one, Sweet Imogen 1
Sici. 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 villanyl
2 Bro. 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. i Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath
To Cymbeline performd: Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,
Why hast thou thus adjourn'd The graces for his merits due,
Being all to dolours turn'd!
No longer exercise,
And potent injuries.
Take off his miseries.
Or we poor ghosts will cry, To the shining synod of the rest,
Against thy deity. 2 Bro. Help, Jupiter! or we appeal,
And from thy justice fly. JUPITER descends in thunder and lightning, sitting
upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt; the
Ghosts fall upon their knees.
Offend our hearing : hush!-How dare you ghosts Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt you know,
Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts ? Poor shadows of Elysium, hence; and rest
Upon your never-withering banks of flowers : Be not with mortal accidents opprest;
No care of yours it is ; you know, 'tis ours. Whom best I love, I cross; to make my gift, The more delay'd, delighted.
Be content ; Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift :
His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in
Our temple was he married.–Rise, and fade !He shall be lord of lady Imogen,
And happier much by his affliction made. This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein
Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine; And so, away: no further with your din
Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. [Ascends.
Sici. He came in thunder; his celestial breath Was sulphurous to smell; the holy eagle Stoop'd, as to foot us : his ascension is More sweet than our bless'd fields. His royal bird Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, As when his god is pleas'd. All.
Thanks, Jupiter. Sici. The marble pavement closes; he is enter'd His radiant roof. Away! and, to be blest, Let us with care perform his great behest.
[Ghosts vanish. Post. (Waking.] Sleep, thou hast been a grand
sire, 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! 0.
[Reads.] - When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embrard by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the ev stock, and freshly grow, then shail Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty." 'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmed 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.
Jail. Hanging is the word, sir : if you be ready for that, you are well cooked.
Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish pays the shot.
Jail. 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 sad. ness 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 draws of heaviness. O! of this contradiction you shall now be quit.-0, 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.
Post. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live.
Jail. 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.
Post. Yes, indeed do I, fellow.
Jail. Your death has eyes in 's head, then; I have not seen him so pictured: you must either be directed by some that take upon them to know, or 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.
Post. 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.
Jail. What an infinite mock is this, that a mau 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.
. Post. Thou Bring'st good news. I am called to be made free.
Jail. I'll be hanged then.
Сут. Whom worse than a physician Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; Would this report become? But I consider, o bolts for the dead.
By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death [Ereunt Posthumus and Messenger. Will seize the doctor too. How ended she? Jail. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life; eget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Which, being cruel to the world, concluded tet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves de Most cruel to herself. What she confess’d, ire to live, for all he be a Roman; and there be I will report, so please you: these her women ome of them too, that die against their wills: so Can trip me, if I err, who with wet cheeks should I, if I were one. I would we were all of Were present when she finish'd. one niind, and one mind good : O, there were desoation of goalers, and gallowses! I speak against my present profit, but my wish hath a preferment in't.
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. Cym.
No tidings of him? Pis. He hath been search'd among the dead and
living, But no trace of him. Cym.
To my grief, I am The heir of his reward; 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. Bel.
Sir, In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen. Further to boast, were neither true nor modest, Unless I add, we are honest. Cym.
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.
Hail, great king!
Cym. Pr'ythee, say. Cor. First, she confess'd she neverlov'd you; only Affected greatness got by you, not you: Married your royalty, was wife to your place, Abhorr'd your person. Cym. She alone knew this; And, but she spoke it dying, I would not Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. Cor. 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. Cym. O most delicate fiend! Who is't can read a woman —Is there more ? Cor. 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 lingering 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 th' 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. Cym. Heard you all this, her women? Lady. We did so, please your highness. Cym. 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 may'st 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
Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day
threaten’d Qur 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 seat, 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.
Cym. I have surely seen him :
His favour is familiar to me.—Boy,
To say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master; live,
Imo. I humbly thank your highness.
Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad, And yet I know thou wilt.
Imo. 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.
Luc. 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?
Cum. What would'st thou, boy! I love thee more and more; think more and more What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on!
Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend!
Imo. He is a Roman; no more kin to me, Than I to your highness, who, being born your
vassal, Am something nearer. Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so?
Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing.
Cym. Ay, with all my heart, And lend my best attention. What's thy name 1
Imo. Fidele, sir.
Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page: I'll be thy master: walk with me; speak freely.
[CYMBELINE and IMogen conrerse apart.
Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death
Arv. One sand another Not more resembles: that sweet rosy lad, Who died, and was Fidele.—What think you?
Gui. The same dead thing alive.
Bel. Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not:
Creatures may be alike: were’t he, I am sure
Gui. But we saw him dead.
Bel. Be silent; let's see further.
Pis. . [Aside.] It is my mistress! Since she is living, let the time run on, To good or bad.
[CYMBELINE and IMogen come forward.
Cym. Come, stand thou by our side:
Make thy demand aloud.—Sir, [To LAchimo..] step you forth;
Give answer to this boy, and do it freely,
Or, by our greatness, and the grace of it,
Torments me to conceal. By villany
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet, got this ring : 'twas Leonatus' jewel;
(O cunning, how I got it!) nay, some marks Vhom thou didst banish; and (which more may Of secret on her person, that he could not grieve thee,
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, s it doth me) a pobler sir ne'er liv'd
I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon,Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my Methinks, I see him now,lord?
Ay, so thou dost, Cym. All that belongs to this.
[Coming furicard. lach.
That paragon, thy daughter, Italian fiend !-Ah me! most credulous fool, For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits Egregious murderer, thief, any thing Quail to remember, -Give me leave; I faint. That's due to all the villains past, in being, Cym. My daughter! what of her? Renew thy To come !—O, give me cord, or knife, or poison, strength :
Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out I had rather thou should'st live while nature will, For torturers ingenious: it is I Than die ere I hear more. Strive man, and speak. That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend,
Iach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock By being worse than they. I am Posthumus, That struck the hour,) it was in Rome, (accurs'd That kill'd thy daughter :-villain-like, 1 lie; The mansion where,) 'twas at a feast, (O! would That caus'd a lesser villain than myself, Our viands had been poison'd, or at least
A sacrilegious thief, to do't :—the temple Those which I heav'd to head,) the good Posthumus, Of virtue was she :-yea, and she herself (What should I say ? he was too good to be Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me ; set Where ill men were, and was the best of all
The dogs o' the street to bay me: every villain
Be villany less than 'twas !—O Imogen!
Peace, my lord! hear, hear! Postures beyond brief nature; for condition,
Post. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornA shop of all the qualities that man Loves woman for; besides, that hook of wiving, There lie thy part. [Striking her; she fulls. Fairness, which strikes the eye :
O, gentlemen! help, Сут.
I stand on fire. Mine, and your mistress.-0, my lord Posthumus! Come to the matter.
You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now.-Help, help!lach. All too soon I shall,
Mine honour'd lady! Cnless thou would'st grieve quickly.—This Pos Cym.
Does the world go round? thumus,
Post. How come these staggers on me? (Most like a noble lord in love, and one
Wake, my mistress! That had a royal lover,) took his hint;
Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me And, not dispraising whom we prais'd, (therein To death with mortal joy. He was as calm as virtue,) he began
How fares my mistress ? His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being Imo. O! get thee from my sight; made,
Thou gav'st me poison : dangerous fellow, hence! And then a mind put in't, either our brags
Breathe not where princes are. Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description Сут.
The tune of Imogen! Prov'd us unspeaking sots.
Pis. Lady, Сут. .
Nay, nay, to the purpose. The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if lach. Your daughter's chastity—there it begins. That box I gave you was not thought by me He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams,
A precious thing : I had it from the queen. And she alone were cold: whereat, I, wretch,
Cym. New matter still ? Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him Imo.
It poison'd me. Pieces of gold 'gainst this, which then he wore Cor.
O gods ! Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
I left out one thing which the queen confess'd, In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring Which must approve thee honest: if Pisanio By her's and mine adultery. He, true knight, Have, said she, given his mistress that confection No lesser of her honour confident
Which I gave him for a cordial, she is serv'd Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;
As I would serve a rat. And would so, had it been a carbuncle
What's this, Cornelins ? Of Phæbus' wheel; and might so safely, had it Cor. The queen, sir, very oft importun'd me Been all the worth of his car. Away to Britain To temper poisons for her; still pretending Post I in this design: well may you, sir,
The satisfaction of her knowledge, only Remember me at court, where I was taught In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose "Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'd | Was of more danger, did compound for her Of hope, pot longing, mine Italian brain
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease 'Gan in your duller Britain operate
The present power of life; but, in short time, Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent;
All offices of nature should again And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd,
Do their due functions.—Have you ta'en of it? That I return'd with simular proof, enough
Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead. To make the noble Leonatus mad,
My boys, By wounding his belief in her renown
There was our error. With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes
This is, sure, Fidele.