Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd His radiant roof:-Away! and, to be blest,

Let us with care perform his great behest.

[Ghosts vanish.

Post. [Waking.] Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot

A father to me: and thou hast created

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.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without,seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air; und when from a stately cedar shall be lopped 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 Gaolers.

Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for death? Post. Over-roasted rather: ready long ago. Gaol. 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.

Gaol. 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 debtor 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. Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the tooth. ach: 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.

Gaol. 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 pe ril: and how you shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll never return to tell one.

Hazard.

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.

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

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the king.

Post. Thou bringest good news;-I am called to be made free.

Gaol. I'll be hanged then.

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

[Exeunt Posthumus and Messenger. Gaol. 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 de. sire 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.

[Exeunt.

• Forward.

SCENE V.

Cymbeline's tent.

Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio, Lords, Officers, and Attendants.

Cym. 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 targe* of proof, cannot be found:
He shall be happy that can find him, if

Our grace can make him so.

Bel.

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,

[To Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. 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

Target, shield.

Companions to our person, and will fit
With dignities becoming your estates.

you

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.

Cor.
Hail, great king!
To sour your happiness, I must report
The queen is dead.

Cym.
Whom 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?

Cor. 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.

Cym.

Pr'ythee, say.

Cor. 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.

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,