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.

Iach. 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 subdued 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.

Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground;

The lane is guarded: nothing routs us but
The villany of our fears.

Post. Close by the battle, ditched, and walled with turf;

Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,—
An honest one, I warrant; who deserved
So long a breeding as his white beard came to,
In doing this for his 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 cased, 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 turned

A distaff to a lance), gilded pale looks,
Part, shame,-part, spirit renewed; that some,
turned coward

But by example (O, a sin in war
Damned 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 stooped eagles;
slaves,

The strides they victors made. And now our cowards

(Like fragments in hard voyages) became The life o' the need: having found the back-door

open

Of the unguarded hearts, Heavens, how they

wound!

Some, slain before; some, dying; some, their

friends

O'er-borne i' the former wave: ten, chaced by

one,

Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:

To have saved their carcasses? took heel to do't, And yet died too? I, in mine own woe charmed, Could not find Death where I did hear him groan, Nor feel him where he struck: being an ugly monster,

'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,

Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we That draw his knives i' the war.-Well, I will find him:

For being now a favourer to the Roman,
No more a Briton, I have resumed 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 slaugh-
ter is

Here made by the Romans; great the answer

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,
Desired more than constrained: 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 't is a life; you coined 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

If

powers,

you will take this audit, take this life, And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen! I'll speak to thee in silence.

[He sleeps.

Solemn Music. Enter, as 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.

Sici. No more, thou thunder-master, shew
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 stayed,

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.

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 deserved the praise o' the world,
As great Sicilius' heir.

1st 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 mocked,
To be exiled, and thrown
From Leonati' seat, and cast
From her his dearest one,
Sweet Imogen?

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 villany?

2nd 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.

1st Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath To Cymbeline performed:

Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,
Why hast thou thus adjourned
The graces for his merits due;

Being all to dolours turned?

Sici. Thy crystal window ope; look out;
No longer exercise,

Upon a valiant race, thy harsh
And potent injuries:

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

Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion; help!
Or we poor ghosts will cry

To the shining synod of the rest,
Against thy deity.

2nd Bro. Help, Jupiter; or we appeal,
And from thy justice fly.

JUPITER descends in thunder and lightning, sitting

upon an eagle; he throws a thunder-bolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees.

Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region low,

Offend our hearing; hush!-How dare you, ghosts, Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt you know, Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts? Poor shadows of Elysium, hence; and rest Upon your never-withering banks of flowers: Be not with mortal accidents oppressed;

No care of yours it is; you know t'is ours. Whom best I love, I cross; to make my gift, The more delayed, delighted. Be content; Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:

His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. Our Jovial star reigned 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. Sici. He came in thunder: his celestial breath Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle Stooped, as to foot us; his ascension is More sweet than our blessed fields: his royal bird Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, As when his god is pleased.

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 steeped 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.

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. Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the tooth-ache: 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 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.

Gaol. 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.

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 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. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.-CYMBELINE'S Tent.

Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, Lords, Officers, and Attendants.

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 prolonged, 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 confessed I will report, so please you: these her women Can trip me, if I err; who, with wet cheeks, Were present when she finished.

She alone knew this: And but she spoke it dying, I would not

have made

Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart
That the poor soldier that so richly fought,
Whose rags shamed gilded arms, whose naked
breast

Stepped before targe of proof, cannot be found:

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 my poison.