Be.. 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.
Arv.
In this place we left them:
I wish my brother make good time with him,
You say he is so fell.
Bel.
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.
Gui. 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 But I not doing this, the fool had borne My head as I do his.
(As it is like him,) might break out, and swear He'd fetch us in; yet is't not probable
To come alone, either he so undertaking,
Arv.
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.
Bel.
Well, 'tis done:-
We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger
Where there's no profit. I pr'ythee, to our rock;
You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay
Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him
To dinner presently.
Poor sick Fidele!
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 sweat head: and yet as rough,
Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful,
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.
He went hence even now. mean? since death of my
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.
Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear, Re-enter Arviragus, bearing Imogen as dead in his If we do fear this body hath a tail
More perilous than the head.
Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er,
My brother hath done well.
Bel.
To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness
Did make my way long forth."
Gui.
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.
Bel.
I fear, 'twill be reveng'd:
'Would, Polydore, thou had'st not done't! though
valour
Becomes thee well enough.
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Look, here he comes,
And brings the dire occasion in his arms,
Of what we blame him for!
Arv.
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.
Gui.
O sweetest, fairest lily!
My brother wears thee not the one half so well,
As when thou grew'st thyself.
Bel.
O, melancholy!
Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare1o
Might easiliest harbour in !-Thou blessed thing!
Jove knows what man thou might'st have made;
but I,
(6) Did make my walk tedious.
(7) Care. (8) Regain, restore. (9) Tifles. (10) A slow-sailing, unwieldy vessel
Answer'd my steps too loud.
Gui.
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.
Arv.
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 azur'd hare-bell, 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.
Gui.
Pr'ythee, 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.
Say, where shall's lay him?
Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother.
Arv.
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.
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.
Arv.
We'll speak it then.
Bel. 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.
Gui.
Pray you, fetch him hither.
Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.
Arv.
If you'll go fetch him,
We'll say our song the whilst.-Brother, begin.
[Exit Belarius.
Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the
My father hath a reason for't.
Arv.
'Tis true.
Gui. Come on then, and remove him.
Gui. 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.
Arv. 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.
Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash;
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign' to thee, and come to dust.
Gui. No exorciser harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!
Re-enter Belarius, with the body of Cloten.
Gui. We have done our obsequies: Come, lay
him down.
Bel. Here's a few flowers; but about midnight,
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 herb'lets 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. Imo. [Awaking.] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven ; Which is the way?
thank you.-By yon bush?-Pray, how far thither? 'Ods pittikins!"-can it be six miles yet?
I have gone all night:-'Faith, I'll lie down and
But, soft! no bedfellow :-O, gods and goddesses!
[Seeing the body.
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 bolt10 of nothing, shot at nothing,
Which the brain makes of fumes: Our very eyes
Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good
faith,
I tremble still 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 imagin'd, felt.
A headless man!-The garments of Posthumus!
I know the shape of his 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-
(6) Judgment. (7) Seal the same contract.
(8) See W. Collins's song at the end of the Play.
(9) This diminutive adjuration is derived from
God's my pity.
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
Conspir'd 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? Ah 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 wo here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!2
The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it
Murd'rous 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!
Enter Lucius, a Captain and other Officers, and a
Soothsayer.
Cap. To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia, After your will, have cross'd the sea; attending You here at Milford-Haven, with your ships: They are here in readiness. Luc. But what from Rome? Cap. 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, Sienna's brother.
When expect you them? Cap. With the next benefit o'the wind. Luc.
This forwardness Makes our hopes fair. Command, our present
Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't.-Now, sir, What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's purpose?
Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a
(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.
Luc. Dream often so, And never false.-Soft, ho! what trunk is here, Without his top? The ruin speaks, that sometime It was a worthy building.-How! a page!-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.
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Luc. 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 belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters,
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
Than thine own worth prefer thee: Go with me.
Imo. 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 have strew']
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.
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, and Pisanio."
Cym. Again; and bring me word, how 'tis with
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.
Sir, my life is yours, I humbly set it at your will: But, for my mistress, body.-I nothing know where she remains, why gone, Nor when she purposes return. 'Beseech your highness,
Cap.
He is alive, my lord.
Luc. He'll then instruct us of this
Young one,
Inform us of thy fortunes; for, it seems,
They crave to be demanded: Who is this,
Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who 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?
Imo. I am nothing or if not, Nothing to be were better. This was my master,
(1) Lawless, licentious.
(2) i. e, 'Tis a ready, opposite conclusion.
Hold me your loyal servant.
1 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.
There wants no diligence in seeking him,
And will, no doubt, be found.
Сут.
The time's troublesome ›
Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it
From action and adventure?
To have with courtesy your cradle promis'd,
But to be still hot summer's tanlings, and
The shrinking slaves of winter,
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.
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 asham'd
To look upon the holy sun, to have
The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.
Gui.
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!
Arv.
So say I; Amen.
Bel. No reason I, since on 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, and there I'll lie':
Lead, lead.-The time seems long; their blood
thinks scorn,
[Aside.
Till it fly out, and show them princes born. [Exe.
SCENE I.-A field between the British and Ro-
man camps. Enter Posthumus, with a bloody
handkerchief.
Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I
wish'd
Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married ones,
If each of you would 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
be Had liv'd to put on this: so had you sav'd
The noble Imogen to repent; and struck
Bel.
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 liv'd; and so extort from us
That which we've done, whose answer would
death
Arv.
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.
Bel.
O, I am known
Of many in the army: many years,
Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore
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 bless'd 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 hea-
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril
An honest one, I warrant; who deserv'd
Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know So long a breeding, as his white beard came to,
More valour in me, than my habits show.
In doing this for his country;-athwart the lane,
Gods, put the strength o'the Leonati in me! He, with two striplings (lads more like to run
To shame the guise o'the world, I will begin The country base, than to commit such slaughter;
The fashion, less without, and more within. With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame,)
SCENE II.-The same. Enter at one side, Lu- Made good the passage; cry'd to those that fled,
cius, lachimo, and the Roman army; at the Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men:
other side, the British army; Leonatus Posthu-To darkness fleet, souls that fly backwards! Stand,
mus following it, like a poor soldier. They Or we are Romans, and will give you that
march over, and go out. Alarums. Then en- Like beasts, which you shun beastly; and may save,
ter again in skirmish, Iachimo and Posthumus; But to look back in frown: stand, stand.-These
he vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo, and then
three,
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 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.
Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of
the ground;
The lane is guarded: nothing routs us, but
The villany of our fears.
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
But by example (0, 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
The lite o'the need; having found the back-door
(Like fragments in hard voyages,) became
Of the unguarded hearts, Heavens, how they wound! Stand, stand, and fight! O'erborne i'the former wave: ten, chac'd by one, Some, slain before; some, dying; some, their friends Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons: They Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty: rescue Cymbeline, and exeunt. Then, enter Lu-Those, that would die or ere resist, are grown cius, Iachimo, and Imogen. The mortal bugs' o'the field.
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Post. 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 straight lane; the enemy full-hearted,
Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work
More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down
Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
Merely through fear; that the strait pass was
damm'd2
With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living
To die with lengthen'd shame.
Lord.
Where was this lane?
Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd and wall'd with
turf;
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,
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Lord.
This was strange chance:
A narrow lane! an old man, and two boys!
Post. 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.
Post.
'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.
Farewell, you are angry. [Exit. Post. Still going ?-This is a lord! O noble mise.y!
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 wo charm'd,
Could not find death, where I did hear him groan
Nor feel him, where he struck: Being an ugly
'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
For being now a favourer to the Roman,
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,
|