Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? what art thou?
Imo. 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 are no more such masters;
Luc. 'Lack, good youth!
Thou mov'st no less with my complaining, than
Thy master in bleeding; say thy name, good friend.
Imo. Fidele, Sir.
Luc. Thy name well fits thy faith;
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say,
Thou shalt be so well master'd, but be sure
No less belov'd. Go with me.
Imo. I'll follow, Sir; but first, an't please the Gods,
I'll hide my master from the fowls as deep
As these poor pick-axes can dig; and when
With wild wood-leaves, and weeds, I ha' strew'd his grave, (Such as I can) twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh,
And leaving so his service, follow you,
So please you entertain me. Luc. 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 dazied-plot we can,
And make him, with our pikes and partizans,
A grave. Come, take him up; boy, he is preferr'd
By thee to us, and he shall be interr'd
As soldiers can. Be chearful, wipe thine eyes,
Some falls are means the happier to arise.
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, nor muster'd
Among the bands, may drive us to a render
Where we have liv'd: and so extort from's that
Which we have done, whose answer would be death
Drawn on with torture,
Guid. This is, Sir, a doubt
(In such a time) nothing becoming you,
Nor satisfying us.
Arv. 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.
Of many in the army; and besides the king
Hath not deserv'd my service, nor your loves.
Guid. Pray, Sir, to the army;
I and my bro her are not known; yourself
So out of thought, and thereto so o'er-grown,
Cannot be question'd.
Arv. 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 ?
I am asham'd to look upon the holy sun, to have
The benefit of his blest beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.
Guid. By heav'ns 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.
Bel. No reason I, since of your lives you set
Sɔ 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 lye.
A Field between the BIRTISH and RoмISH Camps.
Enter POSTHUMUS with a bloody bandkerchief
Post. Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married
EA, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wish'd
If each of you would take this course, how many
Must murder wives much better than yourselves,
For wrying but a little? Oh 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 strook
Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance.
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 worse than other,
And make them dreaded to the doer's thrift;
But Imogen is your own. Do your bes: wills,
And make me blest t' obey. I am brought hither
Amongst the Italian gentry, and to fight
Against my lady's kingdom; 'tis enough
That, Britain, I have kill'd my mistress; peace,
I'll give no wound to thee: therefore, good heav'ns,
Hear patiently my purpose. I'll disrobe me
Of these Italian weeds and suit mys If
As does a Britain peasant; so I'li fiht
Against the part I came with: so I'll die
For thee, O Imogen, for whom my life
Is, every breath, a death; and thus unknown,
Pitied, not hated, to the face of peril,
Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me, than my habit's show;
Gods, put the strength o' th' Leonati in me;
To shame the guise o' th' world, I will begin,
The fashion, ess without, and more within.
A grand Fight between the ROMANS and BRITONS; the
ROMANS are drove off.
Enter POSTHUMUS and IACHIMо figbling.
IACHIMO drops bis Sword
Post. OR yield thee, Roman, or theu dy'st.
Post.acb. Peasant, behold my breast.
Post. No, take thy life and mend it.
lacb. The heaviness and sin within my bosom
Takes off my manhood; I've bely'd a lady,
The princess of this country, and the air on't
Revengingly enfeebles me, or could this carle,
A very drud e of nature, have subdu'd me,
In my profession; knighthoods and honours borne
As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn;
With heav'n against me, what is sword or shield;
My guilt, my guilt, o'er-powers me, and I yield. [Exit.
Enter PISANIO and 1st Lord.
1 I ord. This is a day from where they made the stand 2
HIS a turn'd strangely.
Though you it seems came from the fliers.
1 Lord. I did.
Pis. No blame 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 Britains seen; all flying
Through a strait Lane, the enemy full-hearted,
Lolling the tongue with slaught'ring, struck down
Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
Metely through fear, that the strait pass was damn'd
With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living
To die with lengthen'd shame.
1 Lord. Where was this lane?
Pis. Close by the battle, dich'd and wall'd with turf,
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,
An honest one I warrant. Athwart the Lane?
Jle, with two strippling lads, more like to run
The country base, than to commit such slaughter,
Made good the passage, cried to the fliers, 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.
1 Lord. Were there but three ?
Pis. There was a fourth man, in a poor rustic habit, That stood the front with them. These matel less four, Accommodated by the place, gilded paie looks,
Part shame, part spirit renew'd, that some, turn'd cowards But by example, 'gan to look
The way that they did, and to grin like lions
Upon the pikes o' th' hunter. Then begin
A stop i' th' chaser, a retire; anon
A rout, confusion thick, and the event
A victory for us.
1 Lord. This was strange chance,
An old man, two boys, and a poor rustic.
Pis. Nay, do not wonder—but go with me, and See these wonders, and join the general joy.
O-day, how many would have given their ho
To've sav'd their carcasses! took heel to do't,
And vet died tuo. I, in nine own woe charm'd,
Could not find death, where I did hear him groan,
Nor feel him where he struck. This ugly monster,
'Tis strange he hides himn in fresh cups, soft beds,
Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we
That draw his knife i' th' war. Well, I will find him ;
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