For Imogen's dear life, take mine; and though
'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd 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 powers,
If you will take this audit, take this life,
And cancel these cold bonds.
I'll speak to thee in silence.

O Imogen !

[He sleeps. Solemn Musick. 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 Musick before them. Then, after other Musick, 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, 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,
Whose face I never saw?

I died, whilst in the womb he stay'd
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 Posthúmus 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 ?

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 villainy?

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.

1 Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath
To Cymbeline perform'd:

Then Jupiter, thou king of gods,
Why hast thou thus adjourn'd
The graces for his merits due;
Being all to dolours turn'd?

• The fool

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 delayed, 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 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 in 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; and 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 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 5 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. 6 Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to live, for all he be a Roman: and there be 6 Forward.

› Hazard.

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, ARVIRA-
GUS, 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 targe7 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.
The heir of his reward; which I will add
To my grief, I am
To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain.

Bel.

Sir,

[To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. By whom, I grant, she lives; 'Tis now the time To ask of whence you are;report it. 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.

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?

For you a mortal mineral; which, being took,
Should by the minute feed on life, and, ling'ring,
By inches waste you: In which time she purpos'd,
By watching, weeping, 'tendance, kissing, to
O'ercome you with her show: yes, and in time,
(When she had fitted you with her craft,) to work
Her son into the 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
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit
That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted;
So, think of your estate.

Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day
Was yours by accident; had it gone with us,
We should not, when the blood was cool, have
threaten'd

Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
May be call'd ransome, 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 feat, 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.
Сут.

I have surely seen him:
His favour is familiar to me.
Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
And art mine own. — - I know not why, nor where-
fore,

To say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master: live:
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I'll give it;
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
The noblest ta'en.

Imo.

8 Ready, dexterous.

I humbly thank your highness.

9 Countenance.

What wouldst thou, boy?

I love thee more and more; think more and more What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? speak,

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
Imo. Fidele, sir.
Cym.

Thou art my good youth, my page;
I'll be thy master: Walk with me; speak freely.
[CYMBELINE and IMOGEN converse 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;
forbear:

[Aside.

Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say, How came it yours?

Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.

Cym.
How! me?
Iach. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that
which

Torments me to conceal. By villainy

I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel: Whom thou didst banish; and (which more may grieve thee,

As it doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd 'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my

lord?

I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will,
Than die ere I hear more strive man, and speak.
Iach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock
That struck the hour!) it was in Rome, (accurs'd
The mansion where !) 'twas at a feast, (O, 'would
Our viands had been poison'd! or, at least,
Those which I heav'd to head!) the good Posthúmus,
(What should I say? he was too good, to be
Where ill men were; and was the best of all
Amongst the rar'st of good ones,) sitting sadly,
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy

For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast
Of him that best could speak: for feature, laming
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva;
Fairness which strikes the eye:
Cym.
I stand on fire:

Come to the matter.

Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
That's due to all the villains past, in being,
To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out
For torturers ingenious: it is I

That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend,
By being worse than they. I am Posthúmus,
That kill'd thy daughter: - villain-like, I lie;
That caus'd a lesser villain than myself,
A sacrilegious thief, to do 't: the temple
Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself."
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
The dogs o' the street to bay me: every villain
Be call'd Posthúmus Leonatus; and
Be villainy less than 'twas! — O Imogen!
My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
Imogen, Imogen!

Imo. Peace, my lord; hear, hearPost. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page, There lie thy part.

Pis.

[Striking her she falls. O, gentlemen, help, help Mine and your mistress: - O, my lord Posthúmus! You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now: - - Help, help!

húmus,

(Most like a noble lord in love, and one

That had a royal lover,) took his hint ;

And, not dispraising whom we prais'd, (therein
He was as calm as virtue) he began

His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being

made,

And then a mind put in't, either our brags
Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description
Prov'd us unspeaking sots.

Cym.

Nay, nay, to the purpose. Iach. Your daughter's chastity. He spake of her As she alone were pure: Whereat I, wretch! Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore Upon his honour'd finger, to attain

In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring
By her's and mine adultery: he, true knight,
No lesser of her honour confident

Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;
And would so, had it been a carbuncle

Of Phoebus' wheel; and might so safely, had it
Been all the worth of his car. Away to Britain
Post I in this design: Well may you, sir,
Remember me at court, where I was taught
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
'Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quench'd
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
'Gan in your duller Britain operate
Most vilely; for my 'vantage, excellent;
And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd,
That I return'd with similar proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad,
By wounding his belief in her renown
With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet,
(0, cunning, how got it!) nay, some marks
Of secret on her person, that he could not
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon,-
Methinks I see him now, -
Post.

Italian fiend!

Ay, so thou dost, [Coming forward.

Ah me, most credulous fool, 1 Sink into dejection.

Cym.
Does the world go round?
Post. How come these staggers on me?

Pis.
Wake, my mistress!
Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
To death with mortal joy.

Pis.

How fares my mistress? Imo. O, get thee from my sight;

Thou gav'st me poison: dangerous fellow, hence! Breathe not where princes are.

I left out one thing which the queen confess'd,
Which must approve thee honest: If Pisanio
Have, said she, given his mistress that confection
Which I gave him for a cordial, she is serv'd
As I would serve a rat.

Cym.
What's this, Cornelius?
Cor. The queen, sir, very oft impórtun'd me
To temper 3 poisons for her; still pretending
The satisfaction of her knowledge, only
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs
Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease
The present power of life; but, in short time,
All offices of nature should again
Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?
Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead.
Bel.
There was our error.

Gui.

My boys,

This is sure, Fidele.