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.

LORD.
Farewell;
; you are angry. [Exit.
POST. Still going?-This is a lord! O noble
misery,-

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 carcases? took heel to do 't,
And yet died too? I, in mine own woe charm'd,
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 Briton,
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
Here made by the Roman: great the answer be
Britons must take; for me, my ransom's death;
On either side I come to spend my breath;
Which neither here I'll keep, nor bear agen,
But end it by some means for Imogen.

I think, to liberty: yet am I better
Than one that's sick o' the gout, since he had
rather

Groan so in perpetuity, than be cur'd
By the sure physician, death, who is the key
To unbar these locks. My conscience! thou art
fetter'd

More than my shanks and wrists: you good gods, give me

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,
Desir'd, more than constrain'd: to satisfy,
If of my freedom 't is the main part, take
No stricter render of me, than my all.d

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

But the meaning may be this,-I will find death; and as he is now a sparer of the Briton, I will play that part no longer, but seek him as a Roman.

• A silly habit,—] A simple, or rustic habit. Must I repent!

d

I cannot do it better than in gyves,
Desir'd, more than constrain'd: to satisfy
If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take
No stricter render of me, than my all.]

This passage, of which Malone supposes a line to have been omitted after" satisfy," is, we fear, hopelessly incurable.

Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, SI

CILIUS 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, 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:

a Solemn music, &c.] By whom, or under what circumstances this pitiful mummery was foisted into the play, will probably never be known. That Shakespeare had no hand in it is certain; he, as Steevens remarks, "who has conducted his fifth

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 ripp'd,
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?

act with such matchless skill, could never have designed the vision to be twice described by Posthumus, had this contemptible nonsense been previously delivered or the stage."

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?

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.

2 BRO. Help, Jupiter! or we appeal,

And from thy justice fly.

JUPITER descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. 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 opprest;

No care of yours it is; you know 't is ours.
Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift,
The more delay'd, 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 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
Stoop'd, as to foot us: his ascension is
More sweet than our blest 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 grand-
sire, and begot

(*) First folio, looke, looke out.

a Which are-] As is understood:-"which are as often," &c. b And sorry that you are paid too much ;] Paid, here, is equivaent to the slang phrase, to settle, now in use; as, I've settled

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? 0

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.] Whenas 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 First Gaoler.

GAOL. Come, sir, are you ready for death? POST. Over-roasted rather; rcady 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.

more

GAOL. A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is, you shall be called to no 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

him, he's settled, and the like. With this import, which is that of punished, paid is often met with in old authors; we find it, among other places, in "Henry the Fourth," Part I. Act II. Sc. 4:-"two, I am sure, I have paid;" and again in the same scene:-"seven of the eleven I paid."

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; for, 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 bring'st 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.

SCENE V.-Cymbeline's Tent.

[Exit.

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

CYM. Stand by my side, you whom the gods

have made

(*! Old text inserts, to.

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 med'cine 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.

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.

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,
Should by the minute feed on life, and, lingering,
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.

Сум.
Heard you all this, her women?
LADY. We did, so please your highness.
Сум.

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 mayst 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 ransom, 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 niaster 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.

Сум.

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.
I humbly thank your highness.
Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad;
And yet I know thou wilt.

IMO.

No, no: alack, There's other work in hand: I see a thing Bitter to me as death: your life, good master, Must shuffle for itself.

Luc. The boy disdains me, He leaves me, scorns me: briefly die their joys, That place them on the truth of girls and boys.— Why stands he so perplex'd?

CYM. 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?

Wherefore ey'st him so? IMO. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing.

Сум.

Ay, with all my heart, And lend my best attention. What's thy name? IMO. Fidele, sir.

CYм. Thou 'rt 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;

(*) Old text omits, nor.