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Post. Nay, do not wonder at it: You are made Rather to wonder at the things you hear, Than to work any. Will you
Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir.
’Lack, to what end?
Farewell, you are angry.
[Erit. 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
For being now a favourer to the Roman,
my shoulder. Great the slaughter is:
Enter Two British Captains, and Soldiers. 1 Cap. Great Jupiter be prais'd! Lucius is taken: 'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.
2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, That gave the affront 3 with them.
So 'tis reported :
Lay hands on him; a dog!
Enter CYMBELINE, attended; BELARIUS, GUIDE
RIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIo, and Roman Captives, The Captains present Posthumus to CYMBELINE, who delivers him over to a Gaoler : after which, all go out.
Enter POSTHUMUS, and Two Gaolers. 1 Gaol. You shall not now be stolen, you have
locks upon you; So,
graze, as you find pasture. 2 Gaol.
Ay, or a stomach.
Post. Most welcome bondage! for thou art a
way, I think, to liberty : Yet am I better Than one that's sick o' the gout: since he had ra
ther 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,
Must I repent ?
stamp; Though light, take pieces for the figure' sake : You rather mine, being yours : And so, great
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:
Whose face I never saw ?
Attending Nature's law.
Thou orphans' father art,)
From this earth-vexing smart.
But took me in my throes :
A thing of pity!
Moulded the stuff so fair,
As great Sicilius' heir.
In Britain where was he That could stand up his parallel ;
Or fruitful object be s This Scene is supposed not to be Shakspeare's, but foisted in by the Players for mere show.
In eye of Imogen, that best
Could deem his dignity?
To be exil'd and thrown
Sweet Imogen ?
Slight thing of Italy,
With needless jealousy;
O'the other's villainy?
Our parents, and us twain,
Fell bravely, and were slain;
With honour to mai ain. 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;
And potent injuries :
Take off his miseries.
Or we poor ghosts will cry
Against thy deity. 2 Bro. Help, Jupiter; or we appeal,
And from thy justice fly.
6 The fool,