The Tragedie of Cymbeline

THE TRAGEDIE OF CYMBELINE.

Actus Primus. Scœna Prima.

Enter two Gentlemen.

1. Gent. YOu do not meet a man but Frownes. Our bloods no more obey the Heauens Then our Courtiers: Still seeme, as do's the Kings.

2 Gent. But what's the matter?

1. His daughter, and the heire of's kingdome (whom He purpos'd to his wiues sole Sonne, a Widdow That late he married) hath referr'd her selfe Vnto a poore, but worthy Gentleman. She's wedded, Her Husband banish'd; she imprison'd, all Is outward sorrow, though I thinke the King Be touch'd at very heart.

2 None but the King?

1 He that hath lost her too: so is the Queene, That most desir'd the Match. But not a Courtier, Although they weare their faces to the bent Of the Kings lookes, hath a heart that is not Glad at the thing they scowle at.

2 And why so?

1 He that hath miss'd the Princesse, is a thing Too bad, for bad report: and he that hath her, (I meane, that married her, alacke good man, And therefore banish'd) is a Creature, such, As to seeke through the Regions of the Earth For one, his like; there would be something failing In him, that should compare. I do not thinke, So faire an Outward, and such stuffe Within Endowes a man, but hee.

2 You speake him farre.

1 I do extend him (Sir) within himselfe, Crush him together, rather then vnfold His measure duly.

2 What's his name, and Birth?

1 I cannot delue him to the roote: His Father Was call'd Sicillius, who did ioyne his Honor Against the Romanes, with Cassibulan, But had his Titles by Tenantius, whom He seru'd with Glory, and admir'd Successe: So gain'd the Sur‑addition, Leonatus. And had (besides this Gentleman in question) Two other Sonnes, who in the Warres o'th'time Dy'de with their Swords in hand. For which, their Father Then old, and fond of yssue, tooke such sorrow That he quit Be□ng; and his gentle Lady Bigge of this Gentleman (our Theame) deceast As he was borne. The King he takes the Babe To his protection, cals him Posthumus Leonatus, Breedes him, and makes him of his Bed‑chamber, Puts to him all the Learnings that his time Could make him the receiuer of, which he tooke As we do ayre, fast as 'twas ministred, And in's Spring, became a Haruest: Liu'd in Court (Which rare it is to do) most prais'd, most lou'd, A sample to the yongest: to th'more Mature, A glasse that feated them: and to the grauer, A Childe that guided Dotards. To his Mistris, (For whom he now is banish'd) her owne price Proclaimes how she esteem'd him; and his Vertue By her electiō may be truly read, what kind of man he is.

2 I honor him, euen out of your report. But pray you tell me, is she sole childe to'th'King?

1 His onely childe: He had two Sonnes (if this be worth your hearing, Marke it) the eldest of them, at three yeares old I'th'swathing cloathes, the other from their Nursery Were stolne, and to this houre, no ghesse in knowledge Which way they went.

2 How long is this ago?

1 Some twenty yeares.

2 That a Kings Children should be so conuey'd, So slackely guarded, and the search so slow That could not trace them.

1 Howsoere, 'tis strange, Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at: Yet is it true Sir.

2 I do well beleeue you.

1 We must forbeare. Heere comes the Gentleman, The Queene, and Princesse.

Exeunt

Scena Secunda.

Enter the Queene, Posthumus, and Imogen.

Qu. No, be assur'd you shall not finde me (Daughter) After the slander of most Step‑Mothers, Euill‑ey'd vnto you. You're my Prisoner, but Your Gaoler shall deliuer you the keyes That locke vp your restraint. For you Posthumus, So soone as I can win th'offended King, I will be knowne your Aduocate: marry yet The fire of Rage is in him, and 'twere good You lean'd vnto his Sentence, with what patience Your wisedome may informe you.

Post. 'Please your Highnesse, I will from hence to day.

Qu. You know the perill: Ile fetch a turne about the Garden, pittying The pangs of barr'd Affections, though the King Hath charg'd you should not speake together.

Exit

Imo. O dissembling Curtesie! How fine this Tyrant Can tickle where she wounds? My deerest Husband, I something feare my Fathers wrath, but nothing (Alwayes reseru'd my holy duty) what His rage can do on me. You must be gone, And I shall heere abide the hourely shot Of angry eyes: not comforted to liue, But that there is this Iewell in the world, That I may see againe.

Post. My Queene, my Mistris: O Lady, weepe no more, least I giue cause To be suspected of more tendernesse Then doth become a man. I will remaine The loyall'st husband, that did ere plight troth. My residence in Rome, at one Filorio's, Who, to my Father was a Friend, to me Knowne but by Letter; thither write (my Queene) And with mine eyes, Ile drinke the words you send, Though Inke be made of Gall.

Enter Queene.

Qu. Be briefe, I pray you: If the King come, I shall incurre, I know not How much of his displeasure: yet Ile moue him To walke this way: I neuer do him wrong, But he do's buy my Iniuries, to be Friends: Payes deere for my offences.

Post. Should we be taking leaue As long a terme as yet we haue to liue, The loathnesse to depart, would grow: Adieu.

Imo. Nay, stay a little: Were you but riding forth to ayre your selfe, Such parting were too petty. Looke heere (Loue) This Diamond was my Mothers; take it (Heart) But keepe it till you woo another Wife, When Imogen is dead.

Post. How, how? Another? You gentle Gods, giue me but this I haue, And seare vp my embracements from a next, With bonds of death. Remaine, remaine thou heere, While sense can keepe it on: And sweetest, fairest, As I (my poore selfe) did exchange for you To your so infinite losse; so in our trifles I still winne of you. For my sake weare this, It is a Manacle of Loue, Ile place it Vpon this fayrest Prisoner.

Imo. O the Gods! When shall we see againe?

Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.

Post. Alacke, the King.

Cym. Thou basest thing, auoyd hence, from my sight: If after this command thou fraught the Court With thy vnworthinesse, thou dyest. Away, Thou'rt poyson to my blood.

Post. The Gods protect you, And blesse the good Remainders of the Court: I am gone.

Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death More sharpe then this is.

Cym. O disloyall thing, That should'st repayre my youth, thou heap'st A yeares age on mee.

Imo. I beseech you Sir, Harme not your selfe with your vexation, I am senselesse of your Wrath; a Touch more rare Subdues all pangs, all feares.

Cym. Past Grace? Obedience?

Imo. Past hope, and in dispaire, that way past Grace.

Cym. That might'st haue had The sole Sonne of my Queene.

Imo. O blessed, that I might not: I chose an Eagle, And did auoyd a Puttocke.

Cym. Thou took'st a Begger, would'st haue made my Throne, a Seate for basenesse.

Imo. No, I rather added a lustre to it.

Cym. O thou vilde one!

Imo. Sir, It is your fault that I haue lou'd Posthumus: You bred him as my Play‑fellow, and he is A man, worth any woman: Ouer‑buyes mee Almost the summe he payes.

Cym. What? art thou mad?

Imo. Almost Sir: Heauen restore me: would I were A Neat‑heards Daughter, and my Leonatus Our Neighbour‑Shepheards Sonne.

Enter Queene.

Cym. Thou foolish thing; They were againe together: you haue done Not after our command. Away with her, And pen her vp.

Qu. Beseech your patience: Peace Deere Lady daughter, peace. Sweet Soueraigne, Leaue vs to our selues, and make your self some comfort Out of your best aduice.

Cym. Nay, let her languish A drop of blood a day, and being aged Dye of this Folly.

Exit.

Enter Pisanio.

Qu. Fye, you must giue way: Heere is your Seruant. How now Sir? What newes?

Pisa. My Lord your Sonne, drew on my Master.

Qu. Hah? No harme I trust is done?

Pisa. There might haue beene, But that my Master rather plaid, then fought, And had no helpe of Anger: they were parted By Gentlemen, at hand.

Qu. I am very glad on't.

Imo. Your Son's my Fathers friend, he takes his part To draw vpon an Exile. O braue Sir, I would they were in Affricke both together, My selfe by with a Needle, that I might pricke The goer backe. Why came you from your Master?

Pisa. On his command: he would not suffer mee To bring him to the Hauen: left these Notes Of what commands I should be subiect too, When't pleas'd you to employ me.

Qu. This hath beene Your faithfull Seruant: I dare lay mine Honour He will remaine so.

Pisa. I humbly thanke your Highnesse.

Qu. Pray walke a‑while.

Imo. About some halfe houre hence, Pray you speake with me; You shall (at least) go see my Lord aboord. For this time leaue me.

Exeunt.

Scena Tertia.

Enter Clotten, and two Lords.

1. Sir, I would aduise you to shift a Shirt; the Vio­ lence of Action hath made you reek as a Sacrifice: where ayre comes out, ayre comes in: There's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.

Clot. If my Shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Haue I hurt him?

2 No faith: not so much as his patience.

1 Hurt him? His bodie's a passable Carkasse if he bee not hurt. It is a through‑fare for Steele if it be not hurt.

2 His Steele was in debt, it went o'th'Backe‑side the Towne.

Clot. The Villaine would not stand me.

2 No, but he fled forward still, toward your face.

1 Stand you? you haue Land enough of your owne: But he added to your hauing, gaue you some ground.

2 As many Inches, as you haue Oceans (Puppies.)

Clot. I would they had not come betweene vs.

2 So would I, till you had measur'd how long a Foole you were vpon the ground.

Clot. And that shee should loue this Fellow, and re­ fuse mee.

2 If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damn'd.

1 Sir, as I told you alwayes: her Beauty & her Braine go not together. Shee's a good signe, but I haue seene small reflection of her wit.

2 She shines not vpon Fooles, least the reflection Should hurt her.

Clot. Come, Ile to my Chamber: would there had beene some hurt done.

2 I wish not so, vnlesse it had bin the fall of an Asse, which is no great hurt.

Clot. You'l go with vs?

1 Ile attend your Lordship.

Clot. Nay come, let's go together.

2 Well my Lord.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Imogen and Pisanio.

Imo. I would thou grew'st vnto the shores o'th'Hauen, And questioned'st euery Saile: if he should write, And I not haue it, 'twere a Paper lost As offer'd mercy is: What was the last That he spake to thee?

Pisa. It was his Queene, his Queene.

Imo. Then wau'd his Handkerchiefe?

Pisa. And kist it, Madam.

Imo. Senselesse Linnen, happier therein then I: And that was all?

Pisa. No Madam: for so long As he could make me with his eye, or eare, Distinguish him from others, he did keepe The Decke, with Gloue, or Hat, or Handkerchife, Still wauing, as the fits and stirres of's mind Could best expresse how slow his Soule sayl'd on, How swift his Ship.

Imo. Thou should'st haue made him As little as a Crow, or lesse, ere left To after‑eye him.

Pisa. Madam, so I did.

Imo. I would haue broke mine eye‑strings; Crack'd them, but to looke vpon him, till the diminution Of space, had pointed him sharpe as my Needle: Nay, followed him, till he had melted from The smalnesse of a Gnat, to ayre: and then Haue turn'd mine eye, and wept. But good Pisanio, When shall we heare from him.

Pisa. Be assur'd Madam, With his next vantage.

Imo. I did not take my leaue of him, but had Most pretty things to say: Ere I could tell him How I would thinke on him at certaine houres, Such thoughts, and such: Or I could make him sweare, The Shees of Italy should not betray Mine Interest, and his Honour: or haue charg'd him At the sixt houre of Morne, at Noone, at Midnight, T'encounter me with Orisons; for then I am in Heauen for him: Or ere I could, Giue him that parting kisse, which I had set Betwixt two charming words, comes in my Father, And like the Tyrannous breathing of the North, Shakes all our buddes from growing.

Enter a Lady.

La. The Queene (Madam) Desires your Highnesse Company.

Imo. Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd, I will attend the Queene.

Pisa. Madam, I shall.

Exeunt.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Philario, Iachimo: a Frenchman, a Dutch­ man, and a Spaniard.

Iach. Beleeue it Sir, I haue seene him in Britaine; hee was then of a Cressent note, expected to proue so woor­ thy, as since he hath beene allowed the name of. But I could then haue look'd on him, without the help of Ad­ miration, though the Catalogue of his endowments had bin tabled by his side, and I to peruse him by Items.

Phil. You speake of him when he was lesse furnish'd, then now hee is, with that which makes him both with­ out, and within.

French. I haue seene him in France: wee had very ma­ ny there, could behold the Sunne, with as firme eyes as hee.

Iach. This matter of marrying his Kings Daughter, wherein he must be weighed rather by her valew, then his owne, words him (I doubt not) a great deale from the matter.

French. And then his banishment.

Iach. I, and the approbation of those that weepe this lamentable diuorce vnder her colours, are wonderfully to extend him, be it but to fortifie her iudgement, which else an easie battery might lay flat, for taking a Begger without lesse quality. But how comes it, he is to soiourne with you? How creepes acquaintance?

Phil. His Father and I were Souldiers together, to whom I haue bin often bound for no lesse then my life. Enter Posthumus. Heere comes the Britaine. Let him be so entertained a­ mong'st you, as suites with Gentlemen of your knowing, to a Stranger of his quality. I beseech you all be better knowne to this Gentleman, whom I commend to you, as a Noble Friend of mine. How Worthy he is, I will leaue to appeare hereafter, rather then story him in his owne hearing.

French. Sir, we haue knowne togither in Orleance.

Post. Since when, I haue bin debtor to you for courte­ sies, which I will be euer to pay, and yet pay still.

French. Sir, you o're‑rate my poore kindnesse, I was glad I did attone my Countryman and you: it had beene pitty you should haue beene put together, with so mor­ tall a purpose, as then each bore, vpon importance of so slight and triuiall a nature.

Post. By your pardon Sir, I was then a young Trauel­ ler, rather shun'd to go euen with what I heard, then in my euery action to be guided by others experiences: but vpon my mended iudgement (if I offend to say it is men­ ded) my Quarrell was not altogether slight.

French. Faith yes, to be put to the arbiterment of Swords, and by such two, that would by all likelyhood haue confounded one the other, or haue falne both.

Iach. Can we with manners, aske what was the dif­ ference?

French. Safely, I thinke, 'twas a contention in pub­ licke, which may (without contradiction) suffer the re­ port. It was much like an argument that fell out last night, where each of vs fell in praise of our Country‑ Mistresses. This Gentleman, at that time vouching (and vpon warrant of bloody affirmation) his to be more Faire, Vertuous, Wise, Chaste, Constant, Qualified, and lesse attemptible then any, the rarest of our Ladies in Fraunce.

Iach. That Lady is not now liuing; or this Gentle­ mans opinion by this, worne out.

Post. She holds her Vertue still, and I my mind.

Iach. You must not so farre preferre her, 'fore ours of Italy.

Posth. Being so farre prouok'd as I was in France: I would abate her nothing, though I professe my selfe her Adorer, not her Friend.

Iach. As faire, and as good: a kind of hand in hand comparison, had beene something too faire, and too good for any Lady in Britanie; if she went before others. I haue seene as that Diamond of yours out‑lusters many I haue beheld, I could not beleeue she excelled many: but I haue not seene the most pretious Diamond that is, nor you the Lady.

Post. I prais'd her, as I rated her: so do I my Stone.

Iach. What do you esteeme it at?

Post. More then the world enioyes.

Iach. Either your vnparagon'd Mistris is dead, or she's out‑priz'd by a trifle.

Post. You are mistaken: the one may be solde or gi­ uen, or if there were wealth enough for the purchases, or merite for the guift. The other is not a thing for sale, and onely the guift of the Gods.

Iach. Which the Gods haue giuen you?

Post. Which by their Graces I will keepe.

Iach. You may weare her in title yours: but you know strange Fowle light vpon neighbouring Ponds. Your Ring may be stolne too, so your brace of vnprizea­ ble Estimations, the one is but fraile, and the other Casu­ all;. A cunning Thiefe, or a (that way) accomplish'd Courtier, would hazzard the winning both of first and last.

Post. Your Italy, containes none so accomplish'd a Courtier to conuince the Honour of my Mistris: if in the holding or losse of that, you terme her fraile, I do no­ thing doubt you haue store of Theeues, notwithstanding I feare not my Ring.

Phil. Let vs leaue heere, Gentlemen?

Post. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy Signior I thanke him, makes no stranger of me, we are familiar at first.

Iach. With fiue times so much conuersation, I should get ground of your faire Mistris; make her go backe, e­ uen to the yeilding, had I admittance, and opportunitie to friend.

Post. No, no.

Iach. I dare thereupon pawne the moytie of my E­ state, to your Ring, which in my opinion o're‑values it something: but I make my wager rather against your Confidence, then her Reputation. And to barre your of­ fence heerein to, I durst attempt it against any Lady in the world.

Post. You are a great deale abus'd in too bold a per­ swasion, and I doubt not you sustaine what y'are worthy of, by your Attempt.

Iach. What's that?

Posth. A Repulse though your Attempt (as you call it) deserue more; a punishment too.

Phi. Gentlemen enough of this, it came in too so­ dainely, let it dye as it was borne, and I pray you be bet­ ter acquainted.

Iach. Would I had put my Fstate, and my Neighbors on th'approbation of what I haue spoke,

Post. What Lady would you chuse to assaile?

Iach. Yours, whom in constancie you thinke stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousands Duckets to your Ring, that commend me to the Court where your La­ dy is, with no more aduantage then the opportunitie of a second conference, and I will bring from thence, that Honor of hers, which you imagine so reseru'd.

Posthmus. I will wage against your Gold, Gold to it: My Ring I holde deere as my finger, 'tis part of it.

Iaeh. You are a Friend, and there in the wiser: if you buy Ladies flesh at a Million a Dram, you cannot pre­ seure it from tainting; but I see you haue some Religion in you, that you feare.

Posthu. This is but a custome in your tongue: you beare a grauer purpose I hope.

Iach. I am the Master of my speeches, and would vn­ der‑go what's spoken, I sweare.

Posthu. Will you? I shall but lend my Diamond till your returne: let there be Couenants drawne between's. My Mistris exceedes in goodnesse, the hugenesse of your vnworthy thinking. I dare you to this match: heere's my Ring.

Phil. I will haue it no lay.

Iach. By the Gods it is one: if I bring you no suffi­ cient testimony that I haue enioy'd the deerest bodily part of your Mistris: my ten thousand Duckets are yours, so is your Diamond too: if I come off, and leaue her in such honour as you haue trust in; Shee your Iewell, this your Iewell, and my Gold are yours: prouided. I haue your commendation, for my more free entertainment.

Post. I embrace these Conditions, let vs haue Articles betwixt vs: onely thus farre you shall answere, if you make your voyage vpon her, and giue me directly to vn­ derstand, you haue preuayl'd, I am no further your Ene­ my, shee is not worth our debate. If shee remaine vnse­ duc'd, you not making it appeare otherwise: for your ill opinion, and th'assault you haue made to her chastity, you shall answer me with your Sword.

Iach. Your hand, a Couenant: wee will haue these things set downe by lawfull Counsell, and straight away for Britaine, least the Bargaine should catch colde, and sterue: I will fetch my Gold, and haue our two Wagers recorded.

Post. Agreed.

French. Will this hold, thinke you.

Phil. Signior Iachimo will not from it. Pray let vs follow 'em.

Exeunt

Scena Sexta.

Enter Queene, Ladies, and Cornelius.

Qu. Whiles yet the dewe's on ground, Gather those Flowers, Make haste. Who ha's the note of them?

Lady. I Madam.

Queen. Dispatch. Exit Ladies. Now Master Doctor, haue you brought those drugges?

Cor. Pleaseth your Highnes, I: here they are, Madam: But I beseech your Grace, without offence (My Conscience bids me aske) wherefore you haue Commanded of me these most poysonous Compounds, Which are the moouers of a languishing death: But though slow, deadly.

Qu. I wonder, Doctor, Thou ask'st me such a Question: Haue I not bene Thy Pupill long? Hast thou not learn'd me how To make Perfumes? Distill? Preserue? Yea so, That our great King himselfe doth woo me oft For my Confections? Hauing thus farre proceeded, (Vnlesse thou think'st me diuellish) is't not meete That I did amplifie my iudgement in Other Conclusions? I will try the forces Of these thy Compounds, on such Creatures as We count not worth the hanging (but none humane) To try the vigour of them, and apply Allayments to their Act, and by them gather Their seuerall vertues, and effects.

Cor. Your Highnesse Shall from this practise, but make hard your heart: Besides, the seeing these effects will be Both noysome, and infectious.

Qu. O content thee. Enter Pisanio. Heere comes a flattering Rascall, vpon him Will I first worke: Hee's for his Master, And enemy to my Sonne. How now Pisanio? Doctor, your seruice for this time is ended, Take your owne way.

Cor. I do suspect you, Madam, But you shall do no harme.

Qu. Hearke thee, a word.

Cor. I do not like her. She doth thinke she ha's Strange ling'ring poysons: I do know her spirit, And will not trust one of her malice, with A drugge of such damn'd Nature. Those she ha's, Will stupifie and dull the Sense a‑while, Which first (perchance) shee'l proue on Cats and Dogs, Then afterward vp higher: but there is No danger in what shew of death it makes, More then the locking vp the Spirits a time, To be more fresh, reuiuing. She is fool'd With a most false effect: and I, the truer, So to be false with her.

Qu. No further seruice, Doctor, Vntill I send for thee.

Cor. I humbly take my leaue.

Exit.

Qu. Weepes she still (saist thou?) Dost thou thinke in time She will not quench, and let instructions enter Where Folly now possesses? Do thou worke: When thou shalt bring me word she loues my Sonne, Ile tell thee on the instant, thou art then As great as is thy Master: Greater, for His Fortunes all lye speechlesse, and his name Is at last gaspe. Returne he cannot, nor Continue where he is: To shift his being, Is to exchange one misery with another, And euery day that comes, comes to decay A dayes worke in him. What shalt thou expect To be depender on a thing that leanes? Who cannot be new built, nor ha's no Friends So much, as but to prop him? Thou tak'st vp Thou know'st not what: But take it for thy labour, It is a thing I made, which hath the King Fiue times redeem'd from death. I do not know What is more Cordiall. Nay, I prythee take it, It is an earnest of a farther good That I meane to thee. Tell thy Mistris how The case stands with her: doo't, as from thy selfe; Thinke what a chance thou changest on, but thinke Thou hast thy Mistris still, to boote, my Sonne, Who shall take notice of thee. Ile moue the King To any shape of thy Preferment, such As thou'lt desire: and then my selfe, I cheefely, That set thee on to this desert, am bound To loade thy merit richly. Call my women. Exit Pisa. Thinke on my words. A slye, and constant knaue, Not to be shak'd: the Agent for his Master, And the Remembrancer of her, to hold The hand‑fast to her Lord. I haue giuen him that, Which if he take, shall quite vnpeople her Of Leidgers for her Sweete: and which, she after Except she bend her humor, shall be assur'd To taste of too. Enter Pisanio, and Ladies. So, so: Well done, well done: The Violets, Cowslippes, and the Prime‑Roses Beare to my Closset: Fare thee well, Pisanio.

Thinke on my words.

Exit Qu. and Ladies

Pisa. And shall do: But when to my good Lord, I proue vntrue, Ile choake my selfe: there's all Ile do for you.

Exit.

Scena Septima.

Enter Imogen alone.

Imo. A Father cruell, and a Stepdame false, A Foolish Suitor to a Wedded‑Lady, That hath her Husband banish'd: O, that Husband, My supreame Crowne of griefe, and those repeated Vexations of it. Had I bin Theefe‑stolne, As my two Brothers, happy: but most miserable Is the desires that's glorious. Blessed be those How meane so ere, that haue their honest wills, Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fye.

Enter Pisanio, and Iachimo.

Pisa. Madam, a Noble Gentleman of Rome, Comes from my Lord with Letters.

Iach. Change you, Madam: The Worthy Leonatus is in safety, And greetes your Highnesse deerely.

Imo. Thanks good Sir, You're kindly welcome.

Iach. All of her, that is out of doore, most rich: If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare She is alone th'Arabian‑Bird; and I Haue lost the wager. Boldnesse be my Friend: Arme me Audacitie from head to foote, Orlike the Parthian I shall flying fight, Rather directly fly.

Imogen reads. He is one of the Noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am most in­ finitely tied. Reflect vpon him accordingly, as you value your trust. Leonatus. So farre I reade aloud. But euen the very middle of my heart Is warm'd by'th'rest, and take it thankefully. You are as welcome (worthy Sir) as I Haue words to bid you, and shall finde it so In all□that I can do.

Iach. Thankes fairest Lady: What are men mad? Hath Nature giuen them eyes To see this vaulted Arch, and the rich Crop Of Sea and Land, which can distinguish 'twixt The firie Orbes aboue, and the twinn'd Stones Vpon the number'd Beach, and can we not Partition make with Spectales so pretious Twixt faire, and foule?

Imo. What makes your admiration?

Iach. It cannot be i'th'eye: for Apes, and Monkeys 'Twixt two such She's, would chatter this way, and Contemne with mowes the other. Nor i'th'iudgment: For Idiots in this case of fauour, would Be wisely definit: Nor i'th'Appetite. Sluttery to such neate Excellence, oppos'd Should make desire vomit emptinesse, Not so allur'd to feed.

Imo. What is the matter trow?

Iach. The Cloyed will: That satiate yet vnsatisfi'd desire, that Tub Both fill'd and running: Rauening first the Lambe, Longs after for the Garbage.

Imo. What, deere Sir, Thus rap's you? Are you well?

Iach. Thanks Madam well: Beseech you Sir, Desire my Man's abode, where I did leaue him: He's strange and peeuish.

Pisa. I was going Sir, To giue him welcome.

Exit.

Imo. Continues well my Lord? His health beseech you?

Iach. Well, Madam.

Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope he is.

Iach. Exceeding pleasant: none a stranger there, So merry, and so gamesome: he is call'd The Britaine Reueller.

Imo. When he was heere He did incline to sadnesse, and oft times Not knowing why.

Iach. I neuer saw him sad. There is a Frenchman his Companion, one An eminent Monsieur, that it seemes much loues A Gallian‑Girle at home. He furnaces The thicke sighes from him; whiles the iolly Britaine, (Your Lord I meane) laughes from's free lungs: cries oh, Can my sides hold, to think that man who knowes By History, Report, or his owne proofe What woman is, yea what she cannot choose But must be: will's free houres languish: For assured bondage?

Imo. Will my Lord say so?

Iach. I Madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter, It is a Recreation to be by And heare him mocke the Frenchman: But Heauen's know some men are much too blame.

Imo. Not he I hope.

Iach. Not he: But yet Heauen's bounty towards him, might Be vs'd more thankfully. In himselfe 'tis much; In you, which I account his beyond all Talents. Whil'st I am bound to wonder, I am bound To pitty too.

Imo. What do you pitty Sir?

Iach. Two Creatures heartyly.

Imo. Am I one Sir? You looke on me: what wrack discerne you in me Deserues your pitty?

Iach. Lamentable: what To hide me from the radiant Sun, and solace I'th'Dungeon by a Snuffe.

Imo. I pray you Sir, Deliuer with more opennesse your answeres To my demands. Why do you pitty me?

Iach. That others do, (I was about to say) enioy your ⸺but It is an office of the Gods to venge it, Not mine to speake on't.

Imo. You do seeme to know Something of me, or what concernes me; pray you Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more Then to be sure they do. For Certainties Either are past remedies; or timely knowing, The remedy then borne. Discouer to me What both you spur and stop.

Iach' Had I this cheeke To bathe my lips vpon: this hand, whose touch, (Whose euery touch) would force the Feelers soule To'th'oath of loyalty. This obiect, which Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, Fiering it onely heere, should I (damn'd then) Slauuer with lippes as common as the stayres That mount the Capitoll: Ioyne gripes, with hands Made hard with hourely falshood (falshood as With labour:) then by peeping in an eye Base and illustrious as the smoakie light That's fed with stinking Tallow: it were fit That all the plagues of Hell should at one time Encounter such reuolt.

Imo. My Lord, I feare Has forgot Brittaine.

Iach. And himselfe, not I Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce The Beggery of his change: but 'tis your Graces That from my mu□est Conscience, to my tongue, Charmes this report out.

Imo. Let me heare no more.

Iach. O deerest Soule: your Cause doth strike my hart With pitty, that doth make me sicke. A Lady So faire, and fasten'd to an Emperie Would make the great'st King double, to be partner'd With Tomboyes hyr'd, with that selfe exhibition Which your owne Coffers yeeld: with diseas'd ventures That play with all Infirmities for Gold, Which rottennesse can lend Nature. Such boyl'd stuffe As well might poyson Poyson. Be reueng'd, Or she that bore you, was no Queene, and you Recoyle from your great Stocke.

Imo. Reueng'd: How should I be reueng'd? If this be true, (As I haue such a Heart, that both mine eares Must not in haste abuse) if it be true, How should I be reueng'd?

Iach. Should he make me Liue like Diana's Priest, betwixt cold sheets, Whiles he is vaulting variable Rampes In your despight, vpon your purse: reuenge it. I dedicate my selfe to your sweet pleasure, More Noble then that runnagate to your bed, And will continue fast to your Affection, Still close, as sure.

Imo. What hoa, Pisanio?

Iach. Let me my seruice tender on your lippes.

Imo. Away, I do condemne mine eares, that haue So long attended thee. If thou wert Honourable Thou would'st haue told this tale for Vertue, not For such an end thou seek'st, as base, as strange: Thou wrong'st a Gentleman, who is as farre From thy report, as thou from Honor: and Solicites heere a Lady, that disdaines Thee, and the Diuell alike. What hoa, Pisanio? The King my Father shall be made acquainted Of thy Assault: if he shall thinke it fit, A sawcy Stranger in his Court, to Mart As in a Romish Stew, and to expound His beastly minde to vs; he hath a Court He little cares for, and a Daughter, who He not respects at all. What hoa, Pisanio?

Iach. O happy Leonatus I may say, The credit that thy Lady hath of thee Deserues thy trust, and thy most perfect goodnesse Her assur'd credit. Blessed liue you long, A Lady to the worthiest Sir, that euer Country call'd his; and you his Mistris, onely For the most worthiest fit. Giue me your pardon, I haue spoke this to know if your Affiance Were deeply rooted, and shall make your Lord, That which he is, new o're: And he is one The truest manner'd: such a holy Witch, That he enchants Societies into him: Halfe all men hearts are his.

Imo. You make amends.

Iach. He sits 'mongst men, like a defended God; He hath a kinde of Honor sets him off, More then a mortall seeming. Be not angrie (Most mighty Princesse) that I haue aduentur'd To try your taking of a false report, which hath Honour'd with confirmation your great Iudgement, In the election of a Sir, so rare, Which you know, cannot erre. The loue I beare him, Made me to fan you thus, but the Gods made you (Vnlike all others) chaffelesse. Pray your pardon.

Imo. All's well Sir: Take my powre i'th'Court for yours.

Iach. My humble thankes: I had almost forgot T'intreat your Grace, but in a small request, And yet of moment too, for it concernes: Your Lord, my selfe, and other Noble Friends Are partners in the businesse.

Imo. Pray what is't?

Iach. Some dozen Romanes of vs, and your Lord (The best Feather of our wing) haue mingled summes To buy a Present for the Emperor: Which I (the Factor for the rest) haue done In France: 'tis Plate of rare deuice, and Iewels Of rich, and exquisite forme, their valewes great, And I am something curious, being strange To haue them in safe stowage: May it please you To take them in protection.

Imo. Willingly: And pawne mine Honor for their safety, since My Lord hath interest in them, I will keepe them In my Bed‑chamber.

Iach. They are in a Trunke Attended by my men: I will make bold To send them to you, onely for this night: I must aboord to morrow.

Imo. O no, no.

Iach. Yes I beseech: or I shall short my word By length'ning my returne. From Gallia, I crost the Seas on purpose, and on promise To see your Grace.

Imo. I thanke you for your paines: But not away to morrow.

Iach. O I must Madam. Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please To greet your Lord with writing, doo't to night, I haue out‑stood my time, which is materiall To'th'tender of our Present.

Imo. I will write: Send your Trunke to me, it shall safe be kept, And truely yeelded you: you're very welcome.

Exeunt.

Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.

Enter Clotten, and the two Lords.

Clot. Was there euer man had such lucke? when I kist the Iacke vpon an vp‑cast, to be hit away? I had a hun­ dred pound on't: and then a whorson Iacke‑an‑Apes, must take me vp for swearing, as if I borrowed mine oathes of him, and might not spend them at my pleasure.

1. What got he by that? you haue broke his pate with your Bowle.

2. If his wit had bin like him that broke it: it would haue run all out.

Clot. When a Gentleman is dispos'd to sweare: it is not for any standers by to curtall his oathes. Ha?

2. No my Lord; nor crop the eares of them.

Clot. Whorson dog: I gaue him satisfaction? would he had bin one of my Ranke.

2. To haue smell'd like a Foole.

Clot. I am not vext more at any thing in th'earth: a pox on't. I had rather not be so Noble as I am: they dare not fight with me, because of the Queene my Mo­ ther: euery Iacke‑Slaue hath his belly full of Fighting, and I must go vp and downe like a Cock, that no body can match.

2. You are Cocke and Capon too, and you crow Cock, with your combe on.

Clot. Sayest thou?

2. It is not fit you Lordship should vndertake euery Companion, that you giue offence too.

Clot. No, I know that: but it is fit I should commit offence to my inferiors.

2. I, it is fit for your Lordship onely.

Clot. Why so I say.

1. Did you heere of a Stranger that's come to Court night?

Clot. A Stranger, and I not know on't?

2. He's a strange Fellow himselfe, and knowes it not.

1. There's an Italian come, and 'tis thought one of Leonatus Friends.

Clot. Leonatus? A banisht Rascall; and he's another, whatsoeuer he be. Who told you of this Stranger?

1. One of your Lordships Pages.

Clot. Is it fit I went to looke vpon him? Is there no der ogation in't?

2. You cannot derogate my Lord.

Clot. Not easily I thinke.

2. You are a Foole graunted, therefore your Issues being foolish do not derogate.

Clot. Come, Ile go see this Italian: what I haue lost to day at Bowles, Ile winne to night of him. Come: go.

2. Ile attend your Lordship. Exit. That such a craftie Diuell as is his Mother Should yeild the world this Asse: A woman, that Beares all downe with her Braine, and this her Sonne, Cannot take two from twenty for his heart, And leaue eighteene. Alas poore Princesse, Thou diuine Imogen, what thou endur'st, Betwixt a Father by thy Step‑dame gouern'd, A Mother hourely coyning plots: A Wooer, More hatefull then the foule expulsion is Of thy deere Husband. Then that horrid Act Of the diuorce, heel'd make the Heauens hold firme The walls of thy deere Honour. Keepe vnshak'd That Temple thy faire mind, that thou maist stand T'enioy thy banish'd Lord: and this great Land.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Imogen, in her Bed, and a Lady.

Imo. Who's there? My woman: Helene?

La. Please you Madam.

Imo. What houre is it?

Lady. Almost midnight, Madam.

Imo. I haue read three houres then: Mine eyes are weake, Fold downe the leafe where I haue left: to bed. Take not away the Taper, leaue it burning: And if thou canst awake by foure o'th'clock, I prythee call me: Sleepe hath ceiz'd me wholly. To your protection I commend me, Gods, From Fayries, and the Tempters of the night, Guard me beseech yee.

Sleepes.

Iachimo from the Trunke.

Iach. The Crickets sing, and mans ore‑labor'd sense Repaires it selfe by rest: Our Tarquine thus Did softly presse the Rushes, ere he waken'd The Chastitie he wounded. Cytherea, How brauely thou becom'st thy Bed; fresh Lilly, And whiter then the Sheetes: that I might touch, But kisse, one kisse. Rubies vnparagon'd, How deerely they doo't: 'Tis her breathing that Perfumes the Chamber thus: the Flame o'th'Taper Bowes toward her, and would vnder‑peepe her lids. To see th'inclosed Lights, now Canopied Vnder these windowes, White and Azure lac'd With Blew of Heauens owne tinct. But my designe. To note the Chamber, I will write all downe, Such, and such pictures: There the window, such Th'adornement of her Bed; the Arras, Figures, Why such, and such: and the Contents o'th'Story. Ah, but some naturall notes about her Body, Aboue ten thousand meaner Moueables Would testifie, t'enrich mine Inuentorie. O sleepe, thou Ape of death, lye dull vpon her, And be her Sense but as a Monument, Thus in a Chappell lying. Come off, come off; As slippery as the Gordian‑knot was hard. 'Tis mine, and this will witnesse outwardly, As strongly as the Conscience do's within: To'th'madding of her Lord. On her left brest A mole Cinque‑spotted: Like the Crimson drops I'th'bottome of a Cowslippe. Heere's a Voucher, Stronger then euer Law could make; this Secret Will force him thinke I haue pick'd the lock, and t'ane The treasure of her Honour. No more: to what end? Why should I write this downe, that's riueted, Screw'd to my memorie. She hath bin reading late, The Tale of Tereus, heere the leaffe's turn'd downe Where Philomele gaue vp. I haue enough, To'th'Truncke againe, and shut the spring of it. Swift, swift, you Dragons of the night, that dawning May beare the Rauens eye: I lodge in feare,

Though this a heauenly Angell: hell is heere. Clocke strikes One, two, three: time, time.

Exit.

Scena Tertia.

Enter Clotten, and Lords.

1. Your Lordship is the most patient man in losse, the most coldest that euer turn'd vp Ace.

Clot. It would make any man cold to loose.

1. But not euery man patient after the noble temper of your Lordship; You are most hot, and furious when you winne. Winning will put any man into courage: if I could get this foolish Imogen, I should haue Gold enough: it's al­ most morning, is't not?

1 Day, my Lord.

Clot. I would this Musicke would come: I am adui­ sed to giue her Musicke a mornings, they say it will pene­ trate. Enter Musitians. Come on, tune: If you can penetrate her with your fin­ gering, so: wee'l try with tongue too: if none will do, let her remaine: but Ile neuer giue o're. First, a very excel­ lent good conceyted thing; after a wonderful sweet aire, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consi­ der. SONG. Hearke, hearke, the Larke at Heauens gate sings, and Phœbus gins arise, His Steeds to water at those Springs on chalic'd Flowres that lyes: And winking Mary‑buds begin to ope their Golden eyes With euery thing that pretty is, my Lady sweet arise: Arise, arise. So, get you gone: if this pen□trate, I will consider your Musicke the better: if it do not, it is a voyce in her eares which Horse‑haires, and Calues‑guts, nor the voyce of vnpaued Eunuch to boot, can neuer amed.

Enter Cymbaline, and Queene.

2 Heere comes the King.

Clot. I am glad I was vp so late, for that's the reason I was vp fo earely: he cannot choose but take this Ser­ uice I haue done, fatherly. Good morrow to your Ma­ iesty, and to my gracious Mother.

Cym. Attend you here the doore of our stern daughter Will she not forth?

Clot. I haue assayl'd her with Musickes, but she vouch­ safes no notice.

Cym. The Exile of her Minion is too new, She hath not yet forgot him, some more time Must weare the print of his remembrance on't, And then she's yours.

Qu. You are most bound t/o'th'King, Who let's go by no vantages, that may Preferre you to his daughter: Frame your selfe To orderly solicity, and be friended With aptnesse of the season: make denials Encrease your Seruices: so seeme, as if You were inspir'd to do those duties which You tender to her: that you in all obey her, Saue when command to your dismission tends, And therein you are senselesse.

Clot. Senselesse? Not so.

Mes. So like you (Sir) Ambassadors from Rome; The one is Caius Lucius.

Cym. A worthy Fellow, Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; But that's no fault of his: we must receyue him According to the Honor of his Sender, And towards himselfe, his goodnesse fore‑spent on vs We must extend our notice: Our deere Sonne, When you haue giuen good morning to your Mistris, Attend the Queene, and vs, we shall haue neede T'employ you towards□this Romane. Come our Queene.

Exeunt.

Clot. If she be vp, Ile speake with her: if not Let her lye still, and dreame: by your leaue hoa, I know her women are about her: what If I do line one of their hands, 'tis Gold Which buyes admittance (oft it doth) yea, and makes Diana's Rangers false themselues, yeeld vp Their Deere to'th'stand o'th'Stealer: and 'tis Gold Which makes the True‑man kill'd, and saues the Theefe: Nay, sometime hangs both Theefe, and True‑man: what Can it not do, and vndoo? I will make One of her women Lawyer to me, for I yet not vnderstand the case my selfe. By your leaue.

Knockes.

Enter a Lady.

La. Who's there that knockes?

Clot. A Gentleman.

La. No more.

Clot. Yes, and a Gentlewomans Sonne.

La. That's more Then some whose Taylors are as deere as yours, Can iustly boast of: what's your Lordships pleasure?

Clot. Your Ladies person, is she ready?

La. I, to keepe her Chamber.

Clot. There is Gold for you, Sell me your good report.

La. How, my good name? or to report of you What I shall thinke is good. The Princesse.

Enter Imogen.

Clot. Good morrow fairest, Sister your sweet hand.

Imo. Good morrow Sir, you lay out too much paines For purchasing but trouble: the thankes I giue, Is telling you that I am poore of thankes, And scarse can spare them.

Clot. Still I sweare I loue you.

Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deepe with me: If you sweare still, your recompence is still That I regard it not.

Clot. This is no answer.

Imo. But that you shall not say, I yeeld being silent, I would not speake. I pray you spare me, 'faith I shall vnfold equall discourtesie To your best kindnesse: one of your great knowing Should learne (being taught) forbearance.

Clot. To leaue you in your madnesse, 'twere my sin, I will not.

Imo. Fooles are not mad Folkes.

Clot. Do you call me Foole?

Imo. As I am mad I do: If you'l be patient, Ile no more be mad, That cures vs both. I am much sorry (Sir) You put me to forget a Ladies manners By being so verball: and learne now, for all, That I which know my heart, do heere pronounce By th'very truth of it, I care not for you, And am so neere the lacke of Charitie To accuse my selfe, I hate you: which I had rather You felt, then make't my boast.

Clot. You sinne against Obedience, which you owe your Father, for The Contract you pretend with that base Wretch, One, bred of Almes, and foster'd with cold dishes, With scraps o'th'Court: It is no Contract, none; And though it be allowed in meaner parties (Yet who then he more meane) to knit their soules (On whom there is no more dependancie But Brats and Beggery) in selfe‑figur'd knot, Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement, by The consequence o'th'Crowne, and must not foyle The precious note of it; with a base Slaue, A Hilding for a Liuorie, a Squires Cloth, A Pantler; not so eminent.

Imo. Prophane Fellow: Wert thou the Sonne of Iupiter, and no more, But what thou art besides: thou wer't too base, To be his Groome: thou wer't dignified enough Euen to the point of Enuie. If 'twere made Comparatiue for your Vertues, to be stil'd The vnder Hangman of his Kingdome; and hated For being prefer'd so well.

Clot. The South‑Fog rot him.

Imo. He neuer can meete more mischance, then come To be but nam'd of thee. His mean'st Garment That euer hath but clipt his body; is dearer In my respect, then all the Heires aboue thee, Were they all made such men: How now Pisanio?

Enter Pisanio,

Clot. His Garments? Now the diuell.

Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.

Clot. His Garment?

Imo. I am sprighted with a Foole, Frighted, and angred worse: Go bid my woman Search for a Iewell, that too casually Hath left mine Arme: it was thy Masters. Shrew me If I would loose it for a Reuenew, Of any Kings in Europe. I do think, I saw't this morning: Confident I am. Last night 'twas on mine Arme; I kiss'd it, I hope it be not gone, to tell my Lord That I kisse aught but he.

Pis. 'Twill not be lost.

Imo. I hope so: go and search.

Clot. You haue abus'd me: His meanest Garment?

Imo. I, I said so Sir, If you will make't an Action, call witnesse to't.

Clot. I will enforme your Father.

Imo. Your Mother too: She's my good Lady; and will concieue, I hope But the worst of me. So I leaue you Sir, To'th'worst of discontent.

Exit.

Clot. Ile be reueng'd: His mean'st Garment? Well.

Exit.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Posthumus, and Philario.

Post. Feare it not Sir: I would I were so sure To winne the King, as I am bold, her Honour Will remaine her's.

Phil. What meanes do you make to him?

Post. Not any: but abide the change of Time, Quake in the present winters state, and wish That warmer dayes would come: In these fear'd hope I barely gratifie your loue; they fayling I must die much your debtor.

Phil. Your very goodnesse, and your company, Ore‑payes all I can do. By this your King, Hath heard of Great Augustus: Caius Lucius, Will do's Commission throughly. And I think Hee'le grant the Tribute: send th'Arrerages, Or looke vpon our Romaines, whose remembrance Is yet fresh in their griefe.

Post. I do beleeue (Statist though I am none, nor like to be) That this will proue a Warre; and you shall heare The Legion now in Gallia, sooner landed In our not‑fearing‑Britaine, then haue tydings Of any penny Tribute paid. Our Countrymen Are men more order'd, then when Iulius Cæsar Smil'd at their lacke of skill, but found their courage Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline, (Now wing‑led with their courages) will make knowne To their Approuers, they are People, such That mend vpon the world.

Enter Iachimo.

Phi. See Iachimo.

Post. The swiftest Harts, haue posted you by land; And Windes of all the Corners kiss'd your Sailes, To make your vessell nimble.

Phil. Welcome Sir.

Post. I hope the briefenesse of your answere, made The speedinesse of your returne.

Iachi. Your Lady, Is one of the fayrest that I haue look'd vpon

Post. And therewithall the best, or let her beauty Looke thorough a Casement to allure false hearts, And be false with them.

Iachi. Heere are Letters for you.

Post. Their tenure good I trust.

Iach. 'Tis very like.

Post. Was Caius Lucius in the Britaine Court, When you were there?

Iach. He was expected then, But not approach'd.

Post. All is well yet, Sparkles this Stone as it was wont, or is't not Too dull for your good wearing?

Iach. If I haue lost it, I should haue lost the worth of it in Gold, Ile make a iourney twice as farre, t'enioy A second night of such sweet shortnesse, which Was mine in Britaine, for the Ring is wonne.

Post. The Stones too hard to come by.

Iach. Not a whit, Your Lady being so easy.

Post. Make note Sir Your losse, your Sport: I hope you know that we Must not continue Friends.

Iach. Good Sir, we must If you keepe Couenant: had I not brought The knowledge of your Mistris home, I grant We were to question farther; but I now Professe my selfe the winner of her Honor, Together with your Ring; and not the wronger Of her, or you hauing proceeded but By both your willes.

Post. If you can mak't apparent That you haue tasted her in Bed; my hand, And Ring is yours. If not, the foule opinion You had of her pure Honour; gaines, or looses, Your Sword, or mine□or Masterlesse leaue both To who shall finde them.

Iach. Sir, my Circumstances Being so nere the Truth, as I will make them, Must first induce you to beleeue; whose strength I will confirme with oath, which I doubt not You'l giue me leaue to spare, when you shall finde You neede it not.

Post. Proceed.

Iach. First, her Bed‑chamber (Where I confesse I slept not, but professe Had that was well worth watching) it was hang'd With Tapistry of Silke, and Siluer, the Story Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, And Sidnus swell'd aboue the Bankes, or for The presse of Boates, or Pride. A peece of Worke So brauely done, so rich, that it did striue In Workemanship, and Value, which I wonder'd Could be so rarely, and exactly wrought Since the true life on't was⸺

Post. This is true: And this you might haue heard of heere, by me, Or by some other.

Iach. More particulars Must iustifie my knowledge.

Post. So they must, Or doe your Honour iniury.

Iach. The Chimney Is South the Chamber, and the Chimney‑peece Chaste Dian, bathing: neuer saw I figures So likely to report themselues; the Cutter Was as another Nature dumbe, out‑went her, Motion, and Breath left out.

Post. This is a thing Which you might from Relation likewise reape, Being, as it is, much spoke of.

Iach. The Roofe o'th'Chamber, With golden Cherubins is fretted. Her Andirons (I had forgot them) were two winking Cupids Of Siluer, each on one foote standing, nicely Depending on their Brands.

Post. This is her Honor: Let it be granted you haue seene all this (and praise Be giuen to your remembrance) the description Of what is in her Chamber, nothing saues The wager you haue laid.

Iach. Then if you can Be pale, I begge but leaue to ayre this Iewell: See, And now 'tis vp againe: it must be married To that your Diamond, Ile keepe them.

Post. Ioue⸺ Once more let me behold it: Is it that Which I left with her?

Iach. Sir (I thanke her) that She stript it from her Arme: I see her yet: Her pretty Action, did out‑sell her guift, And yet enrich'd it too: she gaue it me, And said, she priz'd it once.

Post. May be, she pluck'd it off To send it me.

Iach. She writes so to you? doth shee?

Post. O no, no, no, 'tis true. Heere, take this too, It is a Basiliske vnto mine eye, Killes me to looke on't: Let there be no Honor, Where there is Beauty: Truth, where semblance: Loue, Where there's another man. The Vowes of Women, Of no more bondage be, to where they are made, Then they are to their Vertues, which is nothing: O, aboue measure false.

Phil. Haue patience Sir, And take your Ring againe, 'tis not yet wonne: It may be probable she lost it: or Who knowes if one her women, being corrupted Hath stolne it from her.

Post. Very true, And so I hope he came by't: backe my Ring, Render to me some corporall signe about her More euident then this: for this was stolne.

Iach. By Iupiter, I had it from her Arme.

Post. Hearke you, he sweares: by Iupiter he sweares. 'Tis true, nay keepe the Ring; 'tis true: I am sure She would not loose it: her Attendants are All sworne, and honourable: they induc'd to steale it? And by a Stranger? No, he hath enioy'd her, The Cognisance of her incontinencie Is this: she hath bought the name of Whore, thus deerly There, take thy hyre, and all the Fiends of Hell Diuide themselues betweene you.

Phil. Sir, be patient: This is not strong enough to be beleeu'd Of one perswaded well of.

Post. Neuer talke on't: She hath bin colted by him.

Iach. If you seeke For further satisfying, vnder her Breast (Worthy her pressing) lyes a Mole, right proud Of that most delicate Lodging. By my life I kist it, and it gaue me present hunger To feede againe, though full. You do remember This staine vpon her?

Post. I, and it doth confirme Another staine, as bigge as Hell can hold, Were there no more but it.

Iach. Will you heare more?

Post. Spare your Arethmaticke, Neuer count the Turnes: Once, and a Million.

Iach. Ile be sworne.

Post. No swearing: If you will sweare you haue not done't, you lye, And I will kill thee, if thou do'st deny Thou'st made me Cuckold.

Iach. Ile deny nothing.

Post. O that I had her heere, to teare her Limb‑meale: I will go there and doo't, i'th'Court, before Her Father. Ile do something.

Exit.

Phil. Quite besides The gouernment of Patience. You haue wonne: Let's follow him, and peruert the present wrath He hath against himselfe.

Iach. With all my heart.

Exeunt.

Enter Posthumus.

Post. Is there no way for Men to be, but Women Must be halfe‑workers? We are all Bastards, And that most venerable man, which I Did call my Father, was, I know not where When I was stampt. Some Coyner with his Tooles Made me a counterfeit: yet my Mother seem'd The Dian of that time: so doth my Wife The Non‑pareill of this. Oh Vengeance, Vengeance! Me of my lawfull pleasure she restrain'd, And pray'd me oft forbearance: did it with A pudencie so Rosie, the sweet view on't Might well haue warm'd olde Saturne; That I thought her As Chaste, as vn‑Sunn'd Snow. Oh, all the Diuels! This yellow Iachimo in an houre, was't not? Or lesse; at first? Perchance he spoke not, but Like a full Acorn'd Boare, a Iarmen on, Cry'de oh, and mounted; found no opposition But what he look'd for, should oppose, and she Should from encounter guard. Could I finde out The Womans part in me, for there's no motion That tends to vice in man, but I affirme It is the Womans part: be it Lying, note it, The womans: Flattering, hers; Deceiuing, hers: Lust, and ranke thoughts, hers, hers: Reuenges hers: Ambitions, Couetings, change of Prides, Disdaine, Nice‑longing, Slanders, Mutability; All Faults that name, nay, that Hell knowes, Why hers, in part, or all: but rather all. For euen to Vice They are not constant, but are changing still; One Vice, but of a minute old, for one Not halfe so old as that. Ile write against them, Detest them, curse them: yet 'tis greater Skill In a true Hate, to pray they haue their will: The very Diuels cannot plague them better.

Exit.

Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.

Enter in State, Cymbeline, Queene, Clotten, and Lords at one doore, and at another, Caius, Lucius, and Attendants.

Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with vs?

Luc. When Iulius Cæsar (whose remembrance yet Liues in mens eyes, and will to Eares and Tongues Be Theame, and hearing euer) was in this Britain, And Conquer'd it, Cassibulan thine Vnkle (Famous in Cæsars prayses, no whit lesse Then in his Feats deseruing it) for him, And his Succession, granted Rome a Tribute, Yeerely three thousand pounds; which (by thee) lately Is left vntender'd.

Qu. And to kill the meruaile, Shall be so euer.

Clot. There be many Cæsars, Ere such another Iulius: Britaine's a world By it selfe, and we will nothing pay For wearing our owne Noses.

Qu. That opportunity Which then they had to take from's, to resume We haue againe. Remember Sir, my Liege, The Kings your Ancestors, together with The naturall brauery of your Isle, which stands As Neptunes Parke, ribb'd, and pal'd in With Oakes vnskaleable, and roaring Waters, With Sands that will not beare your Enemies Boates, But sucke them vp to'th'Top‑mast. A kinde of Conquest Cæsar made heere, but made not heere his bragge Of Came, and Saw, and Ouer‑came: with shame (The first that euer touch'd him) he was carried From off our Coast, twice beaten: and his Shipping (Poore ignorant Baubles) on our terrible Seas Like Egge‑shels mou'd vpon their Surges, crack'd As easily 'gainst our Rockes. For ioy whereof, The fam'd Cassibulan, who was once at point (Oh giglet Fortune) to master Cæsars Sword, Made Luds‑Towne with reioycing‑Fires bright, And Britaines strut with Courage.

Clot. Come, there's no more Tribute to be paid: our Kingdome is stronger then it was at that time: and (as I said) there is no mo such Cæsars, other of them may haue crook'd Noses, but to owe such straite Armes, none.

Cym. Son, let your Mother end.

Clot. We haue yet many among vs, can gripe as hard as Cassibulan, I doe not say I am one: but I haue a hand. Why Tribute? Why should we pay Tribute? If Cæsar can hide the Sun from vs with a Blanket, or put the Moon in his pocket, we will pay him Tribute for light: else Sir, no more Tribute, pray you now.

Cym. You must know, Till the iniurious Romans, did extort This Tribute from vs, we were free. Cæsars Ambition, Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretch The sides o'th'World, against all colour heere, Did put the yoake vpon's; which to shake off Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon Our selues to be, we do. Say then to Cæsar, Our Ancestor was that Mulmutius, which Ordain'd our Lawes, whose vse the Sword of Cæsar Hath too much mangled; whose repayre, and franchise, Shall (by the power we hold) be our good deed, Tho Rome be therfore angry. Mulmutius made our lawes Who was the first of Britaine, which did put His browes within a golden Crowne, and call'd Himselfe a King.

Luc. I am sorry Cymbeline, That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar (Cæsar, that hath moe Kings his Seruants, then Thy selfe Domesticke Officers) thine Enemy: Receyue it from me then. Warre, and Confusion In Cæsars name pronounce I 'gainst thee: Looke For fury, not to be resisted. Thus defide, I thanke thee for my selfe.

Cym. Thou art welcome Caius, Thy Cæsar Knighted me; my youth I spent Much vnder him; of him, I gather'd Honour, Which he, to seeke of me againe, perforce, Behooues me keepe at vtterance. I am perfect, That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for Their Liberties are now in Armes: a President Which not to reade, would shew the Britaines cold: So Cæsar shall not finde them.

Luc. Let proofe speake.

Clot. His Maiesty biddes you welcome. Make pa­ stime with vs, a day, or two, or longer: if you seek vs af­ terwards in other tearmes, you shall finde vs in our Salt­ water Girdle: if you beate vs out of it, it is yours: if you fall in the aduenture, our Crowes shall fare the better for you: and there's an end.

Luc. So sir.

Cym. I know your Masters pleasure, and he mine: All the Remaine, is welcome.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Pisanio reading of a Letter.

Pis. How? of Adultery? Wherefore write you not What Monsters her accuse? Leonatus: Oh Master, what a strange infection Is falne into thy eare? What false Italian, (As poysonous tongu'd, as handed) hath preuail'd On thy too ready hearing? Disloyall? No. She's punish'd for her Truth; and vndergoes More Goddesse‑like, then Wife‑like; such Assaults As would take in some Vertue. Oh my Master, Thy mind to her, is now as lowe, as were Thy Fortunes. How? That I should murther her, Vpon the Loue, and Truth, and Vowes; which I Haue made to thy command? I her? Her blood? If it be so, to do good seruice, neuer Let me be counted seruiceable. How looke I, That I should seeme to lacke humanity, So much as this Fact comes to? Doo't: The Letter. That I haue sent her, by her owne command, Shall giue thee opportunitie. Oh damn'd paper, Blacke as the Inke that's on thee: senselesse bauble, Art thou a Fœdarie for this Act; and look'st So Virgin‑like without? Loe here she comes. Enter Imogen. I am ignorant in what I am commanded.

Imo. How now Pisanio?

Pis. Madam, heere is a Letter from my Lord.

Imo. Who, thy Lord? That is my Lord Leonatus? Oh, learn'd indeed were that Astronomer That knew the Starres, as I his Characters, Heel'd lay the Future open. You good Gods, Let what is heere contain'd, rellish of Loue, Of my Lords health, of his content: yet not That we two are asunder, let that grieue him; Some griefes are medcinable, that is one of them, For it doth physicke Loue, of his content, All but in that. Good Wax, thy leaue: blest be You Bees that make these Lockes of counsaile. Louers, And men in dangerous Bondes pray not alike, Though Forfeytours you cast in prison, yet You claspe young Cupids Tables: good Newes Gods. IVstice and your Fathers wrath (should he take me in his Dominion) could not be so cruell to me, as you: (oh the dee­ rest of Creatures) would euen renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria at Milford‑Hauen: what your owne Loue, will out of this aduise you, follow. So he wishes you all happinesse, that remaines loyall to his Vow, and your encrea­ sing in Loue. Leonatus Posthumus. Oh for a Horse with wings: Hear'st thou Pisanio? He is at Milford‑Hauen: Read, and tell me How farre 'tis thither. If one of meane affaires May plod it in a weeke, why may not I Glide thither in a day? Then true Pisanio, Who long'st like me, to see thy Lord; who long'st (Oh let me bate) but not like me: yet long'st But in a fainter kinde. Oh not like me: For mine's beyond, beyond: say, and speake thicke (Loues Counsailor should fill the bores of hearing, To'th'smothering of the Sense) how farre it is To this same blessed Milford. And by'th'way Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as T'inherite such a Hauen. But first of all, How we may steale from hence: and for the gap That we shall make in Time, from our hence‑going,

And our returne, to excuse: but first, how get hence. Why should excuse be borne or ere begot? Weele talke of that heereafter. Prythee speake, How many store of Miles may we well rid Twixt houre, and houre?

Pis. One score 'twixt Sun, and Sun, Madam's enough for you: and too much too.

Imo. Why, one that rode to's Excution Man, Could neuer go so slow: I haue heard of Riding wagers, Where Horses haue bin nimbler then the Sands That run i'th'Clocks behalfe. But this is Foolrie, Go, bid my Woman faigne a Sicknesse, say She'le home to her Father; and prouide me presently A Riding Suit: No costlier then would fit A Franklins Huswife.

Pisa. Madam, you're best consider.

Imo. I see before me (Man) nor heere, nor heere; Nor what ensues but haue a Fog in them That I cannot looke through. Away, I prythee, Do as I bid thee: There's no more to say: Accessible is none but Milford way.

Exeunt.

Scena Tertia.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Aruiragus.

Bel. A goodly day, not to keepe house with such, Whose Roofe's as lowe as ours: Sleepe Boyes, this gate Instructs you how t'adore the Heauens; and bowes you To a mornings holy office. The Gates of Monarches Are Arch'd so high, that Giants may iet through And keepe their impious Turbonds on, without Good morrow to the Sun. Haile thou faire Heauen, We house i'th'Rocke, yet vse thee not so hardly As prouder liuers do.

Guid. Haile Heauen.

Aruir. Haile Heauen.

Bela. Now for our Mountaine sport, vp to yond hill Your legges are yong: Ile tread these Flats. Consider, When you aboue perceiue me like a Crow, That it is Place, which lessen's, and sets off, And you may then reuolue what Tales, I haue told you, Of Courts, of Princes; of the Tricks in Warre. This Seruice, is not Seruice; so being done, But being so allowed. To apprehend thus, Drawes vs a profit from all things we see: And often to our comfort, shall we finde The sharded‑Beetle, in a safer hold Then is the full‑wing'd Eagle. Oh this life, Is Nobler, then attending for a checke: Richer, then doing nothing for a Babe: Prouder, then rustling in vnpayd‑for Silke: Such gaine the Cap of him, that makes him fine, Yet keepes his Booke vncros'd: no life to ours.

Gui. Out of your proofe you speak: we poore vnfledg'd Haue neuer wing'd from view o'th'nest; nor knowes not What Ayre's from home. Hap'ly this life is best, (If quiet life be best) sweeter to you That haue a sharper knowne. Well corresponding With your stiffe Age; but vnto vs, it is A Cell of Ignorance: trauailing a bed, A Prison, or a Debtor, that not dares To stride a limit.

Arui. What should we speake of When we are old as you? When we shall heare The Raine and winde beate darke December? How In this our pinching Caue, shall we discourse The freezing houres away? We haue seene nothing: We are beastly; subtle as the Fox for prey, Like warlike as the Wolfe, for what we eate: Our Valour is to chace what flyes: Our Cage We make a Quire, as doth the prison'd Bird, And sing our Bondage freely.

Bel. How you speake. Did you but know the Citties Vsuries, And felt them knowingly: the Art o'th'Court, As hard to leaue, as keepe: whose top to climbe Is certaine falling: or so slipp'ry, that The feare's as bad as falling. The toyle o'th'Warre, A paine that onely seemes to seeke out danger I'th'name of Fame, and Honor, which dyes i'th'search, And hath as oft a sland'rous Epitaph, As Record of faire Act. Nay, many times Doth ill deserue, by doing well: what's worse Must curt'sie at the Censure. Oh Boyes, this Storie The World may reade in me: My bodie's mark'd With Roman Swords; and my report, was once First, with the best of Note. Cymbeline lou'd me, And when a Souldier was the Theame, my name Was not farre off: then was I as a Tree Whose boughes did bend with fruit. But in one night, A Storme, or Robbery (call it what you will) Shooke downe my mellow hangings: nay my Leaues, And left me bare to weather.

Gui. Vncertaine fauour.

Bel. My fault being nothing (as I haue told you oft) But that two Villaines, whose false Oathes preuayl'd Before my perfect Honor, swore to Cymbeline, I was Confederate with the Romanes: so Followed my Banishment, and this twenty yeeres, This Rocke, and these Demesnes, haue bene my World, Where I haue liu'd at honest freedome, payed More pious debts to Heauen, then in all The fore‑end of my time. But, vp to'th'Mountaines, This is not Hunters Language; he that strikes The Venison first, shall be the Lord o'th'Feast, To him the other two shall minister, And we will feare no poyson, which attends In place of greater State: Ile meete you in the Valleyes. Exeunt. How hard it is to hide the sparkes of Nature? These Boyes know little they are Sonnes to'th'King, Nor Cymbeline dreames that they are aliue. They thinke they are mine, And though train'd vp thus meanely I'th'Caue, whereon the Bowe their thoughts do hit, The Roofes of Palaces, and Nature prompts them In simple and lowe things, to Prince it, much Beyond the tricke of others. This Paladour, The heyre of Cymbeline and Britaine, who The King his Father call'd Guiderius. Ioue, When on my three‑foot stoole I sit, and tell The warlike feats I haue done, his spirits flye out Into my Story: say thus mine Enemy fell, And thus I set my foote on's necke, euen then The Princely blood flowes in his Cheeke, he sweats, Straines his yong Nerues, and puts himselfe in posture That acts my words. The yonger Brother Cadwall, Once Aruiragus, in as like a figure Strikes life into my speech, and shewes much more His owne conceyuing. Hearke, the Game is rows'd, Oh Cymbeline, Heauen and my Conscience knowes Thou didd'st vniustly banish me: whereon At three, and two yeeres old, I stole these Babes, Thinking to barre thee of Succession, as

Thou refts me of my Lands. Euriphile, Thou was't their Nurse, they took thee for their mother, And euery day do honor to her graue: My selfe Belarius, that am Mergan call'd They take for Naturall Father. The Game is vp.

Exit.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Pisanio and Imogen.

Imo. Thou told'st me when we came frō horse, yͤ place Was neere at hand: Ne're long'd my Mother so To see me first, as I haue now: Pisanio, Man: Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh From th'inward of thee? One, but painted thus Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd Beyond selfe‑explication. Put thy selfe Into a hauiour of lesse feare, ere wildnesse Vanquish my stayder Senses. What's the matter? Why render'st thou that Paper to me, with A looke vntender? If't be Summer Newes Smile too't before: if Winterly, thou need'st But keepe that count'nance stil. My Husbands hand? That Drug‑damn'd Italy, hath out‑craftied him, And hee's at some hard point. Speake man, thy Tongue May take off some extreamitie, which to reade Would be euen mortall to me.

Pis. Please you reade, And you shall finde me (wretched man) a thing The most disdain'd of Fortune.

Imogen reades. THy Mistris (Pisanio) hath plaide the Strumpet in my Bed: the Testimonies whereof, lyes bleeding in me. I speak not out of weake Surmises, but from proofe as strong as my greefe, and as certaine as I expect my Reuenge. That part, thou (Pisanio) must acte for me, if thy Faith be not tainted with the breach of hers; let thine owne hands take away her life: I shall giue thee opportunity at Milford Hauen. She hath my Letter for the purpose; where, if thou feare to strike, and to make mee certaine it is done, thou art the Pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyall.

Pis. What shall I need to draw my Sword, the Paper Hath cut her throat alreadie? No, 'tis Slander, Whose edge is sharper then the Sword, whose tongue Out‑venomes all the Wormes of Nyle, whose breath Rides on the posting windes, and doth belye All corners of the World. Kings, Queenes, and States, Maides, Matrons, nay the Secrets of the Graue This viperous slander enters. What cheere, Madam?

Imo. False to his Bed? What is it to be false? To lye in watch there, and to thinke on him? To weepe 'twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge Na□ure, To breake it with a fearfull dreame of him, And cry my selfe awake? That's false to's bed? Is it?

Pisa. Alas good Lady.

Imo. I false? Thy Conscience witnesse: Iachimo, Thou didd'st accuse him of Incontinencie, Thou then look'dst like a Villaine: now, me thinkes Thy fauours good enough. Some Iay of Italy (Whose mother was her painting) hath betraid him: Poore I am stale, a Garment out of fashion, And for I am richer then to hang by th'walles, I must be ript: To peeces with me: Oh! Mens Vowes are womens Traitors. All good seeming By thy reuolt (oh Husband) shall be thought Put on for Villainy; not borne where't growes, But worne a Baite for Ladies.

Pisa. Good Madam, heare me.

Imo. True honest men being heard, like false Æneas, Were in his time thought false: and Synons weeping Did scandall many a holy teare: tooke pitty From most true wretchednesse. So thou, Posthumus Wilt lay the Leauen on all proper men; Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and periur'd From thy great faile: Come Fellow, be thou honest, Do thou thy Masters bidding. When thou seest him, A little witnesse my obedience. Looke I draw the Sword my selfe, take it, and hit The innocent Mansion of my Loue (my Heart:) Feare not, 'tis empty of all things, but Greefe: Thy Master is not there, who was indeede The riches of it. Do his bidding, strike, Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause; But now thou seem'st a Coward.

Pis. Hence vile Instrument, Thou shalt not damne my hand.

Imo. Why, I must dye: And if I do not by thy hand, thou art No Seruant of thy Masters. Against Selfe‑slaughter, There is a prohibition so Diuine, That crauens my weake hand: Come, heere's my heart: Something's a‑foot: Soft, soft, wee'l no defence, Obedient as the Scabbard. What is heere, The Scriptures of the Loyall Leonatus, All turn'd to Heresie? Away, away Corrupters of my Faith, you shall no more Be Stomachers to my heart: thus may poore Fooles Beleeue false Teachers: Though those that are betraid Do feele the Treason sharpely, yet the Traitor Stands in worse case of woe. And thou Posthumus, That didd'st set vp my disobedience 'gainst the King My Father, and makes me put into contempt the suites Of Princely Fellowes, shalt heereafter finde It is no acte of common passage, but A straine of Rarenesse: and I greeue my selfe, To thinke, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her, That now thou tyrest on, how thy memory Will then be pang'd by me. Prythee dispatch, The Lambe entreats the Butcher. Wher's thy knife? Thou art too slow to do thy Masters bidding When I desire it too.

Pis. Oh gracious Lady: Since I receiu'd command to do this businesse, I haue not slept one winke.

Imo. Doo't, and to bed then.

Pis. Ile wake mine eye‑balles first.

Imo. Wherefore then Didd'st vndertake it? Why hast thou abus'd So many Miles, with a pretence? This place? Mine Action? and thine owne? Our Horses labour? The Time inuiting thee? The perturb'd Court For my being absent? whereunto I neuer Purpose returne. Why hast thou gone so farre To be vn‑bent? when thou hast 'tane thy stand, Th'elected Deere before thee?

Pis. But to win time To loose so bad employment, in the which I haue consider'd of a course: good Ladie Heare me with patience.

Imo. Talke thy tongue weary, speake: I haue heard I am a Strumpet, and mine eare Therein false strooke, can take no greater wound, Nor tent, to bottome that. But speake.

Pis. Then Madam, I thought you would not backe againe.

Imo. Most like, Bringing me heere to kill me.

Pis. Not so neither: But if I were as wise, as honest, then My purpose would proue well: it cannot be, But that my Master is abus'd. Some Villaine, I, and singular in his Art, hath done you both This cursed iniurie.

Imo. Some Roman Curtezan?

Pisa. No, on my life: Ile giue but notice you are dead, and send him Some bloody signe of it. For 'tis commanded I should do so: you shall be mist at Court, And that will well confirme it.

Imo. Why good Fellow, What shall I do the while? Where bide? How liue? Or in my life, what comfort, when I am Dead to my Husband?

Pis. If you'l backe to'th'Court.

Imo. No Court, no Father, nor no more adoe With that harsh, noble, simple nothing: That Clotten, whose Loue‑suite hath bene to me As fearefull as a Siege.

Pis. If not at Court, Then not in Britaine must you bide.

Imo. Where then? Hath Britaine all the Sunne that shines? Day? Night? Are they not but in Britaine? I'th'worlds Volume Our Britaine seemes as of it, but not in't: In a great Poole, a Swannes‑nest, prythee thinke There's liuers out of Britaine.

Pis. I am most glad You thinke of other place: Th'Ambassador, Lucius the Romane comes to Milford‑Hauen To morrow. Now, if you could weare a minde Darke, as your Fortune is, and but disguise That which t'appeare it selfe, must not yet be, But by selfe‑danger, you should tread a course Pretty, and full of view: yea, happily, neere The residence of Posthumus; so nie (at least) That though his Actions were not visible, yet Report should render him hourely to your eare, As truely as he mooues.

Imo. Oh for such meanes, Though perill to my modestie, not death on't I would aduenture.

Pis. Well then, heere's the point: You must forget to be a Woman: change Command, into obedience. Feare, and Nicenesse (The Handmaides of all Women, or more truly Woman it pretty selfe) into a waggish courage, Ready in gybes, quicke‑answer'd, sawcie, and As quarrellous as the Weazell: Nay, you must Forget that rarest Treasure of your Cheeke, Exposing it (but oh the harder heart, Alacke no remedy) to the greedy touch Of common‑kissing Titan: and forget Your laboursome and dainty Trimmes, wherein You made great Iuno angry.

Imo. Nay be breefe? I see into thy end, and am almost A man already.

Pis. First, make your selfe but like one, Fore‑thinking this. I haue already fit ('Tis in my Cloake‑bagge) Doublet, Hat, Hose, all That answer to them: Would you in their seruing, (And with what imitation you can borrow From youth of such a season) 'fore Noble Lucius Present your selfe, desire his seruice: tell him Wherein you're happy; which will make him know, If that his head haue eare in Musicke, doubtlesse With ioy he will imbrace you: for hee's Honourable, And doubling that, most holy. Your meanes abroad: You haue me rich, and I will neuer faile Beginning, nor supplyment.

Imo. Thou art all the comfort The Gods will diet me with. Prythee away, There's more to be consider'd: but wee'l euen All that good time will giue vs. This attempt, I am Souldier too, and will abide it with A Princes Courage. Away, I prythee.

Pis. Well Madam, we must take a short farewell, Least being mist, I be suspected of Your carriage from the Court. My Noble Mistris, Heere is a boxe, I had it from the Queene, What's in't is precious: If you are sicke at Sea, Or Stomacke‑qualm'd at Land, a Dramme of this Will driue away distemper. To some shade, And fit you to your Manhood: may the Gods Direct you to the best.

Imo. Amen: I thanke thee.

Exeunt.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Cymbeline, Queene, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords.

Cym. Thus farre, and so farewell.

Luc. Thankes, Royall Sir: My Emperor hath wrote, I must from hence, And am right sorry, that I must report ye My Masters Enemy.

Cym. Our Subiects (Sir) Will not endure his yoake; and for our selfe To shew lesse Soueraignty then they, must needs Appeare vn‑Kinglike.

Luc. So Sir: I desire of you A Conduct ouer Land, to Milford‑Hauen. Madam, all ioy befall your Grace, and you.

Cym. My Lords, you are appointed for that Office: The due of Honor, in no point omit: So farewell Noble Lucius.

Luc. Your hand, my Lord.

Clot. Receiue it friendly: but from this time forth I weare it as your Enemy.

Luc. Sir, the Euent Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.

Cym. Leaue not the worthy Lucius, good my Lords Till he haue crost the Seuern. Happines.

Exit Lucius, &c

Qu. He goes hence frowning: but it honours vs That we haue giuen him cause.

Clot. 'Tis all the better, Your valiant Britaines haue their wishes in it.

Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor How it goes heere. It fits vs therefore ripely Our Chariots, and our Horsemen be in readinesse: The Powres that he already hath in Gallia Will soone be drawne to head, from whence he moues His warre for Britaine.

Qu. 'Tis not sleepy businesse, But must be look'd too speedily and strongly.

Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus Hath made vs forward. But my gentle Queene, Where is our Daughter? She hath not appear'd Before the Roman, nor to vs hath tender'd The duty of the day. She looke vs like A thing more made of malice, then of duty, We haue noted it. Call her before vs, for We haue beene too slight in sufferance.

Qu. Royall Sir, Since the exile of Posthumus, most retyr'd Hath her life bin: the Cure whereof, my Lord, 'Tis time must do. Beseech your Maiesty, Forbeare sharpe speeches to her. Shee's a Lady So tender of rebukes, that words are stroke;, And strokes death to her.

Enter a Messenger.

Cym. Where is she Sir? How Can her contempt be answer'd?

Mes. Please you Sir, Her Chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer That will be giuen to'th'lowd of noise, we make.

Qu. My Lord, when last I went to visit her, She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close, Whereto constrain'd by her infirmitie, She should that dutie leaue vnpaide to you Which dayly she was bound to proffer: this She wish'd me to make knowne: but our great Court Made me too blame in memory.

Cym. Her doores lock'd? Not seene of late? Grant Heauens, that which I Feare, proue false.

Exit.

Qu. Sonne, I say, follow the King.

Clot. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old Seruant I haue not seene these two dayes.

Exit.

Qu. Go, looke after: Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus, He hath a Drugge of mine: I pray, his absence Proceed by swallowing that. For he beleeues It is a thing most precious. But for her, Where is she gone? Haply dispaire hath seiz'd her: Or wing'd with feruour of her loue, she's flowne To her desir'd Posthumus: gone she is, To death, or to dishonor, and my end Can make good vse of either. Shee being downe, I haue the placing of the Brittish Crowne. Enter Cloten. How now, my Sonne?

Clot. 'Tis certaine she is fled: Go in and cheere the King, he rages, none Dare come about him.

Qu. All the better: may This night fore‑stall him of the comming day.

Exit Qu.

Clo. I loue, and hate her: for she's Faire and Royall, And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite Then Lady, Ladies, Woman, from euery one The best she hath, and she of all compounded Out‑selles them all. I loue her therefore, but Disdaining me, and throwing Fauours on The low Posthumus, slanders so her iudgement, That what's else rare, is choak'd: and in that point I will conclude to hate her, nay indeede, To be reueng'd vpon her. For, when Fooles shall— Enter Pisanio. Who is heere? What, are you packing sirrah? Come hither: Ah you precious Pandar, Villaine, Where is thy Lady? In a word, or else Thou art straightway with the Fiends.

Pis. Oh, good my Lord.

Clo. Where is thy Lady? Or, by Iupiter, I will not aske againe. Close Villaine, Ile haue this Secret from thy heart, or rip Thy heart to finde it. Is she with Posthumus? From whose so many waights of basenesse, cannot A dram of worth be drawne.

Pis. Alas, nay Lord, How can she be with him? When was she miss'd? He is in Rome.

Clot. Where is she Sir? Come neerer: No farther halting: satisfie me home, What is become of her?

Pis. Oh, my all‑worthy Lord.

Clo. All‑worthy Villaine, Discouer where thy Mistris is, at once, At the next word: no more of worthy Lord: Speake, or thy silence on the instant, is Thy condemnation, and thy death.

Pis. Then Sir: This Paper is the historie of my knowledge Touching her flight.

Clo. Let's see't: I will pursue her Euen to Augustus Throne.

Pis. Or this, or perish. She's farre enough, and what he learnes by this, May proue his trauell, not her danger.

Clo. Humh.

Pis. Ile write to my Lord she's dead: Oh Imogen, Safe mayst thou wander, safe returne agen.

Clot. Sirra, is this Letter true?

Pis. Sir, as I thinke.

Clot. It is Posthumus hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou would'st not be a Villain, but do me true seruice: vnder­ go those Imployments wherin I should haue cause to vse thee with a serious industry, that is, what villainy soere I bid thee do to performe it, directly and truely, I would thinke thee an honest man: thou should'st neither want my meanes for thy releefe, nor my voyce for thy prefer­ ment.

Pis. Well, my good Lord.

Clot. Wilt thou serue mee? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stucke to the bare Fortune of that Begger Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of grati­ tude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serue mee?

Pis. Sir, I will.

Clo. Giue mee thy hand, heere's my purse. Hast any of thy late Masters Garments in thy possession?

Pisan. I haue (my Lord) at my Lodging, the same Suite he wore, when he tooke leaue of my Ladie & Mi­ stresse.

Clo. The first seruice thou dost mee, fetch that Suite hither, let it be thy first seruice, go.

Pis. I shall my Lord.

Exit.

Clo. Meet thee at Milford‑Hauen: (I forgot to aske him one thing, Ile remember't anon:) euen there, thou villaine Posthumus will I kill thee. I would these Gar­ ments were come. She saide vpon a time (the bitternesse of it, I now belch from my heart) that shee held the very Garment of Posthumus, in more respect, then my Noble and naturall person; together with the adornement of my Qualities. With that Suite vpon my backe wil I ra­ uish her: first kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see my valour, which wil then be a torment to hir contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insulment ended on his dead bodie, and when my Lust hath dined (which, as I say, to vex her, I will execute in the Cloathes that she so prais'd:) to the Court Ile knock her backe, foot her home againe. She hath despis'd mee reioycingly, and Ile bee merry in my Reuenge. Enter Pisanio. Be those the Garments?

Pis. I, my Noble Lord.

Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford‑Hauen?

Pis. She can scarse be there yet.

Clo. Bring this Apparrell to my Chamber, that is the second thing that I haue commanded thee. The third is, that thou wilt be a voluntarie Mute to my designe. Be but dutious, and true preferment shall tender it selfe to thee. My Reuenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to follow it. Come, and be true.

Exit.

Pis. Thou bid'st me to my losse: for true to thee, Were to proue false, which I will neuer bee To him that is most true. To Milford go, And finde not her, whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow You Heauenly blessings on her: This Fooles speede Be crost with slownesse; Labour be his meede.

Exit

Scena Sexta.

Enter Imogen alone.

Imo. I see a mans life is a tedious one, I haue tyr'd my selfe: and for two nights together Haue made the ground my bed. I should be sicke, But that my resolution helpes me: Milford, When from the Mountaine top, Pisanio shew'd thee, Thou was't within a kenne. Oh Ioue, I thinke Foundations flye the wretched: such I meane, Where they should be releeu'd. Two Beggers told me, I could not misse my way. Will poore Folkes lye That haue Afflictions on them, knowing 'tis A punishment, or Triall? Yes; no wonder, When Rich‑ones scarse tell true. To lapse in Fulnesse Is sorer, then to lye for Neede: and Falshood Is worse in Kings, then Beggers. My deere Lord, Thou art one o'th'false Ones: Now I thinke on thee, My hunger's gone; but eE3Auen before, I was At point to sinke, for Food. But what is this? Heere is a path too't: 'tis some sauage hold: I were best not call; I dare not call: yet Famine Ere cleane it o're‑throw Nature, makes it valiant. Plentie, and Peace breeds Cowards: Hardnesse euer Of Hardinesse is Mother. Hoa? who's heere? If any thing that's ciuill, speake: if sauage, Take, or lend. Hoa? No answer? Then Ile enter. Best draw my Sword; and if mine Enemy But feare the Sword like me, hee'l scarsely looke on't. Such a Foe, good Heauens.

Exit.

Scena Septima.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Aruiragus.

Bel. You Polidore haue prou'd best Woodman, and Are Master of the Feast: Cadwall, and I Will play the Cooke, and Seruant, 'tis our match: The sweat of industry would dry, and dye But for the end it workes too. Come, our stomackes Will make what's homely, sauoury: Wearinesse Can snore vpon the Flint, when restie Sloth Findes the Downe‑pillow hard. Now peace be heere, Poore house, that keep'st thy selfe.

Gui. I am throughly weary.

Arui. I am weake with toyle, yet strong in appetite.

Gui. There is cold meat i'th'Caue, we'l brouz on that Whil'st what we haue kill'd, be Cook'd.

Bel. Stay, come not in: But that it eates our victualles, I should thinke Heere were a Faiery.

Gui. What's the matter, Sir?

Bel. By Iupiter an Angell: or if not An earthly Paragon. Behold Diuinenesse No elder then a Boy.

Enter Imogen.

Imo. Good masters harme me not: Before I enter'd heere, I call'd, and thought To haue begg'd, or bought, what I haue took: good troth I haue stolne nought, nor would not, though I had found Gold strew'd i'th'Floore. Heere's money for my Meate, I would haue left it on the Boord, so soone As I had made my Meale; and parted With Pray'rs for the Prouider.

Gui. Money? Youth.

Aru. All Gold and Siluer rather turne to durt, As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those Who worship durty Gods.

Imo. I see you're angry: Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should Haue dyed, had I not made it.

Bel. Whether bound?

Imo. To Milford‑Hauen.

Bel. What's your name?

Imo. Fidele Sir: I haue a Kinsman, who Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford, To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, I am falne in this offence.

Bel. Prythee (faire youth) Thinke vs no Churles: nor measure our good mindes By this rude place we liue in. Well encounter'd, 'Tis almost night, you shall haue better cheere Ere you depart; and thankes to stay, and eate it: Boyes, bid him welcome.

Gui. Were you a woman, youth, I should woo hard, but be your Groome in honesty: I bid for you, as I do buy.

Arui. Ile make't my Comfort He is a man, Ile loue him as my Brother: And such a welcome as I'ld giue to him (After long absence) such is yours. Most welcome: Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst Friends.

Imo. 'Mongst Friends? If Brothers: would it had bin so, that they Had bin my Fathers Sonnes, then had my prize Bin lesse, and so more equall ballasting To thee Posthumus.

Bel. He wrings at some distresse.

Gui. Would I could free't.

Arui. Or I, what ere it be, What paine it cost, what danger: Gods!

Bel. Hearke Boyes.

Imo. Great men That had a Court no bigger then this Caue, That did attend themselues, and had the virtue Which their owne Conscience seal'd them: laying by That nothing‑guift of differing Multitudes Could not out‑peere these twaine. Pardon me Gods, I'ld change my sexe to be Companion with them, Since Leonatus false.

Bel. It shall be so: Boyes wee'l go dresse our Hunt. Faire youth come in; Discourse is heauy, fasting: when we haue supp'd Wee'l mannerly demand thee of thy Story, So farre as thou wilt speake it.

Gui. Pray draw neere.

Arui. The Night to'th'Owle, And Morne to th'Larke lesse welcome.

Imo. Thankes Sir.

Arui. I pray draw neere.

Exeunt.

Scena Octaua.

Enter two Roman Senators, and Tribunes.

1. Sen. This is the tenor of the Emperors Writ; That since the common men are now in Action 'Gainst the Pannonians, and Dalmatians, And that the Legions now in Gallia, are Full weake to vndertake our Warres against The falne‑off Britaines, that we do incite The Gentry to this businesse. He creates Lucius Pro‑Consull: and to you the Tribunes For this immediate Leuy, he commands His absolute Commission. Long liue Cæsar.

Tri. Is Lucius Generall of the Forces?

2. Sen. I.

Tri. Remaining now in Gallia?

1. Sen. With those Legions Which I haue spoke of, whereunto your leuie Must be suppliant: the words of your Commission Will tye you to the numbers, and the time Of their dispatch.

Tri. We will discharge our duty.

Exeunt.

Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.

Enter Clotten alone.

Clot I am neere to'th'place where they should meet, if Pisanio haue mapp'd it truely. How fit his Garments serue me? Why should his Mistris who was made by him that made the Taylor, not be fit too? The rather (sauing reuerence of the Word) for 'tis saide a Womans fitnesse comes by fits: therein I must play the Workman, I dare speake it to my selfe, for it is not Vainglorie for a man, and his Glasse, to confer in his owne Chamber; I meane, the Lines of my body are as well drawne as his; no lesse young, more strong, not beneath him in Fortunes, be­ yond him in the aduantage of the time, aboue him in Birth, alike conuersant in generall seruices, and more re­ markeable in single oppositions; yet this imperseuerant Thing loues him in my despight. What Mortalitie is? Posthumus, thy head (which now is growing vppon thy shoulders) shall within this houre be off, thy Mistris in­ forced, thy Garments cut to peeces before thy face: and all this done, spurne her home to her Father, who may (happily) be a little angry for my so rough vsage: but my Mother hauing power of his testinesse, shall turne all in­ to my commendations. My Horse is tyed vp safe, out Sword, and to a sore purpose: Fortune put them into my hand: This is the very description of their meeting place and the Fellow dares not deceiue me.

EXit.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, Aruiragus, and Imogen from the Caue.

Bel. You are not well: Remaine heere in the Caue, Wee'l come to you after Hunting.

Arui. Brother, stay heere: Are we not Brothers?

Imo. So man and man should be, But Clay and Clay, differs in dignitie, Whose dust is both alike. I am very sicke,

Gui. Go you to Hunting, Ile abide with him.

Imo. So sicke I am not, yet I am not well: But not so Citizen a wanton, as To seeme to dye, ere sicke: So please you, leaue me, Sticke to your Iournall course: the breach of Custome, Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me Cannot amend me. Society, is no comfort To one not sociable: I am not very sicke, Since I can reason of it: pray you trust me heere, Ile rob none but my selfe, and let me dye Stealing so poorely.

Gui. I loue thee: I haue spoke it, How much the quantity, the waight as much, As I do loue my Father.

Bel. What? How? how?

Arui. If it be sinne to say so (Sir) I yoake mee In my good Brothers fault: I know not why I loue this youth, and I haue heard you say, Loue's reason's, without reason. The Beere at doore, And a demand who is't shall dye, I'ld say My Father, not this youth.

Bel. Oh noble straine! O worthinesse of Nature, breed of Greatnesse! “Cowards father Cowards, & Base things Syre Bace; “Nature hath Meale, and Bran; Contempt, and Grace. I'me not their Father, yet who this should bee, Doth myracle it selfe, lou'd before mee. 'Tis the ninth houre o'th'Morne.

Arui. Brother, farewell.

Imo. I wish ye sport.

Arui. You health.⸺So please you Sir.

Imo. These are kinde Creatures. Gods, what lyes I haue heard: Our Courtiers say, all's sauage, but at Court; Experience, oh thou disproou'st Report. Th'emperious Seas breeds Monsters; for the Dish, Poore Tributary Riuers, as sweet Fish: I am sicke still, heart‑sicke; Pisanio, Ile now taste of thy Drugge.

Gui. I could not stirre him: He said he was gentle, but vnfortunate; Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.

Arui. Thus did he answer me: yet said heereafter, I might know more.

Bel. To'th'Field, to'th'Field: Wee'l leaue you for this time, go in, and rest.

Arui. Wee'l not be long away.

Bel. Pray be not sicke, For you must be our Huswife.

Imo. Well, or ill, I am bound to you.

Exit.

Bel. And shal't be euer. This youth, how ere distrest, appeares he hath had Good Ancestors.

Arui. How Angell‑like he sings?

Gui. But his neate Cookerie?

Arui. He cut our Rootes in Charracters, And sawc'st our Brothes, as Iuno had bin sicke, And he her Dieter.

Arui. Nobly he yoakes A smiling, with a sigh; as if the sighe Was that it was, for not being such a Smile: The Smile, mocking the Sigh, that it would flye From so diuine a Temple, to commix With windes, that Saylors raile at.

Gui. I do note, That greefe and patience rooted in them both, Mingle their spurres together.

Arui. Grow patient, And let the stinking‑Elder (Greefe) vntwine His perishing roote, with the encreasing Vine.

Bel. It is great morning. Come away: Who's there?

Enter Cloten.

Clo. I cannot finde those Runnagates, that Villaine Hath mock'd me. I am faint.

Bel. Those Runnagates? Meanes he not vs? I partly know him, 'tis Cloten, the Sonne o'th'Queene. I feare some Ambush: I saw him not these many yeares, and yet I know 'tis he: We are held as Out‑Lawes: Hence.

Gui. He is but one: you, and my Brother search What Companies are neere: pray you away, Let me alone with him.

Clot. Soft, what are you That flye me thus? Some villaine‑Mountainers? I haue heard of such. What Slaue art thou?

Gui. A thing More slauish did I ne're, then answering A Slaue without a knocke.

Clot. Thou art a Robber, A Law‑breaker, a Villaine: yeeld thee Theefe.

Gui. To who? to thee? What art thou? Haue not I An arme as bigge as thine? A heart, as bigge: Thy words I grant are bigger: for I weare not My Dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art: Why I should yeeld to thee?

Clot. Thou Villaine base, Know'st me not by my Cloathes?

Gui. No, nor thy Taylor, Rascall: Who is thy Grandfather? He made those cloathes, Which (as it seemes) make thee.

Clo. Thou precious Varlet, My Taylor made them not.

Gui. Hence then, and thanke The man that gaue them thee. Thou art some Foole, I am loath to beate thee.

Clot. Thou iniurious Theefe, Heare but my name, and tremble.

Gui. What's thy name?

Clo. Cloten, thou Villaine.

Gui. Cloten, thou double Villaine be thy name, I cannot tremble at it, were it Toad, or Adder, Spider, 'Twould moue me sooner.

Clot. To thy further feare, Nay, to thy meere Confusion, thou shalt know I am Sonne to'th'Queene.

Gui. I am sorry for't: not seeming So worthy as thy Birth.

Clot. Art not afeard?

Gui. Those that I reuerence, those I feare: the Wise: At Fooles I laugh: not feare them.

Clot. Dye the death: When I haue slaine thee with my proper hand, Ile follow those that euen now fled hence: And on the Gates of Luds‑Towne set your heads: Yeeld Rusticke Mountaineer.

Fight and Exeunt.

Enter Belarius and Aruiragus.

Bel. No Companie's abroad?

Arui. None in the world: you did mistake him sure.

Bel. I cannot tell: Long is it since I saw him, But Time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of Fauour Which then he wore: the snatches in his voice, And burst of speaking were as his: I am absolute 'Twas very Cloten.

Arui. In this place we left them; I wish my Brother make good time with him, You say he is so fell.

Bel. Being scarse made vp, I meane to man; he had not apprehension Of roaring terrors: For defect of iudgement Is oft the cause of Feare. Enter Guiderius. But see thy Brother.

Gui. This Cloten was a Foole, an empty purse, There was no money in't: Not Hercules Could haue knock'd out his Braines, for he had none: Yet I not doing this, the Foole had borne My head, as I do his.

Bel. What hast thou done?

Gui. I am perfect what: cut off one Clotens head, Sonne to the Queene (after his owne report) Who call'd me Traitor, Mountaineer, and swore With his owne single hand heel'd take vs in, Displace our heads, where (thanks the Gods) they grow And set them on Luds‑Towne.

Bel. We are all vndone.

Gui. Why, worthy Father, what haue we to loose, But that he swore to take, our Liues? the Law Protects not vs, then why should we be tender, To let an arrogant peece of flesh threat vs? Play Iudge, and Executioner, all himselfe? For we do feare the Law. What company Discouer you abroad?

Bel. No single soule Can we set eye on: but in all safe reason He must haue some Attendants. Though his Honor Was nothing but mutation, I, and that From one bad thing to worse: Not Frenzie, Not absolute madnesse could so farre haue rau'd To bring him heere alone: although perhaps It may be heard at Court, that such as wee Caue heere, hunt heere, are Out‑lawes, and in time May make some stronger head, the which he hearing, (As it is like him) might breake out, and sweare Heel'd fetch vs in, yet is't not probable To come alone, either he so vndertaking, Or they so suffering: then on good ground we feare, If we do feare this Body hath a taile More perillous then the head.

Arui. Let Ord'nance Come as the Gods fore‑say it: howsoere, My Brother hath done well.

Bel. I had no minde To hunt this day: The Boy Fideles sickenesse Did make my way long forth.

Gui. With his owne Sword, Which he did waue against my throat, I haue tane His head from him: Ile throw't into the Creeke Behinde our Rocke, and let it to the Sea, And tell the Fishes, hee's the Queenes Sonne, Cloten, That's all I reake.

Exit.

Bel. I feare 'twill be reueng'd: Would (Polidore) thou had'st not done't: though valour Becomes thee well enough.

Arui. Would I had done't: So the Reuenge alone pursu'de me: Polidore I loue thee brotherly, but enuy much Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would Reuenges That possible strength might meet, wold seek vs through And put vs to our answer.

Bel. Well, 'tis done: Wee'l hunt no more to day, nor seeke for danger Where there's no profit. I prythee to our Rocke, You and Fidele play the Cookes: Ile stay Till hasty Polidore returne, and bring him To dinner presently.

Arui. Poore sicke Fidele. Ile willingly to him, to gaine his colour, Il'd let a parish of such Clotens blood, And praise my selfe for charity.

Exit.

Bel. Oh thou Goddesse, Thou diuine Nature; thou thy selfe thou blazon'st In these two Princely Boyes: they are as gentle As Zephires blowing below the Violet, Not wagging his sweet head; and yet, as rough (Their Royall blood enchaf'd) as the rud'st winde, That by the top doth take the Mountaine Pine, And make him stoope to th'Vale. 'Tis wonder That an inuisible instinct should frame them To Royalty vnlearn'd, Honor vntaught, Ciuility not seene from other: valour That wildely growes in them, but yeelds a crop As if it had beene sow'd: yet still it's strange What Clotens being heere to vs portends, Or what his death will bring vs.

Enter Guidereus.

Gui. Where's my Brother? I haue sent Clotens Clot‑pole downe the streame, In Embassie to his Mother; his Bodie's hostage For his returne.

Solemn Musick.

Bel. My ingenuous Instrument, (Hearke Polidore) it sounds: but what occasion Hath Cadwal now to giue it motion? Hearke.

Gui. Is he at home?

Bel. He went hence euen now.

Gui. What does he meane? Since death of my deer'st Mother It did not speake before. All solemne things Should answer solemne Accidents. The matter? Triumphes for nothing, and lamenting Toyes, Is iollity for Apes, and greefe for Boyes. Is Cadwall mad?

Enter Aruiragus, with Imogen dead, bearing her in his Armes.

Bel. Looke, heere he comes, And brings the dire occasion in his Armes, Of what we blame him for.

Arui. The Bird is dead That we haue made so much on. I had rather Haue skipt from sixteene yeares of Ag□, to sixty: To haue turn'd my leaping time into a Crutch, Then haue seene this.

Gui. Oh sweetest, fayrest Lilly: My Brother weares thee not the one halfe so well, As when thou grew'st thy selfe.

Bel. Oh Melancholly, Who euer yet could sound thy bottome? Finde The Ooze, to shew what Coast thy sluggish care Might'st easilest harbour in. Thou blessed thing, Ioue knowes what man thou might'st haue made: but I, Thou dyed'st a most rare Boy, of Melancholly. How found you him?

Arui. Starke, as you see: Thus smiling, as some Fly had tickled slumber, Not as deaths dart, being laugh'd at: his right Cheeke Reposing on a Cushion.

Gui. Where?

Arui. O'th'floore: His armes thus leagu'd, I thought he slept, and put My clowted Brogues from off my feete, whose rudenesse Answer'd my steps too lowd.

Gui. Why, he but sleepes: If he be gone, hee'l make his Graue, a Bed: With female Fayries will his Tombe be haunted, And Wormes will not come to thee.

Arui. With fayrest Flowers Whil'st Sommer lasts, and I liue heere, Fidele, Ile sweeten thy sad graue: thou shalt not lacke The Flower that's like thy face. Pale‑Primrose, nor The azur'd Hare‑Bell, like thy Veines: no, nor The leafe of Eglantine, whom not to slander, Out‑sweetned not thy breath: the Raddocke would With Charitable bill (Oh bill sore shaming Those rich‑left‑heyres, that let their Fathers lye Without a Monument) bring thee all this, Yea, and furr'd Mosse besides. When Flowres are none To winter‑ground thy Coarse⸺

Gui. Prythee haue done, And do not play in Wench‑like words with that Which is fo serious. Let vs bury him, And not protract with admiration, what Is now due debt. To'th'graue.

Arui. Say, where shall's lay him?

Gui. By good Euriphile, our Mother.

Arui. Bee't so: And let vs (Polidore) though now our voyces Haue got the mannish cracke, sing him to'th'ground As once to our Mother: vse like note, and words, Saue that Euriphile, must be Fidele.

Gui. Cadwall, I cannot sing: Ile weepe, and word it with thee; For Notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse Then Priests, and Phanes that lye.

Arui. Wee'l speake it then.

Bel. Great greefes I see med'cine the lesse: For Cloten Is quite forgot. He was a Queenes Sonne, Boyes, And though he came our Enemy, remember He was paid for that: though meane, and mighty rotting Together haue one dust, yet Reuerence (That Angell of the world) doth make distinction Of place 'tweene high, and low. Our Foe was Princely, And though you tooke his life, as being our Foe, Yet bury him, as a Prince.

Gui. Pray you fetch him hither, Thersites body is as good as Aiax, When neyther are aliue.

Arui. If you'l go fetch him, Wee'l say our Song the whil'st: Brother begin.

Gui. Nay Cadwall, we must lay his head to th'East, My Father hath a reason for't.

Arui. 'Tis true.

Gui. Come on then, and remoue him.

Arui. So, begin.

SONG.

Guid. Feare no more the heate o'th'Sun, Nor the furious Winters rages, Thou thy worldly task hast don, Home art gon, and tane thy wages. Golden Lads, and Girles all must, As Chimney‑Sweepers come to dust.

Arui. Feare no more the frowne o'th'Great, Thou art past the Tirants stroake, Care no more to cloath and eate, To thee the Reede is as the Oake: The Scepter, Learning, Physicke must, All follow this and come to dust.

Guid. Feare no more the Lightning flash.

Arui. Nor th'all‑dreaded Thunderstone.

Gui. Feare not Slander, Censure rash.

Arui. Thou hast finish'd Ioy and mone.

Both. All Louers young, all Louers must, Consigne to thee and come to dust.

Guid. No Exorcisor harme thee,

Arui. Nor no witch‑craft charme thee.

Guid. Ghost vnlaid forbeare thee.

Arui. Nothing ill come neere thee.

Both. Quiet consumation haue, And renowned be thy graue.

Enter Belarius with the body of Cloten.

Gui. We haue done our obsequies: Come lay him downe.

Bel. Heere's a few Flowres, but 'bout midnight more: The hearbes that haue on them cold dew o'th'night Are strewings fit'st for Graues: vpon their Faces. You were as Flowres, now wither'd: euen so These Herbelets shall, which we vpon you strew. Come on, away, apart vpon our knees: The ground that gaue them first, ha's them againe: Their pleasures here are past, so are their paine.

Exeunt.

Imogen awakes.

Yes Sir, to Milford‑Hauen, which is the way? I thanke you: by yond bush? pray how farre thether? 'Ods pittikins: can it be sixe mile yet? I haue gone all night: 'Faith, Ile lye downe, and sleepe. But soft; no Bedfellow? Oh Gods, and Goddesses! These Flowres are like the pleasures of the World; This bloody man the care on't. I hope I dreame: For so I thought I was a Caue‑keeper, And Cooke to honest Creatures. But 'tis not so: 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot of nothing, Which the Braine makes of Fumes. Our very eyes, Are sometimes like our Iudgements, blinde. Good faith I tremble still with feare: but if there be Yet left in Heauen, as small a drop of pittie As a Wrens eye; fear'd Gods, a part of it. The Dreame's heere still: euen when I wake it is Without me, as within me: not imagin'd, felt. A headlesse man? The Garments of Posthumus? I know the shape of's Legge: this is his Hand: His Foote Mercuriall: his martiall Thigh The brawnes of Hercules: but his Iouiall face⸺ Murther in heauen? How? 'tis gone. Pisanio, All Curses madded Hecuba gaue the Greekes, And mine to boot, be darted on thee: thou Conspir'd with that Irregulous diuell Cloten, Hath heere 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 brauest vessell of the world Strooke the maine top! Oh Posthumus, alas, Where is thy head? where's that? Aye me! where's that? Pisanio might haue 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 Haue laid this Woe heere. Oh 'tis pregnant, pregnant! The Drugge he gaue me, which hee said was precious And Cordiall to me, haue I not found it Murd'rous to'th'Senses? That confirmes it home:

This is Pisanio's deede, and Cloten: Oh! Giue colour to my pale cheeke with thy blood, That we the horrider may seeme to those Which chance to finde vs. Oh, my Lord! my Lord!

Enter Lucius, Captaines, and a Soothsayer.

Cap. To them, the Legions garrison'd in Gallia After your will, haue crost the Sea, attending You heere at Milford‑Hauen, with your Shippes: They are heere in readinesse.

Luc. But what from Rome?

Cap, The Senate hath stirr'd vp the Confiners, And Gentlemen of Italy, most willing Spirits, That promise Noble Seruice: and they come Vnder the Conduct of bold Iachimo, Syenna's Brother.

Luc. When expect you them?

Cap. With the next benefit o'th'winde.

Luc. This forwardnesse Makes our hopes faire. Command our present numbers Be muster'd: bid the Captaines looke too't. Now Sir, What haue you dream'd of late of this warres purpose.

Sooth. Last night, the very Gods shew'd me a vision (I fast, and pray'd for their Intelligence) thus: I saw Ioues Bird, the Roman Eagle wing'd From the spungy South, to this part of the West, There vanish'd in the Sun‑beames, which portends (Vnlesse my sinnes abuse my Diuination) Successe to th'Roman hoast.

Luc. Dreame often so, And neuer false. Soft hoa, what truncke is heere? Without his top? The ruine speakes, that sometime It was a worthy building. How? a Page? Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather: For Nature doth abhorre to make his bed With the defunct, or sleepe vpon the dead. Let's see the Boyes face.

Cap. Hee's aliue my Lord.

Luc. Hee'l then instruct vs of this body: Young one, Informe vs of thy Fortunes, for it seemes They craue to be demanded: who is this Thou mak'st thy bloody Pillow? Or who was he That (otherwise then noble Nature did) Hath alter'd that good Picture? What's thy interest In this sad wracke? How came't? Who is't? What art thou?

Imo. I am nothing; or if not, Nothing to be were better: This was my Master, A very valiant Britaine, and a good, That heere by Mountaineers lyes slaine: Alas, There is no more such Masters: I may wander From East to Occident, cry out for Seruice, Try many, all good: serue truly: neuer Finde such another Master.

Luc. 'Lacke, good youth: Thou mou'st no lesse with thy complaining, then Thy Maister in bleeding: say his name, good Friend.

Imo. Richard du Champ: If I do lye, and do No harme by it, though the Gods heare, I hope They'l pardon it. Say you Sir?

Luc. Thy name?

Imo. Fidele Sir.

Luc. Thou doo'st approue thy selfe 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 lesse belou'd. The Romane Emperors Letters Sent by a Consull to me, should not sooner Then thine owne worth preferre thee: Go with me.

Imo. Ile follow Sir. But first, and't please the Gods, Ile hide my Master from the Flies, as deepe As these poore Pickaxes can digge: and when With wild wood‑leaues & weeds, I ha' strew'd his graue And on it said a Century of prayers (Such as I can) twice o're, Ile weepe, and sighe, And leauing so his seruice, follow you, So please you entertaine mee.

Luc. I good youth, And rather Father thee, then Master thee: My Friends, The Boy hath taught vs manly duties: Let vs Finde out the prettiest Dazied‑Plot we can, And make him with our Pikes and Partizans A Graue: Come, Arme him: Boy hee's preferr'd By thee, to vs, and he shall be interr'd As Souldiers can. Be cheerefull; wipe thine eyes, Some Falles are meanes the happier to arise.

Exeunt

Scena Tertia.

Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pisanio.

Cym. Againe: and bring me word how 'tis with her, A Feauour with the absence of her Sonne; A madnesse, of which her life's in danger: Heauens, How deeply you at once do touch me. Imogen, The great part of my comfort, gone: My Queene Vpon a despera□e bed, and in a time When fearefull Warres point at me: Her Sonne gone, So needfull for this present? It strikes me, past The hope of comfort. But for thee, Fellow, Who needs must know of her departure, and Dost seeme so ignorant, wee'l enforce it from thee By a sharpe Torture.

Pis. Sir, my life is yours, I humbly set it at your will: But for my Mistris, I nothing know where she remaines: why gone, Nor when she purposes returne. Beseech your Highnes, Hold me your loyall Seruant.

Lord. Good my Liege, The day that she was missing, he was heere; I dare be bound hee's true, and shall performe All parts of his subiection loyally. For Cloten, There wants no diligence in seeking him, And will no doubt be found.

Cym. The time is troublesome: Wee'l slip you for a season, but our iealousie Do's yet depend.

Lord. So please your Maiesty, The Romaine Legions, all from Gallia drawne, Are landed on your Coast, with a supply Of Romaine Gentlemen, by the Senate sent.

Cym. Now for the Counsaile of my Son and Queen, I am amaz'd with matter.

Lord. Good my Liege, Your preparation can affront no lesse Then what you heare of. Come more, for more you're (ready: The want is, but to put those Powres in motion, That long to moue.

Cym. I thanke you: let's withdraw And meete the Time, as it seekes vs. We feare not What can from Italy annoy vs, but We greeue at chances heere. Away.

Exeunt

Pisa. I heard no Letter from my Master, since I wrote him Imogen was slaine. 'Tis strange: Nor heare I from my Mistris, who did promise To yeeld me often tydings. Neither know I What is betide to Cloten, but remaine Perplext in all. The Heauens still must worke: Wherein I am false, I am honest: not true, to be true. These present warres shall finde I loue my Country, Euen to the note o'th'King, or Ile fall in them: All other doubts, by time let them be cleer'd, Fortune brings in some Boats, that are not steer'd.

Exit.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, & Aruiragus.

Gui. The noyse is round about vs.

Bel. Let vs from it.

Arui. What pleasure Sir, we finde in life, to locke it From Action, and Aduenture.

Gui. Nay, what hope Haue we in hiding vs? This way the Romaines Must, or for Britaines slay vs or receiue vs For barbarous and vnnaturall Reuolts During their vse, and slay vs after.

Bel. Sonnes, Wee'l higher to the Mountaines, there secure v.. To the Kings party there's no going: newnesse Of Clotens death (we being not knowne, nor muster'd Among the Bands) may driue vs to a render Where we haue liu'd; and so extort from's that Which we haue done, whose answer would be death Drawne on with Torture.

Gui. This is (Sir) a doubt In such a time, nothing becomming you, Nor satisfying vs.

Arui. It is not likely, That when they heare their Roman horses neigh, Behold their quarter'd Fires; haue both their eyes And eares so cloyd importantly as now, That they will waste their time vpon our note, To know from whence we are.

Bel. Oh, I am knowne Of many in the Army: Many yeeres (Though Cloten then but young) you see, not wore him From my remembrance. And besides, the King Hath not deseru'd my Seruice, nor your Loues, Who finde in my Exile, the want of Breeding; The certainty of this heard life, aye hopelesse To haue the courtesie your Cradle promis'd, But to be still hot Summers Tanlings, and The shrinking Slaues of Winter.

Gui. Then be so, Better to cease to be. Pray Sir, to'th'Army: I, and my Brother are not knowne; your selfe So out of thought, and thereto so ore‑growne, Cannot be question'd.

Arui. By this Sunne that shines Ile thither: What thing is't, that I neuer Did see man dye, scarse euer look'd on blood, But that of Coward Hares, hot Goats, and Venison? Neuer bestrid a Horse saue one, that had A Rider like my selfe, who ne're wore Rowell, Nor Iron on his heele? I am asham'd To looke vpon the holy Sunne, to haue The benefit of his blest Beames, remaining So long a poore vnknowne.

Gui. By heauens Ile go, If you will blesse me Sir, and giue me leaue, Ile take the better care: but if you will not, The hazard therefore due fall on me, by The hands of Romaines.

Arui. So say I, Amen.

Bel. No reason I (since of your liues you set So slight a valewation) should reserue My crack'd one to more care. Haue with you Boyes: If in your Country warres you chance to dye, That is my Bed too (Lads) and there Ile lye. Lead, lead; the time seems long, their blood thinks scorn Till it flye out, and shew them Princes borne.

Exeunt.

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Enter Posthumus alone.

Post. Yea bloody cloth, Ile keep thee: for I am wisht Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married ones, If each of you should take this course, how many Must murther Wiues much better then themselues For wrying but a little? Oh Pisanio, Euery good Seruant do's not all Commands: No Bond, but to do iust ones. Gods, if you Should haue 'tane vengeance on my faults, I neuer Had liu'd to put on this: so had you saued The noble Imogen, to repent, and strooke Me (wretch) more worth your Vengeance. But alacke, You snatch some hence for little faults; that's loue To haue them fall no more: you some permit To second illes with illes, each elder worse, And make them dread it, to the dooers thrift. But Imogen is your owne, do your best willes, And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither Among th'Italian Gentry, and to fight Against my Ladies Kingdome: 'Tis enough That (Britaine) I haue kill'd thy Mistris: Peace, Ile giue no wound to thee: therefore good Heauens, Heare patiently my purpose. Ile disrobe me Of these Italian weedes, and suite my selfe As do's a Britaine Pezant: so Ile fight Against the part I come with: so Ile dye For thee (O Imogen) euen for whom my life Is euery breath, a death: and thus, vnknowne, Pittied, nor hated, to the face of peril My selfe Ile dedicate. Let me make men know More valour in me, then my habits show. Gods, put the strength o'th'Leonati in me: To shame the guize o'th'world, I will begin, The fashion lesse without, and more within.

Exit.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and the Romane Army at one doore: and the Britaine Army at another: Leonatus Posthumus following like a poore Souldier. They march ouer, and goe out. Then enter againe in Skirmish Iachimo and Posthu­ mus: he vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo, and then leaues him.

Iac. The heauinesse and guilt within my bosome, Takes off my manhood: I haue belyed a Lady, The Princesse of this Country; and the ayre on't Reuengingly enfeebles me, or could this Carle, A very drudge of Natures, haue subdu'de me In my profession? Knighthoods, and Honors borne As I weare mine) are titles but of scorne. If that thy Gentry (Britaine) go before This Lowt, as he exceeds our Lords, the oddes Is, that we scarse are men, and you are Goddes.

Exit.

The Battaile continues, the Britaines fly, Cymbeline is taken: Then enter to his rescue, Bellarius, Guiderius, and Aruiragus.

Bel. Stand, stand, we haue th'aduantage of the ground, The Lane is guarded: Nothing rowts vs, but The villany of our feares.

Gui. Arui. Stand, stand, and fight.

Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britaines. They Rescue Cymbeline, and Exeunt. Then enter Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen.

Luc. Away boy from the Troopes, and saue thy selfe: For friends kil friends, and the disorder's such As warre were hood‑wink'd.

Iac. 'Tis their fresh supplies.

Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely: or betimes Let's re‑inforce, or fly.

Exeunt

Scena Tertia.

Enter Posthumus, and a Britaine Lord.

Lor. Cam'st thou from where they made the stand?

Post. I did, Though you it seemes come from the Fliers?

Lo. I did.

Post. No blame be to you Sir, for all was lost, But that the Heauens fought: the King himselfe Of his wings destitute, the Army broken, And but the backes of Britaines seene; all flying Through a strait Lane, the Enemy full‑heart'd, Lolling the Tongue with slaught'ring: hauing worke More plentifull, then Tooles to doo't: strooke downe Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling Meerely through feare, that the strait passe was damm'd With deadmen, hurt behinde, and Cowards liuing To dye with length'ned shame.

Lo. Where was this Lane?

Post. Close by the battell, ditch'd, & wall'd with turph, Which gaue aduantage to an ancient Soldiour (An honest one I warrant) who deseru'd So long a breeding, as his white beard came to, In doing this for's Country. Athwart the Lane, He, with two striplings (Lads more like to run The Country base, then to commit such slaughter, With faces fit for Maskes, or rather fayrer Then those for preseruation cas'd, or shame) Made good the passage, cryed to those that fled. Our Britaines hearts dye flying, not our men, To darknesse fleete soules that flye backwards; stand, Or we are Romanes, and will giue you that Like beasts, which you shun beastly, and may saue But to looke backe in frowne: Stand, stand. These three, Three thousand confident, in acte as many: For three performers are the File, when all The rest do nothing. With this word stand, stand, Accomodated by the Place; more Charming With their owne Noblenesse, which could haue turn'd A Distaffe, to a Lance, guilded pale lookes; Part shame, part spirit renew'd, that some turn'd coward But by example (Oh a sinne in Warre, Damn'd in the first beginners) gan to looke The way that they did, and to grin like Lyons Vpon the Pikes o'th'Hunters. Then beganne A stop i'th'Chaser; a Retyre: Anon A Rowt, confusion thicke: forthwith they flye Chickens, the way which they stopt Eagles: Slaues The strides the Victors made: and now our Cowards Like Fragments in hard Voyages became The life o'th'need: hauing found the backe doore open Of the vnguarded hearts: heauens, how they wound, Some slaine before some dying; some their Friends Ore‑borne i'th'former waue, ten chac'd by one, Are now each one the slaughter‑man of twenty: Those that would dye, or ere resist, are growne The mortall bugs o'th'Field.

Lord. This was strange chance: A narrow Lane, an old man, and two Boyes.

Post. Nay, do not wonder at it: you are made Rather to wonder at the things you heare, Then to worke any. Will you Rime vpon't, And vent it for a Mock'rie? Heere is one: “Two Boyes, an Oldman (twice a Boy) a Lane, “Preseru'd the Britaines, was the Romanes bane.

Lord. Nay, be not angry Sir.

Post. Lacke, to what end? Who dares not stand his Foe, Ile be his Friend: For if hee'l do, as he is made to doo, I know hee'l quickly flye my friendship too. You haue put me into Rime.

Lord. Farewell, you're angry.

Exit.

Post. Still going? This is a Lord: Oh Noble misery To be i'th'Field, and aske what newes of me: To day, how many would haue giuen their Honours To haue sau'd their Carkasses? Tooke heele to doo't, And yet dyed too. I, in mine owne woe charm'd Could not finde death, where I did heare him groane, Nor feele him where he strooke. Being an vgly Monster, 'Tis strange he hides him in fresh Cups, soft Beds, Sweet words; or hath moe ministers then we That draw his kniues i'th'War. Well I will finde him: For being now a Fauourer to the Britaine, No more a Britaine, I haue resum'd againe The part I came in. Fight I will no more, But yeeld me to the veriest Hinde, that shall Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is Heere made by'th'Romane; great the Answer be Britaines must take. For me, my Ransome's death, On eyther side I come to spend my breath; Which neyther heere Ile keepe, nor beare agen, But end it by some meanes for Imogen.

Enter two Captaines, and Soldiers.

1 Great Iupiter be prais'd, Lucius is taken, 'Tis thought the old man, and his sonnes, were Angels.

2 There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, That gaue th'Affront with them.

1 So 'tis reported: But none of 'em can be found. Stand, who's there?

Post. A Roman, Who had not now beene drooping heere, if Seconds Had answer'd him.

2 Lay hands on him: a Dogge, A legge of Rome shall not returne to tell What Crows haue peckt them here: he brags his seruice As if he were of note: bring him to'th'King.

Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Aruiragus, Pisanio, and Romane Captiues. The Captaines present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who deliuers him ouer to a Gaoler.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Posthumus, and Gaoler.

Gao. You shall not now be stolne, You haue lockes vpon you: So graze, as you finde Pasture.

2. Gao. I, or a stomacke.

Post. Most welcome bondage; for thou art a way (I thinke) to liberty: yet am I better Then one that's sicke o'th'Gowt, since he had rather Groane so in perpetuity, then be cur'd By'th'sure Physitian, Death; who is the key T'vnbarre these Lockes. My Conscience, thou art fetter'd More then my shanks, & wrists: you good Gods giue me The penitent Instrument to picke that Bolt, Then free for euer. Is't enough I am sorry? So Children temporall Fathers do appease; Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent, I cannot do it better then in Gyues, Desir'd, more then constrain'd, to satisfie If of my Freedome 'tis the maine part, take No stricter render of me, then my All. I know you are more clement then vilde men, Who of their broken Debtors take a third, A sixt, a tenth, letting them thriue againe On their abatement; that's not my desire. For Imogens deere life, take mine, and tho□gh 'Tis not so deere, yet 'tis a life; you coyn'd it, 'Tweene man, and man, they waigh not euery stampe: Though light, take Peeces for the figures sake, (You rather) mine being yours: and so great Powres, If you will take this Audit, take this life, And cancell these cold Bonds. Oh Imogen, Ile speake to thee in silence.

Solemne Musicke. Enter (as in an Apparation) Sicillius Leo­ natus, Father to Posthumus, an old man, attyred like a war­ riour, leading in his hand an ancient Matron (his wife, & Mother to Posthumus) with Musicke before them. Then after other Musicke, followes the two young Leonati (Bro­ thers to Posth□mus) w□th wounds as they died in the warrs. They circle Posthumus round as he lies sleeping.

Sicil. No more thou Thunder‑Master shew thy spight, on Mortall Flies: With Mars fall out with Iuno chide, that thy Adulteries Rates, and Reuenges. Hath my poore Boy done ought but well, whose face I neuer saw: I dy'de whil'st in the Wombe he staide, attending Natures Law. Whose Father then (as men report, thou Orphanes Father art) Thou should'st haue bin, and sheelded him, from this earth‑vexing smart.

Moth. Lucina lent not me her ayde, but tooke me in my Throwes, That from me was Posthumus ript, came crying 'mong'st his Foes. A thing of pitty.

Sicil. Great Nature like his Ancestrie, moulded the stuffe so faire: That he d□seru'd the praise o'th'World, as great Sicilius heyre.

1. Bro. When once he was mature for man, in Britaine where was hee That could stand vp his paralell? Or fruitfull obiect bee? In eye of Imogen, that best could deeme his dignitie.

Mo. With Marriage wherefore was he mockt to be exil'd, and throwne From Leonati Seate, and cast from her, his deerest one: Sweete Imogen?

Sic. Why did you suffer Iachimo, slight thing of Italy, To taint his Nobler hart & braine, with needlesse ielousy, And to become the geeke and scorne o'th'others vilany?

2 Bro. For this, from stiller Seats we came, our Parents, and vs twaine, That striking in our Countries cause, fell brauely, and were slaine, Our Fealty, & Tenantius right, with Honor to maintaine.

1 Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath to Cymbeline perform'd: Then Iupiter, yu King of Gods, why hast yu thus adiourn'd The Graces for his Merits due, being all to dolors turn'd?

Sicil. Thy Christall window ope; looke, looke out, no longer exercise Vpon a valiant Race, thy harsh, and potent iniuries:

Moth. Since (Iupiter) our Son is good, take off his miseries.

Sicil. Peepe through thy Marble Mansion, helpe, or we poore Ghosts will cry To'th'shining Synod of the rest, against thy Deity.

Brothers. Helpe (Iupiter) or we appeale, and from thy iustice flye.

Iupiter descends in Thunder and Lightning, sitting vppon an Eagle: hee throwes a Thunder‑bolt. The Ghostes fall on their knees.

Iupiter. No more you petty Spirits of Region low Offend our hearing: hush. How dare you Ghostes Accuse the Thunderer, whose Bolt (you know) Sky‑planted, batters all rebelling Coasts. Poore shadowes of Elizium, hence, and rest Vpon your neuer‑withering bankes of Flowres. Be not with mortall accidents opprest, No care of yours it is, you know 'tis ours. Whom best I loue, I crosse; to make my guift The more delay'd, delighted. Be content, Your low‑laide Sonne, our Godhead will vplift: His Comforts thriue, his Trials well are spent: Our Iouiall Starre 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 vpon his Brest, wherein Our pleasure, his full Fortune, doth confine, And so away: no farther with your dinne Expresse Impatience, least you stirre vp mine: Mount Eagle, to my Palace Christalline.

Ascends

Sicil. He came in Thunder, his Celestiall breath Was sulphurous to smell: the holy Eagle Stoop'd, as to foote vs: his Ascension is More sweet then our blest Fields: his Royall Bird Prunes the immortall wing, and cloyes his Beake, As when his God is pleas'd.

All. Thankes Iupiter.

Sic. The Marble Pauement clozes, he is enter'd His radiant Roofe: Away, and to be blest Let vs with care performe his great behest.

Vanish

Post. Sleepe, thou hast bin a Grandsire, and begot A Father to me: and thou hast created A Mother, and two Brothers. But (oh scorne) Gone, they went hence so soone as they were borne: And so I am awake. Poore Wretches, that depend On Greatnesse, Fauour; Dreame as I haue done, Wake, and finde nothing. But (alas) I swerue: Many Dreame not to finde, neither deserue, And yet are steep'd in Fauours; so am I That haue this Golden chance, and know not why: What Fayeries haunt this ground? A Book? Oh rare one, Be not, as is our fangled world, a Garment Nobler then that it couers. Let thy effects So follow, to be most vnlike our Courtiers, As good, as promise. Reades. WHen as a Lyons whelpe, shall to himselfe vnknown, with­ out seeking finde, and bee embrac'd by a peece of tender Ayre: And when from a stately Cedar shall be lopt branches, which being dead many yeares, shall after reuiue, bee ioynted to the old Stocke, and freshly grow, then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britaine be fortunate, and flourish in Peace and Plen­ tie. 'Tis still a Dreame: or else such stuffe as Madmen Tongue, and braine not: either both, or nothing Or senselesse speaking, or a speaking such As sense cannot vntye. Be what it is, The Action of my life is like it, which Ile keepe If but for simpathy.

Enter Gaoler.

Gao. Come Sir, are you ready for death?

Post. Ouer‑roasted rather: ready long ago.

Gao. Hanging is the word, Sir, if you bee readie for that, you are well Cook'd.

Post. So if I proue a good repast to the Spectators, the dish payes the shot.

Gao. A heauy reckoning for you Sir: But the comfort is you shall be called to no more payments, fear no more Tauerne Bils, which are often the sadnesse of parting, as the procuring of mirth: you come in faint for want of meate, depart reeling with too much drinke: sorrie that you haue payed too much, and sorry that you are payed too much: Purse and Braine, both empty: the Brain the heauier, for being too light; the Purse too light, being drawne of heauinesse. Oh, of this contradiction you shall now be quit: Oh the charity of a penny Cord, it summes vp thousands in a trice: you haue no true Debitor, and Creditor but it: of what's past, is, and to come, the dis­ charge: your necke (Sis) is Pen, Booke, and Counters; so the Acquittance followes.

Post. I am merrier to dye, then thou art to liue.

Gao. Indeed Sir, he that sleepes, feeles not the Tooth­ Ache: but a man that were to sleepe your sleepe, and a Hangman to helpe 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.

Gao. Your death has eyes in's head then: I haue not seene him so pictur'd: you must either bee directed by some that take vpon them to know, or to take vpon your selfe that which I am sure you do not know: or iump the after‑enquiry on your owne perill: and how you shall speed in your iournies end, I thinke you'l neuer returne to tell one.

Post. I tell thee, Fellow, there are none want eyes, to direct them the way I am going, but such as winke, and will not vse them.

Gao. What an infinite mocke is this, that a man shold haue the best vse of eyes, to see the way of blindnesse: I am sure hanging's the way of winking.

Enter a Messenger.

Mes. Knocke off his Manacles, bring your Prisoner to the King.

Post. Thou bring'st good newes, I am call'd to bee made free.

Gao. Ile be hang'd then.

Post. Thou shalt be then freer then a Gaoler; no bolts for the dead.

Gao. Vnlesse a man would marry a Gallowes, & be­ get yong Gibbets, I neuer saw one so prone: yet on my Conscience, there are verier Knaues desire to liue, for all he be a Roman; and there be some of them too that dye against their willes; so should I, if I were one. I would we were all of one minde, and one minde good: O there were desolation of Gaolers and Galowses: I speake a­ gainst my present profit, but my wish hath a preferment in't.

Exeunt.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Cymbeline, Bellarius, Guiderius, Arui­ ragus, Pisanio, and Lords.

Cym. Stand by my side you, whom the Gods haue made Preseruers of my Throne: woe is my heart, That the poore Souldier that so richly fought, Whose ragges, sham'd gilded Armes, whose naked brest Stept before Targes of proofe, cannot be found: He shall be happy that can finde him, if Our Grace can make him so.

Bel. I neuer saw Such Noble fury in so poore a Thing; Such precious deeds, in one that promist nought But beggery, and poore lookes.

Cym. No tydings of him?

Pisa. He hath bin search'd among the dead, & liuing; But no trace of him.

Cym. To my greefe, I am The heyre of his Reward, which I will adde To you (the Liuer, Heart, and Braine of Britaine) By whom (I grant) she liues. 'Tis now the time To aske of whence you are. Report it.

Bel. Sir, In Cambria are we borne, and Gentlemen: Further to boast, were neyther true, nor modest, Vnlesse I adde, we are honest.

Cym. Bow your knees: Arise my Knights o'th'Battell, I create you Companions to our person, and will fit you With Dignities becomming your estates. Enter Cornelius and Ladies. There's businesse in these faces: why so sadly Greet you our Victory? you looke like Romaines, And not o'th'Court of Britaine.

Corn. Hayle great King, To sowre your happinesse, I must report The Queene is dead.

Cym. Who worse then a Physitian 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 cruell to the world) concluded Most cruell to her selfe. What she confest, I will report, so please you. These her Women Can trip me, if I erre, who with wet cheekes Were present when she finish'd.

Cym. Prythee say.

Cor. First, she confest she neuer lou'd you: onely Affected Greatnesse got by you: not you: Married your Royalty, was wife to your place: Abhorr'd your person.

Cym. She alone knew this: And but she spoke it dying, I would not Beleeue her lips in opening it. Proceed.

Corn. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to loue With such integrity, she did confesse Was as a Scorpion to her sight, whose life (But that her flight preuented it) she had Tane off by poison.

Cym. O most delicate Fiend! Who is't can reade a Woman? Is there more?

Corn. More Sir, and worse. She did confesse she had For you a mortall Minerall, which being tooke, Should by the minute feede on life, and ling'ring, By inches waste you. In which time, she purpos'd By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to Orecome you with her shew; and in time (When she had fitted you with her craft, to worke Her Sonne into th'adoption of the Crowne: But fayling of her end by his strange absence, Grew shamelesse desperate, open'd (in despight Of Heauen, and Men) her purposes: repented The euils she hatch'd, were not effected: so Dispayring, dyed.

Cym. Heard you all this, her Women?

La. We did, so please your Highnesse.

Cym. Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautifull: Mine eares that heare her flattery, nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming. It had beene vicious To haue mistrusted her: yet (Oh my Daughter) That it was folly in me, thou mayst say, And proue it in thy feeling. Heauen mend all. Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and other Roman prisoners, Leonatus behind, and Imogen. Thou comm'st not Caius now for Tribute, that The Britaines haue rac'd out, though with the losse Of many a bold one: whose Kinsmen haue made suite That their good soules may be appeas'd, with slaughter Of you their Captiues, which our selfe haue granted, So thinke of your estate.

Luc. Consider Sir, the chance of Warre, the day Was yours by accident: had it gone with vs, We should not when the blood was cool, haue threatend Our Prisoners with the Sword. But since the Gods Will haue it thus, that nothing but our liues May be call'd ransome, let it come: Sufficeth, A Roman, with a Romans heart can suffer: Augustus liues to thinke on't: and so much For my peculiar care. This one thing onely I will entreate, my Boy (a Britaine borne) Let him be ransom'd: Neuer Master had A Page so kinde, so duteous, diligent, So tender ouer his occasions, true, So feate, so Nurse‑like: let his vertue ioyne With my request, which Ile make bold your Highnesse Cannot deny: he hath done no Britaine harme, Though he haue seru'd a Roman. Saue him (Sir) And spare no blood beside.

Cym. I haue surely seene him: His fauour is familiar to me: Boy, Thou hast look'd thy selfe into my grace, And art mine owne. I know not why, wherefore, To say, liue boy: ne're thanke thy Master, liue; And aske of Cymbeline what Boone thou wilt, Fitting my bounty, and thy state, Ile giue it: Yea, though thou do demand a Prisoner The Noblest tane.

Imo. I humbly thanke your Highnesse.

Luc. I do not bid thee begge my life, good Lad, And yet I know thou wilt.

Imo. No, no, alacke, There's other worke in hand: I see a thing Bitter to me, as death: your life, good Master, Must shuffle for it selfe.

Luc. The Boy disdaines me, He leaues me, scornes me: briefely dye their ioyes, That place them on the truth of Gyrles, and Boyes. Why stands he so perplext?

Cym. What would'st thou Boy? I loue thee more, and more: thinke more and more What's best to aske. Know'st him thou look'st on? speak Wilt haue him liue? Is he thy Kin? thy Friend?

Imo. He is a Romane, no more kin to me, Then I to your Highnesse, who being born your vassaile Am something neerer.

Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so?

Imo. Ile tell you (Sir) in priuate, if you please To giue me hearing.

Cym. I, with all my heart, And lend my best attention. What's thy name?

Imo. Fidele Sir.

Cym. Thou'rt my good youth: my Page Ile be thy Master: walke with me: speake freely.

Bel. Is not this Boy reuiu'd from death?

Arui. One Sand another Not more resembles that sweet Rosie Lad: Who dyed, and was Fidele: what thinke you?

Gui. The same dead thing aliue.

Bel. Peace, peace, see further: he eyes vs not, forbeare Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure He would haue spoke to vs.

Gui. But we see him dead.

Bel. Be silent: let's see further.

Pisa. It is my Mistris: Since she is liuing, let the time run on, To good, or bad.

Cym. Come, stand thou by our side, Make thy demand alowd. Sir, step you forth, Giue answer to this Boy, and do it freely, Or by our Greatnesse, and the grace of it (Which is our Honor) bitter torture shall Winnow the truth from falshood. One speake to him.

Imo. My boone is, that this Gentleman may render Of whom he had this Ring.

Post. What's that to him?

Cym. That Diamond vpon your Finger, say How came it yours?

Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leaue vnspoken, that Which to be spoke, wou'd torture thee.

Cym. How? me?

Iach. I am glad to be constrain'd to vtter that Which torments me to conceale. By Villany I got this Ring: 'twas Leonatus Iewell, Whom thou did'st banish: and which more may greeue (thee, As it doth me: a Nobler Sir, ne're liu'd 'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou heare more my Lord?

Cym. All that belongs to this.

Iach. That Paragon, thy daughter, For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits Quaile to remember. Giue me leaue, I faint.

Cym. My Daughter? what of hir? Renew thy strength I had rather thou should'st liue, while Nature will, Then dye ere I heare more: striue man, and speake.

Iach. Vpon a time, vnhappy was the clocke That strooke the houre: it was in Rome, accurst The Mansion where: 'twas at a Feast, oh would Our Viands had bin poyson'd (or at least Those which I heau'd to head:) the good Posthumus, (What should I say? he was too good to be Where ill men were, and was the best of all Among'st the rar'st of good ones) sitting sadly, Hearing vs praise our Loues of Italy For Beauty, that made barren the swell'd boast Of him that best could speake: for Feature, laming The Shrine of Venus, or straight‑pight Minerua, Postures, beyond breefe Nature. For Condition, A shop of all the qualities, that man Loues woman for, besides that hooke of Wiuing, Fairenesse, which strikes the eye.

Cym. I stand on fire. Come to the matter.

Iach. All too soone I shall, Vnlesse thou would'st greeue quickly. This Posthumus, Most like a Noble Lord, in loue, and one That had a Royall Louer, tooke his hint, And (not dispraising whom we prais'd, therein He was as calme as vertue) he began His Mistris picture, which, by his tongue, being made, And then a minde put in't, either our bragges Were crak'd of Kitchin‑Trulles, or his description Prou'd vs vnspeaking sottes.

Cym. Nay, nay, to'th'purpose.

Iach. Your daughters Chastity, (there it beginnes) He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreames, And she alone, were cold: Whereat, I wretch Made scruple of his praise, and wager'd with him Peeces of Gold, 'gainst this, which then he wore Vpon his honour'd finger) to attaine In suite the place of's bed, and winne this Ring By hers, and mine Adultery: he (true Knight) No lesser of her Honour confident Then I did truly finde her, stakes this Ring, And would so, had it beene a Carbuncle Of Phœbus Wheele; and might so safely, had it Bin all the worth of's Carre. Away to Britaine Poste I in this designe: Well may you (Sir) Remember me at Court, where I was taught Of your chaste Daughter, the wide difference 'Twixt Amorous, and Villanous. Being thus quench'd Of hope, not longing; mine Italian braine, Gan in your duller Britaine operare Most vildely: for my vantage excellent. And to be breefe, my practise so preuayl'd That I return'd with simular proofe enough, To make the Noble Leonatus mad, By wounding his beleefe in her Renowne, With Tokens thus, and thus: auerring notes Of Chamber‑hanging, Pictures, this her Bracelet (Oh cunning how I got) nay some markes Of secret on her person, that he could not But thinke her bond of Chastity quite crack'd, I hauing 'tane the forfeyt. Whereupon, Me thinkes I see him now.

Post. I so thou do'st, Italian Fiend. Aye me, most credulous Foole, Egregious murtherer, Theefe, any thing That's due to all the Villaines past, in being To come. Oh giue me Cord, or knife, or poyson, Some vpright Iusticer. Thou King, send out For Torturors ingenious: it is I That all th'abhorred things o'th'earth amend By being worse then they. I am Posthumus, That kill'd thy Daughter: Villain‑like, I lye, That caus'd a lesser villaine then my selfe, A sacrilegious Theefe to doo't. The Temple Of Vertue was she; yea, and she her selfe. Spit, and throw stones, cast myre vpon me, set The dogges o'th'street to bay me: euery villaine Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus, and Be villany lesse then 'twas. Oh Imogen! My Queene, my life, my wife: oh Imogen, Imogen, Imogen.

Imo. Peace my Lord, heare, heare.

Post. Shall's haue a play of this? Thou scornfull Page, there lye thy part.

Pis. Oh Gentlemen, helpe, Mine and your Mistris: Oh my Lord Posthumus, You ne're kill'd Imogen till now: helpe, helpe, Mine honour'd Lady.

Cym. Does the world go round?

Posth. How comes these staggers on mee?

Pisa. Wake my Mistris.

Cym. If this be so, the Gods do meane to strike me To death, with mortall ioy.

Pisa. How fares my Mistris?

Imo. Oh get thee from my sight, Thou gau'st me poyson: dangerous Fellow hence, Breath not where Princes are.

Cym. The tune of Imogen.

Pisæ. Lady, the Gods throw stones of sulpher on me, if That box I gaue you, was not thought by mee A precious thing, I had it from the Queene.

Cym. New matter still.

Imo. It poyson'd me.

Corn. Oh Gods! I left out one thing which the Queene confest, Which must approue thee honest. If Pasanio Haue (said she) giuen his Mistris that Confection Which I gaue him for Cordiall, she is seru'd, As I would serue a Rat.

Cym. What's this, Cornelius?

Corn. The Queene (Sir) very oft importun'd me To temper poysons for her, still pretending The satisfaction of her knowledge, onely In killing Creatures vilde, as Cats and Dogges Of no esteeme. I dreading, that her purpose Was of more danger, did compound for her A certaine stuffe, which being tane, would cease The present powre of life, but in short time, All Offices of Nature, should againe Do their due Functions. Haue you tane of it?

Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead.

Bel. My Boyes, there was our error.

Gui. This is sure Fidele.

Imo. Why did you throw your wedded Lady fro you? Thinke that you are vpon a Rocke, and now Throw me againe.

Post. Hang there like fruite, my soule, Till the Tree dye.

Cym. How now, my Flesh? my Childe? What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this Act? Wilt thou not speake to me?

Imo. Your blessing, Sir.

Bel. Though you did loue this youth, I blame ye not, You had a motiue for't.

Cym. My teares that fall Proue holy‑water on thee; Imogen, Thy Mothers dead.

Imo. I am sorry for't, my Lord.

Cym. Oh, she was naught; and long of her it was That we meet heere so strangely: but her Sonne Is gone, we know not how, nor where.

Pisa. My Lord, Now feare is from me, Ile speake troth. Lord Cloten Vpon my Ladies missing, came to me With his Sword drawne, foam'd at the mouth, and swore If I discouer'd not which way she was gone, It was my instant death. By accident, I had a feigned Letter of my Masters Then in my pocket, which directed him To seeke her on the Mountaines neere to Milford, Where in a frenzie, in my Masters Garments (Which he inforc'd from me) away he postes With vnchaste purpose, and with oath to violate My Ladies honor, what became of him, I further know not.

Gui. Let me end the Story: I slew him there.

Cym. Marry, the Gods forefend. I would not thy good deeds, should from my lips Plucke a hard sentence: Prythee valiant youth Deny't againe.

Gui. I haue spoke it, and I did it.

Cym. He was a Prince.

Gui. A most inciuill one. The wrongs he did mee Were nothing Prince‑like; for he did prouoke me With Language that would make me spurne the Sea, If it could so roare to me. I cut off's head, And am right glad he is not standing heere To tell this tale of mine.

Cym. I am sorrow for thee: By thine owne tongue thou art condemn'd, and must Endure our Law: Thou'rt dead.

Imo. That headlesse man I thought had bin my Lord

Cym. Binde the Offender, And take him from our presence.

Bel. Stay, Sir King. This man is better then the man he slew, As well descended as thy selfe, and hath More of thee merited, then a Band of Clotens Had euer scarre for. Let his Armes alone, They were not borne for bondage.

Cym. Why old Soldier: Wilt thou vndoo the worth thou art vnpayd for By tasting of our wrath? How of descent As good as we?

Arui. In that he spake too farre.

Cym. And thou shalt dye for't.

Bel. We will dye all three, But I will proue that two one's are as good As I haue giuen out him. My Sonnes, I must For mine owne part, vnfold a dangerous speech, Though haply well for you.

Arui. Your danger's ours.

Guid. And our good his.

Bel. Haue at it then, by leaue Thou hadd'st (great King) a Subiect, who Was call'd Belarius.

Cym. What of him? He is a banish'd Traitor.

Bel. He it is, that hath Assum'd this age: indeed a banish'd man, I know not how, a Traitor.

Cym. Take him hence, The whole world shall not saue him.

Bel. Not too hot; First pay me for the Nursing of thy Sonnes, And let it be confiscate all, so soone As I haue receyu'd it.

Cym. Nursing of my Sonnes?

Bel. I am too blunt, and sawcy: heere's my knee: Ere I arise, I will preferre my Sonnes, Then spare not the old Father. Mighty Sir, These two young Gentlemen that call me Father, And thinke they are my Sonnes, are none of mine, They are the yssue of your Loynes, my Liege, And blood of your begetting.

Cym. How? my Issue.

Bel. So sure as you, your Fathers: I (old Morgan) Am that Belarius, whom you sometime banish'd: Your pleasure was my neere offence, my punishment It selfe, and all my Treason that I suffer'd, Was all the harme I did. These gentle Princes (For such, and so they are) these twenty yeares Haue I train'd vp; those Arts they haue, as I Could put into them. My breeding was (Sir) As your Highnesse knowes: Their Nurse Euriphile (Whom for the Theft I wedded) stole these Children Vpon my Banishment: I moou'd her too't, Hauing receyu'd the punishment before For that which I did then. Beaten for Loyaltie, Excited me to Treason. Their deere losse, The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd Vnto my end of stealing them. But gracious Sir, Heere are your Sonnes againe, and I must loose Two of the sweet'st Companions in the World. The benediction of these couering Heauens Fall on their heads like dew, for they are worthie To in‑lay Heauen with Starres.

Cym. Thou weep'st, and speak'st: The Seruice that you three haue done, is m□re Vnlike, then this thou tell'st. I lost my Children, If these be they, I know not how to wish A payre of worthier Sonnes.

Bel. Be pleas'd awhile; This Gentleman, whom I call Polidore, Most worthy Prince, as yours, is true Guiderius: This Gentleman, my Cadwall, Aruiragus. Your yonger Princely Son, he Sir, was lapt In a most curious Mantle, wrought by th'hand Of his Queene Mother, which for more probation I can with ease produce.

Cym. Guiderius had Vpon his necke a Mole, a sanguine Starre, It was a marke of wonder.

Bel. This is he, Who hath vpon him still that naturall stampe: It was wise Natures end, in the donation To be his euidence now.

Cym. Oh, what am I A Mother to the byrth of three? Nere Mother Reioyc'd deliuerance more: Blest, pray you be, That after this strange starting from your Orbes, You may reigne in them now: Oh Imogen, Thou hast lost by this a Kingdome.

Imo. No, my Lord: I haue got two Worlds by't. Oh my gentle Brothers, Haue we thus met? Oh neuer say heereafter But I am truest speaker. You call'd me Brother When I was but your Sister: I you Brothers, When we were so indeed.

Cym. Did you ere meete?

Arui. I my good Lord.

Gui. And at first meeting lou'd, Continew'd so, vntill we thought he dyed.

Corn. By the Queenes Dramme she swallow'd.

Cym. O rare instinct! When shall I heare all through? This fierce abridgment, Hath to it Circumstantiall branches, which Distinction should be rich in. Where? how liu'd you? And when came you to serue our Romane Captiue? How parted with your Brother? How first met them? Why fled you from the Court? And whether these? And your three motiues to the Battaile? with I know not how much more should be demanded, And all the other by‑dependances From chance to chance? But nor the Time, nor Place Will serue our long Interrogatories. See, Posthumus Anchors vpon Imogen; And she (like harmlesse Lightning) throwes her eye On him: her Brothers, Me: her Master hitting Each obiect with a Ioy: the Counter‑change Is seuerally in all. Let's quit this ground, And smoake the Temple with our Sacrifices. Thou art my Brother, so wee'l hold thee euer.

Imo. You are my Father too, and did releeue me: To see this gracious season.

Cym. All ore‑ioy'd Saue these in bonds, let them be ioyfull too, For they shall taste our Comfort.

Imo. My good Master, I will yet do you seruice.

Luc. Happy be you.

Cym. The forlorne Souldier, that so Nobly fought He would haue well becom'd this place, and grac'd The thankings of a King.

Post. I am Sir The Souldier that did company these three In poore beseeming: 'twas a fitment for The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he, Speake Iachimo, I had you downe, and might Haue made you finish.

Iach. I am downe againe: But now my heauie Conscience sinkes my knee, As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you Which I so often owe: but your Ring first, And heere the Bracelet of the truest Princesse That euer swore her Faith.

Post. Kneele not to me: The powre that I haue on you, is to spare you: The malice towards you, to forgiue you. Liue And deale with others better.

Cym. Nobly doom'd: Wee'l learne our Freenesse of a Sonne‑in‑Law: Pardon's the word to all.

Arui. You holpe vs Sir, As you did meane indeed to be our Brother, Ioy'd are we, that you are.

Post. Your Seruant Princes. Good my Lord of Rome Call forth your Sooth‑sayer: As I slept, me thought Great Iupiter vpon his Eagle back'd Appear'd to me, with other sprightly shewes Of mine owne Kindred. When I wak'd, I found This Labell on my bosome; whose containing Is so from sense in hardnesse, that I can Make no Collection of it. Let him shew His skill in the construction.

Luc. Philarmonus.

Sooth. Heere, my good Lord.

Luc. Read, and declare the meaning.

Reades.

WHen as a Lyons whelpe, shall to himselfe vnknown, with­ out seeking finde, and bee embrac'd by a peece of tender Ayre: And when from a stately Cedar shall be lopt branches, which being dead many yeares, shall after reuiue, bee ioynted to the old Stocke, and freshly grow, then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britaine be fortunate, and flourish in Peace and Plen­ tie. Thou Leonatus art the Lyons Whelpe, The fit and apt Construction of thy name Being Leonatus, doth import so much: The peece of tender Ayre, thy vertuous Daughter, Which we call Mollis Aer, and Mollis Aer We terme it Mulier; which Mulier I diuine Is this most constant Wife, who euen now Answering the Letter of the Oracle, Vnknowne to you vnsought, were clipt about With this most tender Aire.