Imágenes de páginas

Both. And renowned be thy grave!



Gui. No exorciser harm thee!

After your will, have cross’d the sea; attending
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! You, here at Milford-Haven, with your ships :
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

They are here in readiness.
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!


But what from Rome? Quiet

Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners, And gentlemen of Italy; most willing spirits,

That promise noble service, and they come Re-enter BELARIUS, with the body of Cloten.

Under the conduct of bold Iachimo, Gui. We have done our obsequies. Come, lay | Sienna's brother. him down.


When expect you them? Bel. Here's a few flowers, but 'bout midnight Cap. With the next benefit o' the wind.


This forwardness The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night, Makes our hopes fair. Command, our present Are strewings fitt'st for graves.-Upon their faces.

numbers You were as flowers, now wither'd; even so Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't.—Now, sir, These herb'lets shall, which we upon you strew.- What have you dream’d of late of this war's purpose ? Come on, away; apart upon our knees.

Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a vision, The ground that gave them first has them again: (I fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence,) thus:Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd [Exeunt BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. From the spungy south to this part of the west, Imo. (Awaking.] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven ; There vanish'd in the sunbeams : which portends, which is the way ?

(Unless my sins abuse my divination,) I thank you.—By yond' bush? - Pray, how far Success to the Roman host. thither?


Dream often so, 'Ods pittikins !—can it be six miles yet?

And never false.--Soft, ho! what trunk is here, I have gone all night:-'faith, I'll lie down and sleep. Without his top? The ruin speaks, that sometime But, soft! no bedfellow.-0, gods and goddesses! It was a worthy building.--How! a page !

[Seeing the body. Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather; These flowers are like the pleasures of the world; For nature doth abhor to make his bed This bloody man, the care on't.— I hope I dream, With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.For so I thought I was a cave-keeper,

Let's see the boy's face. And cook to honest creatures; but 'tis not so:


He is alive,


lord. 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,

Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body:-Young Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good Inform us of thy fortunes; for, it seems, faith,

They crave to be demanded. Who is this, I tremble still with fear; but if there be

Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he, Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity

That, otherwise than noble nature did, As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!

Hath alter’d that good picture? What's thy interest The dream's here still; even when I wake, it is In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it? Without me, as within me; not imagin’d, felt. What art thou ? A headless man!-The garment of Posthumus!


I am nothing: or if not, I know the shape of 's leg: this is his hand; Nothing to be were better. This was my master, His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh;

A very valiant Briton, and a good,
The brawns of Hercules : but his Jovial face- That here by mountaineers lies slain.-Alas!
Murder in heaven !-How ?—'Tis gone.-Pisanio, There are no more such masters: I may wander
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,

From east to occident, cry out for service,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou, Try many, all good, serve truly, never
Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten, Find such another master.
Hast here cut off my lord.—To write, and read, Luc.

'Lack, good youth!
Be henceforth treacherous !—Damn'd Pisanio Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than
Hath with his forged letters,—damn'd Pisanio- Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend.
From this most bravest vessel of the world

Imo. Richard du Champ. [Aside.) If I do lie, Struck the main-top!-O, Posthumus! alas,

and do Where is thy head? where's that? Ah me! where's No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope that?

They'll pardon.-Say you, sir ? Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,


Thy name? And left this head on.—How should this be? Pisanio! Imo.

Fidele, sir. 'Tis he, and Cloten: malice and lucre in them Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same: Have laid this woe here. O! 'tis pregnant, pregnant. Thy name well fits thy faith; thy faith, thy name. The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious Wilt take thy chance with me? And cordial to me, have I not found it

Thou shalt be so well master'd, but, be sure, Murderous to the senses? That confirms it home: No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters, This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten: 0!

Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner, Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, Than thine own worth, prefer thee: go with me. That we the horrider may seem to those

Imo. I'll follow, sir. But first, an 't please the gods, Which chance to find us. O, my lord, my lord! I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep

As these poor pickaxes can dig: and when Enter Lucius, a Captain, and other Officers, and a

With wild wood-leaves and weeds 1 have strewed Soothsayer.

his grave, Cap. To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia, And on it said a century of prayers,

I will not say,

Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep, and sigh; To yield me often tidings; neither know I
And, leaving so his service, follow you,

What is betid to Cloten, but remain
So please you entertain me.

Perplex'd in all: the heavens still must work. Luc.

Ay, good youth; Wherein I am false, I am honest; not true, to be And rather father thee, than master thee.—My

true: friends,

These present wars shall find I love my country, The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in them. Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,

All other doubts by time let them be clear’d; And make him with our pikes and partisans Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd. A grave: come, arm him.-Boy, he is preferr'd

[Erit. By thee to us, and he shall be interr'd, As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes :

Scene IV.-Before the Cave. Some falls are means the happier to arise.



Gui. The noise is round about us. SCENE III.-A Room in CYMBELINE's Palace.


Let us from it. Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, and PISANIO.

Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to

lock it Cym. Again; and bring me word how 'tis with From action and adventure ? her.


Nay, what hope A fever with the absence of her son;

Have we in hiding us? this way the Romans A madness, of which her life's in danger.- Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us Heavens,

For barbarous and unnatural revolts How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen, During their use, and slay us after. The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen Bel.

Sons, Upon a desperate bed, and in a time

We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us. When fearful wars points at me; her son gone, To the king's party there's no going: newness So needful for this present: it strikes me, past Of Cloten's death (we being not known, not The hope of comfort.-—But for thee, fellow,

muster'd Who needs must know of her departure, and Among the bands) may drive us to a render Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee Where we have liv'd; and so extort from 's that By a sharp torture.

Which we have done, whose answer would be Pis. Sir, my life is yours,

death I humbly set it at your will; but, for my mis- Drawn on with torture. tress,


This is, sir, a doubt, I nothing know where she remains, why gone, In such a time nothing becoming you, Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your | Nor satisfying us. highness,


It is not likely, Hold me your loyal servant.

That when they hear the Roman horses neigh, 1 Lord. Good my liege,

Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes The day that she was missing he was here: And ears so cloy'd importantly as now, I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform That they will waste their time upon our note, All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten, To know from whence we are. There wants no diligence in seeking him,


0! I am known And will, no doubt, be found.

Of many in the army: many years, Cym.

The time is troublesome : Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy


[To Pisanjo. From my remembrance: and, besides, the king Does yet depend.

Hath not deserv'd my service, nor your loves, 1 Lord. So please your majesty,

Who find in my exile the want of breeding, The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,

The certainty of this hard life; aye, hopeless Are landed on your coast, with a supply

To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd, Of Roman gentlemen by the senate sent.

But to be still hot summer's tanlings, and Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and The shrinking slaves of winter. queen!


Than be so, I am amaz'd with matter.

Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army: 1 Lord. Good my liege,

I and my brother are not known; yourself, Your preparation can affront no less

So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown, Than what you hear of: come more, for more you're Cannot be question'd. ready.


By this sun that shines, The want is, but to put those powers in motion, I'll thither: what thing is't, that I never That long to move.

Did see man die ? scarce ever look'd on blood, Cym.

I thank you. Let's withdraw, But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venAnd meet the time, as it seeks us : we fear not

ison? What can from Italy annoy us, but

Never bestrid a horse, save one that had We grieve at chances here.-Away!

A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel,

[Ereunt. Nor iron, on his heel? I am asham'd Pis. I heard no letter from my master, since To look upon the holy sun, to have I wrote him Imogen was slain. 'Tis strange :

The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise So long a poor unknown.


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SCENE 1.- A Field between the Brilish and Roman To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin Camps.

The fashion, less without, and more within. [Exit. Enter Posthumus, with a bloody handkerchief.

SCENE II.- The Same. Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wish'd Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married ones, Enter at one side, Lucius, IACHIMO, and the RoIf each of you should take this course, how many

man Army: at the other side, the British Army; Must murder wives much better than themselves, LEONATUS Posthumus following like poor solFor wrying but a little ?—0, Pisanio!

dier. They march over and go out. Alarums. Every good servant does not all commands;

Then enter again in skirmish, Iachimo and PosNo bond, but to do just ones.—Gods! if you

THUMUS : he vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo, Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never and then leaves him. Had liv'd to put on this : so had you saved

Iach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom The noble Imogen to repent, and struck

Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady, Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But, The princess of this country, and the air on't alack!

Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl, You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love, To have them fall no more: you some permit

A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me

In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, borne To second ills with ills, each elder worse;

As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn. And make them dread it, to the doer's thrift.

If that thy gentry, Britain, go

before But Imogen is your own: do your best wills,

This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds And make me bless'd to obey ! -I am brought hither Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gods. Among the Italian gentry, and to fight

[Erit. Against my lady's kingdom: 'tis enough That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace! The Battle continues: the Britons fly; CYMBELINE I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens, is taken: then enter, to his rescue, BELARIUS, GulHear patiently my purpose. I'll disrobe me

DERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself

Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight

the ground. Against the part I come with; so I'll die

The lane is guarded: nothing routs us, but For thee, O Imogen! even for whom my life

The villany of our fears. Is, every breath, à death: and thus unknown,

Gui. Arv.

Stand, stand, and fight' Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know Enter PosthuMUS, and seconds the Britons ; they More valour in me, than my habits show.

rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt: then, enter Lu. Gods, put the strength o' the Leonati in me!

cius, Iachimo, and IMOGEN.

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Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. The rest do nothing,) with this word, “ stand, stand!” Lord.

I did. Accommodated by the place, more charming, Post. No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost, With their own nobleness, (which could have turn'd But that the heavens fought. The king himself A distaff to a lance,) gilded pale looks Of his wings destitute, the army broken,

Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some, turn'd And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying

coward Through a strait lane: the enemy full-hearted, But by example (О, a sin in war, Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work Ramn'd in the first beginners !) 'gan to look More plentiful than tools to do’t, struck down The way that they did, and to grin like lions Some inortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling Upon the pikes o'the hunters. Then began Merely through fear; that the strait pass was damm’d A stop i’ the chaser, a retire; anon, With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living A rout, confusion thick: forthwith they fly, To die with lengthen'd shame.

Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves, Lord.

Where was this lane? The strides they victors made. And now our cowards Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall’d with (Like fragments in hard voyages) became turf;

The life o'the need : having found the back-door open Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, Of the unguarded hearts, Heavens, how they wound! An honest one, I warrant; who deserv'd

Some slain before; some dying; some, their friends, So long a breeding, as his white beard came to, O'er-borne i’ the former wave : ten chas'd by one, In doing this for's country: athwart the lane, Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty: He, with two striplings, (lads more like to run Those that would die or ere resist are grown The country base, than to commit such slaughter; The mortal bugs o'the field. With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer


This was strange chance : Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame,) A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys! Made good the passage; cry'd to those that fled, Post. Nay, do not wonder at it: you are made “Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men: Rather to wonder at the things you hear, To darkness fleet, souls that fly backwards ! Stand; Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't, Or we are Romans, and will give you that

And vent it for a mockery? Here is one: Like beasts, which you shun beastly, and may save, “ Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane, But to look back in frown: stand, stand!"— These Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane." three,

Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir. Three thousand confident, in act as many,


'Lack! to what end? (For three performers are the file, when all Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend;

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