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Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion; help!
Or we poor ghosts will cry
To the shining synod of the rest,
Against thy deity!
2 Bro. Help, Jupiter! or we appeal,
And from thy justice fly!
JUPITER descends in thunder and lightning, sitting
upon an eagle; he throws a thunder-bolt. The
Ghosts fall on their knees.
Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region low,
Offend our hearing; hush! How dare you, ghosts,
Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know,
Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts?
Poor shadows of Elysium, hence! and rest
Upon your never-withering banks of flowers!
Be not with mortal accidents opprest;
No care of yours it is: you know, 'tis ours.
Whom best I love, I cross; to make my gift,
The more delay'd, delighted. Be content!
Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:
His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.
Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in
Our temple was he married. Rise, and
He shall be lord of lady Imogen,
And happier much by his affliction made.
This tablet lay upon his breast; wherein
Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for death?
Post. Over-roasted rather: ready long ago.
Gaol. Hanging is the word, sir; if you be ready
for that, you are well cooked.
Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the specta-
tors, the dish pays the shot.
Gaol. A heavy reckoning for you, sir! But the
confort is, you shall be called to no more payments,
fear no more tavern bills; which are often the
sadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth: you
come in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with
too much drink; sorry that you have paid too much;
and sorry that you are paid too much; purse and
brain both empty: the brain the heavier for being
too light, the purse too light, being drawn of heav-
iness! O! of this contradiction you shall now be
quit! O the charity of a penny cord! it sums up
thousands in a trice: you have no true debitor and
creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come,
the discharge. -Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and
counters; so the acquittance follows.
Post. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live.
Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the
fade!-toothach: but a man that were to sleep your sleep,
and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would
change places with his officer; for, look you, sir,
you know not which way you shall go.
Post. Yes, indeed, dod, fellow!
Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine;
And so, away! no further with your din
Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.-
Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline! [Ascends.
Sici. He came in thunder; his celestial breath
Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle
Stoop'd, as to foot us: his ascension is
More sweet, than our bless'd fields: his royal bird
Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak,
As when his god is pleas'd.
Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd
His radiant roof. -Away! and, to be blest,
Let us with care perform his great behest.
[Ghosts vanish. Post. [Waking.] Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot
A father to me: and thou hast created
A mother, and two brothers. But (O scorn!)
Gone! they went hence so soon, as they were born;
And so I am awake. - Poor wretches, that depend
On greatness' favour, dream as I have done;
Wake, and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve!
Many dream not to find, neither deserve,
And yet are steep'd in favours; so am I,
That have this golden chance, and know not why.
What fairies haunt this ground? A book ? O, rare one!
Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
Nobler, than it covers: let thy effects
So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers,
As good as promise.
Gaol. Your death has eyes in's head then; I have not seen him so pictured: you must either be directed by some that take upon them to know; or take upon yourself that, which I am sure you do not know; or jump the after-inquiry on your own peril and how you shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll never return to tell one.
Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them the way I am going, but such as wink, and will not use them.
Gaol. What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the best use of eyes, to see the way of blindness! I am sure, hanging's the way of winking. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the king.
[Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthu-|
Post. Thou bringest good news; be made free.
Gaol. I'll be hanged then. Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead.
[Exeunt Posthumus and Messenger. Gaol. Unless a man would marry a and gallows, beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to live, for all he be a Roman and there be some them too, that die against their wills; so should if I were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good; O, there were desolation of gaolers, and gallowses. I speak against my present profit; but my wish hath a preferment in't. [Exeun.
SCENE V. CYMBELINE'S Tent.
Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGES,
PISANIO, Lords, Officers, and Attendants.
Cym. Staud by my side, you whom the gods bare
Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart,
That the poor soldier, that so richly fought,
Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast
Stepp'd before targe of proof, cannot be found:
He shall be happy that can find him, if
Our grace can make him so.
Such noble fury in so poor a thing;
Cym. Heard you all this, her women? Lady. We did so, please your highness. Cym. Mine eyes
Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;
Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming; it had been vicious,
Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter!
But beggary and poor looks.
Cym. No tidings of him?
That it was folly in me, thou may'st say,
And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!
Pis. He hath been search'd among the dead and Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the Sothsayer and other living,
But no trace of him.
Cym. To my grief, I am
The heir of his reward; which I will add
To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain,
[To Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.
By whom, I grant, she lives. 'Tis now the time
To ask of whence you are:- report it!
In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen:
Further to boast, were neither true nor modest,
Unless I add, we are honest.
Cym. Bow your knees!
Arise, my knights o'the battle! I create you Companions to our person, and will fit you With dignities becoming your estates.
Enter CORNELIUS and Ladies.
There's business in these faces. Why so sadly Greet you our victory? you look like Romans, And not o'the court of Britain.
Cor. Hail, great king!
To sour your happiness, I must report
The queen is dead.
Cym. Whom worse than a physician
Would this report become? But I consider,
By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death
Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?
Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life;
Which, being cruel to the world, concluded
Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd,
I will report, so please you! These her women
Can trip me, if I err; who, with wet cheeks,
Were present when she finish'd.
Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you; Affected greatness got by you, not you: Married your royalty, was wife to your place; Abhorr'd your person.
And, but she spoke it dying, I would not
Cym. She alone knew this:
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed!
Roman Prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS behind, and IMOGEN.
Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit,
That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted:
So, think of your estate.
Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day
Was yours by accident; had it gone with us,
We should not, when the blood was cool, have
Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
May be call'd ransome, let it come: sufficeth,
A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer:
Augustus lives to think on't: and so much
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will entreat; my boy, a Briton born,
Let him be ransom'd: never master had
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
So tender over his occasions, true,
So feat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join
With my request, which I'll make bold, your highness
Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,
Though he have serv'd a Roman: save him, sir,
And spare no blood beside!
Cym. I have surely seen him!
His favour is familiar to me.-
Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
And art mine own!-I know not why, nor wherefore,
To say, live, boy! ne'er thank thy master; live!
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I'll give it;
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
The noblest ta'en.
Imo. I humbly thank your highness!
Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad! And yet, I know, thou wilt.
There's other work in hand; I see a thing
Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to Bitter to me as death: your life, good master,
With such integrity, she did confess
Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life,
But that her flight prevented it, she had
Ta'en off by poison.
Cym. O most delicate fiend!
Who is't can read a woman? Is there more?
Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did confess,she had
For you a mortal mineral; which, being took,
Should by the minute feed on life, and, ling'ring,
By inches waste you: in which time she purpos'd,
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
O'ercome you with her show: yes, and in time,
(When she had fitted you with her craft,) to work
Her son into the adoption of the crown.
But failing of her end by his strange absence,
Grew shameless-desperate; open'd, in despite
Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented
The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so,
Must shuffle for itself.
Luc. The boy disdains me,
He leaves me, scorns me. Briefly die their joys, That place them on the truth of girls and boys.— Why stands he so perplex'd?
Cym. What would'st thou, boy?
I love thee more and more; think more and more What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? speak,
Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?
Imo. He is a Roman; no more kin to me,
Than I to your highness; who, being born your vassal,
Am something nearer.
Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so?
Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing.
Cym. Ay, with all my heart,
And lend my best attention. What's thy name?
Zmo. Fidele, sir.
Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page!
I'll be thy master! Walk with me! speak freely!
[Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart.
Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death?
Arv. One sand another
Not more resembles. That sweet rosy lad,
Who died, and was Fidele. - What think you?
Gui. The same dead thing alive.
Bel. Peace, peace! see further! he eyes us not;
Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure
He would have spoke to us.
Gui. But we saw him dead.
Bel. Be silent, let's see further!
Pis. It is my mistress:
Since she is living, let the time run on,
To good, or bad.
And then a mind put in't, either our brags
Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description
Prov'd us unspeaking sots.
Cym. Nay, nay, to the purpose!
Iach. Your daughter's chastity there it begins!
He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams,
And she alone were cold: whereat, I, wretch!
Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him
Pieces of gold, 'gainst this, which then he wore
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring
By hers and mine adultery: he, true knight,
No lesser of her honour confident
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;
[Aside. And would so, had it been a carbuncle
[Cymbeline and Imogen come forward.
Cym. Come, stand thou by our side;
Make thy demand aloud!— Sir, [To Iach.] step you
Give answer to this boy, and do it freely!
Or, by our greatness, and the grace of it,
Which is our honour, bitter torture shall
Winnow the truth from falsehood!--On,speak to him!
Imo. My boon is, that this gentleman may render
Of whom he had this ring.
Post. What's that to him?
Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say, How came it yours?
Jach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that,
Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.
Cym, How! me?
Of Phoebus' wheel; and might so safely, had it
Been all the worth of his car. Away to Britain
Post I in this design. Well may you, sir,
Remember me at court, where I was taught
of your chaste daughter the wide difference
'Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quench'd
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
'Gan in your duller Britain operate
Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent;
And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd,
That I return'd with simular proof enough,
To make the noble Leonatus mad,
By wounding his belief in her renown
With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet,
(0, cunning, how I got it!) nay, some marks
Of secret on her person, that he could not
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
Iach. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that, which I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon,—
Torments me to conceal. By villainy
Methinks, I see him now,
Post. Ay, so thou dost,
I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel:
Whom thou didst banish; and (which more may Italian fiend! Ah me, most credulous fool,
As it doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd
Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
That's due to all the villains past, in being,
'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord? To come!-0, give me cord, or knife, or poison, Cym. All that belongs to this.
Iach. That paragon, thy daughter,
For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
Quail to remember, - Give me leave; I faint!
Cym.My daughter! what of her? Renew thy strength:
I had rather thou should'st live while nature will,
Than die ere I hear more: strive, man, and speak!
Iuch. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock
That struck the hour!) it was in Rome, (accurs'd
The mansion where!) 'twas at a feast, (O 'would
Our viands had been poison'd! or, at least,
Those which I heav'd to head!) the good Posthumus,
(What should I say? he was too good to be
Where ill men were; and was the best of all
Amongst the rar'st of good ones,) sitting sadly,
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast
Of him that best could speak: for feature, laming
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva,
Postures beyond brief nature; for condition,
A shop of all the qualities that man
Loves woman for; besides, that hook of wiving,
Fairness which strikes the eye:-
Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out
For tortures ingenious: it is I
That all the abhorred things o'the earth amend,
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
That kill'd thy daughter-villain-like, I lie;
That caus'd a lesser villain than myself,
A sacrilegious thief, to do't: the temple
Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
The dogs o'the street to bay me; every
Be call'd Posthúmus Leonatus; and
Be villainy less than 'twas! - Imogen!
My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen!
Imo. Peace, my lord! hear, hear-
Post. Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornfal page.
There lie thy part!
[Striking her: she fai
Pis. O, gentlemen, help, help
Mine, and your mistress! - O, my lord Posthumus!
You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now!-Help, help!-
Mine honour'd lady!
Cym. Does the world go round?
Post. How come these staggers on me?
Pis. Wake, my mistress!
Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike To death with mortal joy.
Unless thou would'st grieve quickly.-This Posthú- Pis. How fares my mistress?
(Most like a noble lord in love, and one
That had a royal lover,) took his hint;
And, not dispraising whom we prais'd, (therein
He was as calm, as virtue) he began
His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being made,
Imo. O, get thee from my sight;
Thou gav'st me poison! dangerous fellow, hence!
Breathe not where princes are!
Cym. The tune of Imogen!
The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if
That box I gave you was not thought by me
A precious thing; I had it from the queen.
Cym. New matter still?
Imo. It poison'd me.
Cor. O gods!
I left out one thing, which the queen confess'd,
Which must approve thee honest: If Pisanio
Have, said she, given his mistress that confection
Which I gave him for a cordial, she is serv'd
As I would serve a rat.
Cym. What's this, Cornelius?
Cor. The queen, sir, very oft impórtun'd me
To temper poisons for her; still pretending
The satisfaction of her knowledge, only
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs
Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease
The present power of life; but, in short time,
All offices of nature should again
Do their due functions.- Have you ta'en of it?
Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead.
Bel. My boys,
There was our error.
Gui. This is sure, Fidele!
They were not born for bondage.
Cym. Why, old soldier,
Wilt thou undo the worth thon art unpaid for,
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
As good as we?
Arv. In that he spake too far.
Cym. And thou shalt die for't.
Bel. We will die all three:
But I will prove, that two of us are as good,
As I have given out him.- My sons, I must,
For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech,
Imo. Why did you throw your wedded lady from Though, haply, well for you.
Think, that you are upon a rock; and now
Throw me again.
[Embracing him. Gui. And our good his.
Post. Hang there like fruit, my soul,
If I discover'd not which way she was gone,
It was my instant death. By accident,
I had a feigned letter of my master's
Then in my pocket; which directed him
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments,
Which he inforc'd from me, away he posts
With unchaste purpose, and with oaths to violate
My lady's honour: 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
Pluck a hard sentence: pr'ythee, valiant youth,
Gui. I have spoke it, and I did it.
Cym. He was a prince!
Gui. A most uncivil one. The wrongs he did me,
Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
With language, that would make me spurn the sea,
If it could so roar to me: I cut off's head;
And am right glad, he is not standing here
By leave!-Thou had'st, great king, a subject, who
We 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 save him!
First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;
And let it be confiscate all, so soon
As I have receiv'd it.
Cym. Nursing of my sons?
Bel. I am too blunt, and saucy: here's my knee;
Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons;
Then, spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
These two young gentlemen, that call me father,
And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
And blood of your begetting.
Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
And that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd:
Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd,
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes
(For such, and so they are,) these twenty years
Have I train'd up: those arts they have, as I
Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
Upon my banishment: I mov'd her to't;
Having receiv'd the punishment before,
For that which I did then: beaten for loyalty
Excited me to treason. Their dear loss,
The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
Here are your sons again; and I must lose
Two of the sweet'st companions in the world :-
The benediction of these covering heavens
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
To inlay heaven with stars.
A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother
Rejoic'd deliverance more. - Bless'd may you be,
That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
You may reign in them now!- 0 Imogen,
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom!
Speak, Iachimo! I had you down, and might
Have made you finish.
Jach. I am down again,
But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,
As then your force did. Take that life, 'beseech you,
Which I so often owe! but your ring first!
And here the bracelet of the truest princess,
That ever swore her faith!
Post. Kneel not to me!
The power, that I have on you, is to spare you;
The malice towards you, to forgive you. Live,
And deal with others better!
I have got two worlds by't.- O, my gentle brothers,
Have we thus met? O never say hereafter,
But I am truest speaker: you call'd me brother,
When I was but your sister; I you brothers,
When you were so indeed.
Cym. Did you e'er meet?
Arv. Ay, my good lord!
Gui. And at first meeting lov'd;
Continued so, until we thought he died.
Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd.
Cym. O rare instinct!
When shall I hear all through? This fierce
Cym. Nobly doom'd:
We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
Pardon's the word to all.
Arv. You holp us, sir,
As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
Joy'd are we, that you are.
Post. Your servant, princes! - Good my
Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought,
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back,
Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows
Of mine own kindred: when I wak'd, I found
This label on my bosom; whose containing
Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
Make no collection of it; let him show
His skill in the construction.
Sooth. Here, my good lord! Luc. Read, and declare the meaning! Sooth. [Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be for abridge-tunate, and flourish in peace and plenty. Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp; The fit and apt construction of thy name, Being Leo-natus, doth import so much: The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, [To Cymbeline
Hathto it circumstantial branches, which
Distinction should be rich in.-Where? how liv'd you?
And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
And your three motives to the battle, with
I know not how much more, should be demanded;
And all the other by-dependencies
From chance to chance; but nor the time, nor place,
Will serve our long intergatories. See,
Posthúmus anchors upon Imogen;
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
On him, her brothers, me, her master; hitting
Each object with a joy; the counterchange
Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground,
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices,-
Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever!
Imo. You are my father too; and did relieve me,
To see this gracious season.
Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too,
For they shall taste our comfort.
Imo. My good master,
I will yet do you service.
Luc. Happy be you!
Which we call mollis aer; and mollis aer
We term it mulier: which mulier, I divine,
Is this most constant wife; who, even now,
Answering the letter of the oracle,
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about
With this most tender air.
Cym. This hath some seeming.
Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point
Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stolen,
For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd,
To the majestic cedar join'd; whose issue
Promises Britain peace and plenty.
My peace we will begin! And, Caias Lucias,
Although the victor, we submit to Caesar,
And to the Roman empire; promising
To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen;
Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought,
He would have well becom'd this place, and grac'd
The thankings of a king.
The soldier, that did company these three
In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for
The purpose I then follow'd. -That I was he,
Whom heavens, in justice, (both on her, and her
Have laid most heavy hand.
Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tar:
The harmony of this peace. The vision
Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke
Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant
Is full-accomplish'd: for the Roman eagle,
From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o'the sun
So vanish'd:, which foreshow'd our princely eag