In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it?

That here by mountaineers lies slain. - Alas!
There are no more such masters: I may wander
From east to occident, cry out for service,

Try many, all good, serve truly, never
Find such another master.

Luc.

'Lack, good youth!

Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than

Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend.
Imo. Richard du Champ. [Aside.] If I do lie, and do
No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope

They 'll pardon. - Say you, Sir?

Luc.

Imo.

Thy name?

Fidele, Sir.

Luc. Thou dost approve thyself 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 less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters,
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner,
Than thine own worth, prefer thee: go with me.

Imo. I'll follow, Sir. But first, an 't please the gods, I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep

As these poor pickaxes can dig: and when

With wild wood-leaves and weeds I have strewed his grave, And on it said a century of prayers,

Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep, and sigh;

And, leaving so his service, follow you,

So please you entertain me.

Luc.

Ay, good youth;

My friends,

And rather father thee, than master thee.
The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,

And make him with our pikes and partisans

A grave: come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr'd
By thee to us, and he shall be interr'd,

As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes:
Some falls are means the happier to arise.

SCENE III.

A Room in CYMBELINE's Palace.

Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, and PISANIO.

Cym. Again; and bring me word how 't is with her.
A fever with the absence of her son;

A madness, of which her life 's in danger. - Heavens,
How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen
The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen
Upon a desperate bed, and in a time

When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,
So needful for this present: it strikes me, past
The hope of comfort. - But for thee, fellow,
Who needs must know of her departure, and
Dost seem so ignorant, we 'll enforce it from thee
By a sharp torture.

I humbly set it at your will; but, for my mistress,
I nothing know where she remains, why gone,
Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your highness,

Hold me your loyal servant.

1 Lord.

Good my liege,

The day that she was missing he was here:
I dare be bound he 's true, and shall perform

All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,
There wants no diligence in seeking him,
And will, no doubt, be found.

Cym.

[Exeunt.

The time is troublesome:

We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy

Does yet depend.

[TO PISANIO.

The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your coast, with a supply

Of Roman gentlemen by the senate sent.

Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and queen!

I am amaz'd with matter.

1 Lord.

Good my liege,

Your preparation can affront no less

Than what you hear of: come more, for more you 're ready.
The want is, but to put those powers in motion,

That long to move.

Cym.

I thank you. Let's withdraw, And meet the time, as it seeks us: we fear not What can from Italy annoy us, but

We grieve at chances here. - Away!

Pis. I heard no letter from my master, since
I wrote him Imogen was slain. 'Tis strange:
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise
To yield me often tidings; neither know I
What is betid to Cloten, but remain

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

Wherein I am false, I am honest; not true, to be true:
These present wars shall find I love my country,
Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in them.
All other doubts by time let them be clear'd;
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd.

SCENE IV.

Before the Cave.

Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.

Gui. The noise is round about us.

Bel.

Let us from it.

Arv. What pleasure, Sir, find we in life, to lock it From action and adventure?

Gui.

Nay, what hope Have we in hiding us? this way the Romans Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us

[Exeunt.

[Exit.

For barbarous and unnatural revolts
During their use, and slay us after.

Bel.

Sons,

We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us.
To the king's party there's no going: newness
Of Cloten's death (we being not known, not muster'd
Among the bands) may drive us to a render

That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,
Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes
And ears so cloy'd importantly as now,

That they will waste their time upon our note,
To know from whence we are.

Bel.

O! I am known

Of many in the army: many years,

Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him

From my remembrance: and, besides, the king

Hath not deserv'd my service, nor your loves,
Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
The certainty of this hard life; aye, hopeless
To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd,
But to be still hot summer's tanlings, and
The shrinking slaves of winter.

Gui.

Than be so,

Better to cease to be. Pray, Sir, to the army:
I and my brother are not known; yourself,
So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown,
Cannot be question'd.

Arv.

By this sun that shines,

I'll thither: what thing is 't, that I never
Did see man die? scarce ever look'd on blood,

But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison?
Never bestrid a horse, save one that had
A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel,
Nor iron, on his heel? I am asham'd

To look upon the holy sun, to have
The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.

Gui.

If you will bless me, Sir,

By heavens, I'll go.

and give me leave, I'll take the better care; but if you will not,

The hazard therefore due fall on me by

The hands of Romans.

Bel. No reason I, since of your lives you set So slight a valuation, should reserve

My crack'd one to more care.

Have with you, boys. If in your country wars you chance to die,

That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie:

Lead, lead. [Aside.] The time seems long; their blood thinks

scorn,

Till it fly out, and show them princes born.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

A Field between the British and Roman Camps.

[Exeunt.

Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody Handkerchief.
Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wish'd
Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married ones,
If each of you should take this course, how many
Must murder wives much better than themselves,
For wrying but a little? - 0, Pisanio!
Every good servant does not all commands;
No bond, but to do just ones. - Gods! if you
Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never
Had liv'd to put on this: so had you saved
The noble Imogen to repent, and struck