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Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance.
But, alack!
You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love,
To have them fall no more: you some permit
To second ills with ills, each elder worse;
And make them dread it, to the doer's thrift.
But Imogen is your own: do your best wills,

And make me bless'd to obey! - I am brought hither
Among the Italian gentry, and to fight

Against my lady's kingdom: 't is enough

That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace!
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,
Hear patiently my purpose. I'll disrobe me
Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself
As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight
Against the part I come with; so I'll die
For thee, O Imogen! even for whom my life
Is, every breath, a death: and thus unknown,
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril
Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me, than my habits show.
Gods, put the strength o' the Leonati in me!
To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin
The fashion, less without, and more within.

SCENE II.

The Same.

[Exit.

Enter at one Side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman Army: at the other Side, the British Army; LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following like a poor Soldier. They march over and go out. Alarums. Then enter again in skirmish, IACHIMO, and POSTHUMUS: he vanquisheth and disarmeth IACHIMO, and then leaves him.

lach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom
Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady,
The princess of this country, and the air on 't
Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl,

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

In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, borne
As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.

If that thy gentry, Britain, go before

This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds

Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gods.

[Exit.

The Battle continues; the Britons fly; CYMBELINE is taken: then enter, to his rescue, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVI

RAGUS.

Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground. The lane is guarded: nothing routs us, but

The villainy of our fears.

Gui.

Arv.

Stand, stand, and fight!

Enter POSTHUMUS, and seconds the Britons; they rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt: then, enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and IMOGEN. Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;

For friends kill friends, and the disorder 's such

As war were hood-wink'd.

Iach.

'T is their fresh supplies.

[Exeunt.

Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely or betimes Let's re-enforce, or fly.

SCENE III.

Another Part of the Field.

Enter POSTHUMUS and a British Lord.

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

Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.

Lord.

I did;

I did.

Post. No blame be to you, Sir; for all was lost, But that the heavens fought. The king himself

all flying

Of his wings destitute, the army broken,
And but the backs of Britons seen,
Through a strait lane: the enemy full-hearted,

Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work
More plentiful than tools to do 't, struck down
Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
Merely through fear; that the strait pass was damm'd
With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living

To die with lengthen'd shame.

Lord.

Where was this lane?

Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf; Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,

An honest one, I warrant; who deserv'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, than to commit such slaughter;
With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame)
Made good the passage; cry'd to those that fled,
"Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men:
To darkness fleet, souls that fly backwards! Stand;
Or we are Romans, and will give you that

Like beasts, which you shun beastly, and may save,
But to look back in frown: stand, stand!"- These three,
Three thousand confident, in act as many,

(For three performers are the file, when all

The rest do nothing) with this word, "stand, stand!"
Accommodated by the place, more charming,

With their own nobleness, (which could have turn'd
A distaff to a lance) gilded pale looks,

Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some, turn'd coward
But by example (0, a sin in war,

Damn'd in the first beginners!) 'gan to look
The way that they did, and to grin like lions
Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began
A stop i' the chaser, a retire; anon,

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A rout, confusion thick forthwith they fly,

Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves,
The strides they victors made. And now our cowards

(Like fragments in hard voyages) became

The life o' the need: having found the back-door open
Of the unguarded hearts, Heavens, how they wound!
Some slain before; some dying; some, their friends,
O'er-borne i' the former wave: ten chac'd by one,
Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:
Those that would die or ere resist are grown

The mortal bugs o' the field.

Lord.

A narrow lane, an old man,

This was strange chance :
and two boys!

Post. Nay, do not wonder at it: you are made
Rather to wonder at the things you hear,
Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon 't,
And vent it for a mockery? Here is one :
"Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,
Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane."
Lord. Nay, be not angry, Sir.

Post.

'Lack! to what end?

Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend;
For if he'll do, as he is made to do,

I know, he'll quickly fly my friendship too.
You have put me into rhyme.

Lord.

Farewell; you are angry.

Post. Still going? — This is a lord. O noble misery!
To be i' the field, and ask, what news, of me.
To-day, how many would have given their honours
To have sav'd their carcases? took heel to do 't,
And yet died too? I, in mine own woe charm'd,
Could not find death where I did hear him groan,
Nor feel him where he struck: being an ugly monster,
'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,
Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we
That draw his knives i' the war.

Well, I will find him;

For being now a favourer to the Briton,
No more a Briton, I have resum'd again
The part I came in. Fight I will no more,
But yield me to the veriest hind, that shall

VI.

[Exit.

513

Great the slaughter is
great the answer be

my ransom 's death:

Once touch my shoulder.
Here made by the Roman;
Britons must take; for me,
On either side I come to spend my breath,
Which neither here I'll keep, nor bear again,
But end it by some means for Imogen.

Enter Two British Captains, and Soldiers.
1 Cap. Great Jupiter be prais'd! Lucius is taken.
'Tis thought, the old man and his sons were angels.
2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,
That gave th' affront with them.

1 Cap.

But none of them can be found.

Post. A Roman,

So 't is reported;

Stand! who is there?

Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds
Had answer'd him.

2 Cap.

Lay hands on him; a dog!

A leg of Rome shall not return to tell

What crows have peck'd them here. He brags his service
As if he were of note. Bring him to the king.

Enter CYMBELINE, attended; BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, Arvi-
RAGUS, PISANIO, and Roman Captives. The Captains present
POSTHUMUS to CYMBELINE, who delivers him over to a Jailer;
after which, all go out.

SCENE IV.

A Prison.

Enter POSTHUMUS, and Two Jailers.

1 Jail. You shall not now be stolen; you have locks upon

you:

So, graze as you find pasture.

2 Jail.

Ay, or a stomach.

[Exeunt Jailers.

Post. Most welcome, bondage, for thou art a way

I think, to liberty. Yet am I better

Than one that 's sick o' the gout; since he had rather

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