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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 carcasses? 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 Roman,
No more a Briton, I have re-sum'd again
The part I came in: Fight I will no more,
But yield me to the veriest hind, that shall
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is
Here made by the Roman, great the answer be
Britons must take; For me, my ransome's death;
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 the affront with them.

1 Cap. So 'tis reported:

But none of them can be found.-Stand! who is there?

Post. A Roman;

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 ser


As if he were of note: bring him to the king.

Enter CYMBELINE, attended; BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, and Roman Captices. The Captains present POSTHUMUS to CYMBELINE, who delivers him over to a Gaoler: after which, all go out.

SCENE IV.-A Prison.

·Enter POSTHUMUS, and two Gaolers.

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

So, graze, as you find pasture.

2 Gaol. Ay, or a stomach.

[Exeunt Gaolers.

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 Groan so in perpetuity, than be cur'd

By the sure physician, death; who is the key

To unbar these locks. My conscience! thou art fetter'd

More than my shanks, and wrists: You, good gods, give me

The penitent instrument, to pick that bolt,
Then, free for ever! Is't enough, I'm sorry?
So children temporal fathers do appease;
Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent?
I cannot do it better than in gyves,

Desir'd, more than constrain'd: to satisfy,

If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take
No stricter render of me, than my all.

I know, you are more clement than vile men,
Who of their broken debtors take a third,
A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again
On their abatement; that's not my desire:
For Imogen's dear life, take mine; and though
'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coined it:
'Tween man and man, they weigh not every stamp;
Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake:
You rather mine, being yours: And so, great powers,
If you will take this audit, take this life,
And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!
I'll speak to thee in silence.

[He sleeps.

Solemn Music. Enter, as an Apparition, SICILIUS LEONATUS, Father to POSTHUMUS, an old Man, attired like a Warrior; leading in his Hand an ancient Matron, his Wife, and Mother to POSTHUMUS, with Music before them. Then, after other Music, follow the Two young Leonati, Brothers to POSTHUMUS, with wounds, as they died in the Wars. They circle POSTHUMUS round, as he lies sleeping.

Sici. No more, thou thunder-master, show
Thy spite on mortal flies:

With Mars fall out, With Juno chide,
That thy adulteries

Rates and revenges.

Hath my poor boy done aught but well,
Whose face I never saw?

I died, whilst in the womb he stay'd
Attending Nature's law.

Whose father then (as men report,

Thou orphans' father art,)

Thou should'st have been, and shielded him

From this earth-vexing smart.
Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid,
But took me in my throes;
That from me was Posthumus ript,
Came crying 'mongst his foes,
A thing of pity!

Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry,
Moulded the stuff so fair,

That he deserv'd the praise o'the world,

As great Sicilius' heir.

1 Bro. When once he was mature for man,

In Britain, where was he,

That could stand up his parallel;

Or fruitful object be

In eye of Imogen, that best

Could deem his dignity?

Moth. With marriage wherefore was he mock'd,

To be exil'd, and thrown
From Leonati's seat, and cast
From her his dearest one,
Sweet Imogen?

Sici. Why did you suffer Iachimo,
Slight thing of Italy,

To taint his nobler heart and brain
With needless jealousy;

And to become the geck and scorn
O'the other's villainy?

2 Bro. For this, from stiller seats we came,
Our parents, and us twain,

That, striking in our country's cause,
Fell bravely, and were slain;
Our fealty, and Tenantius' right,
With honour to maintain.

1 Bro. Like hardiment Posthúmus hath
To Cymbeline perform'd:
Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,

Why hast thou thus adjourn'd The graces for his merits due;

Being all to dolours turn'd!

Sici. Thy crystal window ope; look out;
No longer exercise

Upon a valiant race, thy harsh

And potent injuries:

Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good,

Take off his miseries.

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:

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