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Had liv'd to put on this : so had you
saved The noble Imogen to repent; and struck 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: 'Tis enough That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress ; peaee! 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. [Exit.
7 Incite, instigate:
Enter at one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman
Army; at the other Side, the British Army;
Iach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom
Țhe battle continues the Britons fly; CYMBELINE is
taken; then enter to his rescue, BeLARIUS, Gul-
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.
'Tis their fresh supplies. Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely: or betimes Let's re-enforce, or fly.
Another Part of the Field.
Enter PosTHUMUS and a British Lord. Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the stand? Post.
I did : Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. Lord.
I did. Post. No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost, But that the heavens fought: The king himself Of his wings destitute, the army broken, And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying 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’d9 With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living
, Block'd up:
To die with lengthen'd shame.
Where was this lane?
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,
"A country game called prison bars, vulgarly prison-bases
A rout, confusion thick: Forthwith they fly
This was strange chance : A narrow lane! an old man, and two boys !
Post. Nay, do not wonder at it: You are made
Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir.
'Lack, to what end?
Farewell, you are angry.
[Exit. 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 carcasses ? took heel to do't,