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The Tragedie of Cymbeline


 
 Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.
 
 Enter two Gentlemen.
 
   1.Gent. You do not meet a man but Frownes.
 Our bloods no more obey the Heauens
 Then our Courtiers:
 Still seeme, as do's the Kings
 
    2 Gent. But what's the matter?
   1. His daughter, and the heire of's kingdome (whom
 He purpos'd to his wiues sole Sonne, a Widdow
 That late he married) hath referr'd her selfe
 Vnto a poore, but worthy Gentleman. She's wedded,
 Her Husband banish'd; she imprison'd, all
 Is outward sorrow, though I thinke the King
 Be touch'd at very heart
 
    2 None but the King?
   1 He that hath lost her too: so is the Queene,
 That most desir'd the Match. But not a Courtier,
 Although they weare their faces to the bent
 Of the Kings lookes, hath a heart that is not
 Glad at the thing they scowle at
 
    2 And why so?
   1 He that hath miss'd the Princesse, is a thing
 Too bad, for bad report: and he that hath her,
 (I meane, that married her, alacke good man,
 And therefore banish'd) is a Creature, such,
 As to seeke through the Regions of the Earth
 For one, his like; there would be something failing
 In him, that should compare. I do not thinke,
 So faire an Outward, and such stuffe Within
 Endowes a man, but hee
 
    2 You speake him farre
 
    1 I do extend him (Sir) within himselfe,
 Crush him together, rather then vnfold
 His measure duly
 
    2 What's his name, and Birth?
   1 I cannot delue him to the roote: His Father
 Was call'd Sicillius, who did ioyne his Honor
 Against the Romanes, with Cassibulan,
 But had his Titles by Tenantius, whom
 He seru'd with Glory, and admir'd Successe:
 So gain'd the Sur-addition, Leonatus.
 And had (besides this Gentleman in question)
 Two other Sonnes, who in the Warres o'th' time
 Dy'de with their Swords in hand. For which, their Father
 Then old, and fond of yssue, tooke such sorrow
 That he quit Being; and his gentle Lady
 Bigge of this Gentleman (our Theame) deceast
 As he was borne. The King he takes the Babe
 To his protection, cals him Posthumus Leonatus,
 Breedes him, and makes him of his Bed-chamber,
 Puts to him all the Learnings that his time
 Could make him the receiuer of, which he tooke
 As we do ayre, fast as 'twas ministred,
 And in's Spring, became a Haruest: Liu'd in Court
 (Which rare it is to do) most prais'd, most lou'd,
 A sample to the yongest: to th' more Mature,
 A glasse that feated them: and to the grauer,
 A Childe that guided Dotards. To his Mistris,
 (For whom he now is banish'd) her owne price
 Proclaimes how she esteem'd him; and his Vertue
 By her electio[n] may be truly read, what kind of man he is
 
    2 I honor him, euen out of your report.
 But pray you tell me, is she sole childe to'th' King?
   1 His onely childe:
 He had two Sonnes (if this be worth your hearing,
 Marke it) the eldest of them, at three yeares old
 I'th' swathing cloathes, the other from their Nursery
 Were stolne, and to this houre, no ghesse in knowledge
 Which way they went
 
    2 How long is this ago?
   1 Some twenty yeares
 
    2 That a Kings Children should be so conuey'd,
 So slackely guarded, and the search so slow
 That could not trace them
 
    1 Howsoere, 'tis strange,
 Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at:
 Yet is it true Sir
 
    2 I do well beleeue you
 
    1 We must forbeare. Heere comes the Gentleman,
 The Queene, and Princesse.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 Scena Secunda.
 
 Enter the Queene, Posthumus, and Imogen.
 
   Qu. No, be assur'd you shall not finde me (Daughter)
 After the slander of most Step-Mothers,
 Euill-ey'd vnto you. You're my Prisoner, but
 Your Gaoler shall deliuer you the keyes
 That locke vp your restraint. For you Posthumus,
 So soone as I can win th' offended King,
 I will be knowne your Aduocate: marry yet
 The fire of Rage is in him, and 'twere good
 You lean'd vnto his Sentence, with what patience
 Your wisedome may informe you
 
    Post. 'Please your Highnesse,
 I will from hence to day
 
    Qu. You know the perill:
 Ile fetch a turne about the Garden, pittying
 The pangs of barr'd Affections, though the King
 Hath charg'd you should not speake together.
 
 Exit
 
   Imo. O dissembling Curtesie! How fine this Tyrant
 Can tickle where she wounds? My deerest Husband,
 I something feare my Fathers wrath, but nothing
 (Alwayes reseru'd my holy duty) what
 His rage can do on me. You must be gone,
 And I shall heere abide the hourely shot
 Of angry eyes: not comforted to liue,
 But that there is this Iewell in the world,
 That I may see againe
 
    Post. My Queene, my Mistris:
 O Lady, weepe no more, least I giue cause
 To be suspected of more tendernesse
 Then doth become a man. I will remaine
 The loyall'st husband, that did ere plight troth.
 My residence in Rome, at one Filorio's,
 Who, to my Father was a Friend, to me
 Knowne but by Letter; thither write (my Queene)
 And with mine eyes, Ile drinke the words you send,
 Though Inke be made of Gall.
 Enter Queene.
 
   Qu. Be briefe, I pray you:
 If the King come, I shall incurre, I know not
 How much of his displeasure: yet Ile moue him
 To walke this way: I neuer do him wrong,
 But he do's buy my Iniuries, to be Friends:
 Payes deere for my offences
 
    Post. Should we be taking leaue
 As long a terme as yet we haue to liue,
 The loathnesse to depart, would grow: Adieu
 
    Imo. Nay, stay a little:
 Were you but riding forth to ayre your selfe,
 Such parting were too petty. Looke heere (Loue)
 This Diamond was my Mothers; take it (Heart)
 But keepe it till you woo another Wife,
 When Imogen is dead
 
    Post. How, how? Another?
 You gentle Gods, giue me but this I haue,
 And seare vp my embracements from a next,
 With bonds of death. Remaine, remaine thou heere,
 While sense can keepe it on: And sweetest, fairest,
 As I (my poore selfe) did exchange for you
 To your so infinite losse; so in our trifles
 I still winne of you. For my sake weare this,
 It is a Manacle of Loue, Ile place it
 Vpon this fayrest Prisoner
 
    Imo. O the Gods!
 When shall we see againe?
 Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.
 
   Post. Alacke, the King
 
    Cym. Thou basest thing, auoyd hence, from my sight:
 If after this command thou fraught the Court
 With thy vnworthinesse, thou dyest. Away,
 Thou'rt poyson to my blood
 
    Post. The Gods protect you,
 And blesse the good Remainders of the Court:
 I am gone
 
    Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death
 More sharpe then this is
 
    Cym. O disloyall thing,
 That should'st repayre my youth, thou heap'st
 A yeares age on mee
 
    Imo. I beseech you Sir,
 Harme not your selfe with your vexation,
 I am senselesse of your Wrath; a Touch more rare
 Subdues all pangs, all feares
 
    Cym. Past Grace? Obedience?
   Imo. Past hope, and in dispaire, that way past Grace
 
    Cym. That might'st haue had
 The sole Sonne of my Queene
 
    Imo. O blessed, that I might not: I chose an Eagle,
 And did auoyd a Puttocke
 
    Cym. Thou took'st a Begger, would'st haue made my
 Throne, a Seate for basenesse
 
    Imo. No, I rather added a lustre to it
 
    Cym. O thou vilde one!
   Imo. Sir,
 It is your fault that I haue lou'd Posthumus:
 You bred him as my Play-fellow, and he is
 A man, worth any woman: Ouer-buyes mee
 Almost the summe he payes
 
    Cym. What? art thou mad?
   Imo. Almost Sir: Heauen restore me: would I were
 A Neat-heards Daughter, and my Leonatus
 Our Neighbour-Shepheards Sonne.
 Enter Queene.
 
   Cym. Thou foolish thing;
 They were againe together: you haue done
 Not after our command. Away with her,
 And pen her vp
 
    Qu. Beseech your patience: Peace
 Deere Lady daughter, peace. Sweet Soueraigne,
 Leaue vs to our selues, and make your self some comfort
 Out of your best aduice
 
    Cym. Nay, let her languish
 A drop of blood a day, and being aged
 Dye of this Folly.
 Enter.
 
 Enter Pisanio.
 
   Qu. Fye, you must giue way:
 Heere is your Seruant. How now Sir? What newes?
   Pisa. My Lord your Sonne, drew on my Master
 
    Qu. Hah?
 No harme I trust is done?
   Pisa. There might haue beene,
 But that my Master rather plaid, then fought,
 And had no helpe of Anger: they were parted
 By Gentlemen, at hand
 
    Qu. I am very glad on't
 
    Imo. Your Son's my Fathers friend, he takes his part
 To draw vpon an Exile. O braue Sir,
 I would they were in Affricke both together,
 My selfe by with a Needle, that I might pricke
 The goer backe. Why came you from your Master?
   Pisa. On his command: he would not suffer mee
 To bring him to the Hauen: left these Notes
 Of what commands I should be subiect too,
 When't pleas'd you to employ me
 
    Qu. This hath beene
 Your faithfull Seruant: I dare lay mine Honour
 He will remaine so
 
    Pisa. I humbly thanke your Highnesse
 
    Qu. Pray walke a-while
 
    Imo. About some halfe houre hence,
 Pray you speake with me;
 You shall (at least) go see my Lord aboord.
 For this time leaue me.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 
 Scena Tertia.
 
 Enter Clotten, and two Lords.
 
   1. Sir, I would aduise you to shift a Shirt; the Violence
 of Action hath made you reek as a Sacrifice: where
 ayre comes out, ayre comes in: There's none abroad so
 wholesome as that you vent
 
    Clot. If my Shirt were bloody, then to shift it.
 Haue I hurt him?
   2 No faith: not so much as his patience
 
    1 Hurt him? His bodie's a passable Carkasse if he bee
 not hurt. It is a through-fare for Steele if it be not hurt
 
    2 His Steele was in debt, it went o'th' Backe-side the
 Towne
 
    Clot. The Villaine would not stand me
 
    2 No, but he fled forward still, toward your face
 
    1 Stand you? you haue Land enough of your owne:
 But he added to your hauing, gaue you some ground
 
    2 As many Inches, as you haue Oceans (Puppies.)
   Clot. I would they had not come betweene vs
 
    2 So would I, till you had measur'd how long a Foole
 you were vpon the ground
 
    Clot. And that shee should loue this Fellow, and refuse
 mee
 
    2 If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damn'd
 
    1 Sir, as I told you alwayes: her Beauty & her Braine
 go not together. Shee's a good signe, but I haue seene
 small reflection of her wit
 
    2 She shines not vpon Fooles, least the reflection
 Should hurt her
 
    Clot. Come, Ile to my Chamber: would there had
 beene some hurt done
 
    2 I wish not so, vnlesse it had bin the fall of an Asse,
 which is no great hurt
 
    Clot. You'l go with vs?
   1 Ile attend your Lordship
 
    Clot. Nay come, let's go together
 
    2 Well my Lord.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 
 Scena Quarta.
 
 Enter Imogen, and Pisanio.
 
   Imo. I would thou grew'st vnto the shores o'th' Hauen,
 And questioned'st euery Saile: if he should write,
 And I not haue it, 'twere a Paper lost
 As offer'd mercy is: What was the last
 That he spake to thee?
   Pisa. It was his Queene, his Queene
 
    Imo. Then wau'd his Handkerchiefe?
   Pisa. And kist it, Madam
 
    Imo. Senselesse Linnen, happier therein then I:
 And that was all?
   Pisa. No Madam: for so long
 As he could make me with his eye, or eare,
 Distinguish him from others, he did keepe
 The Decke, with Gloue, or Hat, or Handkerchife,
 Still wauing, as the fits and stirres of's mind
 Could best expresse how slow his Soule sayl'd on,
 How swift his Ship
 
    Imo. Thou should'st haue made him
 As little as a Crow, or lesse, ere left
 To after-eye him
 
    Pisa. Madam, so I did
 
    Imo. I would haue broke mine eye-strings;
 Crack'd them, but to looke vpon him, till the diminution
 Of space, had pointed him sharpe as my Needle:
 Nay, followed him, till he had melted from
 The smalnesse of a Gnat, to ayre: and then
 Haue turn'd mine eye, and wept. But good Pisanio,
 When shall we heare from him
 
    Pisa. Be assur'd Madam,
 With his next vantage
 
    Imo. I did not take my leaue of him, but had
 Most pretty things to say: Ere I could tell him
 How I would thinke on him at certaine houres,
 Such thoughts, and such: Or I could make him sweare,
 The Shees of Italy should not betray
 Mine Interest, and his Honour: or haue charg'd him
 At the sixt houre of Morne, at Noone, at Midnight,
 T' encounter me with Orisons, for then
 I am in Heauen for him: Or ere I could,
 Giue him that parting kisse, which I had set
 Betwixt two charming words, comes in my Father,
 And like the Tyrannous breathing of the North,
 Shakes all our buddes from growing.
 Enter a Lady.
 
   La. The Queene (Madam)
 Desires your Highnesse Company
 
    Imo. Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd,
 I will attend the Queene
 
    Pisa. Madam, I shall.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 
 Scena Quinta.
 
 Enter Philario, Iachimo: a Frenchman, a Dutchman, and a
 Spaniard.
 
   Iach. Beleeue it Sir, I haue seene him in Britaine; hee
 was then of a Cressent note, expected to proue so woorthy,
 as since he hath beene allowed the name of. But I
 could then haue look'd on him, without the help of Admiration,
 though the Catalogue of his endowments had
 bin tabled by his side, and I to peruse him by Items
 
    Phil. You speake of him when he was lesse furnish'd,
 then now hee is, with that which makes him both without,
 and within
 
    French. I haue seene him in France: wee had very many
 there, could behold the Sunne, with as firme eyes as
 hee
 
    Iach. This matter of marrying his Kings Daughter,
 wherein he must be weighed rather by her valew, then
 his owne, words him (I doubt not) a great deale from the
 matter
 
    French. And then his banishment
 
    Iach. I, and the approbation of those that weepe this
 lamentable diuorce vnder her colours, are wonderfully
 to extend him, be it but to fortifie her iudgement, which
 else an easie battery might lay flat, for taking a Begger
 without lesse quality. But how comes it, he is to soiourne
 with you? How creepes acquaintance?
   Phil. His Father and I were Souldiers together, to
 whom I haue bin often bound for no lesse then my life.
 Enter Posthumus.
 
 Heere comes the Britaine. Let him be so entertained among'st
 you, as suites with Gentlemen of your knowing,
 to a Stranger of his quality. I beseech you all be better
 knowne to this Gentleman, whom I commend to you,
 as a Noble Friend of mine. How Worthy he is, I will
 leaue to appeare hereafter, rather then story him in his
 owne hearing
 
    French. Sir, we haue knowne togither in Orleance
 
    Post. Since when, I haue bin debtor to you for courtesies,
 which I will be euer to pay, and yet pay still
 
    French. Sir, you o're-rate my poore kindnesse, I was
 glad I did attone my Countryman and you: it had beene
 pitty you should haue beene put together, with so mortall
 a purpose, as then each bore, vpon importance of so
 slight and triuiall a nature
 
    Post. By your pardon Sir, I was then a young Traueller,
 rather shun'd to go euen with what I heard, then in
 my euery action to be guided by others experiences: but
 vpon my mended iudgement (if I offend to say it is mended)
 my Quarrell was not altogether slight
 
    French. Faith yes, to be put to the arbiterment of
 Swords, and by such two, that would by all likelyhood
 haue confounded one the other, or haue falne both
 
    Iach. Can we with manners, aske what was the difference?
   French. Safely, I thinke, 'twas a contention in publicke,
 which may (without contradiction) suffer the report.
 It was much like an argument that fell out last
 night, where each of vs fell in praise of our Country-Mistresses.
 This Gentleman, at that time vouching (and
 vpon warrant of bloody affirmation) his to be more
 Faire, Vertuous, Wise, Chaste, Constant, Qualified, and
 lesse attemptible then any, the rarest of our Ladies in
 Fraunce
 
    Iach. That Lady is not now liuing; or this Gentlemans
 opinion by this, worne out
 
    Post. She holds her Vertue still, and I my mind
 
    Iach. You must not so farre preferre her, 'fore ours of
 Italy
 
    Posth. Being so farre prouok'd as I was in France: I
 would abate her nothing, though I professe my selfe her
 Adorer, not her Friend
 
    Iach. As faire, and as good: a kind of hand in hand
 comparison, had beene something too faire, and too
 good for any Lady in Britanie; if she went before others.
 I haue seene as that Diamond of yours out-lusters many
 I haue beheld, I could not beleeue she excelled many:
 but I haue not seene the most pretious Diamond that is,
 nor you the Lady
 
    Post. I prais'd her, as I rated her: so do I my Stone
 
    Iach. What do you esteeme it at?
   Post. More then the world enioyes
 
    Iach. Either your vnparagon'd Mistris is dead, or
 she's out-priz'd by a trifle
 
    Post. You are mistaken: the one may be solde or giuen,
 or if there were wealth enough for the purchases, or
 merite for the guift. The other is not a thing for sale,
 and onely the guift of the Gods
 
    Iach. Which the Gods haue giuen you?
   Post. Which by their Graces I will keepe
 
    Iach. You may weare her in title yours: but you
 know strange Fowle light vpon neighbouring Ponds.
 Your Ring may be stolne too, so your brace of vnprizeable
 Estimations, the one is but fraile, and the other Casuall;
 A cunning Thiefe, or a (that way) accomplish'd
 Courtier, would hazzard the winning both of first and
 last
 
    Post. Your Italy, containes none so accomplish'd a
 Courtier to conuince the Honour of my Mistris: if in the
 holding or losse of that, you terme her fraile, I do nothing
 doubt you haue store of Theeues, notwithstanding
 I feare not my Ring
 
    Phil. Let vs leaue heere, Gentlemen?
   Post. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy Signior I
 thanke him, makes no stranger of me, we are familiar at
 first
 
    Iach. With fiue times so much conuersation, I should
 get ground of your faire Mistris; make her go backe, euen
 to the yeilding, had I admittance, and opportunitie
 to friend
 
    Post. No, no
 
    Iach. I dare thereupon pawne the moytie of my Estate,
 to your Ring, which in my opinion o're-values it
 something: but I make my wager rather against your
 Confidence, then her Reputation. And to barre your offence
 heerein to, I durst attempt it against any Lady in
 the world
 
    Post. You are a great deale abus'd in too bold a perswasion,
 and I doubt not you sustaine what y'are worthy
 of, by your Attempt
 
    Iach. What's that?
   Posth. A Repulse though your Attempt (as you call
 it) deserue more; a punishment too
 
    Phi. Gentlemen enough of this, it came in too sodainely,
 let it dye as it was borne, and I pray you be better
 acquainted
 
    Iach. Would I had put my Estate, and my Neighbors
 on th' approbation of what I haue spoke
 
    Post. What Lady would you chuse to assaile?
   Iach. Yours, whom in constancie you thinke stands
 so safe. I will lay you ten thousands Duckets to your
 Ring, that commend me to the Court where your Lady
 is, with no more aduantage then the opportunitie of a
 second conference, and I will bring from thence, that
 Honor of hers, which you imagine so reseru'd
 
    Posthmus. I will wage against your Gold, Gold to
 it: My Ring I holde deere as my finger, 'tis part of
 it
 
    Iach. You are a Friend, and there in the wiser: if you
 buy Ladies flesh at a Million a Dram, you cannot preserue
 it from tainting; but I see you haue some Religion
 in you, that you feare
 
    Posthu. This is but a custome in your tongue: you
 beare a grauer purpose I hope
 
    Iach. I am the Master of my speeches, and would vnder-go
 what's spoken, I sweare
 
    Posthu. Will you? I shall but lend my Diamond till
 your returne: let there be Couenants drawne between's.
 My Mistris exceedes in goodnesse, the hugenesse of your
 vnworthy thinking. I dare you to this match: heere's my
 Ring
 
    Phil. I will haue it no lay
 
    Iach. By the Gods it is one: if I bring you no sufficient
 testimony that I haue enioy'd the deerest bodily
 part of your Mistris: my ten thousand Duckets are yours,
 so is your Diamond too: if I come off, and leaue her in
 such honour as you haue trust in; Shee your Iewell, this
 your Iewell, and my Gold are yours: prouided, I haue
 your commendation, for my more free entertainment
 
    Post. I embrace these Conditions, let vs haue Articles
 betwixt vs: onely thus farre you shall answere, if you
 make your voyage vpon her, and giue me directly to vnderstand,
 you haue preuayl'd, I am no further your Enemy,
 shee is not worth our debate. If shee remaine vnseduc'd,
 you not making it appeare otherwise: for your ill
 opinion, and th' assault you haue made to her chastity, you
 shall answer me with your Sword
 
    Iach. Your hand, a Couenant: wee will haue these
 things set downe by lawfull Counsell, and straight away
 for Britaine, least the Bargaine should catch colde, and
 sterue: I will fetch my Gold, and haue our two Wagers
 recorded
 
    Post. Agreed
 
    French. Will this hold, thinke you
 
    Phil. Signior Iachimo will not from it.
 Pray let vs follow 'em.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 Scena Sexta.
 
 Enter Queene, Ladies, and Cornelius.
 
   Qu. Whiles yet the dewe's on ground,
 Gather those Flowers,
 Make haste. Who ha's the note of them?
   Lady. I Madam
 
    Queen. Dispatch.
 
 Exit Ladies.
 
 Now Master Doctor, haue you brought those drugges?
   Cor. Pleaseth your Highnes, I: here they are, Madam:
 But I beseech your Grace, without offence
 (My Conscience bids me aske) wherefore you haue
 Commanded of me these most poysonous Compounds,
 Which are the moouers of a languishing death:
 But though slow, deadly
 
    Qu. I wonder, Doctor,
 Thou ask'st me such a Question: Haue I not bene
 Thy Pupill long? Hast thou not learn'd me how
 To make Perfumes? Distill? Preserue? Yea so,
 That our great King himselfe doth woo me oft
 For my Confections? Hauing thus farre proceeded,
 (Vnlesse thou think'st me diuellish) is't not meete
 That I did amplifie my iudgement in
 Other Conclusions? I will try the forces
 Of these thy Compounds, on such Creatures as
 We count not worth the hanging (but none humane)
 To try the vigour of them, and apply
 Allayments to their Act, and by them gather
 Their seuerall vertues, and effects
 
    Cor. Your Highnesse
 Shall from this practise, but make hard your heart:
 Besides, the seeing these effects will be
 Both noysome, and infectious
 
    Qu. O content thee.
 Enter Pisanio.
 
 Heere comes a flattering Rascall, vpon him
 Will I first worke: Hee's for his Master,
 And enemy to my Sonne. How now Pisanio?
 Doctor, your seruice for this time is ended,
 Take your owne way
 
    Cor. I do suspect you, Madam,
 But you shall do no harme
 
    Qu. Hearke thee, a word
 
    Cor. I do not like her. She doth thinke she ha's
 Strange ling'ring poysons: I do know her spirit,
 And will not trust one of her malice, with
 A drugge of such damn'd Nature. Those she ha's,
 Will stupifie and dull the Sense a-while,
 Which first (perchance) shee'l proue on Cats and Dogs,
 Then afterward vp higher: but there is
 No danger in what shew of death it makes,
 More then the locking vp the Spirits a time,
 To be more fresh, reuiuing. She is fool'd
 With a most false effect: and I, the truer,
 So to be false with her
 
    Qu. No further seruice, Doctor,
 Vntill I send for thee
 
    Cor. I humbly take my leaue.
 Enter.
 
   Qu. Weepes she still (saist thou?)
 Dost thou thinke in time
 She will not quench, and let instructions enter
 Where Folly now possesses? Do thou worke:
 When thou shalt bring me word she loues my Sonne,
 Ile tell thee on the instant, thou art then
 As great as is thy Master: Greater, for
 His Fortunes all lye speechlesse, and his name
 Is at last gaspe. Returne he cannot, nor
 Continue where he is: To shift his being,
 Is to exchange one misery with another,
 And euery day that comes, comes to decay
 A dayes worke in him. What shalt thou expect
 To be depender on a thing that leanes?
 Who cannot be new built, nor ha's no Friends
 So much, as but to prop him? Thou tak'st vp
 Thou know'st not what: But take it for thy labour,
 It is a thing I made, which hath the King
 Fiue times redeem'd from death. I do not know
 What is more Cordiall. Nay, I prythee take it,
 It is an earnest of a farther good
 That I meane to thee. Tell thy Mistris how
 The case stands with her: doo't, as from thy selfe;
 Thinke what a chance thou changest on, but thinke
 Thou hast thy Mistris still, to boote, my Sonne,
 Who shall take notice of thee. Ile moue the King
 To any shape of thy Preferment, such
 As thou'lt desire: and then my selfe, I cheefely,
 That set thee on to this desert, am bound
 To loade thy merit richly. Call my women.
 
 Exit Pisa.
 
 Thinke on my words. A slye, and constant knaue,
 Not to be shak'd: the Agent for his Master,
 And the Remembrancer of her, to hold
 The hand-fast to her Lord. I haue giuen him that,
 Which if he take, shall quite vnpeople her
 Of Leidgers for her Sweete: and which, she after
 Except she bend her humor, shall be assur'd
 To taste of too.
 Enter Pisanio, and Ladies.
 
 So, so: Well done, well done:
 The Violets, Cowslippes, and the Prime-Roses
 Beare to my Closset: Fare thee well, Pisanio.
 Thinke on my words.
 
 Exit Qu. and Ladies
 
   Pisa. And shall do:
 But when to my good Lord, I proue vntrue,
 Ile choake my selfe: there's all Ile do for you.
 Enter.
 
 
 Scena Septima.
 
 Enter Imogen alone.
 
   Imo. A Father cruell, and a Stepdame false,
 A Foolish Suitor to a Wedded-Lady,
 That hath her Husband banish'd: O, that Husband,
 My supreame Crowne of griefe, and those repeated
 Vexations of it. Had I bin Theefe-stolne,
 As my two Brothers, happy: but most miserable
 Is the desires that's glorious. Blessed be those
 How meane so ere, that haue their honest wills,
 Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fye.
 Enter Pisanio, and Iachimo.
 
   Pisa. Madam, a Noble Gentleman of Rome,
 Comes from my Lord with Letters
 
    Iach. Change you, Madam:
 The Worthy Leonatus is in safety,
 And greetes your Highnesse deerely
 
    Imo. Thanks good Sir,
 You're kindly welcome
 
    Iach. All of her, that is out of doore, most rich:
 If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare
 She is alone th' Arabian-Bird; and I
 Haue lost the wager. Boldnesse be my Friend:
 Arme me Audacitie from head to foote,
 Or like the Parthian I shall flying fight,
 Rather directly fly
 
    Imogen reads. He is one of the Noblest note, to whose
 kindnesses I am
 most infinitely
 tied. Reflect vpon him accordingly, as you value your
 trust. Leonatus.
 So farre I reade aloud.
 But euen the very middle of my heart
 Is warm'd by'th' rest, and take it thankefully.
 You are as welcome (worthy Sir) as I
 Haue words to bid you, and shall finde it so
 In all that I can do
 
    Iach. Thankes fairest Lady:
 What are men mad? Hath Nature giuen them eyes
 To see this vaulted Arch, and the rich Crop
 Of Sea and Land, which can distinguish 'twixt
 The firie Orbes aboue, and the twinn'd Stones
 Vpon the number'd Beach, and can we not
 Partition make with Spectacles so pretious
 Twixt faire, and foule?
   Imo. What makes your admiration?
   Iach. It cannot be i'th' eye: for Apes, and Monkeys
 'Twixt two such She's, would chatter this way, and
 Contemne with mowes the other. Nor i'th' iudgment:
 For Idiots in this case of fauour, would
 Be wisely definit: Nor i'th' Appetite.
 Sluttery to such neate Excellence, oppos'd
 Should make desire vomit emptinesse,
 Not so allur'd to feed
 
    Imo. What is the matter trow?
   Iach. The Cloyed will:
 That satiate yet vnsatisfi'd desire, that Tub
 Both fill'd and running: Rauening first the Lambe,
 Longs after for the Garbage
 
    Imo. What, deere Sir,
 Thus rap's you? Are you well?
   Iach. Thanks Madam well: Beseech you Sir,
 Desire my Man's abode, where I did leaue him:
 He's strange and peeuish
 
    Pisa. I was going Sir,
 To giue him welcome.
 Enter.
 
   Imo. Continues well my Lord?
 His health beseech you?
   Iach. Well, Madam
 
    Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope he is
 
    Iach. Exceeding pleasant: none a stranger there,
 So merry, and so gamesome: he is call'd
 The Britaine Reueller
 
    Imo. When he was heere
 He did incline to sadnesse, and oft times
 Not knowing why
 
    Iach. I neuer saw him sad.
 There is a Frenchman his Companion, one
 An eminent Monsieur, that it seemes much loues
 A Gallian-Girle at home. He furnaces
 The thicke sighes from him; whiles the iolly Britaine,
 (Your Lord I meane) laughes from's free lungs: cries oh,
 Can my sides hold, to think that man who knowes
 By History, Report, or his owne proofe
 What woman is, yea what she cannot choose
 But must be: will's free houres languish:
 For assured bondage?
   Imo. Will my Lord say so?
   Iach. I Madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter,
 It is a Recreation to be by
 And heare him mocke the Frenchman:
 But Heauen's know some men are much too blame
 
    Imo. Not he I hope
 
    Iach. Not he:
 But yet Heauen's bounty towards him, might
 Be vs'd more thankfully. In himselfe 'tis much;
 In you, which I account his beyond all Talents.
 Whil'st I am bound to wonder, I am bound
 To pitty too
 
    Imo. What do you pitty Sir?
   Iach. Two Creatures heartyly
 
    Imo. Am I one Sir?
 You looke on me: what wrack discerne you in me
 Deserues your pitty?
   Iach. Lamentable: what
 To hide me from the radiant Sun, and solace
 I'th' Dungeon by a Snuffe
 
    Imo. I pray you Sir,
 Deliuer with more opennesse your answeres
 To my demands. Why do you pitty me?
   Iach. That others do,
 (I was about to say) enioy your- but
 It is an office of the Gods to venge it,
 Not mine to speake on't
 
    Imo. You do seeme to know
 Something of me, or what concernes me; pray you
 Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more
 Then to be sure they do. For Certainties
 Either are past remedies; or timely knowing,
 The remedy then borne. Discouer to me
 What both you spur and stop
 
    Iach. Had I this cheeke
 To bathe my lips vpon: this hand, whose touch,
 (Whose euery touch) would force the Feelers soule
 To'th' oath of loyalty. This obiect, which
 Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
 Fiering it onely heere, should I (damn'd then)
 Slauuer with lippes as common as the stayres
 That mount the Capitoll: Ioyne gripes, with hands
 Made hard with hourely falshood (falshood as
 With labour:) then by peeping in an eye
 Base and illustrious as the smoakie light
 That's fed with stinking Tallow: it were fit
 That all the plagues of Hell should at one time
 Encounter such reuolt
 
    Imo. My Lord, I feare
 Has forgot Brittaine
 
    Iach. And himselfe, not I
 Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce
 The Beggery of his change: but 'tis your Graces
 That from my mutest Conscience, to my tongue,
 Charmes this report out
 
    Imo. Let me heare no more
 
    Iach. O deerest Soule: your Cause doth strike my hart
 With pitty, that doth make me sicke. A Lady
 So faire, and fasten'd to an Emperie
 Would make the great'st King double, to be partner'd
 With Tomboyes hyr'd, with that selfe exhibition
 Which your owne Coffers yeeld: with diseas'd ventures
 That play with all Infirmities for Gold,
 Which rottennesse can lend Nature. Such boyl'd stuffe
 As well might poyson Poyson. Be reueng'd,
 Or she that bore you, was no Queene, and you
 Recoyle from your great Stocke
 
    Imo. Reueng'd:
 How should I be reueng'd? If this be true,
 (As I haue such a Heart, that both mine eares
 Must not in haste abuse) if it be true,
 How should I be reueng'd?
   Iach. Should he make me
 Liue like Diana's Priest, betwixt cold sheets,
 Whiles he is vaulting variable Rampes
 In your despight, vpon your purse: reuenge it.
 I dedicate my selfe to your sweet pleasure,
 More Noble then that runnagate to your bed,
 And will continue fast to your Affection,
 Still close, as sure
 
    Imo. What hoa, Pisanio?
   Iach. Let me my seruice tender on your lippes
 
    Imo. Away, I do condemne mine eares, that haue
 So long attended thee. If thou wert Honourable
 Thou would'st haue told this tale for Vertue, not
 For such an end thou seek'st, as base, as strange:
 Thou wrong'st a Gentleman, who is as farre
 From thy report, as thou from Honor: and
 Solicites heere a Lady, that disdaines
 Thee, and the Diuell alike. What hoa, Pisanio?
 The King my Father shall be made acquainted
 Of thy Assault: if he shall thinke it fit,
 A sawcy Stranger in his Court, to Mart
 As in a Romish Stew, and to expound
 His beastly minde to vs; he hath a Court
 He little cares for, and a Daughter, who
 He not respects at all. What hoa, Pisanio?
   Iach. O happy Leonatus I may say,
 The credit that thy Lady hath of thee
 Deserues thy trust, and thy most perfect goodnesse
 Her assur'd credit. Blessed liue you long,
 A Lady to the worthiest Sir, that euer
 Country call'd his; and you his Mistris, onely
 For the most worthiest fit. Giue me your pardon,
 I haue spoke this to know if your Affiance
 Were deeply rooted, and shall make your Lord,
 That which he is, new o're: And he is one
 The truest manner'd: such a holy Witch,
 That he enchants Societies into him:
 Halfe all men hearts are his
 
    Imo. You make amends
 
    Iach. He sits 'mongst men, like a defended God;
 He hath a kinde of Honor sets him off,
 More then a mortall seeming. Be not angrie
 (Most mighty Princesse) that I haue aduentur'd
 To try your taking of a false report, which hath
 Honour'd with confirmation your great Iudgement,
 In the election of a Sir, so rare,
 Which you know, cannot erre. The loue I beare him,
 Made me to fan you thus, but the Gods made you
 (Vnlike all others) chaffelesse. Pray your pardon
 
    Imo. All's well Sir:
 Take my powre i'th' Court for yours
 
    Iach. My humble thankes: I had almost forgot
 T' intreat your Grace, but in a small request,
 And yet of moment too, for it concernes:
 Your Lord, my selfe, and other Noble Friends
 Are partners in the businesse
 
    Imo. Pray what is't?
   Iach. Some dozen Romanes of vs, and your Lord
 (The best Feather of our wing) haue mingled summes
 To buy a Present for the Emperor:
 Which I (the Factor for the rest) haue done
 In France: 'tis Plate of rare deuice, and Iewels
 Of rich, and exquisite forme, their valewes great,
 And I am something curious, being strange
 To haue them in safe stowage: May it please you
 To take them in protection
 
    Imo. Willingly:
 And pawne mine Honor for their safety, since
 My Lord hath interest in them, I will keepe them
 In my Bed-chamber
 
    Iach. They are in a Trunke
 Attended by my men: I will make bold
 To send them to you, onely for this night:
 I must aboord to morrow
 
    Imo. O no, no
 
    Iach. Yes I beseech: or I shall short my word
 By length'ning my returne. From Gallia,
 I crost the Seas on purpose, and on promise
 To see your Grace
 
    Imo. I thanke you for your paines:
 But not away to morrow
 
    Iach. O I must Madam.
 Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please
 To greet your Lord with writing, doo't to night,
 I haue out-stood my time, which is materiall
 To'th' tender of our Present
 
    Imo. I will write:
 Send your Trunke to me, it shall safe be kept,
 And truely yeelded you: you're very welcome.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 
 Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.
 
 Enter Clotten, and the two Lords.
 
   Clot. Was there euer man had such lucke? when I kist
 the Iacke vpon an vp-cast, to be hit away? I had a hundred
 pound on't: and then a whorson Iacke-an-Apes,
 must take me vp for swearing, as if I borrowed mine
 oathes of him, and might not spend them at my pleasure
 
    1. What got he by that? you haue broke his pate
 with your Bowle
 
    2. If his wit had bin like him that broke it: it would
 haue run all out
 
    Clot. When a Gentleman is dispos'd to sweare: it is
 not for any standers by to curtall his oathes. Ha?
   2. No my Lord; nor crop the eares of them
 
    Clot. Whorson dog: I gaue him satisfaction? would
 he had bin one of my Ranke
 
    2. To haue smell'd like a Foole
 
    Clot. I am not vext more at any thing in th' earth: a
 pox on't I had rather not be so Noble as I am: they dare
 not fight with me, because of the Queene my Mother:
 euery Iacke-Slaue hath his belly full of Fighting,
 and I must go vp and downe like a Cock, that no body
 can match
 
    2. You are Cocke and Capon too, and you crow
 Cock, with your combe on
 
    Clot. Sayest thou?
   2. It is not fit your Lordship should vndertake euery
 Companion, that you giue offence too
 
    Clot. No, I know that: but it is fit I should commit
 offence to my inferiors
 
    2. I, it is fit for your Lordship onely
 
    Clot. Why so I say
 
    1. Did you heere of a Stranger that's come to Court
 night?
   Clot. A Stranger, and I not know on't?
   2. He's a strange Fellow himselfe, and knowes it not
 
    1. There's an Italian come, and 'tis thought one of
 Leonatus Friends
 
    Clot. Leonatus? A banisht Rascall; and he's another,
 whatsoeuer he be. Who told you of this Stranger?
   1. One of your Lordships Pages
 
    Clot. Is it fit I went to looke vpon him? Is there no
 derogation in't?
   2. You cannot derogate my Lord
 
    Clot. Not easily I thinke
 
    2. You are a Foole graunted, therefore your Issues
 being foolish do not derogate
 
    Clot. Come, Ile go see this Italian: what I haue lost
 to day at Bowles, Ile winne to night of him. Come: go
 
    2. Ile attend your Lordship.
 Enter.
 
 That such a craftie Diuell as is his Mother
 Should yeild the world this Asse: A woman, that
 Beares all downe with her Braine, and this her Sonne,
 Cannot take two from twenty for his heart,
 And leaue eighteene. Alas poore Princesse,
 Thou diuine Imogen, what thou endur'st,
 Betwixt a Father by thy Step-dame gouern'd,
 A Mother hourely coyning plots: A Wooer,
 More hatefull then the foule expulsion is
 Of thy deere Husband. Then that horrid Act
 Of the diuorce, heel'd make the Heauens hold firme
 The walls of thy deere Honour. Keepe vnshak'd
 That Temple thy faire mind, that thou maist stand
 T' enioy thy banish'd Lord: and this great Land.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 
 Scena Secunda.
 
 Enter Imogen, in her Bed, and a Lady.
 
   Imo. Who's there? My woman: Helene?
   La. Please you Madam
 
    Imo. What houre is it?
   Lady. Almost midnight, Madam
 
    Imo. I haue read three houres then:
 Mine eyes are weake,
 Fold downe the leafe where I haue left: to bed.
 Take not away the Taper, leaue it burning:
 And if thou canst awake by foure o'th' clock,
 I prythee call me: Sleepe hath ceiz'd me wholly.
 To your protection I commend me, Gods,
 From Fayries, and the Tempters of the night,
 Guard me beseech yee.
 
 Sleepes.
 
 Iachimo from the Trunke.
 
   Iach. The Crickets sing, and mans ore-labor'd sense
 Repaires it selfe by rest: Our Tarquine thus
 Did softly presse the Rushes, ere he waken'd
 The Chastitie he wounded. Cytherea,
 How brauely thou becom'st thy Bed; fresh Lilly,
 And whiter then the Sheetes: that I might touch,
 But kisse, one kisse. Rubies vnparagon'd,
 How deerely they doo't: 'Tis her breathing that
 Perfumes the Chamber thus: the Flame o'th' Taper
 Bowes toward her, and would vnder-peepe her lids.
 To see th' inclosed Lights, now Canopied
 Vnder these windowes, White and Azure lac'd
 With Blew of Heauens owne tinct. But my designe.
 To note the Chamber, I will write all downe,
 Such, and such pictures: There the window, such
 Th' adornement of her Bed; the Arras, Figures,
 Why such, and such: and the Contents o'th' Story.
 Ah, but some naturall notes about her Body,
 Aboue ten thousand meaner Moueables
 Would testifie, t' enrich mine Inuentorie.
 O sleepe, thou Ape of death, lye dull vpon her,
 And be her Sense but as a Monument,
 Thus in a Chappell lying. Come off, come off;
 As slippery as the Gordian-knot was hard.
 'Tis mine, and this will witnesse outwardly,
 As strongly as the Conscience do's within:
 To'th' madding of her Lord. On her left brest
 A mole Cinque-spotted: Like the Crimson drops
 I'th' bottome of a Cowslippe. Heere's a Voucher,
 Stronger then euer Law could make; this Secret
 Will force him thinke I haue pick'd the lock, and t'ane
 The treasure of her Honour. No more: to what end?
 Why should I write this downe, that's riueted,
 Screw'd to my memorie. She hath bin reading late,
 The Tale of Tereus, heere the leaffe's turn'd downe
 Where Philomele gaue vp. I haue enough,
 To'th' Truncke againe, and shut the spring of it.
 Swift, swift, you Dragons of the night, that dawning
 May beare the Rauens eye: I lodge in feare,
 Though this a heauenly Angell: hell is heere.
 
 Clocke strikes
 
 One, two, three: time, time.
 Enter.
 
 
 Scena Tertia.
 
 Enter Clotten, and Lords.
 
   1. Your Lordship is the most patient man in losse, the
 most coldest that euer turn'd vp Ace
 
    Clot. It would make any man cold to loose
 
    1. But not euery man patient after the noble temper
 of your Lordship; You are most hot, and furious when
 you winne.
 Winning will put any man into courage: if I could get
 this foolish Imogen, I should haue Gold enough: it's almost
 morning, is't not?
   1 Day, my Lord
 
    Clot. I would this Musicke would come: I am aduised
 to giue her Musicke a mornings, they say it will penetrate.
 Enter Musitians.
 
 Come on, tune: If you can penetrate her with your fingering,
 so: wee'l try with tongue too: if none will do, let
 her remaine: but Ile neuer giue o're. First, a very excellent
 good conceyted thing; after a wonderful sweet aire,
 with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consider.
 
 SONG.
 
 Hearke, hearke, the Larke at Heauens gate sings,
 and Phoebus gins arise,
 His Steeds to water at those Springs
 on chalic'd Flowres that lyes:
 And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their Golden eyes
 With euery thing that pretty is, my Lady sweet arise:
 Arise, arise.
 So, get you gone: if this penetrate, I will consider your
 Musicke the better: if it do not, it is a voyce in her eares
 which Horse-haires, and Calues-guts, nor the voyce of
 vnpaued Eunuch to boot, can neuer amend.
 Enter Cymbaline, and Queene.
 
   2 Heere comes the King
 
    Clot. I am glad I was vp so late, for that's the reason
 I was vp so earely: he cannot choose but take this Seruice
 I haue done, fatherly. Good morrow to your Maiesty,
 and to my gracious Mother
 
    Cym. Attend you here the doore of our stern daughter
 Will she not forth?
   Clot. I haue assayl'd her with Musickes, but she vouchsafes
 no notice
 
    Cym. The Exile of her Minion is too new,
 She hath not yet forgot him, some more time
 Must weare the print of his remembrance on't,
 And then she's yours
 
    Qu. You are most bound to'th' King,
 Who let's go by no vantages, that may
 Preferre you to his daughter: Frame your selfe
 To orderly solicity, and be friended
 With aptnesse of the season: make denials
 Encrease your Seruices: so seeme, as if
 You were inspir'd to do those duties which
 You tender to her: that you in all obey her,
 Saue when command to your dismission tends,
 And therein you are senselesse
 
    Clot. Senselesse? Not so
 
    Mes. So like you (Sir) Ambassadors from Rome;
 The one is Caius Lucius
 
    Cym. A worthy Fellow,
 Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
 But that's no fault of his: we must receyue him
 According to the Honor of his Sender,
 And towards himselfe, his goodnesse fore-spent on vs
 We must extend our notice: Our deere Sonne,
 When you haue giuen good morning to your Mistris,
 Attend the Queene, and vs, we shall haue neede
 T' employ you towards this Romane.
 Come our Queene.
 
 Exeunt.
 
   Clot. If she be vp, Ile speake with her: if not
 Let her lye still, and dreame: by your leaue hoa,
 I know her women are about her: what
 If I do line one of their hands, 'tis Gold
 Which buyes admittance (oft it doth) yea, and makes
 Diana's Rangers false themselues, yeeld vp
 Their Deere to'th' stand o'th' Stealer: and 'tis Gold
 Which makes the True-man kill'd, and saues the Theefe:
 Nay, sometime hangs both Theefe, and True-man: what
 Can it not do, and vndoo? I will make
 One of her women Lawyer to me, for
 I yet not vnderstand the case my selfe.
 By your leaue.
 
 Knockes.
 
 Enter a Lady.
 
   La. Who's there that knockes?
   Clot. A Gentleman
 
    La. No more
 
    Clot. Yes, and a Gentlewomans Sonne
 
    La. That's more
 Then some whose Taylors are as deere as yours,
 Can iustly boast of: what's your Lordships pleasure?
   Clot. Your Ladies person, is she ready?
   La. I, to keepe her Chamber
 
    Clot. There is Gold for you,
 Sell me your good report
 
    La. How, my good name? or to report of you
 What I shall thinke is good. The Princesse.
 Enter Imogen.
 
   Clot. Good morrow fairest, Sister your sweet hand
 
    Imo. Good morrow Sir, you lay out too much paines
 For purchasing but trouble: the thankes I giue,
 Is telling you that I am poore of thankes,
 And scarse can spare them
 
    Clot. Still I sweare I loue you
 
    Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deepe with me:
 If you sweare still, your recompence is still
 That I regard it not
 
    Clot. This is no answer
 
    Imo. But that you shall not say, I yeeld being silent,
 I would not speake. I pray you spare me, 'faith
 I shall vnfold equall discourtesie
 To your best kindnesse: one of your great knowing
 Should learne (being taught) forbearance
 
    Clot. To leaue you in your madnesse, 'twere my sin,
 I will not
 
    Imo. Fooles are not mad Folkes
 
    Clot. Do you call me Foole?
   Imo. As I am mad I do:
 If you'l be patient, Ile no more be mad,
 That cures vs both. I am much sorry (Sir)
 You put me to forget a Ladies manners
 By being so verball: and learne now, for all,
 That I which know my heart, do heere pronounce
 By th' very truth of it, I care not for you,
 And am so neere the lacke of Charitie
 To accuse my selfe, I hate you: which I had rather
 You felt, then make't my boast
 
    Clot. You sinne against
 Obedience, which you owe your Father, for
 The Contract you pretend with that base Wretch,
 One, bred of Almes, and foster'd with cold dishes,
 With scraps o'th' Court: It is no Contract, none;
 And though it be allowed in meaner parties
 (Yet who then he more meane) to knit their soules
 (On whom there is no more dependancie
 But Brats and Beggery) in selfe-figur'd knot,
 Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement, by
 The consequence o'th' Crowne, and must not foyle
 The precious note of it; with a base Slaue,
 A Hilding for a Liuorie, a Squires Cloth,
 A Pantler; not so eminent
 
    Imo. Prophane Fellow:
 Wert thou the Sonne of Iupiter, and no more,
 But what thou art besides: thou wer't too base,
 To be his Groome: thou wer't dignified enough
 Euen to the point of Enuie. If 'twere made
 Comparatiue for your Vertues, to be stil'd
 The vnder Hangman of his Kingdome; and hated
 For being prefer'd so well
 
    Clot. The South-Fog rot him
 
    Imo. He neuer can meete more mischance, then come
 To be but nam'd of thee. His mean'st Garment
 That euer hath but clipt his body; is dearer
 In my respect, then all the Heires aboue thee,
 Were they all made such men: How now Pisanio?
 Enter Pisanio.
 
   Clot. His Garments? Now the diuell
 
    Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently
 
    Clot. His Garment?
   Imo. I am sprighted with a Foole,
 Frighted, and angred worse: Go bid my woman
 Search for a Iewell, that too casually
 Hath left mine Arme: it was thy Masters. Shrew me
 If I would loose it for a Reuenew,
 Of any Kings in Europe. I do think,
 I saw't this morning: Confident I am.
 Last night 'twas on mine Arme; I kiss'd it,
 I hope it be not gone, to tell my Lord
 That I kisse aught but he
 
    Pis. 'Twill not be lost
 
    Imo. I hope so: go and search
 
    Clot. You haue abus'd me:
 His meanest Garment?
   Imo. I, I said so Sir,
 If you will make't an Action, call witnesse to't
 
    Clot. I will enforme your Father
 
    Imo. Your Mother too:
 She's my good Lady; and will concieue, I hope
 But the worst of me. So I leaue you Sir,
 To'th' worst of discontent.
 Enter.
 
   Clot. Ile be reueng'd:
 His mean'st Garment? Well.
 Enter.
 
 
 Scena Quarta.
 
 Enter Posthumus, and Philario.
 
   Post. Feare it not Sir: I would I were so sure
 To winne the King, as I am bold, her Honour
 Will remaine her's
 
    Phil. What meanes do you make to him?
   Post. Not any: but abide the change of Time,
 Quake in the present winters state, and wish
 That warmer dayes would come: In these fear'd hope
 I barely gratifie your loue; they fayling
 I must die much your debtor
 
    Phil. Your very goodnesse, and your company,
 Ore-payes all I can do. By this your King,
 Hath heard of Great Augustus: Caius Lucius,
 Will do's Commission throughly. And I think
 Hee'le grant the Tribute: send th' Arrerages,
 Or looke vpon our Romaines, whose remembrance
 Is yet fresh in their griefe
 
    Post. I do beleeue
 (Statist though I am none, nor like to be)
 That this will proue a Warre; and you shall heare
 The Legion now in Gallia, sooner landed
 In our not-fearing-Britaine, then haue tydings
 Of any penny Tribute paid. Our Countrymen
 Are men more order'd, then when Iulius Caesar
 Smil'd at their lacke of skill, but found their courage
 Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline,
 (Now wing-led with their courages) will make knowne
 To their Approuers, they are People, such
 That mend vpon the world.
 Enter Iachimo.
 
   Phi. See Iachimo
 
    Post. The swiftest Harts, haue posted you by land;
 And Windes of all the Corners kiss'd your Sailes,
 To make your vessell nimble
 
    Phil. Welcome Sir
 
    Post. I hope the briefenesse of your answere, made
 The speedinesse of your returne
 
    Iachi. Your Lady,
 Is one of the fayrest that I haue look'd vpon
   Post. And therewithall the best, or let her beauty
 Looke thorough a Casement to allure false hearts,
 And be false with them
 
    Iachi. Heere are Letters for you
 
    Post. Their tenure good I trust
 
    Iach. 'Tis very like
 
    Post. Was Caius Lucius in the Britaine Court,
 When you were there?
   Iach. He was expected then,
 But not approach'd
 
    Post. All is well yet,
 Sparkles this Stone as it was wont, or is't not
 Too dull for your good wearing?
   Iach. If I haue lost it,
 I should haue lost the worth of it in Gold,
 Ile make a iourney twice as farre, t' enioy
 A second night of such sweet shortnesse, which
 Was mine in Britaine, for the Ring is wonne
 
    Post. The Stones too hard to come by
 
    Iach. Not a whit,
 Your Lady being so easy
 
    Post. Make note Sir
 Your losse, your Sport: I hope you know that we
 Must not continue Friends
 
    Iach. Good Sir, we must
 If you keepe Couenant: had I not brought
 The knowledge of your Mistris home, I grant
 We were to question farther; but I now
 Professe my selfe the winner of her Honor,
 Together with your Ring; and not the wronger
 Of her, or you hauing proceeded but
 By both your willes
 
    Post. If you can mak't apparant
 That you haue tasted her in Bed; my hand,
 And Ring is yours. If not, the foule opinion
 You had of her pure Honour; gaines, or looses,
 Your Sword, or mine, or Masterlesse leaue both
 To who shall finde them
 
    Iach. Sir, my Circumstances
 Being so nere the Truth, as I will make them,
 Must first induce you to beleeue; whose strength
 I will confirme with oath, which I doubt not
 You'l giue me leaue to spare, when you shall finde
 You neede it not
 
    Post. Proceed
 
    Iach. First, her Bed-chamber
 (Where I confesse I slept not, but professe
 Had that was well worth watching) it was hang'd
 With Tapistry of Silke, and Siluer, the Story
 Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
 And Sidnus swell'd aboue the Bankes, or for
 The presse of Boates, or Pride. A peece of Worke
 So brauely done, so rich, that it did striue
 In Workemanship, and Value, which I wonder'd
 Could be so rarely, and exactly wrought
 Since the true life on't was-
   Post. This is true:
 And this you might haue heard of heere, by me,
 Or by some other
 
    Iach. More particulars
 Must iustifie my knowledge
 
    Post. So they must,
 Or doe your Honour iniury
 
    Iach. The Chimney
 Is South the Chamber, and the Chimney-peece
 Chaste Dian, bathing: neuer saw I figures
 So likely to report themselues; the Cutter
 Was as another Nature dumbe, out-went her,
 Motion, and Breath left out
 
    Post. This is a thing
 Which you might from Relation likewise reape,
 Being, as it is, much spoke of
 
    Iach. The Roofe o'th' Chamber,
 With golden Cherubins is fretted. Her Andirons
 (I had forgot them) were two winking Cupids
 Of Siluer, each on one foote standing, nicely
 Depending on their Brands
 
    Post. This is her Honor:
 Let it be granted you haue seene all this (and praise
 Be giuen to your remembrance) the description
 Of what is in her Chamber, nothing saues
 The wager you haue laid
 
    Iach. Then if you can
 Be pale, I begge but leaue to ayre this Iewell: See,
 And now 'tis vp againe: it must be married
 To that your Diamond, Ile keepe them
 
    Post. Ioue-
 Once more let me behold it: Is it that
 Which I left with her?
   Iach. Sir (I thanke her) that
 She stript it from her Arme: I see her yet:
 Her pretty Action, did out-sell her guift,
 And yet enrich'd it too: she gaue it me,
 And said, she priz'd it once
 
    Post. May be, she pluck'd it off
 To send it me
 
    Iach. She writes so to you? doth shee?
   Post. O no, no, no, 'tis true. Heere, take this too,
 It is a Basiliske vnto mine eye,
 Killes me to looke on't: Let there be no Honor,
 Where there is Beauty: Truth, where semblance: Loue,
 Where there's another man. The Vowes of Women,
 Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,
 Then they are to their Vertues, which is nothing:
 O, aboue measure false
 
    Phil. Haue patience Sir,
 And take your Ring againe, 'tis not yet wonne:
 It may be probable she lost it: or
 Who knowes if one her women, being corrupted
 Hath stolne it from her
 
    Post. Very true,
 And so I hope he came by't: backe my Ring,
 Render to me some corporall signe about her
 More euident then this: for this was stolne
 
    Iach. By Iupiter, I had it from her Arme
 
    Post. Hearke you, he sweares: by Iupiter he sweares.
 'Tis true, nay keepe the Ring; 'tis true: I am sure
 She would not loose it: her Attendants are
 All sworne, and honourable: they induc'd to steale it?
 And by a Stranger? No, he hath enioy'd her,
 The Cognisance of her incontinencie
 Is this: she hath bought the name of Whore, thus deerly
 There, take thy hyre, and all the Fiends of Hell
 Diuide themselues betweene you
 
    Phil. Sir, be patient:
 This is not strong enough to be beleeu'd
 Of one perswaded well of
 
    Post. Neuer talke on't:
 She hath bin colted by him
 
    Iach. If you seeke
 For further satisfying, vnder her Breast
 (Worthy her pressing) lyes a Mole, right proud
 Of that most delicate Lodging. By my life
 I kist it, and it gaue me present hunger
 To feede againe, though full. You do remember
 This staine vpon her?
   Post. I, and it doth confirme
 Another staine, as bigge as Hell can hold,
 Were there no more but it
 
    Iach. Will you heare more?
   Post. Spare your Arethmaticke,
 Neuer count the Turnes: Once, and a Million
 
    Iach. Ile be sworne
 
    Post. No swearing:
 If you will sweare you haue not done't, you lye,
 And I will kill thee, if thou do'st deny
 Thou'st made me Cuckold
 
    Iach. Ile deny nothing
 
    Post. O that I had her heere, to teare her Limb-meale:
 I will go there and doo't, i'th' Court, before
 Her Father. Ile do something.
 Enter.
 
   Phil. Quite besides
 The gouernment of Patience. You haue wonne:
 Let's follow him, and peruert the present wrath
 He hath against himselfe
 
    Iach. With all my heart.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 Enter Posthumus.
 
   Post. Is there no way for Men to be, but Women
 Must be halfe-workers? We are all Bastards,
 And that most venerable man, which I
 Did call my Father, was, I know not where
 When I was stampt. Some Coyner with his Tooles
 Made me a counterfeit: yet my Mother seem'd
 The Dian of that time: so doth my Wife
 The Non-pareill of this. Oh Vengeance, Vengeance!
 Me of my lawfull pleasure she restrain'd,
 And pray'd me oft forbearance: did it with
 A pudencie so Rosie, the sweet view on't
 Might well haue warm'd olde Saturne;
 That I thought her
 As Chaste, as vn-Sunn'd Snow. Oh, all the Diuels!
 This yellow Iachimo in an houre, was't not?
 Or lesse; at first? Perchance he spoke not, but
 Like a full Acorn'd Boare, a Iarmen on,
 Cry'de oh, and mounted; found no opposition
 But what he look'd for, should oppose, and she
 Should from encounter guard. Could I finde out
 The Womans part in me, for there's no motion
 That tends to vice in man, but I affirme
 It is the Womans part: be it Lying, note it,
 The womans: Flattering, hers; Deceiuing, hers:
 Lust, and ranke thoughts, hers, hers: Reuenges hers:
 Ambitions, Couetings, change of Prides, Disdaine,
 Nice-longing, Slanders, Mutability;
 All Faults that name, nay, that Hell knowes,
 Why hers, in part, or all: but rather all. For euen to Vice
 They are not constant, but are changing still;
 One Vice, but of a minute old, for one
 Not halfe so old as that. Ile write against them,
 Detest them, curse them: yet 'tis greater Skill
 In a true Hate, to pray they haue their will:
 The very Diuels cannot plague them better.
 Enter.
 
 
 Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.
 
 Enter in State, Cymbeline, Queene, Clotten, and Lords at one
 doore, and at
 another, Caius, Lucius; and Attendants.
 
   Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with vs?
   Luc. When Iulius Caesar (whose remembrance yet
 Liues in mens eyes, and will to Eares and Tongues
 Be Theame, and hearing euer) was in this Britain,
 And Conquer'd it, Cassibulan thine Vnkle
 (Famous in Caesars prayses, no whit lesse
 Then in his Feats deseruing it) for him,
 And his Succession, granted Rome a Tribute,
 Yeerely three thousand pounds; which (by thee) lately
 Is left vntender'd
 
    Qu. And to kill the meruaile,
 Shall be so euer
 
    Clot. There be many Caesars,
 Ere such another Iulius: Britaine's a world
 By it selfe, and we will nothing pay
 For wearing our owne Noses
 
    Qu. That opportunity
 Which then they had to take from's, to resume
 We haue againe. Remember Sir, my Liege,
 The Kings your Ancestors, together with
 The naturall brauery of your Isle, which stands
 As Neptunes Parke, ribb'd, and pal'd in
 With Oakes vnskaleable, and roaring Waters,
 With Sands that will not beare your Enemies Boates,
 But sucke them vp to'th' Top-mast. A kinde of Conquest
 Caesar made heere, but made not heere his bragge
 Of Came, and Saw, and Ouer-came: with shame
 (The first that euer touch'd him) he was carried
 From off our Coast, twice beaten: and his Shipping
 (Poore ignorant Baubles) on our terrible Seas
 Like Egge-shels mou'd vpon their Surges, crack'd
 As easily 'gainst our Rockes. For ioy whereof,
 The fam'd Cassibulan, who was once at point
 (Oh giglet Fortune) to master Caesars Sword,
 Made Luds-Towne with reioycing-Fires bright,
 And Britaines strut with Courage
 
    Clot. Come, there's no more Tribute to be paid: our
 Kingdome is stronger then it was at that time: and (as I
 said) there is no mo such Caesars, other of them may haue
 crook'd Noses, but to owe such straite Armes, none
 
    Cym. Son, let your Mother end
 
    Clot. We haue yet many among vs, can gripe as hard
 as Cassibulan, I doe not say I am one: but I haue a hand.
 Why Tribute? Why should we pay Tribute? If Caesar
 can hide the Sun from vs with a Blanket, or put the Moon
 in his pocket, we will pay him Tribute for light: else Sir,
 no more Tribute, pray you now
 
    Cym. You must know,
 Till the iniurious Romans, did extort
 This Tribute from vs, we were free. Caesars Ambition,
 Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretch
 The sides o'th' World, against all colour heere,
 Did put the yoake vpon's; which to shake off
 Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
 Our selues to be, we do. Say then to Caesar,
 Our Ancestor was that Mulmutius, which
 Ordain'd our Lawes, whose vse the Sword of Caesar
 Hath too much mangled; whose repayre, and franchise,
 Shall (by the power we hold) be our good deed,
 Tho Rome be therfore angry. Mulmutius made our lawes
 Who was the first of Britaine, which did put
 His browes within a golden Crowne, and call'd
 Himselfe a King
 
    Luc. I am sorry Cymbeline,
 That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar
 (Caesar, that hath moe Kings his Seruants, then
 Thy selfe Domesticke Officers) thine Enemy:
 Receyue it from me then. Warre, and Confusion
 In Caesars name pronounce I 'gainst thee: Looke
 For fury, not to be resisted. Thus defide,
 I thanke thee for my selfe
 
    Cym. Thou art welcome Caius,
 Thy Caesar Knighted me; my youth I spent
 Much vnder him; of him, I gather'd Honour,
 Which he, to seeke of me againe, perforce,
 Behooues me keepe at vtterance. I am perfect,
 That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for
 Their Liberties are now in Armes: a President
 Which not to reade, would shew the Britaines cold:
 So Caesar shall not finde them
 
    Luc. Let proofe speake
 
    Clot. His Maiesty biddes you welcome. Make pastime
 with vs, a day, or two, or longer: if you seek vs afterwards
 in other tearmes, you shall finde vs in our Saltwater-Girdle:
 if you beate vs out of it, it is yours: if you
 fall in the aduenture, our Crowes shall fare the better for
 you: and there's an end
 
    Luc. So sir
 
    Cym. I know your Masters pleasure, and he mine:
 All the Remaine, is welcome.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 
 Scena Secunda.
 
 Enter Pisanio reading of a Letter.
 
   Pis. How? of Adultery? Wherefore write you not
 What Monsters her accuse? Leonatus:
 Oh Master, what a strange infection
 Is falne into thy eare? What false Italian,
 (As poysonous tongu'd, as handed) hath preuail'd
 On thy too ready hearing? Disloyall? No.
 She's punish'd for her Truth; and vndergoes
 More Goddesse-like, then Wife-like; such Assaults
 As would take in some Vertue. Oh my Master,
 Thy mind to her, is now as lowe, as were
 Thy Fortunes. How? That I should murther her,
 Vpon the Loue, and Truth, and Vowes; which I
 Haue made to thy command? I her? Her blood?
 If it be so, to do good seruice, neuer
 Let me be counted seruiceable. How looke I,
 That I should seeme to lacke humanity,
 So much as this Fact comes to? Doo't: The Letter.
 That I haue sent her, by her owne command,
 Shall giue thee opportunitie. Oh damn'd paper,
 Blacke as the Inke that's on thee: senselesse bauble,
 Art thou a Foedarie for this Act; and look'st
 So Virgin-like without? Loe here she comes.
 Enter Imogen.
 
 I am ignorant in what I am commanded
 
    Imo. How now Pisanio?
   Pis. Madam, heere is a Letter from my Lord
 
    Imo. Who, thy Lord? That is my Lord Leonatus?
 Oh, learn'd indeed were that Astronomer
 That knew the Starres, as I his Characters,
 Heel'd lay the Future open. You good Gods,
 Let what is heere contain'd, rellish of Loue,
 Of my Lords health, of his content: yet not
 That we two are asunder, let that grieue him;
 Some griefes are medcinable, that is one of them,
 For it doth physicke Loue, of his content,
 All but in that. Good Wax, thy leaue: blest be
 You Bees that make these Lockes of counsaile. Louers,
 And men in dangerous Bondes pray not alike,
 Though Forfeytours you cast in prison, yet
 You claspe young Cupids Tables: good Newes Gods.
 Iustice and your Fathers wrath (should he take me in his
 Dominion) could not be so cruell to me, as you: (oh the deerest
 of Creatures) would euen renew me with your eyes. Take
 notice that I am in Cambria at Milford-Hauen: what your
 owne Loue, will out of this aduise you, follow. So he wishes you
 all happinesse, that remaines loyall to his Vow, and your
 encreasing
 in Loue. Leonatus Posthumus.
 Oh for a Horse with wings: Hear'st thou Pisanio?
 He is at Milford-Hauen: Read, and tell me
 How farre 'tis thither. If one of meane affaires
 May plod it in a weeke, why may not I
 Glide thither in a day? Then true Pisanio,
 Who long'st like me, to see thy Lord; who long'st
 (Oh let me bate) but not like me: yet long'st
 But in a fainter kinde. Oh not like me:
 For mine's beyond, beyond: say, and speake thicke
 (Loues Counsailor should fill the bores of hearing,
 To'th' smothering of the Sense) how farre it is
 To this same blessed Milford. And by'th' way
 Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as
 T' inherite such a Hauen. But first of all,
 How we may steale from hence: and for the gap
 That we shall make in Time, from our hence-going,
 And our returne, to excuse: but first, how get hence.
 Why should excuse be borne or ere begot?
 Weele talke of that heereafter. Prythee speake,
 How many store of Miles may we well rid
 Twixt houre, and houre?
   Pis. One score 'twixt Sun, and Sun,
 Madam's enough for you: and too much too
 
    Imo. Why, one that rode to's Execution Man,
 Could neuer go so slow: I haue heard of Riding wagers,
 Where Horses haue bin nimbler then the Sands
 That run i'th' Clocks behalfe. But this is Foolrie,
 Go, bid my Woman faigne a Sicknesse, say
 She'le home to her Father; and prouide me presently
 A Riding Suit: No costlier then would fit
 A Franklins Huswife
 
    Pisa. Madam, you're best consider
 
    Imo. I see before me (Man) nor heere, nor heere;
 Nor what ensues but haue a Fog in them
 That I cannot looke through. Away, I prythee,
 Do as I bid thee: There's no more to say:
 Accessible is none but Milford way.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 
 Scena Tertia.
 
 Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Aruiragus.
 
   Bel. A goodly day, not to keepe house with such,
 Whose Roofe's as lowe as ours: Sleepe Boyes, this gate
 Instructs you how t' adore the Heauens; and bowes you
 To a mornings holy office. The Gates of Monarches
 Are Arch'd so high, that Giants may iet through
 And keepe their impious Turbonds on, without
 Good morrow to the Sun. Haile thou faire Heauen,
 We house i'th' Rocke, yet vse thee not so hardly
 As prouder liuers do
 
    Guid. Haile Heauen
 
    Aruir. Haile Heauen
 
    Bela. Now for our Mountaine sport, vp to yond hill
 Your legges are yong: Ile tread these Flats. Consider,
 When you aboue perceiue me like a Crow,
 That it is Place, which lessen's, and sets off,
 And you may then reuolue what Tales, I haue told you,
 Of Courts, of Princes; of the Tricks in Warre.
 This Seruice, is not Seruice; so being done,
 But being so allowed. To apprehend thus,
 Drawes vs a profit from all things we see:
 And often to our comfort, shall we finde
 The sharded-Beetle, in a safer hold
 Then is the full-wing'd Eagle. Oh this life,
 Is Nobler, then attending for a checke:
 Richer, then doing nothing for a Babe:
 Prouder, then rustling in vnpayd-for Silke:
 Such gaine the Cap of him, that makes him fine,
 Yet keepes his Booke vncros'd: no life to ours
 
    Gui. Out of your proofe you speak: we poore vnfledg'd
 Haue neuer wing'd from view o'th' nest; nor knowes not
 What Ayre's from home. Hap'ly this life is best,
 (If quiet life be best) sweeter to you
 That haue a sharper knowne. Well corresponding
 With your stiffe Age; but vnto vs, it is
 A Cell of Ignorance: trauailing a bed,
 A Prison, or a Debtor, that not dares
 To stride a limit
 
    Arui. What should we speake of
 When we are old as you? When we shall heare
 The Raine and winde beate darke December? How
 In this our pinching Caue, shall we discourse
 The freezing houres away? We haue seene nothing:
 We are beastly; subtle as the Fox for prey,
 Like warlike as the Wolfe, for what we eate:
 Our Valour is to chace what flyes: Our Cage
 We make a Quire, as doth the prison'd Bird,
 And sing our Bondage freely
 
    Bel. How you speake.
 Did you but know the Citties Vsuries,
 And felt them knowingly: the Art o'th' Court,
 As hard to leaue, as keepe: whose top to climbe
 Is certaine falling: or so slipp'ry, that
 The feare's as bad as falling. The toyle o'th' Warre,
 A paine that onely seemes to seeke out danger
 I'th' name of Fame, and Honor, which dyes i'th' search,
 And hath as oft a sland'rous Epitaph,
 As Record of faire Act. Nay, many times
 Doth ill deserue, by doing well: what's worse
 Must curt'sie at the Censure. Oh Boyes, this Storie
 The World may reade in me: My bodie's mark'd
 With Roman Swords; and my report, was once
 First, with the best of Note. Cymbeline lou'd me,
 And when a Souldier was the Theame, my name
 Was not farre off: then was I as a Tree
 Whose boughes did bend with fruit. But in one night,
 A Storme, or Robbery (call it what you will)
 Shooke downe my mellow hangings: nay my Leaues,
 And left me bare to weather
 
    Gui. Vncertaine fauour
 
    Bel. My fault being nothing (as I haue told you oft)
 But that two Villaines, whose false Oathes preuayl'd
 Before my perfect Honor, swore to Cymbeline,
 I was Confederate with the Romanes: so
 Followed my Banishment, and this twenty yeeres,
 This Rocke, and these Demesnes, haue bene my World,
 Where I haue liu'd at honest freedome, payed
 More pious debts to Heauen, then in all
 The fore-end of my time. But, vp to'th' Mountaines,
 This is not Hunters Language; he that strikes
 The Venison first, shall be the Lord o'th' Feast,
 To him the other two shall minister,
 And we will feare no poyson, which attends
 In place of greater State:
 Ile meete you in the Valleyes.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 How hard it is to hide the sparkes of Nature?
 These Boyes know little they are Sonnes to'th' King,
 Nor Cymbeline dreames that they are aliue.
 They thinke they are mine,
 And though train'd vp thus meanely
 I'th' Caue, whereon the Bowe their thoughts do hit,
 The Roofes of Palaces, and Nature prompts them
 In simple and lowe things, to Prince it, much
 Beyond the tricke of others. This Paladour,
 The heyre of Cymbeline and Britaine, who
 The King his Father call'd Guiderius. Ioue,
 When on my three-foot stoole I sit, and tell
 The warlike feats I haue done, his spirits flye out
 Into my Story: say thus mine Enemy fell,
 And thus I set my foote on's necke, euen then
 The Princely blood flowes in his Cheeke, he sweats,
 Straines his yong Nerues, and puts himselfe in posture
 That acts my words. The yonger Brother Cadwall,
 Once Aruiragus, in as like a figure
 Strikes life into my speech, and shewes much more
 His owne conceyuing. Hearke, the Game is rows'd,
 Oh Cymbeline, Heauen and my Conscience knowes
 Thou didd'st vniustly banish me: whereon
 At three, and two yeeres old, I stole these Babes,
 Thinking to barre thee of Succession, as
 Thou refts me of my Lands. Euriphile,
 Thou was't their Nurse, they took thee for their mother,
 And euery day do honor to her graue:
 My selfe Belarius, that am Mergan call'd
 They take for Naturall Father. The Game is vp.
 Enter.
 
 
 Scena Quarta.
 
 Enter Pisanio and Imogen.
 
   Imo. Thou told'st me when we came fro[m] horse, y place
 Was neere at hand: Ne're long'd my Mother so
 To see me first, as I haue now. Pisanio, Man:
 Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind
 That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh
 From th' inward of thee? One, but painted thus
 Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
 Beyond selfe-explication. Put thy selfe
 Into a hauiour of lesse feare, ere wildnesse
 Vanquish my stayder Senses. What's the matter?
 Why render'st thou that Paper to me, with
 A looke vntender? If't be Summer Newes
 Smile too't before: if Winterly, thou need'st
 But keepe that count'nance stil. My Husbands hand?
 That Drug-damn'd Italy, hath out-craftied him,
 And hee's at some hard point. Speake man, thy Tongue
 May take off some extreamitie, which to reade
 Would be euen mortall to me
 
    Pis. Please you reade,
 And you shall finde me (wretched man) a thing
 The most disdain'd of Fortune
 
    Imogen reades. Thy Mistris (Pisanio) hath plaide the Strumpet in
 my
 Bed: the Testimonies whereof, lyes bleeding in me. I speak
 not out of weake Surmises, but from proofe as strong as my
 greefe, and as certaine as I expect my Reuenge. That part, thou
 (Pisanio) must acte for me, if thy Faith be not tainted with the
 breach of hers; let thine owne hands take away her life: I shall
 giue thee opportunity at Milford Hauen. She hath my Letter
 for the purpose; where, if thou feare to strike, and to make mee
 certaine it is done, thou art the Pander to her dishonour, and
 equally to me disloyall
 
    Pis. What shall I need to draw my Sword, the Paper
 Hath cut her throat alreadie? No, 'tis Slander,
 Whose edge is sharper then the Sword, whose tongue
 Out-venomes all the Wormes of Nyle, whose breath
 Rides on the posting windes, and doth belye
 All corners of the World. Kings, Queenes, and States,
 Maides, Matrons, nay the Secrets of the Graue
 This viperous slander enters. What cheere, Madam?
   Imo. False to his Bed? What is it to be false?
 To lye in watch there, and to thinke on him?
 To weepe 'twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge Nature,
 To breake it with a fearfull dreame of him,
 And cry my selfe awake? That's false to's bed? Is it?
   Pisa. Alas good Lady
 
    Imo. I false? Thy Conscience witnesse: Iachimo,
 Thou didd'st accuse him of Incontinencie,
 Thou then look'dst like a Villaine: now, me thinkes
 Thy fauours good enough. Some Iay of Italy
 (Whose mother was her painting) hath betraid him:
 Poore I am stale, a Garment out of fashion,
 And for I am richer then to hang by th' walles,
 I must be ript: To peeces with me: Oh!
 Mens Vowes are womens Traitors. All good seeming
 By thy reuolt (oh Husband) shall be thought
 Put on for Villainy; not borne where't growes,
 But worne a Baite for Ladies
 
    Pisa. Good Madam, heare me
 
    Imo. True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas,
 Were in his time thought false: and Synons weeping
 Did scandall many a holy teare: tooke pitty
 From most true wretchednesse. So thou, Posthumus
 Wilt lay the Leauen on all proper men;
 Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and periur'd
 From thy great faile: Come Fellow, be thou honest,
 Do thou thy Masters bidding. When thou seest him,
 A little witnesse my obedience. Looke
 I draw the Sword my selfe, take it, and hit
 The innocent Mansion of my Loue (my Heart:)
 Feare not, 'tis empty of all things, but Greefe:
 Thy Master is not there, who was indeede
 The riches of it. Do his bidding, strike,
 Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause;
 But now thou seem'st a Coward
 
    Pis. Hence vile Instrument,
 Thou shalt not damne my hand
 
    Imo. Why, I must dye:
 And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
 No Seruant of thy Masters. Against Selfe-slaughter,
 There is a prohibition so Diuine,
 That crauens my weake hand: Come, heere's my heart:
 Something's a-foot: Soft, soft, wee'l no defence,
 Obedient as the Scabbard. What is heere,
 The Scriptures of the Loyall Leonatus,
 All turn'd to Heresie? Away, away
 Corrupters of my Faith, you shall no more
 Be Stomachers to my heart: thus may pooru Fooles
 Beleeue false Teachers: Though those that are betraid
 Do feele the Treason sharpely, yet the Traitor
 Stands in worse case of woe. And thou Posthumus,
 That didd'st set vp my disobedience 'gainst the King
 My Father, and makes me put into contempt the suites
 Of Princely Fellowes, shalt heereafter finde
 It is no acte of common passage, but
 A straine of Rarenesse: and I greeue my selfe,
 To thinke, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her,
 That now thou tyrest on, how thy memory
 Will then be pang'd by me. Prythee dispatch,
 The Lambe entreats the Butcher. Wher's thy knife?
 Thou art too slow to do thy Masters bidding
 When I desire it too
 
    Pis. Oh gracious Lady:
 Since I receiu'd command to do this businesse,
 I haue not slept one winke
 
    Imo. Doo't, and to bed then
 
    Pis. Ile wake mine eye-balles first
 
    Imo. Wherefore then
 Didd'st vndertake it? Why hast thou abus'd
 So many Miles, with a pretence? This place?
 Mine Action? and thine owne? Our Horses labour?
 The Time inuiting thee? The perturb'd Court
 For my being absent? whereunto I neuer
 Purpose returne. Why hast thou gone so farre
 To be vn-bent? when thou hast 'tane thy stand,
 Th' elected Deere before thee?
   Pis. But to win time
 To loose so bad employment, in the which
 I haue consider'd of a course: good Ladie
 Heare me with patience
 
    Imo. Talke thy tongue weary, speake:
 I haue heard I am a Strumpet, and mine eare
 Therein false strooke, can take no greater wound,
 Nor tent, to bottome that. But speake
 
    Pis. Then Madam,
 I thought you would not backe againe
 
    Imo. Most like,
 Bringing me heere to kill me
 
    Pis. Not so neither:
 But if I were as wise, as honest, then
 My purpose would proue well: it cannot be,
 But that my Master is abus'd. Some Villaine,
 I, and singular in his Art, hath done you both
 This cursed iniurie
 
    Imo. Some Roman Curtezan?
   Pisa. No, on my life:
 Ile giue but notice you are dead, and send him
 Some bloody signe of it. For 'tis commanded
 I should do so: you shall be mist at Court,
 And that will well confirme it
 
    Imo. Why good Fellow,
 What shall I do the while? Where bide? How liue?
 Or in my life, what comfort, when I am
 Dead to my Husband?
   Pis. If you'l backe to'th' Court
 
    Imo. No Court, no Father, nor no more adoe
 With that harsh, noble, simple nothing:
 That Clotten, whose Loue-suite hath bene to me
 As fearefull as a Siege
 
    Pis. If not at Court,
 Then not in Britaine must you bide
 
    Imo. Where then?
 Hath Britaine all the Sunne that shines? Day? Night?
 Are they not but in Britaine? I'th' worlds Volume
 Our Britaine seemes as of it, but not in't:
 In a great Poole, a Swannes-nest, prythee thinke
 There's liuers out of Britaine
 
    Pis. I am most glad
 You thinke of other place: Th' Ambassador,
 Lucius the Romane comes to Milford-Hauen
 To morrow. Now, if you could weare a minde
 Darke, as your Fortune is, and but disguise
 That which t' appeare it selfe, must not yet be,
 But by selfe-danger, you should tread a course
 Pretty, and full of view: yea, happily, neere
 The residence of Posthumus; so nie (at least)
 That though his Actions were not visible, yut
 Report should render him hourely to your eare,
 As truely as he mooues
 
    Imo. Oh for such meanes,
 Though perill to my modestie, not death on't
 I would aduenture
 
    Pis. Well then, heere's the point:
 You must forget to be a Woman: change
 Command, into obedience. Feare, and Nicenesse
 (The Handmaides of all Women, or more truely
 Woman it pretty selfe) into a waggish courage,
 Ready in gybes, quicke-answer'd, sawcie, and
 As quarrellous as the Weazell: Nay, you must
 Forget that rarest Treasure of your Cheeke,
 Exposing it (but oh the harder heart,
 Alacke no remedy) to the greedy touch
 Of common-kissing Titan: and forget
 Your laboursome and dainty Trimmes, wherein
 You made great Iuno angry
 
    Imo. Nay be breefe?
 I see into thy end, and am almost
 A man already
 
    Pis. First, make your selfe but like one,
 Fore-thinking this. I haue already fit
 ('Tis in my Cloake-bagge) Doublet, Hat, Hose, all
 That answer to them: Would you in their seruing,
 (And with what imitation you can borrow
 From youth of such a season) 'fore Noble Lucius
 Present your selfe, desire his seruice: tell him
 Wherein you're happy; which will make him know,
 If that his head haue eare in Musicke, doubtlesse
 With ioy he will imbrace you: for hee's Honourable,
 And doubling that, most holy. Your meanes abroad:
 You haue me rich, and I will neuer faile
 Beginning, nor supplyment
 
    Imo. Thou art all the comfort
 The Gods will diet me with. Prythee away,
 There's more to be consider'd: but wee'l euen
 All that good time will giue vs. This attempt,
 I am Souldier too, and will abide it with
 A Princes Courage. Away, I prythee
 
    Pis. Well Madam, we must take a short farewell,
 Least being mist, I be suspected of
 Your carriage from the Court. My Noble Mistris,
 Heere is a boxe, I had it from the Queene,
 What's in't is precious: If you are sicke at Sea,
 Or Stomacke-qualm'd at Land, a Dramme of this
 Will driue away distemper. To some shade,
 And fit you to your Manhood: may the Gods
 Direct you to the best
 
    Imo. Amen: I thanke thee.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 
 Scena Quinta.
 
 Enter Cymbeline, Queene, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords.
 
   Cym. Thus farre, and so farewell
 
    Luc. Thankes, Royall Sir:
 My Emperor hath wrote, I must from hence,
 And am right sorry, that I must report ye
 My Masters Enemy
 
    Cym. Our Subiects (Sir)
 Will not endure his yoake; and for our selfe
 To shew lesse Soueraignty then they, must needs
 Appeare vn-Kinglike
 
    Luc. So Sir: I desire of you
 A Conduct ouer Land, to Milford-Hauen.
 Madam, all ioy befall your Grace, and you
 
    Cym. My Lords, you are appointed for that Office:
 The due of Honor, in no point omit:
 So farewell Noble Lucius
 
    Luc. Your hand, my Lord
 
    Clot. Receiue it friendly: but from this time forth
 I weare it as your Enemy
 
    Luc. Sir, the Euent
 Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well
 
    Cym. Leaue not the worthy Lucius, good my Lords
 Till he haue crost the Seuern. Happines.
 
 Exit Lucius, &c
   Qu. He goes hence frowning: but it honours vs
 That we haue giuen him cause
 
    Clot. 'Tis all the better,
 Your valiant Britaines haue their wishes in it
 
    Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor
 How it goes heere. It fits vs therefore ripely
 Our Chariots, and our Horsemen be in readinesse:
 The Powres that he already hath in Gallia
 Will soone be drawne to head, from whence he moues
 His warre for Britaine
 
    Qu. 'Tis not sleepy businesse,
 But must be look'd too speedily, and strongly
 
    Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus
 Hath made vs forward. But my gentle Queene,
 Where is our Daughter? She hath not appear'd
 Before the Roman, nor to vs hath tender'd
 The duty of the day. She looke vs like
 A thing more made of malice, then of duty,
 We haue noted it. Call her before vs, for
 We haue beene too slight in sufferance
 
    Qu. Royall Sir,
 Since the exile of Posthumus, most retyr'd
 Hath her life bin: the Cure whereof, my Lord,
 'Tis time must do. Beseech your Maiesty,
 Forbeare sharpe speeches to her. Shee's a Lady
 So tender of rebukes, that words are stroke;
 And strokes death to her.
 Enter a Messenger.
 
   Cym. Where is she Sir? How
 Can her contempt be answer'd?
   Mes. Please you Sir,
 Her Chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer
 That will be giuen to'th' lowd of noise, we make
 
    Qu. My Lord, when last I went to visit her,
 She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close,
 Whereto constrain'd by her infirmitie,
 She should that dutie leaue vnpaide to you
 Which dayly she was bound to proffer: this
 She wish'd me to make knowne: but our great Court
 Made me too blame in memory
 
    Cym. Her doores lock'd?
 Not seene of late? Grant Heauens, that which I
 Feare, proue false.
 Enter.
 
   Qu. Sonne, I say, follow the King
 
    Clot. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old Seruant
 I haue not seene these two dayes.
 Enter.
 
   Qu. Go, looke after:
 Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus,
 He hath a Drugge of mine: I pray, his absence
 Proceed by swallowing that. For he beleeues
 It is a thing most precious. But for her,
 Where is she gone? Haply dispaire hath seiz'd her:
 Or wing'd with feruour of her loue, she's flowne
 To her desir'd Posthumus: gone she is,
 To death, or to dishonor, and my end
 Can make good vse of either. Shee being downe,
 I haue the placing of the Brittish Crowne.
 Enter Cloten.
 
 How now, my Sonne?
   Clot. 'Tis certaine she is fled:
 Go in and cheere the King, he rages, none
 Dare come about him
 
    Qu. All the better: may
 This night fore-stall him of the comming day.
 
 Exit Qu.
 
   Clo. I loue, and hate her: for she's Faire and Royall,
 And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
 Then Lady, Ladies, Woman, from euery one
 The best she hath, and she of all compounded
 Out-selles them all. I loue her therefore, but
 Disdaining me, and throwing Fauours on
 The low Posthumus, slanders so her iudgement,
 That what's else rare, is choak'd: and in that point
 I will conclude to hate her, nay indeede,
 To be reueng'd vpon her. For, when Fooles shall-
 Enter Pisanio.
 
 Who is heere? What, are you packing sirrah?
 Come hither: Ah you precious Pandar, Villaine,
 Where is thy Lady? In a word, or else
 Thou art straightway with the Fiends
 
    Pis. Oh, good my Lord
 
    Clo. Where is thy Lady? Or, by Iupiter,
 I will not aske againe. Close Villaine,
 Ile haue this Secret from thy heart, or rip
 Thy heart to finde it. Is she with Posthumus?
 From whose so many waights of basenesse, cannot
 A dram of worth be drawne
 
    Pis. Alas, nay Lord,
 How can she be with him? When was she miss'd?
 He is in Rome
 
    Clot. Where is she Sir? Come neerer:
 No farther halting: satisfie me home,
 What is become of her?
   Pis. Oh, my all-worthy Lord
 
    Clo. All-worthy Villaine,
 Discouer where thy Mistris is, at once,
 At the next word: no more of worthy Lord:
 Speake, or thy silence on the instant, is
 Thy condemnation, and thy death
 
    Pis. Then Sir:
 This Paper is the historie of my knowledge
 Touching her flight
 
    Clo. Let's see't: I will pursue her
 Euen to Augustus Throne
 
    Pis. Or this, or perish.
 She's farre enough, and what he learnes by this,
 May proue his trauell, not her danger
 
    Clo. Humh
 
    Pis. Ile write to my Lord she's dead: Oh Imogen,
 Safe mayst thou wander, safe returne agen
 
    Clot. Sirra, is this Letter true?
   Pis. Sir, as I thinke
 
    Clot. It is Posthumus hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou
 would'st not be a Villain, but do me true seruice: vndergo
 those Imployments wherin I should haue cause to vse
 thee with a serious industry, that is, what villainy soere I
 bid thee do to performe it, directly and truely, I would
 thinke thee an honest man: thou should'st neither want
 my meanes for thy releefe, nor my voyce for thy preferment
 
    Pis. Well, my good Lord
 
    Clot. Wilt thou serue mee? For since patiently and
 constantly thou hast stucke to the bare Fortune of that
 Begger Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of gratitude,
 but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serue
 mee?
   Pis. Sir, I will
 
    Clo. Giue mee thy hand, heere's my purse. Hast any
 of thy late Masters Garments in thy possession?
   Pisan. I haue (my Lord) at my Lodging, the same
 Suite he wore, when he tooke leaue of my Ladie & Mistresse
 
    Clo. The first seruice thou dost mee, fetch that Suite
 hither, let it be thy first seruice, go
 
    Pis. I shall my Lord.
 Enter.
 
   Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Hauen: (I forgot to aske
 him one thing, Ile remember't anon:) euen there, thou
 villaine Posthumus will I kill thee. I would these Garments
 were come. She saide vpon a time (the bitternesse
 of it, I now belch from my heart) that shee held the very
 Garment of Posthumus, in more respect, then my Noble
 and naturall person; together with the adornement of
 my Qualities. With that Suite vpon my backe wil I rauish
 her: first kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see
 my valour, which wil then be a torment to hir contempt.
 He on the ground, my speech of insulment ended on his
 dead bodie, and when my Lust hath dined (which, as I
 say, to vex her, I will execute in the Cloathes that she so
 prais'd:) to the Court Ile knock her backe, foot her home
 againe. She hath despis'd mee reioycingly, and Ile bee
 merry in my Reuenge.
 Enter Pisanio.
 
 Be those the Garments?
   Pis. I, my Noble Lord
 
    Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford-Hauen?
   Pis. She can scarse be there yet
 
    Clo. Bring this Apparrell to my Chamber, that is
 the second thing that I haue commanded thee. The third
 is, that thou wilt be a voluntarie Mute to my designe. Be
 but dutious, and true preferment shall tender it selfe to
 thee. My Reuenge is now at Milford, would I had wings
 to follow it. Come, and be true.
 
 Exit
 
   Pis. Thou bid'st me to my losse: for true to thee,
 Were to proue false, which I will neuer bee
 To him that is most true. To Milford go,
 And finde not her, whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow
 You Heauenly blessings on her: This Fooles speede
 Be crost with slownesse; Labour be his meede.
 
 Exit
 
 
 Scena Sexta.
 
 Enter Imogen alone.
 
   Imo. I see a mans life is a tedious one,
 I haue tyr'd my selfe: and for two nights together
 Haue made the ground my bed. I should be sicke,
 But that my resolution helpes me: Milford,
 When from the Mountaine top, Pisanio shew'd thee,
 Thou was't within a kenne. Oh Ioue, I thinke
 Foundations flye the wretched: such I meane,
 Where they should be releeu'd. Two Beggers told me,
 I could not misse my way. Will poore Folkes lye
 That haue Afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
 A punishment, or Triall? Yes; no wonder,
 When Rich-ones scarse tell true. To lapse in Fulnesse
 Is sorer, then to lye for Neede: and Falshood
 Is worse in Kings, then Beggers. My deere Lord,
 Thou art one o'th' false Ones: Now I thinke on thee,
 My hunger's gone; but euen before, I was
 At point to sinke, for Food. But what is this?
 Heere is a path too't: 'tis some sauage hold:
 I were best not call; I dare not call: yet Famine
 Ere cleane it o're-throw Nature, makes it valiant.
 Plentie, and Peace breeds Cowards: Hardnesse euer
 Of Hardinesse is Mother. Hoa? who's heere?
 If any thing that's ciuill, speake: if sauage,
 Take, or lend. Hoa? No answer? Then Ile enter.
 Best draw my Sword; and if mine Enemy
 But feare the Sword like me, hee'l scarsely looke on't.
 Such a Foe, good Heauens.
 Enter.
 
 
 Scena Septima.
 
 Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Aruiragus
 
    Bel. You Polidore haue prou'd best Woodman, and
 Are Master of the Feast: Cadwall, and I
 Will play the Cooke, and Seruant, 'tis our match:
 The sweat of industry would dry, and dye
 But for the end it workes too. Come, our stomackes
 Will make what's homely, sauoury: Wearinesse
 Can snore vpon the Flint, when restie Sloth
 Findes the Downe-pillow hard. Now peace be heere,
 Poore house, that keep'st thy selfe
 
    Gui. I am throughly weary
 
    Arui. I am weake with toyle, yet strong in appetite
 
    Gui. There is cold meat i'th' Caue, we'l brouz on that
 Whil'st what we haue kill'd, be Cook'd
 
    Bel. Stay, come not in:
 But that it eates our victualles, I should thinke
 Heere were a Faiery
 
    Gui. What's the matter, Sir?
   Bel. By Iupiter an Angell: or if not
 An earthly Paragon. Behold Diuinenesse
 No elder then a Boy.
 Enter Imogen.
 
   Imo. Good masters harme me not:
 Before I enter'd heere, I call'd, and thought
 To haue begg'd, or bought, what I haue took: good troth
 I haue stolne nought, nor would not, though I had found
 Gold strew'd i'th' Floore. Heere's money for my Meate,
 I would haue left it on the Boord, so soone
 As I had made my Meale; and parted
 With Pray'rs for the Prouider
 
    Gui. Money? Youth
 
    Aru. All Gold and Siluer rather turne to durt,
 As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those
 Who worship durty Gods
 
    Imo. I see you're angry:
 Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
 Haue dyed, had I not made it
 
    Bel. Whether bound?
   Imo. To Milford-Hauen
 
    Bel. What's your name?
   Imo. Fidele Sir: I haue a Kinsman, who
 Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford,
 To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
 I am falne in this offence
 
    Bel. Prythee (faire youth)
 Thinke vs no Churles: nor measure our good mindes
 By this rude place we liue in. Well encounter'd,
 'Tis almost night, you shall haue better cheere
 Ere you depart; and thankes to stay, and eate it:
 Boyes, bid him welcome
 
    Gui. Were you a woman, youth,
 I should woo hard, but be your Groome in honesty:
 I bid for you, as I do buy
 
    Arui. Ile make't my Comfort
 He is a man, Ile loue him as my Brother:
 And such a welcome as I'ld giue to him
 (After long absence) such is yours. Most welcome:
 Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst Friends
 
    Imo. 'Mongst Friends?
 If Brothers: would it had bin so, that they
 Had bin my Fathers Sonnes, then had my prize
 Bin lesse, and so more equall ballasting
 To thee Posthumus
 
    Bel. He wrings at some distresse
 
    Gui. Would I could free't
 
    Arui. Or I, what ere it be,
 What paine it cost, what danger: Gods!
   Bel. Hearke Boyes
 
    Imo. Great men
 That had a Court no bigger then this Caue,
 That did attend themselues, and had the vertue
 Which their owne Conscience seal'd them: laying by
 That nothing-guift of differing Multitudes
 Could not out-peere these twaine. Pardon me Gods,
 I'ld change my sexe to be Companion with them,
 Since Leonatus false
 
    Bel. It shall be so:
 Boyes wee'l go dresse our Hunt. Faire youth come in;
 Discourse is heauy, fasting: when we haue supp'd
 Wee'l mannerly demand thee of thy Story,
 So farre as thou wilt speake it
 
    Gui. Pray draw neere
 
    Arui. The Night to'th' Owle,
 And Morne to th' Larke lesse welcome
 
    Imo. Thankes Sir
 
    Arui. I pray draw neere.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 
 Scena Octaua.
 
 Enter two Roman Senators, and Tribunes.
 
   1.Sen. This is the tenor of the Emperors Writ;
 That since the common men are now in Action
 'Gainst the Pannonians, and Dalmatians,
 And that the Legions now in Gallia, are
 Full weake to vndertake our Warres against
 The falne-off Britaines, that we do incite
 The Gentry to this businesse. He creates
 Lucius Pro-Consull: and to you the Tribunes
 For this immediate Leuy, he commands
 His absolute Commission. Long liue Caesar
 
    Tri. Is Lucius Generall of the Forces?
   2.Sen. I
 
    Tri. Remaining now in Gallia?
   1.Sen. With those Legions
 Which I haue spoke of, whereunto your leuie
 Must be suppliant: the words of your Commission
 Will tye you to the numbers, and the time
 Of their dispatch
 
    Tri. We will discharge our duty.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 
 Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
 
 Enter Clotten alone.
 
   Clot I am neere to'th' place where they should meet,
 if Pisanio haue mapp'd it truely. How fit his Garments
 serue me? Why should his Mistris who was made by him
 that made the Taylor, not be fit too? The rather (sauing
 reuerence of the Word) for 'tis saide a Womans fitnesse
 comes by fits: therein I must play the Workman, I dare
 speake it to my selfe, for it is not Vainglorie for a man,
 and his Glasse, to confer in his owne Chamber; I meane,
 the Lines of my body are as well drawne as his; no lesse
 young, more strong, not beneath him in Fortunes, beyond
 him in the aduantage of the time, aboue him in
 Birth, alike conuersant in generall seruices, and more remarkeable
 in single oppositions; yet this imperseuerant
 Thing loues him in my despight. What Mortalitie is?
 Posthumus, thy head (which now is growing vppon thy
 shoulders) shall within this houre be off, thy Mistris inforced,
 thy Garments cut to peeces before thy face: and
 all this done, spurne her home to her Father, who may
 (happily) be a little angry for my so rough vsage: but my
 Mother hauing power of his testinesse, shall turne all into
 my commendations. My Horse is tyed vp safe, out
 Sword, and to a sore purpose: Fortune put them into my
 hand: This is the very description of their meeting place
 and the Fellow dares not deceiue me.
 Enter.
 
 
 Scena Secunda.
 
 Enter Belarius, Guiderius, Aruiragus, and Imogen from the Caue.
 
   Bel. You are not well: Remaine heere in the Caue,
 Wee'l come to you after Hunting
 
    Arui. Brother, stay heere:
 Are we not Brothers?
   Imo. So man and man should be,
 But Clay and Clay, differs in dignitie,
 Whose dust is both alike. I am very sicke,
   Gui. Go you to Hunting, Ile abide with him
 
    Imo. So sicke I am not, yet I am not well:
 But not so Citizen a wanton, as
 To seeme to dye, ere sicke: So please you, leaue me,
 Sticke to your Iournall course: the breach of Custome,
 Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me
 Cannot amend me. Society, is no comfort
 To one not sociable: I am not very sicke,
 Since I can reason of it: pray you trust me heere,
 Ile rob none but my selfe, and let me dye
 Stealing so poorely
 
    Gui. I loue thee: I haue spoke it,
 How much the quantity, the waight as much,
 As I do loue my Father
 
    Bel. What? How? how?
   Arui. If it be sinne to say so (Sir) I yoake mee
 In my good Brothers fault: I know not why
 I loue this youth, and I haue heard you say,
 Loue's reason's, without reason. The Beere at doore,
 And a demand who is't shall dye, I'ld say
 My Father, not this youth
 
    Bel. Oh noble straine!
 O worthinesse of Nature, breed of Greatnesse!
 ``Cowards father Cowards, & Base things Syre Bace;
 ``Nature hath Meale, and Bran; Contempt, and Grace.
 I'me not their Father, yet who this should bee,
 Doth myracle it selfe, lou'd before mee.
 'Tis the ninth houre o'th' Morne
 
    Arui. Brother, farewell
 
    Imo. I wish ye sport
 
    Arui. You health. - So please you Sir
 
    Imo. These are kinde Creatures.
 Gods, what lyes I haue heard:
 Our Courtiers say, all's sauage, but at Court;
 Experience, oh thou disproou'st Report.
 Th' emperious Seas breeds Monsters; for the Dish,
 Poore Tributary Riuers, as sweet Fish:
 I am sicke still, heart-sicke; Pisanio,
 Ile now taste of thy Drugge
 
    Gui. I could not stirre him:
 He said he was gentle, but vnfortunate;
 Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest
 
    Arui. Thus did he answer me: yet said heereafter,
 I might know more
 
    Bel. To'th' Field, to'th' Field:
 Wee'l leaue you for this time, go in, and rest
 
    Arui. Wee'l not be long away
 
    Bel. Pray be not sicke,
 For you must be our Huswife
 
    Imo. Well, or ill,
 I am bound to you.
 Enter.
 
   Bel. And shal't be euer.
 This youth, how ere distrest, appeares he hath had
 Good Ancestors
 
    Arui. How Angell-like he sings?
   Gui. But his neate Cookerie?
   Arui. He cut our Rootes in Charracters,
 And sawc'st our Brothes, as Iuno had bin sicke,
 And he her Dieter
 
    Arui. Nobly he yoakes
 A smiling, with a sigh; as if the sighe
 Was that it was, for not being such a Smile:
 The Smile, mocking the Sigh, that it would flye
 From so diuine a Temple, to commix
 With windes, that Saylors raile at
 
    Gui. I do note,
 That greefe and patience rooted in them both,
 Mingle their spurres together
 
    Arui. Grow patient,
 And let the stinking-Elder (Greefe) vntwine
 His perishing roote, with the encreasing Vine
 
    Bel. It is great morning. Come away: Who's there?
 Enter Cloten.
 
   Clo. I cannot finde those Runnagates, that Villaine
 Hath mock'd me. I am faint
 
    Bel. Those Runnagates?
 Meanes he not vs? I partly know him, 'tis
 Cloten, the Sonne o'th' Queene. I feare some Ambush:
 I saw him not these many yeares, and yet
 I know 'tis he: We are held as Out-Lawes: Hence
 
    Gui. He is but one: you, and my Brother search
 What Companies are neere: pray you away,
 Let me alone with him
 
    Clot. Soft, what are you
 That flye me thus? Some villaine-Mountainers?
 I haue heard of such. What Slaue art thou?
   Gui. A thing
 More slauish did I ne're, then answering
 A Slaue without a knocke
 
    Clot. Thou art a Robber,
 A Law-breaker, a Villaine: yeeld thee Theefe
 
    Gui. To who? to thee? What art thou? Haue not I
 An arme as bigge as thine? A heart, as bigge:
 Thy words I grant are bigger: for I weare not
 My Dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art:
 Why I should yeeld to thee?
   Clot. Thou Villaine base,
 Know'st me not by my Cloathes?
   Gui. No, nor thy Taylor, Rascall:
 Who is thy Grandfather? He made those cloathes,
 Which (as it seemes) make thee
 
    Clo. Thou precious Varlet,
 My Taylor made them not
 
    Gui. Hence then, and thanke
 The man that gaue them thee. Thou art some Foole,
 I am loath to beate thee
 
    Clot. Thou iniurious Theefe,
 Heare but my name, and tremble
 
    Gui. What's thy name?
   Clo. Cloten, thou Villaine
 
    Gui. Cloten, thou double Villaine be thy name,
 I cannot tremble at it, were it Toad, or Adder, Spider,
 'Twould moue me sooner
 
    Clot. To thy further feare,
 Nay, to thy meere Confusion, thou shalt know
 I am Sonne to'th' Queene
 
    Gui. I am sorry for't: not seeming
 So worthy as thy Birth
 
    Clot. Art not afeard?
   Gui. Those that I reuerence, those I feare: the Wise:
 At Fooles I laugh: not feare them
 
    Clot. Dye the death:
 When I haue slaine thee with my proper hand,
 Ile follow those that euen now fled hence:
 And on the Gates of Luds-Towne set your heads:
 Yeeld Rusticke Mountaineer.
 
 Fight and Exeunt.
 
 Enter Belarius and Aruiragus.
 
   Bel. No Companie's abroad?
   Arui. None in the world: you did mistake him sure
 
    Bel. I cannot tell: Long is it since I saw him,
 But Time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of Fauour
 Which then he wore: the snatches in his voice,
 And burst of speaking were as his: I am absolute
 'Twas very Cloten
 
    Arui. In this place we left them;
 I wish my Brother make good time with him,
 You say he is so fell
 
    Bel. Being scarse made vp,
 I meane to man; he had not apprehension
 Of roaring terrors: For defect of iudgement
 Is oft the cause of Feare.
 Enter Guiderius.
 
 But see thy Brother
 
    Gui. This Cloten was a Foole, an empty purse,
 There was no money in't: Not Hercules
 Could haue knock'd out his Braines, for he had none:
 Yet I not doing this, the Foole had borne
 My head, as I do his
 
    Bel. What hast thou done?
   Gui. I am perfect what: cut off one Clotens head,
 Sonne to the Queene (after his owne report)
 Who call'd me Traitor, Mountaineer, and swore
 With his owne single hand heel'd take vs in,
 Displace our heads, where (thanks the Gods) they grow
 And set them on Luds-Towne
 
    Bel. We are all vndone
 
    Gui. Why, worthy Father, what haue we to loose,
 But that he swore to take our Liues? the Law
 Protects not vs, then why should we be tender,
 To let an arrogant peece of flesh threat vs?
 Play Iudge, and Executioner, all himselfe?
 For we do feare the Law. What company
 Discouer you abroad?
   Bel. No single soule
 Can we set eye on: but in all safe reason
 He must haue some Attendants. Though his Honor
 Was nothing but mutation, I, and that
 From one bad thing to worse: Not Frenzie,
 Not absolute madnesse could so farre haue rau'd
 To bring him heere alone: although perhaps
 It may be heard at Court, that such as wee
 Caue heere, hunt heere, are Out-lawes, and in time
 May make some stronger head, the which he hearing,
 (As it is like him) might breake out, and sweare
 Heel'd fetch vs in, yet is't not probable
 To come alone, either he so vndertaking,
 Or they so suffering: then on good ground we feare,
 If we do feare this Body hath a taile
 More perillous then the head
 
    Arui. Let Ord'nance
 Come as the Gods fore-say it: howsoere,
 My Brother hath done well
 
    Bel. I had no minde
 To hunt this day: The Boy Fideles sickenesse
 Did make my way long forth
 
    Gui. With his owne Sword,
 Which he did waue against my throat, I haue tane
 His head from him: Ile throw't into the Creeke
 Behinde our Rocke, and let it to the Sea,
 And tell the Fishes, hee's the Queenes Sonne, Cloten,
 That's all I reake.
 Enter.
 
   Bel. I feare 'twill be reueng'd:
 Would (Polidore) thou had'st not done't: though valour
 Becomes thee well enough
 
    Arui. Would I had done't:
 So the Reuenge alone pursu'de me: Polidore
 I loue thee brotherly, but enuy much
 Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would Reuenges
 That possible strength might meet, wold seek vs through
 And put vs to our answer
 
    Bel. Well, 'tis done:
 Wee'l hunt no more to day, nor seeke for danger
 Where there's no profit. I prythee to our Rocke,
 You and Fidele play the Cookes: Ile stay
 Till hasty Polidore returne, and bring him
 To dinner presently
 
    Arui. Poore sicke Fidele.
 Ile willingly to him, to gaine his colour,
 Il'd let a parish of such Clotens blood,
 And praise my selfe for charity.
 Enter.
 
   Bel. Oh thou Goddesse,
 Thou diuine Nature; thou thy selfe thou blazon'st
 In these two Princely Boyes: they are as gentle
 As Zephires blowing below the Violet,
 Not wagging his sweet head; and yet, as rough
 (Their Royall blood enchaf'd) as the rud'st winde,
 That by the top doth take the Mountaine Pine,
 And make him stoope to th' Vale. 'Tis wonder
 That an inuisible instinct should frame them
 To Royalty vnlearn'd, Honor vntaught,
 Ciuility not seene from other: valour
 That wildely growes in them, but yeelds a crop
 As if it had beene sow'd: yet still it's strange
 What Clotens being heere to vs portends,
 Or what his death will bring vs.
 Enter Guidereus.
 
   Gui. Where's my Brother?
 I haue sent Clotens Clot-pole downe the streame,
 In Embassie to his Mother; his Bodie's hostage
 For his returne.
 
 Solemn Musick.
 
   Bel. My ingenuous Instrument,
 (Hearke Polidore) it sounds: but what occasion
 Hath Cadwal now to giue it motion? Hearke
 
    Gui. Is he at home?
   Bel. He went hence euen now
 
    Gui. What does he meane?
 Since death of my deer'st Mother
 It did not speake before. All solemne things
 Should answer solemne Accidents. The matter?
 Triumphes for nothing, and lamenting Toyes,
 Is iollity for Apes, and greefe for Boyes.
 Is Cadwall mad?
 Enter Aruiragus, with Imogen dead, bearing her in his Armes.
 
   Bel. Looke, heere he comes,
 And brings the dire occasion in his Armes,
 Of what we blame him for
 
    Arui. The Bird is dead
 That we haue made so much on. I had rather
 Haue skipt from sixteene yeares of Age, to sixty:
 To haue turn'd my leaping time into a Crutch,
 Then haue seene this
 
    Gui. Oh sweetest, fayrest Lilly:
 My Brother weares thee not the one halfe so well,
 As when thou grew'st thy selfe
 
    Bel. Oh Melancholly,
 Who euer yet could sound thy bottome? Finde
 The Ooze, to shew what Coast thy sluggish care
 Might'st easilest harbour in. Thou blessed thing,
 Ioue knowes what man thou might'st haue made: but I,
 Thou dyed'st a most rare Boy, of Melancholly.
 How found you him?
   Arui. Starke, as you see:
 Thus smiling, as some Fly had tickled slumber,
 Not as deaths dart being laugh'd at: his right Cheeke
 Reposing on a Cushion
 
    Gui. Where?
   Arui. O'th' floore:
 His armes thus leagu'd, I thought he slept, and put
 My clowted Brogues from off my feete, whose rudenesse
 Answer'd my steps too lowd
 
    Gui. Why, he but sleepes:
 If he be gone, hee'l make his Graue, a Bed:
 With female Fayries will his Tombe be haunted,
 And Wormes will not come to thee
 
    Arui. With fayrest Flowers
 Whil'st Sommer lasts, and I liue heere, Fidele,
 Ile sweeten thy sad graue: thou shalt not lacke
 The Flower that's like thy face. Pale-Primrose, nor
 The azur'd Hare-Bell, like thy Veines: no, nor
 The leafe of Eglantine, whom not to slander,
 Out-sweetned not thy breath: the Raddocke would
 With Charitable bill (Oh bill sore shaming
 Those rich-left-heyres, that let their Fathers lye
 Without a Monument) bring thee all this,
 Yea, and furr'd Mosse besides. When Flowres are none
 To winter-ground thy Coarse-
   Gui. Prythee haue done,
 And do not play in Wench-like words with that
 Which is so serious. Let vs bury him,
 And not protract with admiration, what
 Is now due debt. To'th' graue
 
    Arui. Say, where shall's lay him?
   Gui. By good Euriphile, our Mother
 
    Arui. Bee't so:
 And let vs (Polidore) though now our voyces
 Haue got the mannish cracke, sing him to'th' ground
 As once to our Mother: vse like note, and words,
 Saue that Euriphile, must be Fidele
 
    Gui. Cadwall,
 I cannot sing: Ile weepe, and word it with thee;
 For Notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse
 Then Priests, and Phanes that lye
 
    Arui. Wee'l speake it then
 
    Bel. Great greefes I see med'cine the lesse: For Cloten
 Is quite forgot. He was a Queenes Sonne, Boyes,
 And though he came our Enemy, remember
 He was paid for that: though meane, and mighty rotting
 Together haue one dust, yet Reuerence
 (That Angell of the world) doth make distinction
 Of place 'tweene high, and low. Our Foe was Princely,
 And though you tooke his life, as being our Foe,
 Yet bury him, as a Prince
 
    Gui. Pray you fetch him hither,
 Thersites body is as good as Aiax,
 When neyther are aliue
 
    Arui. If you'l go fetch him,
 Wee'l say our Song the whil'st: Brother begin
 
    Gui. Nay Cadwall, we must lay his head to th' East,
 My Father hath a reason for't
 
    Arui. 'Tis true
 
    Gui. Come on then, and remoue him
 
    Arui. So, begin.
 
 SONG.
 
   Guid. Feare no more the heate o'th' Sun,
 Nor the furious Winters rages,
 Thou thy worldly task hast don,
 Home art gon, and tane thy wages.
 Golden Lads, and Girles all must,
 As Chimney-Sweepers come to dust
 
    Arui. Feare no more the frowne o'th' Great,
 Thou art past the Tirants stroake,
 Care no more to cloath and eate,
 To thee the Reede is as the Oake:
 The Scepter, Learning, Physicke must,
 All follow this and come to dust
 
    Guid. Feare no more the Lightning flash
 
    Arui. Nor th' all-dreaded Thunderstone
 
    Gui. Feare not Slander, Censure rash
 
    Arui. Thou hast finish'd Ioy and mone
 
    Both. All Louers young, all Louers must,
 Consigne to thee and come to dust
 
    Guid. No Exorcisor harme thee,
   Arui. Nor no witch-craft charme thee
 
    Guid. Ghost vnlaid forbeare thee
 
    Arui. Nothing ill come neere thee
 
    Both. Quiet consumation haue,
 And renowned be thy graue.
 Enter Belarius with the body of Cloten.
 
   Gui. We haue done our obsequies:
 Come lay him downe
 
    Bel. Heere's a few Flowres, but 'bout midnight more:
 The hearbes that haue on them cold dew o'th' night
 Are strewings fit'st for Graues: vpon their Faces.
 You were as Flowres, now wither'd: euen so
 These Herbelets shall, which we vpon you strew.
 Come on, away, apart vpon our knees:
 The ground that gaue them first, ha's them againe:
 Their pleasures here are past, so are their paine.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 Imogen awakes.
 
 Yes Sir, to Milford-Hauen, which is the way?
 I thanke you: by yond bush? pray how farre thether?
 'Ods pittikins: can it be sixe mile yet?
 I haue gone all night: 'Faith, Ile lye downe, and sleepe.
 But soft; no Bedfellow? Oh Gods, and Goddesses!
 These Flowres are like the pleasures of the World;
 This bloody man the care on't. I hope I dreame:
 For so I thought I was a Caue-keeper,
 And Cooke to honest Creatures. But 'tis not so:
 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot of nothing,
 Which the Braine makes of Fumes. Our very eyes,
 Are sometimes like our Iudgements, blinde. Good faith
 I tremble still with feare: but if there be
 Yet left in Heauen, as small a drop of pittie
 As a Wrens eye; fear'd Gods, a part of it.
 The Dreame's heere still: euen when I wake it is
 Without me, as within me: not imagin'd, felt.
 A headlesse man? The Garments of Posthumus?
 I know the shape of's Legge: this is his Hand:
 His Foote Mercuriall: his martiall Thigh
 The brawnes of Hercules: but his Iouiall face-
 Murther in heauen? How? 'tis gone. Pisanio,
 All Curses madded Hecuba gaue the Greekes,
 And mine to boot, be darted on thee: thou
 Conspir'd with that Irregulous diuell Cloten,
 Hath heere cut off my Lord. To write, and read,
 Be henceforth treacherous. Damn'd Pisanio,
 Hath with his forged Letters (damn'd Pisanio)
 From this most brauest vessell of the world
 Strooke the maine top! Oh Posthumus, alas,
 Where is thy head? where's that? Aye me! where's that?
 Pisanio might haue kill'd thee at the heart,
 And left this head on. How should this be, Pisanio?
 'Tis he, and Cloten: Malice, and Lucre in them
 Haue laid this Woe heere. Oh 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
 The Drugge he gaue me, which hee said was precious
 And Cordiall to me, haue I not found it
 Murd'rous to'th' Senses? That confirmes it home:
 This is Pisanio's deede, and Cloten: Oh!
 Giue colour to my pale cheeke with thy blood,
 That we the horrider may seeme to those
 Which chance to finde vs. Oh, my Lord! my Lord!
 Enter Lucius, Captaines, and a Soothsayer.
 
   Cap. To them, the Legions garrison'd in Gallia
 After your will, haue crost the Sea, attending
 You heere at Milford-Hauen, with your Shippes:
 They are heere in readinesse
 
    Luc. But what from Rome?
   Cap. The Senate hath stirr'd vp the Confiners,
 And Gentlemen of Italy, most willing Spirits,
 That promise Noble Seruice: and they come
 Vnder the Conduct of bold Iachimo,
 Syenna's Brother
 
    Luc. When expect you them?
   Cap. With the next benefit o'th' winde
 
    Luc. This forwardnesse
 Makes our hopes faire. Command our present numbers
 Be muster'd: bid the Captaines looke too't. Now Sir,
 What haue you dream'd of late of this warres purpose
 
    Sooth. Last night, the very Gods shew'd me a vision
 (I fast, and pray'd for their Intelligence) thus:
 I saw Ioues Bird, the Roman Eagle wing'd
 From the spungy South, to this part of the West,
 There vanish'd in the Sun-beames, which portends
 (Vnlesse my sinnes abuse my Diuination)
 Successe to th' Roman hoast
 
    Luc. Dreame often so,
 And neuer false. Soft hoa, what truncke is heere?
 Without his top? The ruine speakes, that sometime
 It was a worthy building. How? a Page?
 Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather:
 For Nature doth abhorre to make his bed
 With the defunct, or sleepe vpon the dead.
 Let's see the Boyes face
 
    Cap. Hee's aliue my Lord
 
    Luc. Hee'l then instruct vs of this body: Young one,
 Informe vs of thy Fortunes, for it seemes
 They craue to be demanded: who is this
 Thou mak'st thy bloody Pillow? Or who was he
 That (otherwise then noble Nature did)
 Hath alter'd that good Picture? What's thy interest
 In this sad wracke? How came't? Who is't?
 What art thou?
   Imo. I am nothing; or if not,
 Nothing to be were better: This was my Master,
 A very valiant Britaine, and a good,
 That heere by Mountaineers lyes slaine: Alas,
 There is no more such Masters: I may wander
 From East to Occident, cry out for Seruice,
 Try many, all good: serue truly: neuer
 Finde such another Master
 
    Luc. 'Lacke, good youth:
 Thou mou'st no lesse with thy complaining, then
 Thy Maister in bleeding: say his name, good Friend
 
    Imo. Richard du Champ: If I do lye, and do
 No harme by it, though the Gods heare, I hope
 They'l pardon it. Say you Sir?
   Luc. Thy name?
   Imo. Fidele Sir
 
    Luc. Thou doo'st approue thy selfe 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 lesse belou'd. The Romane Emperors Letters
 Sent by a Consull to me, should not sooner
 Then thine owne worth preferre thee: Go with me
 
    Imo. Ile follow Sir. But first, and't please the Gods,
 Ile hide my Master from the Flies, as deepe
 As these poore Pickaxes can digge: and when
 With wild wood-leaues & weeds, I ha' strew'd his graue
 And on it said a Century of prayers
 (Such as I can) twice o're, Ile weepe, and sighe,
 And leauing so his seruice, follow you,
 So please you entertaine mee
 
    Luc. I good youth,
 And rather Father thee, then Master thee: My Friends,
 The Boy hath taught vs manly duties: Let vs
 Finde out the prettiest Dazied-Plot we can,
 And make him with our Pikes and Partizans
 A Graue: Come, Arme him: Boy hee's preferr'd
 By thee, to vs, and he shall be interr'd
 As Souldiers can. Be cheerefull; wipe thine eyes,
 Some Falles are meanes the happier to arise.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 Scena Tertia.
 
 Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pisanio.
 
   Cym. Againe: and bring me word how 'tis with her,
 A Feauour with the absence of her Sonne;
 A madnesse, of which her life's in danger: Heauens,
 How deeply you at once do touch me. Imogen,
 The great part of my comfort, gone: My Queene
 Vpon a desperate bed, and in a time
 When fearefull Warres point at me: Her Sonne gone,
 So needfull for this present? It strikes me, past
 The hope of comfort. But for thee, Fellow,
 Who needs must know of her departure, and
 Dost seeme so ignorant, wee'l enforce it from thee
 By a sharpe Torture
 
    Pis. Sir, my life is yours,
 I humbly set it at your will: But for my Mistris,
 I nothing know where she remaines: why gone,
 Nor when she purposes returne. Beseech your Highnes,
 Hold me your loyall Seruant
 
    Lord. Good my Liege,
 The day that she was missing, he was heere;
 I dare be bound hee's true, and shall performe
 All parts of his subiection loyally. For Cloten,
 There wants no diligence in seeking him,
 And will no doubt be found
 
    Cym. The time is troublesome:
 Wee'l slip you for a season, but our iealousie
 Do's yet depend
 
    Lord. So please your Maiesty,
 The Romaine Legions, all from Gallia drawne,
 Are landed on your Coast, with a supply
 Of Romaine Gentlemen, by the Senate sent
 
    Cym. Now for the Counsaile of my Son and Queen,
 I am amaz'd with matter
 
    Lord. Good my Liege,
 Your preparation can affront no lesse
 Then what you heare of. Come more, for more you're ready:
 The want is, but to put those Powres in motion,
 That long to moue
 
    Cym. I thanke you: let's withdraw
 And meete the Time, as it seekes vs. We feare not
 What can from Italy annoy vs, but
 We greeue at chances heere. Away.
 
 Exeunt.
 
   Pisa. I heard no Letter from my Master, since
 I wrote him Imogen was slaine. 'Tis strange:
 Nor heare I from my Mistris, who did promise
 To yeeld me often tydings. Neither know I
 What is betide to Cloten, but remaine
 Perplext in all. The Heauens still must worke:
 Wherein I am false, I am honest: not true, to be true.
 These present warres shall finde I loue my Country,
 Euen to the note o'th' King, or Ile fall in them:
 All other doubts, by time let them be cleer'd,
 Fortune brings in some Boats, that are not steer'd.
 Enter.
 
 
 Scena Quarta.
 
 Enter Belarius, Guiderius, & Aruiragus.
 
   Gui. The noyse is round about vs
 
    Bel. Let vs from it
 
    Arui. What pleasure Sir, we finde in life, to locke it
 From Action, and Aduenture
 
    Gui. Nay, what hope
 Haue we in hiding vs? This way the Romaines
 Must, or for Britaines slay vs, or receiue vs
 For barbarous and vnnaturall Reuolts
 During their vse, and slay vs after
 
    Bel. Sonnes,
 Wee'l higher to the Mountaines, there secure vs.
 To the Kings party there's no going: newnesse
 Of Clotens death (we being not knowne, nor muster'd
 Among the Bands) may driue vs to a render
 Where we haue liu'd; and so extort from's that
 Which we haue done, whose answer would be death
 Drawne on with Torture
 
    Gui. This is (Sir) a doubt
 In such a time, nothing becomming you,
 Nor satisfying vs
 
    Arui. It is not likely,
 That when they heare their Roman horses neigh,
 Behold their quarter'd Fires; haue both their eyes
 And eares so cloyd importantly as now,
 That they will waste their time vpon our note,
 To know from whence we are
 
    Bel. Oh, I am knowne
 Of many in the Army: Many yeeres
 (Though Cloten then but young) you see, not wore him
 From my remembrance. And besides, the King
 Hath not deseru'd my Seruice, nor your Loues,
 Who finde in my Exile, the want of Breeding;
 The certainty of this heard life, aye hopelesse
 To haue the courtesie your Cradle promis'd,
 But to be still hot Summers Tanlings, and
 The shrinking Slaues of Winter
 
    Gui. Then be so,
 Better to cease to be. Pray Sir, to'th' Army:
 I, and my Brother are not knowne; your selfe
 So out of thought, and thereto so ore-growne,
 Cannot be question'd
 
    Arui. By this Sunne that shines
 Ile thither: What thing is't, that I neuer
 Did see man dye, scarse euer look'd on blood,
 But that of Coward Hares, hot Goats, and Venison?
 Neuer bestrid a Horse saue one, that had
 A Rider like my selfe, who ne're wore Rowell,
 Nor Iron on his heele? I am asham'd
 To looke vpon the holy Sunne, to haue
 The benefit of his blest Beames, remaining
 So long a poore vnknowne
 
    Gui. By heauens Ile go,
 If you will blesse me Sir, and giue me leaue,
 Ile take the better care: but if you will not,
 The hazard therefore due fall on me, by
 The hands of Romaines
 
    Arui. So say I, Amen
 
    Bel. No reason I (since of your liues you set
 So slight a valewation) should reserue
 My crack'd one to more care. Haue with you Boyes:
 If in your Country warres you chance to dye,
 That is my Bed too (Lads) and there Ile lye.
 Lead, lead; the time seems long, their blood thinks scorn
 Till it flye out, and shew them Princes borne.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 
 Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.
 
 Enter Posthumus alone.
 
   Post. Yea bloody cloth, Ile keep thee: for I am wisht
 Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married ones,
 If each of you should take this course, how many
 Must murther Wiues much better then themselues
 For wrying but a little? Oh Pisanio,
 Euery good Seruant do's not all Commands:
 No Bond, but to do iust ones. Gods, if you
 Should haue 'tane vengeance on my faults, I neuer
 Had liu'd to put on this: so had you saued
 The noble Imogen, to repent, and strooke
 Me (wretch) more worth your Vengeance. But alacke,
 You snatch some hence for little faults; that's loue
 To haue them fall no more: you some permit
 To second illes with illes, each elder worse,
 And make them dread it, to the dooers thrift.
 But Imogen is your owne, do your best willes,
 And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither
 Among th' Italian Gentry, and to fight
 Against my Ladies Kingdome: 'Tis enough
 That (Britaine) I haue kill'd thy Mistris: Peace,
 Ile giue no wound to thee: therefore good Heauens,
 Heare patiently my purpose. Ile disrobe me
 Of these Italian weedes, and suite my selfe
 As do's a Britaine Pezant: so Ile fight
 Against the part I come with: so Ile dye
 For thee (O Imogen) euen for whom my life
 Is euery breath, a death: and thus, vnknowne,
 Pittied, nor hated, to the face of perill
 My selfe Ile dedicate. Let me make men know
 More valour in me, then my habits show.
 Gods, put the strength o'th'Leonati in me:
 To shame the guize o'th' world, I will begin,
 The fashion lesse without, and more within.
 Enter.
 
 
 Scena Secunda.
 
 Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and the Romane Army at one doore: and
 the Britaine
 Army at another: Leonatus Posthumus following like a poore
 Souldier. They
 march ouer, and goe out. Then enter againe in Skirmish Iachimo
 and
 Posthumus: he vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo, and then
 leaues him.
 
   Iac. The heauinesse and guilt within my bosome,
 Takes off my manhood: I haue belyed a Lady,
 The Princesse of this Country; and the ayre on't
 Reuengingly enfeebles me, or could this Carle,
 A very drudge of Natures, haue subdu'de me
 In my profession? Knighthoods, and Honors borne
 As I weare mine) are titles but of scorne.
 If that thy Gentry (Britaine) go before
 This Lowt, as he exceeds our Lords, the oddes
 Is, that we scarse are men, and you are Goddes.
 Enter.
 
 The Battaile continues, the Britaines fly, Cymbeline is taken: Then
 enter
 to his rescue, Bellarius, Guiderius, and Aruiragus.
 
   Bel. Stand, stand, we haue th' aduantage of the ground,
 The Lane is guarded: Nothing rowts vs, but
 The villany of our feares
 
    Gui. Arui. Stand, stand, and fight.
 Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britaines. They Rescue
 Cymbeline, and
 Exeunt.
 
 Then enter Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen.
 
   Luc. Away boy from the Troopes, and saue thy selfe:
 For friends kil friends, and the disorder's such
 As warre were hood-wink'd
 
    Iac. 'Tis their fresh supplies
 
    Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely: or betimes
 Let's re-inforce, or fly.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 Scena Tertia.
 
 Enter Posthumus, and a Britaine Lord.
 
   Lor. Cam'st thou from where they made the stand?
   Post. I did,
 Though you it seemes come from the Fliers?
   Lo. I did
 
    Post. No blame be to you Sir, for all was lost,
 But that the Heauens fought: the King himselfe
 Of his wings destitute, the Army broken,
 And but the backes of Britaines seene; all flying
 Through a strait Lane, the Enemy full-heart'd,
 Lolling the Tongue with slaught'ring: hauing worke
 More plentifull, then Tooles to doo't: strooke downe
 Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
 Meerely through feare, that the strait passe was damm'd
 With deadmen, hurt behinde, and Cowards liuing
 To dye with length'ned shame
 
    Lo. Where was this Lane?
   Post. Close by the battell, ditch'd, & wall'd with turph,
 Which gaue aduantage to an ancient Soldiour
 (An honest one I warrant) who deseru'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, then to commit such slaughter,
 With faces fit for Maskes, or rather fayrer
 Then those for preseruation cas'd, or shame)
 Made good the passage, cryed to those that fled.
 Our Britaines hearts dye flying, not our men,
 To darknesse fleete soules that flye backwards; stand,
 Or we are Romanes, and will giue you that
 Like beasts, which you shun beastly, and may saue
 But to looke backe in frowne: Stand, stand. These three,
 Three thousand confident, in acte as many:
 For three performers are the File, when all
 The rest do nothing. With this word stand, stand,
 Accomodated by the Place; more Charming
 With their owne Noblenesse, which could haue turn'd
 A Distaffe, to a Lance, guilded pale lookes;
 Part shame, part spirit renew'd, that some turn'd coward
 But by example (Oh a sinne in Warre,
 Damn'd in the first beginners) gan to looke
 The way that they did, and to grin like Lyons
 Vpon the Pikes o'th' Hunters. Then beganne
 A stop i'th' Chaser; a Retyre: Anon
 A Rowt, confusion thicke: forthwith they flye
 Chickens, the way which they stopt Eagles: Slaues
 The strides the Victors made: and now our Cowards
 Like Fragments in hard Voyages became
 The life o'th' need: hauing found the backe doore open
 Of the vnguarded hearts: heauens, how they wound,
 Some slaine before some dying; some their Friends
 Ore-borne i'th' former waue, ten chac'd by one,
 Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:
 Those that would dye, or ere resist, are growne
 The mortall bugs o'th' Field
 
    Lord. This was strange chance:
 A narrow Lane, an old man, and two Boyes
 
    Post. Nay, do not wonder at it: you are made
 Rather to wonder at the things you heare,
 Then to worke any. Will you Rime vpon't,
 And vent it for a Mock'rie? Heere is one:
 ``Two Boyes, an Oldman (twice a Boy) a Lane,
 ``Preseru'd the Britaines, was the Romanes bane
 
    Lord. Nay, be not angry Sir
 
    Post. Lacke, to what end?
 Who dares not stand his Foe, Ile be his Friend:
 For if hee'l do, as he is made to doo,
 I know hee'l quickly flye my friendship too.
 You haue put me into Rime
 
    Lord. Farewell, you're angry.
 Enter.
 
   Post. Still going? This is a Lord: Oh Noble misery
 To be i'th' Field, and aske what newes of me:
 To day, how many would haue giuen their Honours
 To haue sau'd their Carkasses? Tooke heele to doo't,
 And yet dyed too. I, in mine owne woe charm'd
 Could not finde death, where I did heare him groane,
 Nor feele him where he strooke. Being an vgly Monster,
 'Tis strange he hides him in fresh Cups, soft Beds,
 Sweet words; or hath moe ministers then we
 That draw his kniues i'th' War. Well I will finde him:
 For being now a Fauourer to the Britaine,
 No more a Britaine, I haue resum'd againe
 The part I came in. Fight I will no more,
 But yeeld me to the veriest Hinde, that shall
 Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is
 Heere made by'th' Romane; great the Answer be
 Britaines must take. For me, my Ransome's death,
 On eyther side I come to spend my breath;
 Which neyther heere Ile keepe, nor beare agen,
 But end it by some meanes for Imogen.
 Enter two Captaines, and Soldiers.
 
   1 Great Iupiter be prais'd, Lucius is taken,
 'Tis thought the old man, and his sonnes, were Angels
 
    2 There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,
 That gaue th' Affront with them
 
    1 So 'tis reported:
 But none of 'em can be found. Stand, who's there?
   Post. A Roman,
 Who had not now beene drooping heere, if Seconds
 Had answer'd him
 
    2 Lay hands on him: a Dogge,
 A legge of Rome shall not returne to tell
 What Crows haue peckt them here: he brags his seruice
 As if he were of note: bring him to'th' King.
 Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Aruiragus, Pisanio, and
 Romane
 Captiues. The Captaines present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who
 deliuers him
 ouer to a Gaoler.
 
 
 Scena Quarta.
 
 Enter Posthumus, and Gaoler.
 
   Gao. You shall not now be stolne,
 You haue lockes vpon you:
 So graze, as you finde Pasture
 
    2.Gao. I, or a stomacke
 
    Post. Most welcome bondage; for thou art a way
 (I thinke) to liberty: yet am I better
 Then one that's sicke o'th' Gowt, since he had rather
 Groane so in perpetuity, then be cur'd
 By'th' sure Physitian, Death; who is the key
 T' vnbarre these Lockes. My Conscience, thou art fetter'd
 More then my shanks, & wrists: you good Gods giue me
 The penitent Instrument to picke that Bolt,
 Then free for euer. Is't enough I am sorry?
 So Children temporall Fathers do appease;
 Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent,
 I cannot do it better then in Gyues,
 Desir'd, more then constrain'd, to satisfie
 If of my Freedome 'tis the maine part, take
 No stricter render of me, then my All.
 I know you are more clement then vilde men,
 Who of their broken Debtors take a third,
 A sixt, a tenth, letting them thriue againe
 On their abatement; that's not my desire.
 For Imogens deere life, take mine, and though
 'Tis not so deere, yet 'tis a life; you coyn'd it,
 'Tweene man, and man, they waigh not euery stampe:
 Though light, take Peeces for the figures sake,
 (You rather) mine being yours: and so great Powres,
 If you will take this Audit, take this life,
 And cancell these cold Bonds. Oh Imogen,
 Ile speake to thee in silence.
 
 Solemne Musicke. Enter (as in an Apparation) Sicillius Leonatus,
 Father
 to Posthumus, an old man, attyred like a warriour, leading in his
 hand an
 ancient Matron (his wife, & Mother to Posthumus) with Musicke
 before them.
 Then after other Musicke, followes the two young Leonati
 (Brothers to
 Posthumus) with wounds as they died in the warrs. They circle
 Posthumus
 round as he lies sleeping.
 
   Sicil. No more thou Thunder-Master
 shew thy spight, on Mortall Flies:
 With Mars fall out with Iuno chide, that thy Adulteries
 Rates, and Reuenges.
 Hath my poore Boy done ought but well,
 whose face I neuer saw:
 I dy'de whil'st in the Wombe he staide,
 attending Natures Law.
 Whose Father then (as men report,
 thou Orphanes Father art)
 Thou should'st haue bin, and sheelded him,
 from this earth-vexing smart
 
    Moth. Lucina lent not me her ayde,
 but tooke me in my Throwes,
 That from me was Posthumus ript,
 came crying 'mong'st his Foes.
 A thing of pitty
 
    Sicil. Great Nature like his Ancestrie,
 moulded the stuffe so faire:
 That he deseru'd the praise o'th' World,
 as great Sicilius heyre
 
    1.Bro. When once he was mature for man,
 in Britaine where was hee
 That could stand vp his paralell?
 Or fruitfull obiect bee?
 In eye of Imogen, that best could deeme
 his dignitie
 
    Mo. With Marriage wherefore was he mockt
 to be exil'd, and throwne
 From Leonati Seate, and cast from her,
 his deerest one:
 Sweete Imogen?
   Sic. Why did you suffer Iachimo, slight thing of Italy,
 To taint his Nobler hart & braine, with needlesse ielousy,
 And to become the geeke and scorne o'th' others vilany?
   2 Bro. For this, from stiller Seats we came,
 our Parents, and vs twaine,
 That striking in our Countries cause,
 fell brauely, and were slaine,
 Our Fealty, & Tenantius right, with Honor to maintaine
 
    1 Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath
 to Cymbeline perform'd:
 Then Iupiter, y King of Gods, why hast y thus adiourn'd
 The Graces for his Merits due, being all to dolors turn'd?
 
   Sicil. Thy Christall window ope; looke,
 looke out, no longer exercise
 Vpon a valiant Race, thy harsh, and potent iniuries:
 
   Moth. Since (Iupiter) our Son is good,
 take off his miseries
 
    Sicil. Peepe through thy Marble Mansion, helpe,
 or we poore Ghosts will cry
 To'th' shining Synod of the rest, against thy Deity
 
    Brothers. Helpe (Iupiter) or we appeale,
 and from thy iustice flye.
 
 Iupiter descends in Thunder and Lightning, sitting vppon an Eagle:
 hee
 throwes a Thunder-bolt. The Ghostes fall on their knees.
 
   Iupiter. No more you petty Spirits of Region low
 Offend our hearing: hush. How dare you Ghostes
 Accuse the Thunderer, whose Bolt (you know)
 Sky-planted, batters all rebelling Coasts.
 Poore shadowes of Elizium, hence, and rest
 Vpon your neuer-withering bankes of Flowres.
 Be not with mortall accidents opprest,
 No care of yours it is, you know 'tis ours.
 Whom best I loue, I crosse; to make my guift
 The more delay'd, delighted. Be content,
 Your low-laide Sonne, our Godhead will vplift:
 His Comforts thriue, his Trials well are spent:
 Our Iouiall Starre reign'd at his Birth, and in
 Our Temple was he married: Rise, and fade,
 He shall be Lord of Lady Imogen,
 And happier much by his Affliction made
 This Tablet lay vpon his Brest, wherein
 Our pleasure, his full Fortune, doth confine,
 And so away: no farther with your dinne
 Expresse Impatience, least you stirre vp mine:
 Mount Eagle, to my Palace Christalline.
 
 Ascends
 
   Sicil. He came in Thunder, his Celestiall breath
 Was sulphurous to smell: the holy Eagle
 Stoop'd, as to foote vs: his Ascension is
 More sweet then our blest Fields: his Royall Bird
 Prunes the immortall wing, and cloyes his Beake,
 As when his God is pleas'd
 
    All. Thankes Iupiter
 
    Sic. The Marble Pauement clozes, he is enter'd
 His radiant Roofe: Away, and to be blest
 Let vs with care performe his great behest.
 
 Vanish
 
   Post. Sleepe, thou hast bin a Grandsire, and begot
 A Father to me: and thou hast created
 A Mother, and two Brothers. But (oh scorne)
 Gone, they went hence so soone as they were borne:
 And so I am awake. Poore Wretches, that depend
 On Greatnesse, Fauour; Dreame as I haue done,
 Wake, and finde nothing. But (alas) I swerue:
 Many Dreame not to finde, neither deserue,
 And yet are steep'd in Fauours; so am I
 That haue this Golden chance, and know not why:
 What Fayeries haunt this ground? A Book? Oh rare one,
 Be not, as is our fangled world, a Garment
 Nobler then that it couers. Let thy effects
 So follow, to be most vnlike our Courtiers,
 As good, as promise.
 
 Reades.
 
 When as a Lyons whelpe, shall to himselfe vnknown, without
 seeking finde, and bee embrac'd by a peece of tender
 Ayre: And when from a stately Cedar shall be lopt branches,
 which being dead many yeares, shall after reuiue, bee ioynted to
 the old Stocke, and freshly grow, then shall Posthumus end his
 miseries, Britaine be fortunate, and flourish in Peace and Plentie.
 'Tis still a Dreame: or else such stuffe as Madmen
 Tongue, and braine not: either both, or nothing
 Or senselesse speaking, or a speaking such
 As sense cannot vntye. Be what it is,
 The Action of my life is like it, which Ile keepe
 If but for simpathy.
 Enter Gaoler.
 
   Gao. Come Sir, are you ready for death?
   Post. Ouer-roasted rather: ready long ago
 
    Gao. Hanging is the word, Sir, if you bee readie for
 that, you are well Cook'd
 
    Post. So if I proue a good repast to the Spectators, the
 dish payes the shot
 
    Gao. A heauy reckoning for you Sir: But the comfort
 is you shall be called to no more payments, fear no more
 Tauerne Bils, which are often the sadnesse of parting, as
 the procuring of mirth: you come in faint for want of
 meate, depart reeling with too much drinke: sorrie that
 you haue payed too much, and sorry that you are payed
 too much: Purse and Braine, both empty: the Brain the
 heauier, for being too light; the Purse too light, being
 drawne of heauinesse. Oh, of this contradiction you shall
 now be quit: Oh the charity of a penny Cord, it summes
 vp thousands in a trice: you haue no true Debitor, and
 Creditor but it: of what's past, is, and to come, the discharge:
 your necke (Sir) is Pen, Booke, and Counters; so
 the Acquittance followes
 
    Post. I am merrier to dye, then thou art to liue
 
    Gao. Indeed Sir, he that sleepes, feeles not the Tooth-Ache:
 but a man that were to sleepe your sleepe, and a
 Hangman to helpe 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 do I, fellow
 
    Gao. Your death has eyes in's head then: I haue not
 seene him so pictur'd: you must either bee directed by
 some that take vpon them to know, or to take vpon your
 selfe that which I am sure you do not know: or iump the
 after-enquiry on your owne perill: and how you shall
 speed in your iournies end, I thinke you'l neuer returne
 to tell one
 
    Post. I tell thee, Fellow, there are none want eyes, to
 direct them the way I am going, but such as winke, and
 will not vse them
 
    Gao. What an infinite mocke is this, that a man shold
 haue the best vse of eyes, to see the way of blindnesse: I
 am sure hanging's the way of winking.
 Enter a Messenger.
 
   Mes. Knocke off his Manacles, bring your Prisoner to
 the King
 
    Post. Thou bring'st good newes, I am call'd to bee
 made free
 
    Gao. Ile be hang'd then
 
    Post. Thou shalt be then freer then a Gaoler; no bolts
 for the dead
 
    Gao. Vnlesse a man would marry a Gallowes, & beget
 yong Gibbets, I neuer saw one so prone: yet on my
 Conscience, there are verier Knaues desire to liue, for all
 he be a Roman; and there be some of them too that dye
 against their willes; so should I, if I were one. I would
 we were all of one minde, and one minde good: O there
 were desolation of Gaolers and Galowses: I speake against
 my present profit, but my wish hath a preferment
 in't.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 
 Scena Quinta.
 
 Enter Cymbeline, Bellarius, Guiderius, Aruiragus, Pisanio, and
 Lords.
 
   Cym. Stand by my side you, whom the Gods haue made
 Preseruers of my Throne: woe is my heart,
 That the poore Souldier that so richly fought,
 Whose ragges, sham'd gilded Armes, whose naked brest
 Stept before Targes of proofe, cannot be found:
 He shall be happy that can finde him, if
 Our Grace can make him so
 
    Bel. I neuer saw
 Such Noble fury in so poore a Thing;
 Such precious deeds, in one that promist nought
 But beggery, and poore lookes
 
    Cym. No tydings of him?
   Pisa. He hath bin search'd among the dead, & liuing;
 But no trace of him
 
    Cym. To my greefe, I am
 The heyre of his Reward, which I will adde
 To you (the Liuer, Heart, and Braine of Britaine)
 By whom (I grant) she liues. 'Tis now the time
 To aske of whence you are. Report it
 
    Bel. Sir,
 In Cambria are we borne, and Gentlemen:
 Further to boast, were neyther true, nor modest,
 Vnlesse I adde, we are honest
 
    Cym. Bow your knees:
 Arise my Knights o'th' Battell, I create you
 Companions to our person, and will fit you
 With Dignities becomming your estates.
 Enter Cornelius and Ladies.
 
 There's businesse in these faces: why so sadly
 Greet you our Victory? you looke like Romaines,
 And not o'th' Court of Britaine
 
    Corn. Hayle great King,
 To sowre your happinesse, I must report
 The Queene is dead
 
    Cym. Who worse then a Physitian
 Would this report become? But I consider,
 By Med'cine 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 cruell to the world) concluded
 Most cruell to her selfe. What she confest,
 I will report, so please you. These her Women
 Can trip me, if I erre, who with wet cheekes
 Were present when she finish'd
 
    Cym. Prythee say
 
    Cor. First, she confest she neuer lou'd you: onely
 Affected Greatnesse got by you: not you:
 Married your Royalty, was wife to your place:
 Abhorr'd your person
 
    Cym. She alone knew this:
 And but she spoke it dying, I would not
 Beleeue her lips in opening it. Proceed
 
    Corn. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to loue
 With such integrity, she did confesse
 Was as a Scorpion to her sight, whose life
 (But that her flight preuented it) she had
 Tane off by poyson
 
    Cym. O most delicate Fiend!
 Who is't can reade a Woman? Is there more?
   Corn. More Sir, and worse. She did confesse she had
 For you a mortall Minerall, which being tooke,
 Should by the minute feede on life, and ling'ring,
 By inches waste you. In which time, she purpos'd
 By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
 Orecome you with her shew; and in time
 (When she had fitted you with her craft, to worke
 Her Sonne into th' adoption of the Crowne:
 But fayling of her end by his strange absence,
 Grew shamelesse desperate, open'd (in despight
 Of Heauen, and Men) her purposes: repented
 The euils she hatch'd, were not effected: so
 Dispayring, dyed
 
    Cym. Heard you all this, her Women?
   La. We did, so please your Highnesse
 
    Cym. Mine eyes
 Were not in fault, for she was beautifull:
 Mine eares that heare her flattery, nor my heart,
 That thought her like her seeming. It had beene vicious
 To haue mistrusted her: yet (Oh my Daughter)
 That it was folly in me, thou mayst say,
 And proue it in thy feeling. Heauen mend all.
 Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and other Roman prisoners, Leonatus
 behind, and
 Imogen.
 
 Thou comm'st not Caius now for Tribute, that
 The Britaines haue rac'd out, though with the losse
 Of many a bold one: whose Kinsmen haue made suite
 That their good soules may be appeas'd, with slaughter
 Of you their Captiues, which our selfe haue granted,
 So thinke of your estate
 
    Luc. Consider Sir, the chance of Warre, the day
 Was yours by accident: had it gone with vs,
 We should not when the blood was cool, haue threatend
 Our Prisoners with the Sword. But since the Gods
 Will haue it thus, that nothing but our liues
 May be call'd ransome, let it come: Sufficeth,
 A Roman, with a Romans heart can suffer:
 Augustus liues to thinke on't: and so much
 For my peculiar care. This one thing onely
 I will entreate, my Boy (a Britaine borne)
 Let him be ransom'd: Neuer Master had
 A Page so kinde, so duteous, diligent,
 So tender ouer his occasions, true,
 So feate, so Nurse-like: let his vertue ioyne
 With my request, which Ile make bold your Highnesse
 Cannot deny: he hath done no Britaine harme,
 Though he haue seru'd a Roman. Saue him (Sir)
 And spare no blood beside
 
    Cym. I haue surely seene him:
 His fauour is familiar to me: Boy,
 Thou hast look'd thy selfe into my grace,
 And art mine owne. I know not why, wherefore,
 To say, liue boy: ne're thanke thy Master, liue;
 And aske of Cymbeline what Boone thou wilt,
 Fitting my bounty, and thy state, Ile giue it:
 Yea, though thou do demand a Prisoner
 The Noblest tane
 
    Imo. I humbly thanke your Highnesse
 
    Luc. I do not bid thee begge my life, good Lad,
 And yet I know thou wilt
 
    Imo. No, no, alacke,
 There's other worke in hand: I see a thing
 Bitter to me, as death: your life, good Master,
 Must shuffle for it selfe
 
    Luc. The Boy disdaines me,
 He leaues me, scornes me: briefely dye their ioyes,
 That place them on the truth of Gyrles, and Boyes.
 Why stands he so perplext?
   Cym. What would'st thou Boy?
 I loue thee more, and more: thinke more and more
 What's best to aske. Know'st him thou look'st on? speak
 Wilt haue him liue? Is he thy Kin? thy Friend?
   Imo. He is a Romane, no more kin to me,
 Then I to your Highnesse, who being born your vassaile
 Am something neerer
 
    Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so?
   Imo. Ile tell you (Sir) in priuate, if you please
 To giue me hearing
 
    Cym. I, with all my heart,
 And lend my best attention. What's thy name?
   Imo. Fidele Sir
 
    Cym. Thou'rt my good youth: my Page
 Ile be thy Master: walke with me: speake freely
 
    Bel. Is not this Boy reuiu'd from death?
   Arui. One Sand another
 Not more resembles that sweet Rosie Lad:
 Who dyed, and was Fidele: what thinke you?
   Gui. The same dead thing aliue
 
    Bel. Peace, peace, see further: he eyes vs not, forbeare
 Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure
 He would haue spoke to vs
 
    Gui. But we see him dead
 
    Bel. Be silent: let's see further
 
    Pisa. It is my Mistris:
 Since she is liuing, let the time run on,
 To good, or bad
 
    Cym. Come, stand thou by our side,
 Make thy demand alowd. Sir, step you forth,
 Giue answer to this Boy, and do it freely,
 Or by our Greatnesse, and the grace of it
 (Which is our Honor) bitter torture shall
 Winnow the truth from falshood. One speake to him
 
    Imo. My boone is, that this Gentleman may render
 Of whom he had this Ring
 
    Post. What's that to him?
   Cym. That Diamond vpon your Finger, say
 How came it yours?
   Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leaue vnspoken, that
 Which to be spoke, wou'd torture thee
 
    Cym. How? me?
   Iach. I am glad to be constrain'd to vtter that
 Which torments me to conceale. By Villany
 I got this Ring: 'twas Leonatus Iewell,
 Whom thou did'st banish: and which more may greeue thee,
 As it doth me: a Nobler Sir, ne're liu'd
 'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou heare more my Lord?
   Cym. All that belongs to this
 
    Iach. That Paragon, thy daughter,
 For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
 Quaile to remember. Giue me leaue, I faint
 
    Cym. My Daughter? what of hir? Renew thy strength
 I had rather thou should'st liue, while Nature will,
 Then dye ere I heare more: striue man, and speake
 
    Iach. Vpon a time, vnhappy was the clocke
 That strooke the houre: it was in Rome, accurst
 The Mansion where: 'twas at a Feast, oh would
 Our Viands had bin poyson'd (or at least
 Those which I heau'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
 Among'st the rar'st of good ones) sitting sadly,
 Hearing vs praise our Loues of Italy
 For Beauty, that made barren the swell'd boast
 Of him that best could speake: for Feature, laming
 The Shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerua,
 Postures, beyond breefe Nature. For Condition,
 A shop of all the qualities, that man
 Loues woman for, besides that hooke of Wiuing,
 Fairenesse, which strikes the eye
 
    Cym. I stand on fire. Come to the matter
 
    Iach. All too soone I shall,
 Vnlesse thou would'st greeue quickly. This Posthumus,
 Most like a Noble Lord, in loue, and one
 That had a Royall Louer, tooke his hint,
 And (not dispraising whom we prais'd, therein
 He was as calme as vertue) he began
 His Mistris picture, which, by his tongue, being made,
 And then a minde put in't, either our bragges
 Were crak'd of Kitchin-Trulles, or his description
 Prou'd vs vnspeaking sottes
 
    Cym. Nay, nay, to'th' purpose
 
    Iach. Your daughters Chastity, (there it beginnes)
 He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreames,
 And she alone, were cold: Whereat, I wretch
 Made scruple of his praise, and wager'd with him
 Peeces of Gold, 'gainst this, which then he wore
 Vpon his honour'd finger) to attaine
 In suite the place of's bed, and winne this Ring
 By hers, and mine Adultery: he (true Knight)
 No lesser of her Honour confident
 Then I did truly finde her, stakes this Ring,
 And would so, had it beene a Carbuncle
 Of Phoebus Wheele; and might so safely, had it
 Bin all the worth of's Carre. Away to Britaine
 Poste I in this designe: Well may you (Sir)
 Remember me at Court, where I was taught
 Of your chaste Daughter, the wide difference
 'Twixt Amorous, and Villanous. Being thus quench'd
 Of hope, not longing; mine Italian braine,
 Gan in your duller Britaine operate
 Most vildely: for my vantage excellent.
 And to be breefe, my practise so preuayl'd
 That I return'd with simular proofe enough,
 To make the Noble Leonatus mad,
 By wounding his beleefe in her Renowne,
 With Tokens thus, and thus: auerring notes
 Of Chamber-hanging, Pictures, this her Bracelet
 (Oh cunning how I got) nay some markes
 Of secret on her person, that he could not
 But thinke her bond of Chastity quite crack'd,
 I hauing 'tane the forfeyt. Whereupon,
 Me thinkes I see him now
 
    Post. I so thou do'st,
 Italian Fiend. Aye me, most credulous Foole,
 Egregious murtherer, Theefe, any thing
 That's due to all the Villaines past, in being
 To come. Oh giue me Cord, or knife, or poyson,
 Some vpright Iusticer. Thou King, send out
 For Torturors ingenious: it is I
 That all th' abhorred things o'th' earth amend
 By being worse then they. I am Posthumus,
 That kill'd thy Daughter: Villain-like, I lye,
 That caus'd a lesser villaine then my selfe,
 A sacrilegious Theefe to doo't. The Temple
 Of Vertue was she; yea, and she her selfe.
 Spit, and throw stones, cast myre vpon me, set
 The dogges o'th' street to bay me: euery villaine
 Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus, and
 Be villany lesse then 'twas. Oh Imogen!
 My Queene, my life, my wife: oh Imogen,
 Imogen, Imogen
 
    Imo. Peace my Lord, heare, heare
 
    Post. Shall's haue a play of this?
 Thou scornfull Page, there lye thy part
 
    Pis. Oh Gentlemen, helpe,
 Mine and your Mistris: Oh my Lord Posthumus,
 You ne're kill'd Imogen till now: helpe, helpe,
 Mine honour'd Lady
 
    Cym. Does the world go round?
   Posth. How comes these staggers on mee?
   Pisa. Wake my Mistris
 
    Cym. If this be so, the Gods do meane to strike me
 To death, with mortall ioy
 
    Pisa. How fares my Mistris?
   Imo. Oh get thee from my sight,
 Thou gau'st me poyson: dangerous Fellow hence,
 Breath not where Princes are
 
    Cym. The tune of Imogen
 
    Pisa. Lady, the Gods throw stones of sulpher on me, if
 That box I gaue you, was not thought by mee
 A precious thing, I had it from the Queene
 
    Cym. New matter still
 
    Imo. It poyson'd me
 
    Corn. Oh Gods!
 I left out one thing which the Queene confest,
 Which must approue thee honest. If Pasanio
 Haue (said she) giuen his Mistris that Confection
 Which I gaue him for Cordiall, she is seru'd,
 As I would serue a Rat
 
    Cym. What's this, Cornelius?
   Corn. The Queene (Sir) very oft importun'd me
 To temper poysons for her, still pretending
 The satisfaction of her knowledge, onely
 In killing Creatures vilde, as Cats and Dogges
 Of no esteeme. I dreading, that her purpose
 Was of more danger, did compound for her
 A certaine stuffe, which being tane, would cease
 The present powre of life, but in short time,
 All Offices of Nature, should againe
 Do their due Functions. Haue you tane of it?
   Imo. Most like I did, for I was dead
 
    Bel. My Boyes, there was our error
 
    Gui. This is sure Fidele
 
    Imo. Why did you throw your wedded Lady fro[m] you?
 Thinke that you are vpon a Rocke, and now
 Throw me againe
 
    Post. Hang there like fruite, my soule,
 Till the Tree dye
 
    Cym. How now, my Flesh? my Childe?
 What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this Act?
 Wilt thou not speake to me?
   Imo. Your blessing, Sir
 
    Bel. Though you did loue this youth, I blame ye not,
 You had a motiue for't
 
    Cym. My teares that fall
 Proue holy-water on thee; Imogen,
 Thy Mothers dead
 
    Imo. I am sorry for't, my Lord
 
    Cym. Oh, she was naught; and long of her it was
 That we meet heere so strangely: but her Sonne
 Is gone, we know not how, nor where
 
    Pisa. My Lord,
 Now feare is from me, Ile speake troth. Lord Cloten
 Vpon my Ladies missing, came to me
 With his Sword drawne, foam'd at the mouth, and swore
 If I discouer'd not which way she was gone,
 It was my instant death. By accident,
 I had a feigned Letter of my Masters
 Then in my pocket, which directed him
 To seeke her on the Mountaines neere to Milford,
 Where in a frenzie, in my Masters Garments
 (Which he inforc'd from me) away he postes
 With vnchaste purpose, and with oath to violate
 My Ladies honor, 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
 Plucke a hard sentence: Prythee valiant youth
 Deny't againe
 
    Gui. I haue spoke it, and I did it
 
    Cym. He was a Prince
 
    Gui. A most inciuill one. The wrongs he did mee
 Were nothing Prince-like; for he did prouoke me
 With Language that would make me spurne the Sea,
 If it could so roare to me. I cut off's head,
 And am right glad he is not standing heere
 To tell this tale of mine
 
    Cym. I am sorrow for thee:
 By thine owne tongue thou art condemn'd, and must
 Endure our Law: Thou'rt dead
 
    Imo. That headlesse man I thought had bin my Lord
   Cym. Binde the Offender,
 And take him from our presence
 
    Bel. Stay, Sir King.
 This man is better then the man he slew,
 As well descended as thy selfe, and hath
 More of thee merited, then a Band of Clotens
 Had euer scarre for. Let his Armes alone,
 They were not borne for bondage
 
    Cym. Why old Soldier:
 Wilt thou vndoo the worth thou art vnpayd for
 By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
 As good as we?
   Arui. In that he spake too farre
 
    Cym. And thou shalt dye for't
 
    Bel. We will dye all three,
 But I will proue that two one's are as good
 As I haue giuen out him. My Sonnes, I must
 For mine owne part, vnfold a dangerous speech,
 Though haply well for you
 
    Arui. Your danger's ours
 
    Guid. And our good his
 
    Bel. Haue at it then, by leaue
 Thou hadd'st (great King) a Subiect, who
 Was 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 saue him
 
    Bel. Not too hot;
 First pay me for the Nursing of thy Sonnes,
 And let it be confiscate all, so soone
 As I haue receyu'd it
 
    Cym. Nursing of my Sonnes?
   Bel. I am too blunt, and sawcy: heere's my knee:
 Ere I arise, I will preferre my Sonnes,
 Then spare not the old Father. Mighty Sir,
 These two young Gentlemen that call me Father,
 And thinke they are my Sonnes, are none of mine,
 They are the yssue of your Loynes, my Liege,
 And blood of your begetting
 
    Cym. How? my Issue
 
    Bel. So sure as you, your Fathers: I (old Morgan)
 Am that Belarius, whom you sometime banish'd:
 Your pleasure was my neere offence, my punishment
 It selfe, and all my Treason that I suffer'd,
 Was all the harme I did. These gentle Princes
 (For such, and so they are) these twenty yeares
 Haue I train'd vp; those Arts they haue, as I
 Could put into them. My breeding was (Sir)
 As your Highnesse knowes: Their Nurse Euriphile
 (Whom for the Theft I wedded) stole these Children
 Vpon my Banishment: I moou'd her too't,
 Hauing receyu'd the punishment before
 For that which I did then. Beaten for Loyaltie,
 Excited me to Treason. Their deere losse,
 The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd
 Vnto my end of stealing them. But gracious Sir,
 Heere are your Sonnes againe, and I must loose
 Two of the sweet'st Companions in the World.
 The benediction of these couering Heauens
 Fall on their heads like dew, for they are worthie
 To in-lay Heauen with Starres
 
    Cym. Thou weep'st, and speak'st:
 The Seruice that you three haue done, is more
 Vnlike, then this thou tell'st. I lost my Children,
 If these be they, I know not how to wish
 A payre of worthier Sonnes
 
    Bel. Be pleas'd awhile;
 This Gentleman, whom I call Polidore,
 Most worthy Prince, as yours, is true Guiderius:
 This Gentleman, my Cadwall, Aruiragus.
 Your yonger Princely Son, he Sir, was lapt
 In a most curious Mantle, wrought by th' hand
 Of his Queene Mother, which for more probation
 I can with ease produce
 
    Cym. Guiderius had
 Vpon his necke a Mole, a sanguine Starre,
 It was a marke of wonder
 
    Bel. This is he,
 Who hath vpon him still that naturall stampe:
 It was wise Natures end, in the donation
 To be his euidence now
 
    Cym. Oh, what am I
 A Mother to the byrth of three? Nere Mother
 Reioyc'd deliuerance more: Blest, pray you be,
 That after this strange starting from your Orbes,
 You may reigne in them now: Oh Imogen,
 Thou hast lost by this a Kingdome
 
    Imo. No, my Lord:
 I haue got two Worlds by't. Oh my gentle Brothers,
 Haue we thus met? Oh neuer say heereafter
 But I am truest speaker. You call'd me Brother
 When I was but your Sister: I you Brothers,
 When we were so indeed
 
    Cym. Did you ere meete?
   Arui. I my good Lord
 
    Gui. And at first meeting lou'd,
 Continew'd so, vntill we thought he dyed
 
    Corn. By the Queenes Dramme she swallow'd
 
    Cym. O rare instinct!
 When shall I heare all through? This fierce abridgment,
 Hath to it Circumstantiall branches, which
 Distinction should be rich in. Where? how liu'd you?
 And when came you to serue our Romane Captiue?
 How parted with your Brother? How first met them?
 Why fled you from the Court? And whether these?
 And your three motiues to the Battaile? with
 I know not how much more should be demanded,
 And all the other by-dependances
 From chance to chance? But nor the Time, nor Place
 Will serue our long Interrogatories. See,
 Posthumus Anchors vpon Imogen;
 And she (like harmlesse Lightning) throwes her eye
 On him: her Brothers, Me: her Master hitting
 Each obiect with a Ioy: the Counter-change
 Is seuerally in all. Let's quit this ground,
 And smoake the Temple with our Sacrifices.
 Thou art my Brother, so wee'l hold thee euer
 
    Imo. You are my Father too, and did releeue me:
 To see this gracious season
 
    Cym. All ore-ioy'd
 Saue these in bonds, let them be ioyfull too,
 For they shall taste our Comfort
 
    Imo. My good Master, I will yet do you seruice
 
    Luc. Happy be you
 
    Cym. The forlorne Souldier, that so Nobly fought
 He would haue well becom'd this place, and grac'd
 The thankings of a King
 
    Post. I am Sir
 The Souldier that did company these three
 In poore beseeming: 'twas a fitment for
 The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he,
 Speake Iachimo, I had you downe, and might
 Haue made you finish
 
    Iach. I am downe againe:
 But now my heauie Conscience sinkes my knee,
 As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you
 Which I so often owe: but your Ring first,
 And heere the Bracelet of the truest Princesse
 That euer swore the Faith
 
    Post. Kneele not to me:
 The powre that I haue on you, is to spare you:
 The malice towards you, to forgiue you. Liue
 And deale with others better
 
    Cym. Nobly doom'd:
 Wee'l learne our Freenesse of a Sonne-in-Law:
 Pardon's the word to all
 
    Arui. You holpe vs Sir,
 As you did meane indeed to be our Brother,
 Ioy'd are we, that you are
 
    Post. Your Seruant Princes. Good my Lord of Rome
 Call forth your Sooth-sayer: As I slept, me thought
 Great Iupiter vpon his Eagle back'd
 Appear'd to me, with other sprightly shewes
 Of mine owne Kindred. When I wak'd, I found
 This Labell on my bosome; whose containing
 Is so from sense in hardnesse, that I can
 Make no Collection of it. Let him shew
 His skill in the construction
 
    Luc. Philarmonus
 
    Sooth. Heere, my good Lord
 
    Luc. Read, and declare the meaning.
 
 Reades.
 
 When as a Lyons whelpe, shall to himselfe vnknown, without
 seeking finde, and bee embrac'd by a peece of tender
 Ayre: And when from a stately Cedar shall be lopt branches,
 which being dead many yeares, shall after reuiue, bee ioynted to
 the old Stocke, and freshly grow, then shall Posthumus end his
 miseries, Britaine be fortunate, and flourish in Peace and Plentie.
 Thou Leonatus art the Lyons Whelpe,
 The fit and apt Construction of thy name
 Being Leonatus, doth import so much:
 The peece of tender Ayre, thy vertuous Daughter,
 Which we call Mollis Aer, and Mollis Aer
 We terme it Mulier; which Mulier I diuine
 Is this most constant Wife, who euen now
 Answering the Letter of the Oracle,
 Vnknowne to you vnsought, were clipt about
 With this most tender Aire
 
    Cym. This hath some seeming
 
    Sooth. The lofty Cedar, Royall Cymbeline
 Personates thee: And thy lopt Branches, point
 Thy two Sonnes forth: who by Belarius stolne
 For many yeares thought dead, are now reuiu'd
 To the Maiesticke Cedar ioyn'd; whose Issue
 Promises Britaine, Peace and Plenty
 
    Cym. Well,
 My Peace we will begin: And Caius Lucius,
 Although the Victor, we submit to Caesar,
 And to the Romane Empire; promising
 To pay our wonted Tribute, from the which
 We were disswaded by our wicked Queene,
 Whom heauens in Iustice both on her, and hers,
 Haue laid most heauy hand
 
    Sooth. The fingers of the Powres aboue, do tune
 The harmony of this Peace: the Vision
 Which I made knowne to Lucius ere the stroke
 Of yet this scarse-cold-Battaile, at this instant
 Is full accomplish'd. For the Romaine Eagle
 From South to West, on wing soaring aloft
 Lessen'd her selfe, and in the Beames o'th' Sun
 So vanish'd; which fore-shew'd our Princely Eagle
 Th' Imperiall Caesar, should againe vnite
 His Fauour, with the Radiant Cymbeline,
 Which shines heere in the West
 
    Cym. Laud we the Gods,
 And let our crooked Smoakes climbe to their Nostrils
 From our blest Altars. Publish we this Peace
 To all our Subiects. Set we forward: Let
 A Roman, and a Brittish Ensigne waue
 Friendly together: so through Luds-Towne march,
 And in the Temple of great Iupiter
 Our Peace wee'l ratifie: Seale it with Feasts.
 Set on there: Neuer was a Warre did cease
 (Ere bloodie hands were wash'd) with such a Peace.
 
 Exeunt.
 
 
 FINIS. THE TRAGEDIE OF CYMBELINE.