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SCENE I.-A Field between the British and Roman Camps.

Enter PosTHUMUS, with a bloody handkerchief. Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wished

Thou shouldst be coloured thus. You married ones,

If each of you would take this course, how many Must murder wives much better than themselves,

For wrying but a little!-O, Pisanio!
Every good servant does not all commands:
No bond, but to do just ones. Gods! if you
Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I

never

Had lived to put on this: so had you saved The noble Imogen to repent; and struck

Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance.

alack,

But

You snatch some hence for little faults; that's

love,

To have them fall no more: you some permit
To second ills with ills, each elder worse;
And make them dread it to the doer's thrift.
But Imogen is your own. Do your best wills,

And make me blessed to obey!-I am brought hither

Among the Italtan gentry, and to fight
Against my lady's kingdom: 'tis enough
That, Britain, I have killed thy mistress: peace!
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good

heavens,

Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me
Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself
As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight
Against the part I come with; so I'll die
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
Is, every breath, a death: and thus, unknown,
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril
Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me than my habits shew.
Gods, put the strength o'the Leonati in me!
To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin
The fashion less without, and more within. [Exit-

SCENE II.-The same.

Enter, at one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman army; at the other side, the British army; LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following it, like a poor

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Post. Close by the battle, ditched, and walled
with turf;

Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,-
An honest one, I warrant; who deserved
So long a breeding as his white beard came to,
In doing this for his country; -athwart the
lane,

He, with two striplings (lads more like to run
The country base than to commit such slaughter;
With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
Than those for preservation cased, or shame),
Made good the passage; cried to those that fled,
"Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men:
To darkness fleet, souls that fly backwards!
Stand;

Or we are Romans, and will give you that Like beasts, which you shun beastly; and may

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Of the unguarded hearts, Heavens, how they Some, slain before; some, dying; some, their O'er-borne i' the former wave: ten, chaced by Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:

wound!

friends

one,

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Those that would die or ere resist, are grown
The mortal bugs o' the field.
Lord.

This was strange chance:

A narrow lane! an old man, and two boys!
Post. Nay, do not wonder at it: you are
made

Rather to wonder at the things you hear,
Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon 't,
And vent it for a mockery? here is one:
"Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,
Preserved the Britons, was the Romans' bane."

Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir.
Post.

'Lack, to what end?

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

I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too.

You have put me into rhyme.

Lord.

Farewell; you are angry. [Exit.

Post. Still going? - This is a lord! O noble misery!

To be i' the field, and ask, what news, of me!To-day, how many would have given their ho

nours

To have saved their carcasses? took heel to do't, And yet died too? I, in mine own woe charmed, Could not find Death where I did hear him groan, Nor feel him where he struck: being an ugly

monster,

'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,

Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we That draw his knives i' the war. --- Well, I will find him:

For being now a favourer to the Roman,

No more a Briton, I have resumed again
The part I came in: fight I will no more,
But yield me to the veriest hind that shall
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaugh-

ter is

Here made by the Romans; great the answer

be

Britons must take: for me, my ransom's death; On either side I come to spend my breath; Which neither here I'll keep, nor bear again, But end it by some means for Imogen.

Enter two British Captains, and Soldiers. 1st Cap. Great Jupiter be praised! Lucius is taken. "Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.

2nd Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,

That gave the front with them. 1st Cap.

So 'tis reported:

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

there?

Post. A Roman;

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give me

The penitent instrument, to pick that bolt, Then, free for ever! Is't enough I am sorry? So children temporal fathers do appease; Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent? I cannot do it better than in gyves, Desired more than constrained: to satisfy, If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take No stricter render of me than my all. I know you are more clement than vile men, Who of their broken debtors take a third, A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again On their abatement; that's not my desire: For Imogen's dear life, take mine; and though 'Tis not so dear, yet 't is a life; you coined it: 'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp;

Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake: You rather mine, being yours: and so great

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Solemn Music. Enter, as an apparition, SICILIUS LEONATUS, father to PosTHUMUS, an old man, attired like a warrior; leading in his hand an ancient Matron, his wife, and mother to PostHUMUS, with music before them. Then, after other music, follow the two young LEONATI, brothers to PosTHUMUS, with wounds, as they died in the wars. They circle POSTHUMUS

round, as he lies sleeping.

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

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

Rates and revenges.

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

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

Whose father then (as men report
Thou orphans' father art)

Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him
From this earth-vexing smart.

Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid,

But took me in my throes;
That from me was Posthumus ript,
Came crying 'mongst his foes,
A thing of pity!

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

That he deserved the praise o' the world,
As great Sicilius' heir.

1st Bro. When once he was mature for man,
In Britain where was he

That could stand up his parallel;

Or fruitful object be

In eye of Imogen, that best
Could deem his dignity?

Moth. With marriage wherefore was he mocked,

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

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

To taint his nobler heart and brain
With needless jealousy;

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

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

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

1st Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath
To Cymbeline performed:

Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,
Why hast thou thus adjourned
The graces for his merits due;
Being all to dolours turned?

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

Upon a valiant race, thy harsh
And potent injuries:

Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good,
Take off his miseries.

Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion; help!
Or we poor ghosts will cry

To the shining synod of the rest,

Against thy deity.

2nd Bro. Help, Jupiter; or we appeal, And from thy justice fly.

JUPITER descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle; he throws a thunder-bolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees.

Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region low,
Offend our hearing; hush!-How dare you, ghosts,
Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt you know,
Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts?
Poor shadows of Elysium, hence; and rest
Upon your never-withering banks of flowers:
Be not with mortal accidents oppressed;

No care of yours it is; you know t'is ours.
Whom best I love, I cross; to make my gift,
The more delayed, delighted. Be content;
Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:
His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.
Our Jovial star reigned 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 upon his breast; wherein
Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine;
And so, away: no farther with your din
Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.-
Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. [Ascends.
Sici. He came in thunder: his celestial breath

Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle
Stooped, as to foot us; his ascension is
More sweet than our blessed fields: his royal bird
Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak,
As when his god is pleased.
All.

Thanks, Jupiter!

Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is entered His radiant roof. Away! and, to be blessed, Let us with care perform his great behest.

[Ghosts vanish.

Post. [waking]. Sleep, thou hast been a grand

sire, and begot

A father to me; and thou hast created
A mother and two brothers: but (O scorn!)
Gone! they went hence so soon as they were born.

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