4.3 Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, PISANIO and attendants.

CYMBELINE
Again: and bring me word how ’tis with her.
Exit an attendant.
A fever with the absence of her son;
A madness, of which her life’s in danger: heavens,
How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,
The great part of my comfort gone: my queen	5
Upon a desperate bed, and in a time
When fearful wars point at me: her son gone,
So needful for this present. It strikes me, past
The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,
Who needs must know of her departure, and	10
Dost seem so ignorant, we’ll enforce it from thee
By a sharp torture.
PISANIO     Sir, my life is yours,
I humbly set it at your will: but, for my mistress,
I nothing know where she remains: why gone,
Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your
highness,	15
Hold me your loyal servant.
1 LORD     Good my liege,
The day that she was missing, he was here:
I dare be bound he’s true, and shall perform
All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,
There wants no diligence in seeking him,	20
And will no doubt be found.
CYMBELINE     The time is troublesome:
[to Pisanio] We’ll slip you for a season, but our
jealousy
Does yet depend.
1 LORD     So please your majesty,
The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your coast, with a supply	25
Of Roman gentlemen, by the Senate sent.
CYMBELINE     Now for the counsel of my son and queen,
I am amaz’d with matter.
1 LORD     Good my liege,
Your preparation can affront no less
Than what you hear of. Come more, for more you’re
ready:	30
The want is but to put those powers in motion
That long to move.
CYMBELINE     I thank you: let’s withdraw
And meet the time, as it seeks us. We fear not
What can from Italy annoy us, but
We grieve at chances here. Away!	35
Exeunt Cymbeline, Lords and attendants.
PISANIO     I heard no letter from my master since
I wrote him Imogen was slain. ’Tis strange:
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise
To yield me often tidings. Neither know I
What is betid to Cloten, but remain	40
Perplex’d in all. The heavens still must work.
Wherein I am false, I am honest; not true, to be true.
These present wars shall find I love my country,
Even to the note o’th’ king, or I’ll fall in them:
All other doubts, by time let them be clear’d,	45
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer’d.
Exit.

4.4 Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS.

GUIDERIUS     The noise is round about us.
BELARIUS     Let us from it.
ARVIRAGUS     What pleasure, sir, we find in life, to lock it
From action and adventure.
GUIDERIUS     Nay, what hope
Have we in hiding us? This way, the Romans
Must or for Britons slay us or receive us	5
For barbarous and unnatural revolts
During their use, and slay us after.
BELARIUS     Sons,
We’ll higher to the mountains, there secure us.
To the king’s party there’s no going: newness
Of Cloten’s death (we being not known, not muster’d	10
Among the bands) may drive us to a render
Where we have liv’d, and so extort from’s that
Which we have done, whose answer would be death
Drawn on with torture.
GUIDERIUS     This is, sir, a doubt
In such a time nothing becoming you,	15
Nor satisfying us.
ARVIRAGUS     It is not likely
That when they hear their Roman horses neigh,
Behold their quarter’d fires; have both their eyes
And ears so cloy’d importantly as now,
That they will waste their time upon our note,	20
To know from whence we are.
BELARIUS     O, I am known
Of many in the army: many years
(Though Cloten then but young) you see, not wore
him
From my remembrance. And besides, the king
Hath not deserv’d my service nor your loves,	25
Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
The certainty of this hard life, aye hopeless
To have the courtesy your cradle promis’d,
But to be still hot Summer’s tanlings, and
The shrinking slaves of Winter.
GUIDERIUS     Than be so,	30
Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to th’army:
I and my brother are not known; yourself
So out of thought, and thereto so o’ergrown,
Cannot be question’d.
ARVIRAGUS     By this sun that shines
I’ll thither: what thing is’t that I never	35
Did see man die, scarce ever look’d on blood,
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison!
Never bestrid a horse, save one that had
A rider like myself, who ne’er wore rowel,
Nor iron on his heel! I am ashamed	40
To look upon the holy sun, to have
The benefit of his blest beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.
GUIDERIUS     By heavens, I’ll go,
If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,
I’ll take the better care: but if you will not,	45
The hazard therefore due fall on me by
The hands of Romans!
ARVIRAGUS     So say I, amen.
BELARIUS     No reason I (since of your lives you set
So slight a valuation) should reserve
My crack’d one to more care. Have with you, boys!	50
If in your country wars you chance to die,
That is my bed too, lads, and there I’ll lie.
Lead, lead. The time seems long, their blood thinks
scorn
Till it fly out and show them princes born.     Exeunt.

5.1 Enter POSTHUMUS alone.

POSTHUMUS
Yea, bloody cloth, I’ll keep thee: for I wish’d
Thou shouldst be colour’d thus. You married ones,
If each of you should take this course, how many
Must murder wives much better than themselves
For wrying but a little? O Pisanio,	5
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 liv’d to put on this: so had you saved
The noble Imogen, to repent, and struck	10
Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But alack,
You snatch some hence for little faults; that’s love,
To have them fall no more: you some permit
To second ills with ills, each elder worse,
And make them dread it, to the doers’ thrift.	15
But Imogen is your own, do your best wills,
And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither
Among th’Italian gentry, and to fight
Against my lady’s kingdom: ’tis enough
That, Britain, I have kill’d thy mistress: peace,	20
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	25
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
Is, every breath, a death: and thus, unknown,
Pitied, nor hated, to the face of peril
Myself I’ll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me than my habits show.	30
Gods, put the strength o’th’ Leonati in me!
To shame the guise o’th’ world, I will begin,
The fashion less without, and more within.     Exit.

5.2 Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO and the Roman army at one door: and the Briton Army at another: LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following, like a poor soldier. They march over, and go out. Then enter again, in skirmish, IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS: he vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo, and then leaves him.

IACHIMO     The heaviness and guilt within my bosom
Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady,
The princess of this country; and the air on’t
Revengingly enfeebles me, or could this carl,
A very drudge of Nature’s, have subdued me	5
In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, borne
As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.
If that thy gentry, Britain, go before
This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds
Is that we scarce are men and you are gods.     Exit.	10
The battle continues, the Britons fly, Cymbeline is taken: then enter to his rescue, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS.
BELARIUS
Stand, stand, We have th’advantage of the ground;
The lane is guarded: nothing routs us but
The villainy of our fears.
GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS     Stand, stand, and fight!
Re-enter POSTHUMUS, and seconds the Britons. They rescue Cymbeline and exeunt. Then re-enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO and IMOGEN.
LUCIUS     Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself:
For friends kill friends, and the disorder’s such	15
As war were hoodwink’d.
IACHIMO     ’Tis their fresh supplies.
LUCIUS     It is a day turn’d strangely: or betimes
Let’s re-inforce, or fly.     Exeunt.

5.3 Enter POSTHUMUS and a Briton Lord.

LORD     Cam’st thou from where they made the stand?
POSTHUMUS     I did,
Though you it seems come from the fliers.
LORD     I did.
POSTHUMUS     No blame be to you, sir, for all was lost,
But that the heavens fought: the king himself
Of his wings destitute, the army broken,	5
And but the backs of Britons seen; all flying
Through a strait lane; the enemy full-hearted,
Lolling the tongue with slaught’ring, having work
More plentiful than tools to do’t, struck down
Some mortally, some slightly touch’d, some falling	10
Merely through fear, that the strait pass was damm’d
With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living
To die with length’ned shame.
LORD     Where was this lane?
POSTHUMUS
Close by the battle, ditch’d, and wall’d with turf –
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,	15
(An honest one, I warrant) who deserv’d
So long a breeding as his white beard came to,
In doing this for’s country. Athwart the lane,
He, with two striplings (lads more like to run
The country base than to commit such slaughter,	20
With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
Than those for preservation cas’d, 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,	25
Or we are Romans, and will give you that
Like beasts which you shun beastly, and may save
But to look back in frown: stand, stand!’ These three,
Three thousand confident, in act as many, –
For three performers are the file when all	30
The rest do nothing, – with this word ‘Stand, stand,’
Accommodated by the place, more charming,
With their own nobleness, which could have turn’d
A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks;
Part shame, part spirit renew’d, that some, turn’d
coward	35
But by example (O, a sin in war,
Damn’d in the first beginners) ’gan to look
The way that they did, and to grin like lions
Upon the pikes o’th’ hunters. Then began
A stop i’th’ chaser; a retire: anon	40
A rout, confusion thick: forthwith they fly
Chickens, the way which they stoop’d eagles: slaves,
The strides they victors made: and now our cowards
Like fragments in hard voyages became
The life o’th’ need: having found the back-door
open	45
Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!
Some slain before, some dying, some their friends
O’er-borne i’th’ former wave, ten chas’d by one,
Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:
Those that would die, or ere resist, are grown	50
The mortal bugs o’th’ field.
LORD     This was strange chance:
A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.
POSTHUMUS     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,	55
And vent it for a mock’ry? Here is one:
Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,
Preserv’d the Britons, was the Romans’ bane.
LORD
Nay, be not angry, sir.
POSTHUMUS     ’Lack, to what end?
Who dares not stand his foe, I’ll be his friend:	60
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’re angry.
Exit.
POSTHUMUS
Still going? This is a lord! O noble misery,
To be i’th’ field, and ask ‘what news?’ of me!	65
To-day how many would have given their honours
To have sav’d their carcasses? Took heel to do’t,
And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm’d,
Could not find death where I did hear him groan,
Nor feel him where he struck. Being an ugly
monster,	70
’Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,
Sweet words; or hath moe ministers than we
That draw his knives i’th’ war. Well, I will find him:
For being now a favourer to the Briton,
No more a Briton, I have resumed again	75
The part I came in. Fight I will no more,
But yield me to the veriest hind that shall
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is
Here made by th’ Roman; great the answer be
Britons must take. For me, my ransom’s death:	80
On either side I come to spend my breath,
Which neither here I’ll keep nor bear again,
But end it by some means for Imogen.
Enter two British Captains and soldiers.
1 CAPTAIN     Great Jupiter be prais’d, Lucius is taken:
’Tis thought the old man, and his sons, were angels.	85
2 CAPTAIN     There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,
That gave th’affront with them.
1 CAPTAIN     So ’tis reported:
But none of ’em can be found. Stand! who’s there?
POSTHUMUS     A Roman,
Who had not now been drooping here if seconds	90
Had answer’d him.
2 CAPTAIN     Lay hands on him: a dog,
A leg of Rome shall not return to tell
What crows have peck’d them here: he brags his
service
As if he were of note: bring him to th’ king.
Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO and Roman captives. The captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers him over to a Gaoler.
Exeunt.

5.4 Enter POSTHUMUS and two Gaolers.

1 GAOLER
You shall not now be stol’n, you have locks upon you:
So graze, as you find pasture.
2 GAOLER     Ay, or a stomach.
Exeunt Gaolers.
POSTHUMUS
Most welcome bondage; for thou art a way,
I think to liberty: yet am I better
Than one that’s sick o’th’ gout, since he had rather	5
Groan so in perpetuity than be cur’d
By th’ sure physician, Death; who is the key
T’unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter’d
More than my shanks and wrists: you good gods, give
me
The penitent instrument to pick that bolt,	10
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,
Desir’d more than constrain’d: to satisfy,	15
If of my freedom ’tis the mainport, 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	20
On their abatement; that’s not my desire.
For Imogen’s dear life take mine, and though
’Tis not so dear, yet ’tis a life; you coin’d it:
’Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp;
Though light, take pieces for the figure’s sake:	25
You rather, mine being yours: and so, great powers,
If you will take this audit, take this life,
And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen,
I’ll speak to thee in silence. [Sleeps.]
Solemn music. Enter, as in 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.
SICILIUS     No more thou thunder-master show	30
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,	35
whose face I never saw?
I died whilst in the womb he stay’d,
attending Nature’s law:
Whose father then (as men report
thou orphans’ father art)	40
Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him
from this earth-vexing smart.
MOTHER     Lucina lent not me her aid,
but took me in my throes,
That from me was Posthumus ript,	45
came crying ’mongst his foes,
A thing of pity!
SICILIUS     Great nature, like his ancestry,
moulded the stuff so fair,
That he deserved the praise o’th’ world,	50
as great Sicilius’ heir.
1 BROTHER
When once he was mature for man,
in Britain where was he
That could stand up his parallel,
or fruitful object be	55
In eye of Imogen, that best
could deem his dignity?
MOTHER     With marriage wherefore was he mock’d
to be exil’d, and thrown
From Leonati seat, and cast	60
from her his dearest one,
Sweet Imogen?
SICILIUS     Why did you suffer Iachimo,
slight thing of Italy,
To taint his nobler heart and brain	65
with needless jealousy;
And to become the geck and scorn
o’th’ other’s villainy?
2 BROTHER
For this, from stiller seats we came,
our parents and us twain,	70
That striking in our country’s cause
fell bravely and were slain,
Our fealty, and Tenantius’ right,
with honour to maintain.
1 BROTHER
Like hardiment Posthumus hath	75
to Cymbeline perform’d:
Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods
why hast thou thus adjourn’d
The graces for his merits due,
being all to dolours turn’d?	80
SICILIUS     Thy crystal window ope; look out;
no longer exercise
Upon a valiant race thy harsh
and potent injuries.
MOTHER     Since, Jupiter, our son is good,	85
take off his miseries.
SICILIUS     Peep through thy marble mansion, help,
or we poor ghosts will cry
To th’ shining synod of the rest
against thy deity.	90
BROTHERS
Help, Jupiter, or we appeal,
and from thy justice fly.
JUPITER descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees.
JUPITER
No more, you petty spirits of region low,
Offend our hearing: hush! How dare you ghosts
Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt (you know)	95
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 opprest,
No care of yours it is, you know ’tis ours.	100
Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift,
The more delay’d, delighted. Be content,
Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:
His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent:
Our Jovial star reign’d at his birth, and in	105
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,	110
And so away: no farther with your din
Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.
Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.     Ascends.
SICILIUS
He came in thunder; his celestial breath
Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle	115
Stoop’d, as to foot us: his ascension is
More sweet than our blest fields: his royal bird
Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak,
As when his god is pleased.
ALL     Thanks, Jupiter!
SICILIUS
The marble pavement closes, he is enter’d	120
His radiant roof. Away! and to be blest
Let us with care perform his great behest.
The Ghosts vanish.
POSTHUMUS [waking]
Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot
A father to me: and thou hast created
A mother, and two brothers: but, O scorn!	125
Gone! they went hence so soon as they were born:
And so I am awake. Poor wretches, that depend
On greatness’ favour, dream as I have done,
Wake, and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve:
Many dream not to find, neither deserve,	130
And yet are steep’d in favours; so am I,
That have this golden chance, and know not why.
What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one,
Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
Nobler than that it covers. Let thy effects	135
So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers,
As good as promise.
[Reads.] When as a lion’s whelp shall, to himself
unknown, without seeking find, and be embrac’d by a
piece of tender air: and when from a stately cedar shall be	140
lopp’d branches, which, being dead many years, shall
after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow,
then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be
fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty.
’Tis still a dream: or else such stuff as madmen	145
Tongue, and brain not: either both, or nothing,
Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such
As sense cannot untie. Be what it is,
The action of my life is like it, which
I’ll keep, if but for sympathy.	150
Re-enter Gaolers.
1 GAOLER     Come, sir, are you ready for death?
POSTHUMUS     Over-roasted rather: ready long ago.
1 GAOLER     Hanging is the word, sir: if you be ready for
that, you are well cook’d.
POSTHUMUS     So, if I prove a good repast to the	155
spectators, the dish pays the shot.
1 GAOLER     A heavy reckoning for you sir: but the
comfort is you shall be called to no more payments,
fear no more tavern-bills, which are often the sadness
of parting, as the procuring of mirth: you come in faint	160
for want of meat, depart reeling with too much drink:
sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry that you
are paid too much: purse and brain, both empty: the
brain the heavier for being too light; the purse too
light, being drawn of heaviness. O, of this	165
contradiction you shall now be quit. O, the charity of
a penny cord! it sums up thousands in a trice: you have
no true debitor and creditor but it: of what’s past, is,
and to come, the discharge: your neck, sir, is pen,
book, and counters; so the acquittance follows.	170
POSTHUMUS     I am merrier to die than thou art to live.
1 GAOLER     Indeed sir, he that sleeps feels not the
toothache: but a man that were to sleep your sleep, and
a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would
change places with his officer: for, look you, sir, you	175
know not which way you shall go.
POSTHUMUS     Yes, indeed do I, fellow.
1 GAOLER     Your death has eyes in’s head then: I have not
seen him so pictur’d: you must either be directed by
some that take upon them to know, or to take upon	180
yourself that which I am sure you do not know, or
jump the after-inquiry on your own peril: and how
you shall speed in your journey’s end, I think you’ll
never return to tell on.
POSTHUMUS     I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes	185
to direct them the way I am going, but such as wink,
and will not use them.
1 GAOLER     What an infinite mock is this, that a man
should have the best use of eyes to see the way of
blindness! I am sure hanging’s the way of winking.	190
Enter a Messenger.
MESSENGER     Knock off his manacles, bring your
prisoner to the king.
POSTHUMUS     Thou bring’st good news, I am call’d to be
made free.
1 GAOLER     I’ll be hang’d then.	195
POSTHUMUS     Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no
bolts for the dead.     Exeunt all but First Gaoler.
1 GAOLER     Unless a man would marry a gallows, and
beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone: yet, on
my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to live,	200
for all he be a Roman; and there be some of them too,
that die against their wills; so should I, if I were one. I
would we were all of one mind, and one mind good: O,
there were desolation of gaolers and gallowses! I speak
against my present profit, but my wish hath a	205
preferment in’t.     Exit.

5.5 Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, lords, officers and attendants.

CYMBELINE
Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made
Preservers of my throne: woe is my heart,
That the poor soldier that so richly fought,
Whose rags sham’d gilded arms, whose naked breast
Stepp’d before targes of proof, cannot be found:	5
He shall be happy that can find him, if
Our grace can make him so.
BELARIUS     I never saw
Such noble fury in so poor a thing;
Such precious deeds in one that promised nought
But beggary and poor looks.
CYMBELINE     No tidings of him?	10
PISANIO
He hath been search’d among the dead and living;
But no trace of him.
CYMBELINE     To my grief, I am
The heir of his reward,
[to Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus]
which I will add
To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain,
By whom (I grant) she lives. ’Tis now the time	15
To ask of whence you are. Report it.
BELARIUS     Sir,
In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen:
Further to boast were neither true nor modest,
Unless I add we are honest.
CYMBELINE     Bow your knees:
Arise my knights o’th’ battle, I create you	20
Companions to our person, and will fit you
With dignities becoming your estates.
Enter CORNELIUS and Ladies.
There’s business in these faces; why so sadly
Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,
And not o’th’ court of Britain.
CORNELIUS     Hail, great king!	25
To sour your happiness, I must report
The queen is dead.
CYMBELINE     Who worse than a physician
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?	30
CORNELIUS     With horror, madly dying, like her life,
Which (being cruel to the world) concluded
Most cruel to herself. What she confess’d
I will report, so please you. These her women
Can trip me, if I err, who with wet cheeks	35
Were present when she finish’d.
CYMBELINE     Prithee say.
CORNELIUS
First, she confess’d she never lov’d you: only
Affected greatness got by you: not you:
Married your royalty, was wife to your place:
Abhorr’d your person.
CYMBELINE     She alone knew this:	40
And but she spoke it dying, I would not
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.
CORNELIUS
Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love
With such integrity, she did confess
Was as a scorpion to her sight, whose life	45
(But that her flight prevented it) she had
Ta’en off by poison.
CYMBELINE     O most delicate fiend!
Who is’t can read a woman? Is there more?
CORNELIUS
More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had
For you a mortal mineral, which, being took,	50
Should by the minute feed on life and ling’ring
By inches waste you. In which time, she purpos’d
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
O’ercome you with her show; and in time
(When she had fitted you with her craft) to work	55
Her son into th’adoption of the crown:
But, failing of her end by his strange absence,
Grew shameless-desperate, open’d (in despite
Of heaven and men) her purposes: repented
The evils she hatch’d were not effected: so	60
Despairing died.
CYMBELINE     Heard you all this, her women?
LADIES     We did, so please your highness.
CYMBELINE     Mine eyes
Were not in fault, for she was beautiful:
Mine ears that heard her flattery, nor my heart
That thought her like her seeming. It had been
vicious	65
To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter,
That it was folly in me, thou mayst say,
And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!
Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the Soothsayer and other Roman prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS behind, and IMOGEN.
Thou com’st not, Caius, now for tribute; that
The Britons have raz’d out, though with the loss	70
Of many a bold one: whose kinsmen have made suit
That their good souls may be appeas’d with slaughter
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted:
So think of your estate.
LUCIUS     Consider, sir, the chance of war, the day	75
Was yours by accident: had it gone with us,
We should not, when the blood was cool, have
threaten’d
Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
May be call’d ransom, let it come: sufficeth	80
A Roman with a Roman’s heart can suffer:
Augustus lives to think on’t: and so much
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will entreat, my boy (a Briton born)
Let him be ransom’d: never master had	85
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
So tender over his occasions, true,
So feat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join
With my request, which I’ll make bold your highness
Cannot deny: he hath done no Briton harm,	90
Though he have serv’d a Roman. Save him, sir,
And spare no blood beside.
CYMBELINE     I have surely seen him:
His favour is familiar to me. Boy,
Thou hast look’d thyself into my grace,
And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore,	95
To say, live boy: ne’er thank thy master, live;
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I’ll give it:
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
The noblest ta’en.
IMOGEN     I humbly thank your highness.	100
LUCIUS     I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad,
And yet I know thou wilt.
IMOGEN     No, no alack,
There’s other work in hand: I see a thing
Bitter to me as death: your life, good master,
Must shuffle for itself.
LUCIUS     The boy disdains me,	105
He leaves me, scorns me: briefly die their joys
That place them on the truth of girls and boys.
Why stands he so perplex’d?
CYMBELINE     What wouldst thou, boy?
I love thee more and more: think more and more
What’s best to ask. Know’st him thou look’st on?
speak,	110
Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?
IMOGEN     He is a Roman, no more kin to me
Than I to your highness, who being born your vassal,
Am something nearer.
CYMBELINE     Wherefore ey’st him so?
IMOGEN     I’ll tell you, sir, in private, if you please	115
To give me hearing.
CYMBELINE     Ay, with all my heart,
And lend my best attention. What’s thy name?
IMOGEN     Fidele, sir.
CYMBELINE     Thou’rt my good youth: my page
I’ll be thy master: walk with me: speak freely.
[Cymbeline and Imogen walk aside.]
BELARIUS     Is not this boy reviv’d from death?
ARVIRAGUS     One sand another	120
Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad,
Who died, and was Fidele! What think you?
GUIDERIUS     The same dead thing alive.
BELARIUS
Peace, peace, see further: he eyes us not, forbear;
Creatures may be alike: were’t he, I am sure	125
He would have spoke to us.
GUIDERIUS     But we see him dead.
BELARIUS     Be silent: let’s see further.
PISANIO     [aside] It is my mistress:
Since she is living, let the time run on,
To good, or bad.
[Cymbeline and Imogen come forward.]
CYMBELINE     Come, stand thou by our side,
Make thy demand aloud.
[to Iachimo] Sir, step you forth,	130
Give answer to this boy, and do it freely,
Or, by our greatness and the grace of it
(Which is our honour) bitter torture shall
Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him.
IMOGEN     My boon is, that this gentleman may render	135
Of whom he had this ring.
POSTHUMUS     [aside] What’s that to him?
CYMBELINE     That diamond upon your finger, say
How came it yours?
IACHIMO     Thou’lt torture me to leave unspoken that
Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.
CYMBELINE     How? me?	140
IACHIMO     I am glad to be constrain’d to utter that
Which torments me to conceal. By villainy
I got this ring; ’twas Leonatus’ jewel,
Whom thou didst banish: and – which more may
grieve thee,
As it doth me, – a nobler sir ne’er lived	145
’Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my
lord?
CYMBELINE     All that belongs to this.
IACHIMO     That paragon, thy daughter,
For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
Quail to remember – Give me leave; I faint.
CYMBELINE
My daughter? what of her? Renew thy strength:	150
I had rather thou shouldst live, while Nature will,
Than die ere I hear more: strive, man, and speak.
IACHIMO     Upon a time, unhappy was the clock
That struck the hour: it was in Rome, accurst
The mansion where: ’twas at a feast, O, would	155
Our viands had been poison’d (or at least
Those which I heaved 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
Amongst the rar’st of good ones) sitting sadly,	160
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
For beauty, that made barren the swell’d boast
Of him that best could speak: for feature, laming
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva,
Postures, beyond brief Nature. For condition,	165
A shop of all the qualities that man
Loves woman for, besides that hook of wiving,
Fairness, which strikes the eye.
CYMBELINE     I stand on fire.
Come to the matter.
IACHIMO     All too soon I shall,
Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus,	170
Most like a noble lord in love and one
That had a royal lover, took his hint,
And (not dispraising whom we prais’d, therein
He was as calm as virtue) he began
His mistress’ picture, which, by his tongue, being
made,	175
And then a mind put in’t, either our brags
Were crak’d of kitchen-trulls, or his description
Prov’d us unspeaking sots.
CYMBELINE     Nay, nay, to th’ purpose.
IACHIMO     Your daughter’s chastity (there it begins) –
He spoke of her, as Dian had hot dreams,	180
And she alone were cold: whereat I, wretch,
Made scruple of his praise, and wager’d with him
Pieces of gold, ’gainst this (which he then wore
Upon his honour’d finger) to attain
In suit the place of’s bed, and win this ring	185
By hers and mine adultery: he, true knight,
No lesser of her honour confident
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring,
And would so, had it been a carbuncle
Of Phoebus’ wheel; and might so safely, had it	190
Been all the worth of’s car. Away to Britain
Post I in this design: well may you, sir,
Remember me at court, where I was taught
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
’Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quench’d	195
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
Gan in your duller Britain operate
Most vilely: for my vantage, excellent.
And to be brief, my practice so prevail’d,
That I return’d with simular proof enough	200
To make the noble Leonatus mad,
By wounding his belief in her renown,
With tokens thus, and thus: averring notes
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet
(O cunning, how I got it!) nay, some marks	205
Of secret on her person, that he could not
But think her bond of chastity quite crack’d,
I having ta’en the forfeit. Whereupon –
Methinks I see him now –
POSTHUMUS     [advancing] Ay, so thou dost
Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool,	210
Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
That’s due to all the villains past, in being,
To come. O, give me cord, or knife, or poison
Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out
For torturers ingenious: it is I	215
That all th’ abhorred things o’th’ earth amend
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
That kill’d thy daughter: villain-like, I lie;
That caus’d a lesser villain than myself,
A sacrilegious thief, to do’t. The temple	220
Of Virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
The dogs o’th’ street to bay me: every villain
Be call’d Posthumus Leonatus, and
Be villainy less than ’twas. O Imogen!	225
My queen, my life, my wife, O Imogen,
Imogen, Imogen!
IMOGEN     Peace, my lord, hear, hear –
POSTHUMUS
Shall’s have a play of this? Thou scornful page,
There lie thy part. [Striking her: she falls.]
PISANIO     O, gentlemen, help!
Mine and your mistress: O, my lord Posthumus!	230
You ne’er kill’d Imogen till now. Help, help!
Mine honour’d lady!
CYMBELINE     Does the world go round?
POSTHUMUS     How comes these staggers on me?
PISANIO     Wake, my mistress!
CYMBELINE
If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
To death with mortal joy.
PISANIO     How fares my mistress?	235
IMOGEN     O, get thee from my sight,
Thou gav’st me poison: dangerous fellow, hence!
Breathe not where princes are.
CYMBELINE     The tune of Imogen!
PISANIO     Lady,
The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if	240
That box I gave you was not thought by me
A precious thing: I had it from the queen.
CYMBELINE     New matter still.
IMOGEN     It poison’d me.
CORNELIUS     O gods!
I left out one thing which the queen confess’d,
Which must approve thee honest. ‘If Pisanio	245
Have,’ said she, ‘given his mistress that confection
Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv’d
As I would serve a rat.’
CYMBELINE     What’s this, Cornelius?
CORNELIUS     The queen, sir, very oft importun’d me
To temper poisons for her, still pretending	250
The satisfaction of her knowledge only
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs
Of no esteem. I, dreading that her purpose
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain stuff, which being ta’en would cease	255
The present power of life, but in short time
All offices of nature should again
Do their due functions. Have you ta’en of it?
IMOGEN     Most like I did, for I was dead.
BELARIUS     My boys,
There was our error.
GUIDERIUS     This is sure Fidele.	260
IMOGEN
Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?
Think that you are upon a rock, and now
Throw me again. [embracing him]
POSTHUMUS     Hang there like fruit, my soul,
Till the tree die.
CYMBELINE     How now, my flesh, my child?
What, mak’st thou me a dullard in this act?	265
Wilt thou not speak to me?
IMOGEN     [kneeling] Your blessing, sir.
BELARIUS     [to Guiderius and Arviragus]
Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not,
You had a motive for’t.
CYMBELINE     My tears that fall
Prove holy water on thee; Imogen,
Thy mother’s dead.
IMOGEN     I am sorry for’t, my lord.	270
CYMBELINE     O, she was naught; and long of her it was
That we meet here so strangely: but her son
Is gone, we know not how, nor where.
PISANIO     My lord,
Now fear is from me, I’ll speak troth. Lord Cloten,
Upon my lady’s missing, came to me	275
With his sword drawn, foam’d at the mouth, and
swore,
If I discover’d not which way she was gone,
It was my instant death. By accident,
I had a feigned letter of my master’s
Then in my pocket, which directed him	280
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
Where, in a frenzy, in my master’s garments,
(Which he enforc’d from me) away he posts
With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate
My lady’s honour: what became of him	285
I further know not.
GUIDERIUS     Let me end the story:
I slew him there.
CYMBELINE     Marry, the gods forfend!
I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
Pluck a hard sentence: prithee, valiant youth,
Deny’t again.
GUIDERIUS     I have spoke it, and I did it.	290
CYMBELINE     He was a prince.
GUIDERIUS     A most incivil one. The wrongs he did me
Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
With language that would make me spurn the sea,
If it could so roar to me. I cut off’s head,	295
And am right glad he is not standing here
To tell this tale of mine.
CYMBELINE     I am sorrow for thee:
By thine own tongue thou art condemn’d, and must
Endure our law: thou’rt dead.
IMOGEN     That headless man
I thought had been my lord.
CYMBELINE     Bind the offender,	300
And take him from our presence.
BELARIUS     Stay, sir king.
This man is better than the man he slew,
As well descended as thyself, and hath
More of thee merited than a band of Clotens
Had ever scar for. [to the guard] Let his arms alone,	305
They were not born for bondage.
CYMBELINE     Why, old soldier:
Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
As good as we?
ARVIRAGUS     In that he spake too far.
CYMBELINE     And thou shalt die for’t.
BELARIUS     We will die all three,	310
But I will prove that two on’s are as good
As I have given out him. My sons, I must
For mine own part unfold a dangerous speech,
Though haply well for you.
ARVIRAGUS     Your danger’s ours.
GUIDERIUS     And our good his.
BELARIUS     Have at it then, by leave:	315
Thou hadst, great king, a subject, who
Was call’d Belarius. –
CYMBELINE     What of him? he is a banish’d traitor.
BELARIUS     He it is that hath
Assum’d this age: indeed a banish’d man,	320
I know not how a traitor.
CYMBELINE     Take him hence,
The whole world shall not save him.
BELARIUS     Not too hot;
First pay me for the nursing of thy sons,
And let it be confiscate all, so soon
As I have receiv’d it.
CYMBELINE     Nursing of my sons?	325
BELARIUS     I am too blunt, and saucy: here’s my knee:
Ere I arise I will prefer my sons;
Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
These two young gentlemen that call me father
And think they are my sons, are none of mine;	330
They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
And blood of your begetting.
CYMBELINE     How? my issue?
BELARIUS
So sure as you your father’s. I (old Morgan)
Am that Belarius, whom you sometime banish’d:
Your pleasure was my ne’er-offence, my punishment	335
Itself, and all my treason: that I suffer’d,
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes
(For such and so they are) these twenty years
Have I train’d up; those arts they have; as I
Could put into them. My breeding was, sir, as	340
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
(Whom for the theft I wedded) stole these children
Upon my banishment: I mov’d her to’t,
Having receiv’d the punishment before
For that which I did then. Beaten for loyalty	345
Excited me to treason. Their dear loss,
The more of you ’twas felt, the more it shap’d
Unto my end of stealing them. But gracious sir,
Here are your sons again, and I must lose
Two of the sweet’st companions in the world.	350
The benediction of these covering heavens
Fall on their heads like dew, for they are worthy
To inlay heaven with stars.
CYMBELINE     Thou weep’st, and speak’st:
The service that you three have done is more
Unlike than this thou tell’st. I lost my children:	355
If these be they, I know not how to wish
A pair of worthier sons.
BELARIUS     Be pleas’d awhile;
This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius:
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus	360
Your younger princely son, he, sir, was lapp’d
In a most curious mantle, wrought by th’ hand
Of his queen mother, which for more probation
I can with ease produce.
CYMBELINE     Guiderius had
Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;	365
It is a mark of wonder.
BELARIUS     This is he,
Who hath upon him still that natural stamp:
It was wise Nature’s end, in the donation
To be his evidence now.
CYMBELINE     O, what am I?
A mother to the birth of three? Ne’er mother	370
Rejoic’d deliverance more. Blest pray you be,
That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
You may reign in them now! O Imogen,
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.
IMOGEN     No, my lord;
I have got two worlds by’t. O my gentle brothers,	375
Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter
But I am truest speaker. You call’d me brother,
When I was but your sister: I you brothers,
When ye were so indeed.
CYMBELINE     Did you e’er meet?
ARVIRAGUS     Ay, my good lord.
GUIDERIUS     And at first meeting lov’d,	380
Continu’d so, until we thought he died.
CORNELIUS     By the queen’s dram she swallow’d.
CYMBELINE     O rare instinct!
When shall I hear all through? This fierce
abridgement
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
Distinction should be rich in. Where? how liv’d you?	385
And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
And your three motives to the battle, with
I know not how much more, should be demanded	390
And all the other by-dependances,
From chance to chance. But nor the time nor place
Will serve our long inter’gatories. See,
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen;
And she (like harmless lightning) throws her eye	395
On him: her brothers, me: her master hitting
Each object with a joy: the counterchange
Is severally in all. Let’s quit this ground,
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.
[to Belarius] Thou art my brother; so we’ll hold thee
ever.	400
IMOGEN     You are my father too, and did relieve me,
To see this gracious season.
CYMBELINE     All o’erjoy’d,
Save these in bonds, let them be joyful too,
For they shall taste our comfort.
IMOGEN     My good master,
I will yet do you service.
LUCIUS     Happy be you!	405
CYMBELINE     The forlorn soldier that so nobly fought,
He would have well becom’d this place, and grac’d
The thankings of a king.
POSTHUMUS     I am, sir,
The soldier that did company these three
In poor beseeming: ’twas a fitment for	410
The purpose I then follow’d. That I was he,
Speak, Iachimo: I had you down, and might
Have made you finish.
IACHIMO     [kneels] I am down again:
But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,
As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you,	415
Which I so often owe: but your ring first,
And here the bracelet of the truest princess
That ever swore her faith.
POSTHUMUS     Kneel not to me:
The power that I have on you, is to spare you:
The malice towards you, to forgive you. Live	420
And deal with others better.
CYMBELINE     Nobly doom’d!
We’ll learn our freeness of a son-in-law:
Pardon’s the word to all.
ARVIRAGUS     You holp us, sir,
As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
Joy’d are we that you are.	425
POSTHUMUS
Your servant, princes. Good my lord of Rome,
Call forth your soothsayer: as I slept, methought
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back’d,
Appear’d to me, with other spritely shows
Of mine own kindred. When I wak’d, I found	430
This label on my bosom; whose containing
Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
Make no collection of it. Let him show
His skill in the construction.
LUCIUS     Philarmonus!
SOOTHSAYER     Here, my good lord.
LUCIUS     Read, and declare the meaning.	435
SOOTHSAYER     [Reads.] When as a lion’s whelp shall, to
himself unknown, without seeking find, and be
embrac’d by a piece of tender air: and when from a
stately cedar shall be lopp’d branches, which, being
dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the	440
old stock, and freshly grow, then shall Posthumus end
his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace
and plenty.
Thou, Leonatus, art the lion’s whelp,
The fit and apt construction of thy name,	445
Being Leo-natus, doth impart so much:
[to Cymbeline] The piece of tender air, thy virtuous
daughter,
Which we call mollis aer; and mollis aer
We term it mulier: which mulier I divine
Is this most constant wife, who even now,	450
Answering the letter of the oracle,
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp’d about
With this most tender air.
CYMBELINE     This hath some seeming.
SOOTHSAYER     The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
Personates thee: and thy lopp’d branches point	455
Thy two sons forth: who, by Belarius stol’n,
For many years thought dead, are now reviv’d,
To the majestic cedar join’d; whose issue
Promises Britain peace and plenty.
CYMBELINE     Well,
My peace we will begin: and Caius Lucius,	460
Although the victor, we submit to Caesar,
And to the Roman empire; promising
To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen,
Whom heavens in justice both on her, and hers,	465
Have laid most heavy hand.
SOOTHSAYER     The fingers of the powers above do tune
The harmony of this peace. The vision,
Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke
Of yet this scarce-cold battle, at this instant	470
Is full accomplish’d. For the Roman eagle,
From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
Lessen’d herself and in the beams o’the sun
So vanish’d; which foreshadow’d our princely eagle,
Th’imperial Caesar, should again unite	475
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
Which shines here in the west.
CYMBELINE     Laud we the gods,
And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
From our blest altars. Publish we this peace
To all our subjects. Set we forward: let	480
A Roman, and a British ensign wave
Friendly together: so through Lud’s town march,
And in the temple of great Jupiter
Our peace we’ll ratify: seal it with feasts.
Set on there! Never was a war did cease	485
(Ere bloody hands were wash’d) with such a peace.
Exeunt.