Anthony and Cleopatra.

821

Cleo. I would I had thy inches, thou shouldst'it know
There were a heart in Egypt.

Ant. Hear me Queen:

The strong necessity of time, commands

Our Services a while; but my full heart

Remains in use with you. Our Italy,

Shines ore with civil Swords; Sextus Pompeius

Makes his approaches to the Port of Rome,

Equality of two Domefick powers,

Breed ferupulous faction : the hated grown to strength

Are newly grown to Love: the condemn'd Pompey,

Rich in his Fathers honour, creeps apace

Into the hearts of such, as have not thrived

Upon the prefent flate, whose numbers threaten,

And quietneſſe grown ſick of reſt, would purge

By any desperate change: My more particular,

And that which moſt with you should ſaſe my going

Is Fulvias death.

Cleo. Though age from folly could not give me freedom
It does from childiſhneſſe. Can Fulvia die?

Ant. She's dead, my Queen,

Look here, and at thy Soveraign leifure read

The Garboyls ſhe awak'd: at the laſt, beſt,

See when, and where ſhe died.

Cleo. O moſt ſalſe love !

Where be the ſacred Viols thou shouldst'it fill

With ſorrowfull water ? now I fee, I fee,

In Fulvia's death, how mine receiv'd ſhall be.

Ant. Quarrel no more, but be prepar'd to know

The purpofes I bear: which are, or caeſe,

As you ſhall give th'advice. By the fire

That quickens Nilus ſlime, I go from hence

Thy Souldier, Servant, making Peace or War,

As thou affect'd it.

Cleo. Cut my Lace, Charmain come,

But let it be, I am quickly ill, and well,

So Anthony loves.

Ant. My precious Queen forbear,
And give true evidence to his Love, which ſtands
An honorable Triall.

Cleo. So Fulvia told me.

I prithee turn afide, and weep for her,

Then bid adieu to me, and ſay the tears

Belong to Egypt. Good now, play one Scene

Of excellent dilembling, and let it look

Like perfect honour.

Ant. You'll heat my cloud no more ?

Cleo. You can do better yet: but this is meetly.

Ant. Now by my Sword.

Cleo. And Target. Still he mends,

But this is not the beſt. Look prithee Charmian,

How this Herculean Roman does become

The carriage of his chafe.

Ant. I'le leave youn Lady.

Cleo. Courtous Lord, one word :

Sir, you and I muſt part, but that's not it:

Sir, you and I have lov'd, but there's not it:

That you know well, ſomething it is I would :

Oh, my oblivion is a very Anthony.

And I am all forgotten.

Ant. But that your Royalty

Holds idlenſſe your ſubject, I should take you

For Idlenſſe it ſelf.

Cleo. 'Tis weſting labour,

To bear ſuch idlenſſe to near the heart.

As Cleopatra this. But, Sir, forgive me,

Since my becomings kill me, when they do not
Eye well to you. Your honour calls you hence,
Therefore be deaf to my unpittied Folly,

And all the gods go with you. Upon your Sword

Sit Lawrell'd victory, and ſmooth ſuccesſe

Be ſtrew'd before your feet.

Ant. Let us go.

Come: Our ſeperation ſo abides and flies,

That thou refiding here, goeſt yet with me,

And I hence fleering, here remain with thee.

Away.

Exeunt

Enter Oſtavius reading a Letter, Lepidus,
and their Train.

Cef. You may fee Lepidus, and hencforth know,
It is not Caſars Natural vice, to hate

One geaat Competitor. From Alexandria

This is the news: he ſhines, drinks, and waſtes

The Lamps of night in revells: Is not more manlike

Then Cleopatra : nor the Queen of Ptolemy

More Womanly then he, Hardly gave audience

Or did touchſafe to think he had Partners. You

Shall find there a man, who is the abſtract of all faults ;

That all men follow.

Lep. I muſt not think

There are, evils enow to darken all his goodneſſe,

His faults in him, ſeem as the ſpots of heaven,

More fiery by nights blackneſſe; Hereditary,

Rather then purchase : what he cannot change,

Then what he choofes.

Cef. You are too indulgent. Let's grant it is
Amiffle to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy,
To give a Kingdome for a Mirth, to fit

And keep the turn of Tipling with a Slave,

To reel the ſtreets at noon, and ſtand the Buffet

With knaves that ſmell of ſweat: Say this becomes him
(As his compoſure muſt be rare indeed,

Whom the things cannot blemiſh) yet muſt Anthony

No way excufe his ſoyls, when we do bear

So great waight in his Lightneſſe. If he ſuſ'd

His vacancy with his Voluptuouſneſſe,

Full ſurfets, and the drinſeſſe of his bones,

Call on him for't. But to confound ſuch time,

That drums him from his ſport, and ſpeaks as loud

As his own State, and ours, 'tis to he chid :

As we rate Boyes, who being mature in knowledge,

Pawn their experience to their preſent pleafure,

And ſo rebel to judgement.

Enter a Meſſenger.

Lep. Here's more news.

Mef. Thy biddings have been done, and every hour
Moſt Noble Caſar, that thou have report

How 'tis abroad. Pompey is ſtrong at Sea,

And it appears, he is belov'd of thofe

That only have fear'd Caſar : to the Ports.

The diſcontents repair, and mens reports

Give him much wrong'd.

Cef. I should have known no leſſe,

It hath bin taught us from the primal ſtate,

That he which is, was wifht, untill he were :

And the ebb'd man,

Ne're lov'd, till ne're worth love,

Comes fear'd, by being lack'd. This common body

Like to a Vagabond Flag upon the ſtream,

Goes too, and back, lacking the varying tyde

To

822

The Tragedy of

To rot it self with motion,

Mef. *Cæsar* I bring thee word,
Menacrates and Menas, famous Pyrates
Makes the Sea ferve them, which they ear and wound
With kneels of every kind. Many hot introdes
They make in Italy, the borders Maritime
Lack bloud to think on't, and flesh youth to revolt,
No Vessel can peep forth, but 'tis as soon
Taken as seen: for *Pompeyes* name strikes more
Then could his War refitted.

*Cæsar. Anthony.*

Leave thy laſcivious Vaffails. When thou once
Wert beaten from *Medena*, where thou flew'ſt
Hirſius, and Panſa Conſuls, at thy heel
Did famine follow, whom thou faught'ſt againſt,
(Though daintily brought up) with patience more
Then Savages could ſuffer. Thou didſt drink
The ſtale of horſes, and the gilded Puddle
Which Beaſts would cough at. Thy pallat, then did dain
The rougheſt Berry, on the rudeſt Hedge,
Yea, like the Stag, when Snow the Paſture ſheers,
The barks of trees thou browſed'ſt. On the Alpes,
It is repoted thou didſt eat ſtrange fleſh,
Which ſome did die to look on : and all this
(It wounds thine honor that I ſpeak it now)
Was born ſo like a Souldier, that thy cheek
So much as I lank'd not.

*Lep. 'Tis pity of him.*

*Cæf. Let his flames quickly*
Drive him to *Romus*, 'tis time we twain
Did ſhow our ſelves ick' Field, and to that end
Aſſemble we immediately council, *Pompey*
Thrives in our Idlenſtze.

*Lep. To morrow Cæsar,*
I ſhall be furniſh'd to inſorme you rightly
Both what by Sea and Land I can be able
To front this preſent time.

(well)

*Cæf. Till which encounter, it is my bufineſſe too.*
*Lep. Farewell my Lord, what you ſhall know mean*
*Of itrs abroad, I ſhall beſeech you fir,*
*To let me be partaker.*

(time

*Cæf. Doubt not fir, I knew it for my bond. Exequens.*

*Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Ira, and Mardian.*

*Cleo, Charmian.*

*Char. Madam.*

*Cleo. Ha, ha, give me to drink Mandragora.*

*Char. Why Madam ?*

*Cleo. That I might ſleep out this great gap of time:*

*My Anthony is away.*

*Char. You think of him too much.*

*Cleo. O 'tis treaſon.*

*Char. Madam, I truſt not ſo.*

*Cleo. Thou, Eunuch Mardian ?*

*Mar. What's your highneſſe pleaſure ?*

*Cleo. Not now to hear thee ſing. I take no pleaſure
In ought an Eunuch has : 'Tis well for thee,
That being unſominaried, thy freer thoughts
May not ſlye forth of Egypt, Haſt thou Aſſections ?
Mar. Yes gracious Madam.*

*Cleo. Indeed ?*

*Mar. Not indeed Madam, for I can do nothing
But what indeed is honest to be done :*

*Yet have I ſierce Aſſections, and think*

*What *Venus* did with *Mars*.*

*Cleo. Oh Charmian ;*

*Where think'ſt thou he is now ? Stands, or ſits he ?*

*Or does he waſt ? Or is he on his horſe ?*
*Oh happy horſe to bear the weight of *Anthony* !*
*Do bravely horſe, for wor'ſt thou whom thou moov'ſt,*
*The demy *Atlas* of this Earth, the Arme*
*And Burgonet of man. He's ſpeaking now.*
*Or murmuring, wheres my Serpent of old Nyle,*
*(For ſo he calls me: Now I feed my ſelf)*
*With moſt delicious payſon. Think on me*
*That am with Phebus amorous pinches black,*
*And wrinkled deep in time. Broad-fronted *Cæsar*,*
*When thou waſt here above the ground, I was*
*A morſel of a Monarch ; and great *Pompey*'
*Would ſtand and make his eyes grow in my brow,*
*There would he anchor his alſpect, and die*
*With looking on his life.*

*Enter Alexas from Cæsar.*

*Alex. Soveraign of Egypt, hail.*

*Cleo. How much art thou like Mark Anthony?*
Yet coming from him; that great Med'cine hath
With his Tinct gilded thee,

*How goes it with my brave Mark Anthony?*

*Alex. Last thing he did (dear Queen)*

*He kif't the laſt of many doubled kifſes,*

*This Orient Pearl. His ſpeech ſtricks in my heart.*

*Cleo. Mine ear muſt pluck it thence.*

*Alex. Good friend, quoth he :*

*Say the firm Roman to great Egypt ſends*

*This treaſure of an Oyſter : at whole ſoot*

*To mend the patty preſent, I will piece*

*Her opulent Throne, with Kingdomes. All the Eaſt,*
*(Say thou) ſhall call her Miftris. So he nodded,
And ſoberly did mount an Arme-gaunt Steed,
Who neigh'd ſo high, that what I would have ſpoke,
Was beaſtly dumb by him.*

*Cleo. What was he ſad or merry ?*

*Ale. Like to the time oth' year, between the extreame
Of hot and cold, he was nor ſad nor merry.*

*Cleo. Oh well divided diſpoſtion: Note him.*

*Note him good Charmain, 'tis the man; but note him. He was not ſad, for he would ſhine on thofe That make their looks by his. He was not merry, Which ſeem'd to tell them, his ſenembrance lay In Egypt with his joy, but between both.*

*Oh heavenly mingle ? Be'ſt thou ſad, or merry,
The violence of either thee becomes,*

*So do's it no man else. Met'ſt thou my Poſts ?*

*Alex. I madam, twenty ſeveral Meffengers,
Why do you ſend ſo thick ?*

*Cleo. Who's born that day, when I forget to ſend to *Anthony*, ſhall die a Beggar. Ink and paper, *Charmian*. Welcome my good *Alexas*. Did I, *Charmian*, ever love *Cæsar* ſo ?*

*Char. Oh that brave *Cæsar*.*

*Cleo. Be choak'd with ſuch another Emphafis,
Say the brave *Anthony*.*

*Char. The valiant *Cæsar*.*

*Cleo. By Iſis, I will give thee bloudy teeth,
If thou with *Cæsar* Paragon again*

*My man of men.*

*Char. By your moſt gracious pardon,
I ſing but after you.*

*Cleo. My Sallad dayes,
When I was green in judgement, cold in bloud,
To ſay, as I ſaid then. But come, away,
Get me Ink and Paper,*

He

The Tragedy of

It must not be with this.

Cæs. You praise your self, by laying defects of judgment to me: but you patch up your excuses.

Ant. Not so, not so:

I know you could not lack, I am certain on',
Very neceffity of this thought, that I
Your partner in the caufe 'gainst which he fought,
Could not with gracefull eyes attend thate Warres
Which fronted mine own peace. As for my wife,
I would you had her Spirit, in such another,
The third o'th' world is yours, which with a Snaffle,
You may pace caufe, but not such a wife.

Enobar. Would we had all such wives, that the men
might go to warres with the women.

Ant. So much uncurable, her Garboiles (Caſar)

Made out of her impatience: which not wanted
Shewdneſs of policy too: I grieving, grant,
Did you too much diſquiet, for that you muſt,
But fay I could not help it.

Cæs. I wrote to my ſu, when rioting in Alexandria you
Did pocket up my Letters : and which taunts
Did give my Miflive out of audience,

Ant. Sir, he tell upon me, ere admitted, then :
Three Kings I had newly feafed, and did want
Of what I was itch'morning : but next day
I told him of my ſelf, which was as much
As to have askt him pardon. Let this Fellow
Be nothing of our ſtife: if we contend
Out of our queſtion wipe him.

Cæs. You have broken the Article of your Oath,
which you ſhall never have tongue to charge me with.

Lep. Soft, Cæsar.

Ant. No, Lepidus, let him ſpeak,
The Honour is Sacred which he talks on now,
Suppoting that I lackt it: but on, Cæsar,
The Article of my oath.

Cæs. To lend me Armes, and aid when I require'd them,
the which you both denied.

Ant. Neglected rather.

And then when poifoned hours had bound me up
From mine own knowledge, as nearly as I may,
I le play the penitent to you. But mine honeſty,
Shall not make poor my greatneſs, nor my power
Work without it. Truth is, that Fulvia,
To have me out of Egypt, made Warres here,
For which my ſelf, the ignorant motive, doe
So far ask pardon, as beſits mine Honour
To loop in ſuch a cate.

Lep. 'Tis Nothy ſpoken.

Mecè. If it might please you, to enforce no further
The griefs between ye: to forget them quite.
Were to remember, that the preſent need,
Speaks to attone you.

Lep. Worthily ſpoken, Mecenas.

Enobar. O, if you borrow one anothers Love for the
inſant, you may when you hear no more words of
Pompey return it again: you ſhall have time to wrangle
in, when you have nothing eſſe to do.

Ant. Thou art a Souldier, only ſpeak no more.

Enobar. That truth should be ſilent, I had almost for-
got.

Ant. You wrong this prefence, therefore ſpeak no
more.

Enob. Go to then: your Confiderate ſtone.

Caſar. I do not much diſlike the matter, but
The manner of his ſpeech: for't cannot be,

We ſhall remain in friendſhip, our conditions
S differing in their aſts. Yet if I knew,
What Hoop ſhould hold us ſlaunch from edge to edge
Ath' world, I would purſue it.

Agri. Give me leave, Cæsar.

Cæs. Speak, Agrippa.

Agri. Thou haſt a Sifter by thy Mother's ſide, admir'd
Octavia? Great Mark, Anthony is now a widdower.

Cæs. Say not, ſay Agrippa; if Cleopatra heard you,
your proof were well deferred of rafineſs.

Ant. I am not married, Cæsar: let me hear Agrippa
further ſpeak.

Agri. To hold you in perpetual amitie,
To make you Brothers, and to knit your hearts

With an un-flipping knot, take Anthony
Octavia to his wife: whole be beauty claims

No worſe a husband then the beſt of men :

Whole virtue, and whole general graces ſpeak
That which none eſſe can utter. By this marriage,

All little Jealousies which now ſeem great,
And all great fears, which now import their dangers,
Would then be nothing. Truths would be tales,
Where now half tales be truths: her love to both,
Would each to other, and all loves to both
Draw after her. Pardon what I have ſpoke,
For 'tis a ſtudied, not a preſent thought,
By duty ruminated.

Ant. Will Cæsar ſpeak?

Cæs. Nor 'till he hears how Anthony is toucht

With what is ſpoken already.

Ant. What power is in Agrippa,
If I would ſay Agrippa, be it so,

To make this good ?

Cæs. The power of Cæsar,

And his power unto Octavia.

Ant. May I never

(To this good purpofe, that ſo fairly ſhews)

Dream of impediment: let me have thy hand
Further this act of Grace: and from this hour,

The heart of Brothers govern in our Loves,
And ſway our great Deſignes.

Cæs. There's my hand:

A Sifter I bequeath you, whom no Brother

Did ever love ſo dearly. Let her live

To join our Kingdomes, and our hearts, and never

Fly off our Loves again.

Lep. Happily. Amen.

Ant. I did not think to draw my Sword againſt Pompey,

For he hath ſtrange courteſies, and great

Of late upon me, I muſt thank him only,

Left my remembrance, ſuffer ill report :

At heel of that defie him.

Lepi. Time calls upon's,

Of us muſt Pompey preſently be ſought,

Or eſſe he feeks out us.

Ant. Where lies he ?

Cæs. About the Mount-Mefeya.

Ant. What is his ſtrength by land ?

Cæs. Great, and increaſing :

But by Sea he is an abſolute Maſter.

Ant. So is the Frame,

Would we had ſpoke together. Hafe we for it,
Yet e're we put our ſelves in Armes, diſpatch we
The bufineſs we have talkt of.

Cæs. With moſt gladneſs,

And do invite you to my Sifters view,

Whe-

826

The Tragedy of

And though I make this marriage for my peace,
I'ch'Eaft my pleasure lies. Oh come, *Ventricius*.

*Enter Ventidius.*

You muft to *Parthia*, your Commission's ready:
Follow me and receiv't.

*Exeunt.*

*Enter Lepidus, Mecenas, and Agrippa.*

*Lepidus.* Trouble your self no farther: pray you haften your generals after.

*Agr. Sir, Mark Anthony will e'en but kifs Oſtavia,
and we'll follow.*

*Lep. Till I shall fee you in your Souldier's drefs,
Which will become you both: Farewell.*

*Mec. We shall, as I conceive the journey, be at the
Mount before you Lepidus.*

*Lep. Your way is shorter, my purpofes do draw me
much about, you'll win two days upon me.*

*Both. Sir, good ſucces,.*

*Lep. Farewell.*

*Exeunt.*

*Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras and Alexas.*

*Cleo. Give me fome Mufick: Mufick, moody food of
us that trade in love.*

*Omnes. The Mufick, hoa.*

*Enter Mardian the Eunuch.*

*Cleo. Let it alone, let's to Billiards: come Charmian.*

*Char. My arm is fore, beſt play with Mardian.*

*Cleopa. As well a woman with an Eunuch play'd, as
with a woman. Come, you'll play with me, Sir?*

*Mardi. As well as I can, Madam.*

*Cleo. And when good will is ſhewed,
Though't come too ſhort*

*The Actor may plead pardon. I'le none now,
Give me mine Angle, we'll to th'River, there
My Mufick playing far off. I will betray
Tawny-fine fifhes, my bended hook ſhall pierce
Their ſlimie jaws: and, as I draw them up,
I'le think them every one an Anthony,
And ſay, ah ha; y'are caught.*

*Char. 'Twas merry when you wager'd on your Ang-
ing, when your diver did hang a falt fish on his hook,
which he with fervencie drew up.*

*Cleo. That time? Oh times :*

*I laught him out of patience, and that night
I laught him into patience, and next morn,
E're the ninth hour I drunk him to his bed :
Then put my Tires and Mantels on him, while't
I wore his Sword *Philippan*. Oh from *Italie*

*Enter a Meſſenger.*

*Ramme thou thy fruitfull tidings in mine eares,
That long time have bin barren.*

*Mef. Madam, Madam.*

*Cleo. Anthony's dead,
If thou ſay fo, Villain, thou kil'ft thy Miftrels:
But well and free, if thou ſo yield him.*

*There is Gold and here
My blewet veins to kifs: a hand that Kings
Have lipt, and trembled kiffing.*

*Mef. Firſt, Madam, he is well.*

*Cleo. Why there's more Gold.
But, firrah, mark, we uſe*

*To ſay, the dead are well: bring me to that,
The Gold I give thee, will I melt and powre
Down thy ill-uttering throat.*

*Mef. Good Madam, hear me.*

*Cleo. Well, go to I will :
But there's no goodneſs in thy face, if Anthony
Be free and healthfull; ſo tart a favour
To trumpet ſuch good tidings. If not well,
Thou ſhould'ſt come like a Furie crown'd with Snakes,
Not like a formal man.*

*Mef. Wilt pleafe you hear me?*

*Cleo. I have a mind to ſtrike thee e're thou ſpeak'ſt,
Yet if thou ſay, Anthony lives, 'tis well.*

*Or friends with Caſar, or not Captain to him,
I'le fee thee in a ſhower of Gold, and haile
Rich Pearls upon thee.*

*Mef. Madam, he's well.*

*Cleo. Well faid.*

*Mef. And Friends with Caſar.*

*Cleo. Th'art an honeſt man.*

*Mef. Caſar, and he, are greater Friends then ever.*

*Cleo. Mark thee a Fortune from me.*

*Mef. But yet, Madam.*

*Cleo. I do not like but yet, it does allay
The good precedence, ſie upon but yet,
But yet is as a Jaylor to bring forth*

*Some monſtrous Maleſaſtor. Prythee, Friend,
Powre out the pack of matter to mine ear,
The good and bad together: he's friends with Caſar,
In ſtate of health thou ſay't, and thou ſayſt, free.*

*Mef. Free, Madam ! no: I made no ſuch ſport,
He's bound unto Oſtavia.*

*Cleo. For what good turn ?*

*Mef. For the beſt turn i'th'bed.*

*Cleo. I am pale, Charmian.*

*Mef. Madam, he's married to Oſtavia.*

*Cleo. The moſt infectious Peftilence upon thee.*

*Strikes him down.*

*Mef. Good Madam, patience.*

*Cleo. What ſay you ?*

*Strikes him.*

*Hence horrible Villain, or I'le ſpurn thine eyes
Like balls before me: I'le unhair thy head :*

*She bales him up and down.*

*Thou ſhalt be whipt with Wyer, and ſtew'd in brine,
Smarting in lingring pickle,
Mef. Gracious Madam,*

*I, that do bring the newes, made not the match,
Cleo. Say 'tis not ſo, a Province I will give thee,
And make thy Fortunes proud: the blow thou had'ſt
Shall make thy peace, for moving me to rage,
And I will boot thee with what gift befide
Thy modetely can beg.*

*Mef. He's married, Madam.*

*Cleo. Rogue, thou haſt liv'd too long. Draw a knife.*

*Mef. Nay then I'le run :*

*What mean you, Madam, I have made no fault. Exit.*
*Char. Good Madam, keep your ſelf within your ſelf,
The man is innocent.*

*Cleo. Some Innocents ſcape not the thunderbolt :*

*Melt Egypt into Nile; and kindled creatures
Turn all to Serpents. Call the ſclave again,
Though I am mad, I will not bite him : Call.*

*Char. He is aſeaf'd to come.*

*Cleo. I will not hurt him,*

*Theſe hands do lack Nobility, that they ſtrike
A meaner then my ſelf: ſince I my ſelf
Have given my ſelf the caufe. Come hither, Sir,
Enter the Meſſenger again.*

*Though it be honeſt, it is never good*

*To bring bad newes: give to a gracious Meſſage*

An

The Tragedy of

828

Four Feasts are coward.

Pom. Let me shake thy hand,
I never hated thee: I have seen thee fight,
When I have envied thy behaviour.

Enob. Sir, I never lov'd you much, but I ha'prais'd ye,
When you have well deferv'd ten times as much,
As I have faid you did.

Pom. Enjoy thy plainneſſes,

It nothing ill becomes thee:
Aboord my Gally, I invite you all.

Will you lead, Lords ?

All. Shew the way, Sir.

Pom. Come, Exeunt. Manent Enob. & Menas.

Men. Thy Father, Pompey, would ne're have made
Treaty. You, and I have known, Sir.

Eno. At Sea, I think.

Men. We have, Sir.

Eno. You have done well by Water.

Men. And you by Land.

Eno. I will praise any man that will praife me, though
it cannot be denied what I have done by Land.

Men. Nor what I have done by water.

Eno. Yes, some-thing you can deny for your own
ſafety: you have bin a good Thief by Sea.

Men. And you by Land.

Eno. There I deny my Land ſervice: but give me
your hand Menas, if our eyes had authority, here they
might have two Thieves killing.

Men. All mens faces are true, whatfoe're their hands
are.

Eno. But there is ne're a fair Woman, ha's a true
Face.

Men. No flander, they feal hearts.

Eno. We came hither to fight with you.

Men. For my part, I am forry it is turn'd to a Drink-
ing. Pompey doth this day laugh away his Fortune.

Eno. It he do, ſure he cannot weep't back again.

Men. Y'have faid, Sir, we look'd not for Mark An-
thony here, pray you, is he married to Cleopatra ?

Eno. Cæsar's Sifter is call'd Othavia.

Men. True, Sir, he was the wife of Caius Marcellus.

Eno. But now ſhe is the wife of Marcus Anthonius.

Men. Pray ye, Sir.

Eno. 'Tis true.

Men. Then is Cæsar and he, for ever knit together.

Eno. If I were bound to Divine of this unity, I would
n't Propheſe fo.

Men. I think the policy of that purpose, made more
in the Marriage then the Love of the parties.

Eno. I think fo too. But you shall find the band that
feems to tie their friendſhip together, will be the very
ſtanger of their Amitie: Othavia is of a holy, cold, and
ſtill converſation,

Men. Who would not have his wife fo ?

Eno. Not he that himſelf is not fo: which is Mark

An'thony: he will to his Egyptian diſh again: then ſhall
the ſights of Othavia blow the fire up in Cæsar, and (as I
ſaid before) that which is the ſtrength of their Amity,
SHall prove the immediate Author of their variance. An-
thony will uſe his affectation where it is. He married but
his occſion here.

Men. And thus it may be. Come, Sir, will you a-boord?
I have a health for you,

Eno. I shall take it, fir: we have us'd our Throats in
Aegypt.

Men. Come, let's away.

Exeunt.

Mausick playes.

Enter two or three Servants with a Banquet.

1. Here they'll be, man: fome o'their Plants are ill
rooted already, the leaſt wind i'th'world will blow them
down.

2. Lepidus is high-colour'd.

1. They have made him drink Almes drink.

2. As they pinch one another by the diſpoſition he
cries out, no more; reconciles them to his entreatie, and
himſelf to th' drink.

1. But it raſis the greater war between him and his
diſcretion.

2. Why this it is to have a name in great men's Fellow-
ship: I had as I have a Reed that will do me no ſer-
vice, as a Partizan I could not heave.

1. To be call'd into a huge Sphere, and not to be ſeen
to move in't, are the holes where eyes ſhould be, which
pittifully diſafter the cheeks.

A Sonnet founded.

Enter Cæsar, Anthony, Pompey, Lepidus, Agrippa, Menas, Enobarbus, Menas, with other Captains.

Ant. Thus do they, Sir: they take the flow o'th' Nile
By certain ſcale, i'th'Pyramid: they know

By th'height, the lowneſts, or the mean: If death

Or Foizon follow. The higher Nilus ſwells
The more it promifes as it ebbs, the Seedtman
Upon the flime and Ooze ſcatters his grain,
And shortly comes to Harveſt.

Lep. Y'have ſtrange Serpents there?

Ant. I, Lepidus.

Lep. Your Serpent of Ægypt, is bred now of your
mud by the operation of the Sun: fo is your Crocodile.

Ant. They are fo.

Pom. Sir, and ſome Wine: A health to Lepidus,

Lep. I am not fo well as I should be :

But I'le ne're out.

Eno. Not 'till you have ſlept: I fear me you'll be in 'till
then.

Lep. Nay certainly, I have heard the Problemy's Py-
ramis are very goodly things: without contradiction I
have heard that.

Men. Pompey, a word.

Pom. Say in mine ear, what is't?

Men. Forſake thy ſeat, I do beſeech thee, Captain,
And hear me ſpeak a word.

Pom. For me 'till aaron.

Whisper in's Ear.

This Wine for Lepidus.

Lep. What manner o'thing is your Crocodile ?

Ant. It is ſhap'd, fir, like it ſelf, and it is as broad as it
hath brethd; It is juſt so high as it is, and moves with it's
own organs. It lives by that which nouriſeth it, and
the Elements once out of it, it Transinigrates.

Lep. What colour is it of ?

Ant. Of it's own colour too.

Lep. 'Tis a ſtrange Serpent.

Ant. 'Tis fo, and the teares of it are wet.

Cæs. Will this deſcription ſatisſe him ?

Eno. With the Health that Pompey gives him, heſe
is a very Epicure.

Pom. Go hang, fir, hang: tell me of that ? Away:
Do as I bid you. Where's the Cup I call'd for?

Men. If for the ſake of Merit thou wilt hear me,

Rife

Anthony and Cleopatra.

Rife from thy stool,

Pom. I think that mad: the matter ?

Men. I have ever held my cap off to thy Fortunes.

Pom. Thou hast served me with much faith: what's
elfe to fay ? Be jolly, Lords,

Anth. Thefe Quick-fands, Lepidus,
Keep off them, for you fink.

Pom. Wilt thou be Lord of all the world ?

Pom. What faft thou ?

Men. Wilt thou be Lord of the whole world ?

That's twice.

Pom. How should that be ?

Men. But entertain it, and though thou think me
poor, I am the man will give thee all the world.

Pom. Haft thou drunk well ?

Men. No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup,
That if thou dar't be, the earthy Jove :

What e're the Ocean pales, or skie inclippes,
Is thine, if thou wilt ha't.

Pom. Shew me which way.

Men. Thefe three world-sharers, thefe Competitors
Are in thy vefſel. Let me cut the Cable.

And when we are put off, fall to their throats :
All there is thine.

Pom. Ah, this thou should'ft have done,

And not have spoken on t, In me 'tis villanie,
In thee, 't had bin good ſervice : thou muſt know,

'Tis not my profit that does lead mine Honour :

Mine Honour is, Repent that e're thy tongue,

Hath ſo betrai'd thine act. Being done unknown,

I ſhould have found it afterwards well done :

But muſt condemn it now: deſſt, and drink.

Men. For this I'll never follow

Thy pal'd Fortunes more,

Who feeks and will not take, when once 'tis offer'd,
Shall never find it more.

Pom. This health to Lepidus.

Ant. Bear him a-ſhoar,

I'll pledge it for him, Pompey.

Eno. Here's to thee, Menas.

Men. Enobarbus, welcome,

Pom. Fill'till the cup be hid.

Eno. There's a ſtrange Fellow, Menas.

Men. Why ?

Eno. A beares the third part of the world, man: ſeeſ
not ?

Men. The third part, then he is drunk: would it were
all, that it might go on wheels.

Eno. Drink thou, encreafe the Reels.

Men. Come.

Pom. This is not yet an Alexandrian Feaſt.

Ant. It ripens towards it: ſtrike the Veffels hoa.

Here's to Cæsar.

Cæsar. I could well forbear't, it's monſtrous labour
when I waſh my brain, and it grows ſouler.

Ant. Be a Child o' th'time.

Cæsar. Poffels it, I'll make anſwer: but I had rather
ſaſt from all, four dayes, then drink ſo much in one.

Eno. Ha, my brave Emperour, ſhall we dance now
the Egyptian Bacchanals, and celebrate our drink ?

Pom. Let's ha't, good Souldier.

Ant. Come, let's all take hands,
'Till that the conquering Wine hath ſteep't our ſenſe,
In ſoft and delicate Lethe.

Eno. All take hands:

Make battery to our cares with the loud Muſick,

The while, I'le place you, then the Boy ſhall ſing.

The holding every man ſhall beat as loud,

As his ſtrong fides can volly.

Muſick Playes. Enobarbus places them hand in hand.

The Song.

Come thou Monarch of the Vine,

Plumpie Bacchus with pink cyne :

In thy Fattes our cares be droun'd.

With thy Grapes our haires be crown'd.

Cup us 'till the world go round,

Cup us 'till the world go round.

Caf. What would you more ?

Pompey, goodnight. Good Brother

Let me requeſt you of our graver buſineſs

Frowns at this levity. Gentle Lords let's part,

You fee we have burnt our cheek. Strong Enobarbus

Is weaker then the wind, and mine own tongue

Spleets what it ſpeaks: the w'd diſguife hath almost

Ant.克 us all. What needs more words ? goodnight.

Good Anthony, your hand.

Pom. I'le try you on the ſhoar.

Ant. And ſhall, Sir, give's your hand.

Pom. Oh, Anthony, you have my Father's house.

But what, we are Friends ?

Come down into the Boat.

Eno. Take heed you fall not, Menas; I'le not on ſhoar,

No, to my Cabin: theſe Drummes

Theſe Trumpets, Flutes: what

Let Neptune hear, we bid aloud farewell

To theſe great Fellows. Sound and be hang'd, found out.

Sound a Flourish with Drummes.

Eno. Hoo faies a, there's my Cap.

Men. Hoa, Noble Captain, come.

Exeunt.

Enter Ventidius as it were in a triumph, the dead body
of Pacorus borne before him.

Ven. Now darting Parthia art thou (frook, and now

Pleas'd Fortune does ſe of Marcus Craſſus death

Make me revenger. Beare the King's Son's body,

Before our Army, thy Pacorus Orader,

Payes this for Marcus Craſſus.

Roman. Noble Ventidius,

Whilſt yet with Parthian bloud thy Sword is warm,

The Fugitive Parthians follow. Spinn through Media,

Mefapotamia, and the ſhelters, whither

The routed ſle. So thy grand Captain Anthony

Shall ſer the on triumphant Charriots, and

Put Garlands on thy head.

Ven. Oh Silius, Silius,

I have done enough. A lower place, note well

May make too great an act. For learn this, Silius,

Batter to leave undone, then by our deed

Acquire too high a Fame, when him we ſerve's away.

Cæsar and Anthony, have ever won

More in their officer, then perſon. Soffius

One of my place in Syria, his Lieveſtenant,

For quick accumulation of renown,

Which atchiev'd by th'minute, loft his favour.

Who does i'th'Warres more then his Captain can,

Becomes his Captain's Captain: and Ambition

(The Souldier's virtue) rather makes choice of loſs

Then gain, which darkens him.

I could do more to doe Anthonius good,

But twould offend him. And in his offence,

Should

["Anthony and Cleopatra.", "The Fellow has good judgement.", "Char. Excellent.", "Cleo. Gues at her yeares, I prythee,", "Mef. Madam, she was a widow.", "Cleo. VViddow ? Charissian, hark.", "Mef. And I do think she's thirty.", "Cle. Bear it thou her face in mind? is't long or round ?", "Mef. Round e ven to faultinefs,", "Cleo. For the moft part too, they are foolish that are so.", "Her hair what colour?", "Mef. Brown, Madam : and her forehead.", "As low as she would with it.", "Cleo. There's Gold for thee,", "Thou muft not take my former sharpnefs ill;", "I will employ thee back again : I find thee", "Moſt fit for buſineſs. Go, make thee ready,", "Our Letters are prepar'd.", "Char. A proper man.", "Cleo. Indeed he is fo: I repent me much", "That fo I harried him, VVhy me thinks by him,", "This Creature's no ſuch thing.", "Char. Nothing, Madam.", "Cle. The man hath been some Majestyle, and I should know.", "Char. Hath he seen Majestie ? Ifs selfe defend : and\nferving you fo long.", "Cleo. I have one thing more to ask him yet, good Char-\nmian; but 'tis no matter, thou halt bring him to me where\nI will write; all may be well enough.", "Char. I warrant you, Madam.", "Exeunt.", "Enter Anthony and Oſtavia.", "Ant. Nay, nay Oſtavia, not only that,", "That were excusable, that and thoufands more", "Of femblable import, but he hath wag'd", "New Warres' gainſt Pompey, Made his will, and read it,", "To publick ear, (poke ſcitely of me,", "When perforce he could not", "But pay me termes of Honour : cold and fickely", "He vented then moſt narrow meaſure : lent me,", "When the beſt hint was given him : he had lookt,", "Or did it from his teeth.", "Oſtavia. Oh, my good Lord,", "Believe not all, or if you muſt believe,", "Stomack not all, A more unhappy Lady,", "If this divſion chance, ne're ſood between", "Praying for both parts :", "The good gods will mock me preſently,", "When I ſhall pray : oh bleſs my Lord and husband,", "Undo that prayer : by crying out as loud,", "Oh bleſs my Brother. Husband winne, winne Brother,", "Prayes, and deſtroyes the prayer, no midway", "'Twixt these extremes at all.", "Ant. Gentle Oſtavia,", "Let your beſt love draw to that point which feeks", "Bef't to preferye it: if I loſe mine Honour,", "Iloſe my ſelf: better I were not yours", "Then yours ſo branchleſs. But as you requeſted,", "Your ſelf hali go between's, the mean time, Lady,", "I'le raife the preparation of a War", "Shall ſlain your Brother, make your ſooneſt haſte", "So your deſires are yours.", "Oſtia. Thanks to my Lord,", "The Jove of Power make me moſt weak, moſt weak,", "Your reconciler: Warres 'twixt you twain would be,", "As if the world (hould cleave, and that flain men", "Should fodder up the Riſt.", "Anth. When it appears to you where this begins,", "Turn your diſpleasure that way, for our faults", "Can never be ſo equal, that your love", "Can equally move with them. Provide your going,", "Chooſe your own company, and command what coſt", "Your heart has mind to.", "Exeunt.", "Enter Enobarbus, and Eros.", "Enob. How now, friend Eros?", "Eros. There's ſtrange News comes, Sir.", "Eno. What man?", "Ero. Cæsar and Lepidus have made War upon Pompey.", "Eno. This is old, what is the ſucceſſs?", "Eros. Cæsar having made uſe of him in the warres\n'gainſt Pompey : preſently denied him riuality, would not\nlet him partake of the glory of the action, and not reſting\nhere, accufes him of Letters he had formerly wrote to\nPompey. Upon his own appeal feizes him, ſo the poor\nthird is up, 'till death enlarge his Conſine.", "Eno. Then would thou hadſt a pair of Chaps no more,\nand throw between them all the food thou haſt, they'll\ngrind the other. Where's Anthony?", "Eros. He's walking in the garden thus, and ſpurns", "The ruff that lies before him. Cries, Fool Lepidus,", "And threats the throat of that his Officer,", "That murdred Pompey.", "Eno. Our great Navie's rigg'd,", "Eros. For Italy and Cæsar, more Domitius,", "My Lord deſires you preſently : my Newses", "I might have told hereafter.", "Eno.'Twill be naught, but let it be: bring me to Anthony.", "Eros. Come, fir.", "Exeunt.", "Enter Agrippa, Mecenas, and Cæsar.", "Cæſ. Contemning Rome he has done all this, and more", "In Alexandria : here's the matter of it :", "I'ch'Market-place on a a Tribunal filver'd", "Cleopatra and himselfſel in Chairs of Gold", "Were publickly enthron'd : at the feet fat", "Cæſarion whom they call my father's Son,", "And all the unlawfull ſuffe, that their luſt", "Since then hath made between them. Unto her,", "He gave the ſtablishment of Egypt, made her", "Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia, abſolute Queen.", "Mecæ. This is the publück eye ?", "Cæſ. I'ch'common ſhew place where they exerciſe,", "His Sonns hither proclaim'd the King of Kings,", "Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia", "He gave to Alexander. To Ptolemy he affign'd,", "Syria, Sicilia, and Phœnicia: the", "In th'abilments of the goddeſs Ifis", "That day appear'd, and oft before gave audience,", "As 'tis reported, ſo.", "Mecæ. Let Rome be thus inform'd.", "Agrip. Who queaſie with his inſolence already,", "Will their good thoughts call from him.", "Cæſ. The people know it,", "And have now receiv'd his accuſations.", "Agri. Whom do's he accuſe ?", "Cæſ. Cæsar, and that having in Sicily", "Sextus Pompeius spoſl'd, we had not rated him", "His part o'th'Isle. Then does he fay, he lent me", "Some ſhipping unreſtored: Laſtly he fret了", "That Lepidus of the Triumvirate, should be depos'd,", "And being that we detain all his Revenue.", "Agri. Sir, this hould be anſwered.", "Cæſar.

Anthony and Cleopatra.

833

Cleo. I have fixty Sails, *Cefar* non' better.
Ant. Our over-plus of *flipping* will we burn,
And with the reft full-mann'd, from th'heart of *Aetium*
Beat th' approaching *Cefar*. But if we fail,
We then can do't at Land. Enter a *Meffenger*.
Thy bufineſs ?
Mef. The newes is true, my Lord, he is disſchied
*Cefar* has taken *Toryne*.
Ant. Can he be there in perſon ? 'Tis impoffible
Strange, that his power ſhould be ſo, *Camidius*,
Our nineteen Legions thou ſhalt hold by Land,
And our twelve thouſand Horſe. We ll to our Ship,
Away my *Thetis*.

Enter a Souldier.

How now, worthy Souldier ?

Sould. Oh Noble Emperour, do not fight by Sea,
Truſt not to rotten planks : Do you middoubt
This Sword, and theſe my Wounds; let th' *Egyptians*
And the *Phænicians* go a ducking : we
Have us'd to conquer ſtanding on the earth,
And fighting foot to foot.

Ant. Well, well, away.

Exeunt. Ant. Cleo & Enob.

Soul. By Hercules I think I am i'th'right.

Cam. Souldier thou art : but the whole action grows
Not in the power on't : ſo our Leaders lead,
And we are Womens men.

Soul. You keep by Land the Legions and the Horſe
whole, do you not ?

Ven. *Marcus Oſtavius, Mareus Juſtius,*

Publicola, and *Celius*, are for Sea :

But we keep whole by Land. This ſpeed of *Cefar's*
Carries beyond belief.

Soul. While he was yet in *Rome*

His power went out in ſuch diftreftions,
As beguil'd all Spies.

Cam. Who's his Lieutenant, hear you ?

Soul. They ſay, one *Towrus*.

Cam. Well, I know the man.

Enter a *Meffenger*.

Mef. The Emperour calls *Camidius*.

Cam. With Newes the time's with Labour,

And throwes forth each minute, ſome.

Exeunt.

Enter *Cefar* with his *Army*, marching.

Cef. *Towrus* ?

Tow. My Lord.

Cef. Strike not by Land.

Keep whole, provoke not Battel

'Till we have done at Sea. Do not exceed
The Prefcript of this *Scroul* : Our fortune lyes
Upon this jump.

Exeit.

Enter *Anthony*, and *Enobarbus*.

Ant. Set we our Squadrons on yond ſide o' th' Hill,
In eye of *Cefar*'s battel, from which place
We may the number of the Ships behold,
And ſo proceed accordingly.

Exeit.

Camidius Marching with his Land *army* one way over
the *ſtage*, and *Towrus* the *Lieutenant* of *Cefar* the *other*
way: after their going in, is heard the noſe of a
*Sea-fight*. *Alarum*. Enter *Enobarbus* & *Scarus*.

Eno. Naught, naught, all naught, I can behold no longer:
Thantoniad, the *Egyptian* *Admiral*,
With all their fixty flye, and turn the Rudder :

To fee't, mine eyes are blaſted.

Enter *Scarus*.

Scar. Gods, and goddeſſes, all the whole ſynod of them!

Eno. What's thy paffion ?

Scar. The greater Cantle of the world is loft

With very ignorance, we have kift away

Kingdomes, and Provinces.

Enob. How appears the fight ?

Scar. On our ſide like the Token'd Perſtience,
Where death is ſure. Your ribaudred Nagge of *Egypt*,
(Whom Leproſe o're) i'th'mid'ft o'th'fight,
When vantage like a pair of Twinnes appear'd
Both of the fame, or rather ours the elder;
(The Breeze upon her) like a Cow in *june*,
Hoifts Sails, and flyes.

Enob. That I beheld :

Mine eyes did ſicken at the fight, and could not

Indure a further view.

Scar. She once being loofr,

The Noble mine of her Magick, *Anthony*,
Claps on his Sea-wing, and (like a doating Mallard)

Leaving the Fight in heigth, flyes after her :

I never ſaw an action of ſuch ſhame :

Experience, Man-hood, Honour ne're before,

Did violate ſo it ſelf.

Enob. Alack, alack.

Enter *Camidius*.

Cam. Our Fortune on the Sea is out of breath,

And finks moſt lamentably. Had our General

Bin what he knew himſelf, it had gone well :

Oh he has given example for our flight;

Moſt groſſely by his own.

Enob. I, are you thereabouts ? Why then goodnight
indeed.

Cam. Toward *Peloponnesus* are they ſled.

Scar. 'Tis eafe to't,

And there I will attend what further comes.

Camid. To *Cefar* will I render

My Legions and my horſe, fix Kings already

Shew me the way of yielding.

Enob. I'le yet follow

The wounded chance of *Anthony*, though my reaſon

Sits in the wind againſt me.

Enter *Anthony* with attendants

Ant. Hark, the Land bids me tread no more upon't,

It is aſham'd to bear me. Friends, come hither,

I am ſo lated in the world, that I

Have loft my way for ever. I have a ſhip,

Laden with Gold, take that, divide it : flye,

And make your peace with *Cefar*.

Omnes. Fly ? Not we.

Ant. I have ſled my ſelf, and have inſtructed cowards

To run, and ſlew their shoulders. Friends, be gone,

I have my ſelf, reſolv'd upon a courſe,

Which has no need of you. Be gone,

My Treafure's in the Harbour. Take it : Oh,

I follow'd that I bluſh to look upon,

My very hairs do mutiny : for the white

Reprove the brown for rathneſs, and they them.

For fear, and doating. Friends be gone, you ſhall

Have Letters from me to ſome Friends, that will

Sweep your way for you. Pray you look not ſad :

Nor make replies of loathneſs, take the hint

Which my deſpair ſproclaims. Let them be left

Which leaves it ſelf, to Sea-side (straightway) :

I will poffeſs you of that ſhip and Treafure.

Leave

Anthony and Cleopatra.

835

Ant. To him again, tell him he weares the Rofe
Of youth upon him: from which, the world should note
Something particular: His Coyn, Ships, Legions,
May be a Cowards, whose Minifters would prevail
Under the service of a Child, as foon
As ith' Command of *Cafar*. I dare him therefore
To lay his gay comparisons apart
And anwer me declin'd, fword againſt fword,
Our ſelves alone; I'le write it, Follow me.

Eno. Yes, like enough: hye-battel'd *Cafar* will
Unſtate his happineſſe, and be Stag'd to th' ſhew
Ainaſt a Sworder. I fee mens judgements are
A parcell of their Fortunes, and things outward
Doe draw the inward quality after them
To ſuffer all alike, that he ſhould dreame,
Knowing all meaſures, the full *Cafar* will
Anſwer his empiſeſſe; *Cafar* thou haſt ſubdu'd
His judgement too.

Enter a Servant.

Ser. A Meſſenger from *Cafar*.
Cleo. What, no more Ceremony ? See my women,
Ainaſt the blown Rofe may they ſtop their Nofe,
That kneel'd unto the Buds. Admit him, fir.

Enob. Mine honeſty, and I, begin to ſquare,
The Loyalty well held to Fools, does make
Our Faith meer Folly : yet he that can endure
To follow with Allegiance a ſaln Lord,
Do's conquer him that did his Maſter conquer,
And earns a place ith' Story.

Enter Thidias.

Cleo. *Cafar*'s will.

Thid. Here it apart.

Cleo. None but friends: ſay boldly.

Thid. So haply are they friends to *Anthony*.

Enob. He needs as many (fir) as *Cafar* has.
Or needs not us. If *Cafar* pleafe, our Maſter
Will leap to be his friend : For as you know,
Whofe he is, we are, and that is *Cafars*.

Thid. So. Thus then thou moſt renown'd, *Cafar* intreats
Not to confider in what cafe thou ſtand'ſt
Further than he is *Cafar*.

Cleo. Go on, right Royall.

Thid. He knowes that you embrace not *Anthony*
As you did love, but as you feared him.

Cleo. Oh.

Thid. The ſcarres upon your honour, therefore he
Do's pitty, as conſtrained blemiſhes,
Not as deſerved.

Cleo. He is a god,
And knows what is moſt right. Mine honour
Was not yielded, but conquer'd meerly.
Enob. To be ſure of that, I will ask *Anthony*.
Sir, fir, thou art ſo leaky

That we muſt leave thee thy ſinking, for
Thy deareſt quit thee.

Exit Enob.

Thid. Shall I ſay to *Cafar*,
What you require of him: for he partly begs
To be defir'd to give. It much would pleafe him,
That of his fortunes you ſhould make a ſtaffe
To lean upon. But it would warm his ſpirits
To hear from me you had left *Anthony*,
And put your ſelf under his ſhrowd, the univerſall
Cleo. What's your name ?
Thid. My name is *Thidias*.

Cleo. Moſt kind Meſſenger,

Say to great *Cafar* this in diſputation,

I knife his conqu'ring hand: Tell him, I am prompt
To lay my Crown at's feet, and there to kneele.
Tell him from his all-obeying breath, I hear
The doom of *Egypt*.

Thid. 'Tis your nobleft courſe :
Wifedome and Fortune combating together,
If that the former dare but what it can,
No chance may ſhake it. Give me grace to lay
My duty on your hand.

Cleo. Your *Cafars* Father oft,
(When he hath mus'd of taking Kingdomes in)
Befow'd his lips on that unworthy place,
As it rain'd kiffes.

Enter Anthony, and Enobarbus.

Ant. Favours ? By Jove that thunders. What art thou,
Thid. One that but performs
The bidding of the fulſet man, and worthieſt
To have command obey'd.

Enob. You will be whipt.
Ant. Approach thereah you Kite. Now gods and devils,
Authority melts from me of late. When I cri'd haos,
Like Boyes unto a muſſe, Kings would ſtart forth,
And cry your will. Have you no eares?
I am *Anthony* yet. Take hence this Jack and whip him.

Enter a Servant.

Enob. 'Tis better playing with a Lyons whelp,
Than with an old one dying.

Ant. Moon and Starres,

Whip him: were twenty of the greatest Tributaries
That doe acknowledge *Cafar*, I ſhould I find them
So fawcy with the hand of ſhe here, what's her name
Since ſhe was *Cleopatra* ? Whip him, Fellowes,
Till like a Boy you ſee him crinde his ſace,
And whine aloud for mercys. Take him hence.

Thid. Marke *Anthony*.

Ant. Tug him away: being whipt,
Bring him again, the Jack of *Cafars* ſhall
Bear us an arrant to him.

Exeunt with Thidias.

You were half blaſted ere I knew you: Ha ?

Have I my pillow left unpreſt in *Rome*,
Forborn the getting of a lawfull Race,
And by a Jemme of Women, to be abus'd
By one that looks on Feeders?

Cleo. Good my Lord.

An. You have been a boggeler ever,
But when we in our viociuſneſſe grew hard
(Oh miſery on't) the wife gods feale our eyes
In our own filth, drop our clear judgements, make us
Adore our errours, laugh at's while we ſtrut
To our conſufion.

Cleo. Oh, is't come to this?

Ant. I found you as a Morſell, cold upon
Dead *Cafar*'s Trencher: Nay, you were a Fragment
Of *Cneius Pompeyes*, beſides what hotter houres
Unregiſtred in vulgar Fame, you have
Luxuriouſly pickt out. For I am ſure,
Though you can gueſſe what Temperance ſhould be,
You know not what it is.

Cleo. Wherefore is this?

Ant. To let a Fellow that will take rewards,
And ſay, God quit you, be familiar with
My play-fellow, your hand; this Kingly Seale,
And plighter of high hearts. O that I were
Upon the Hill of *Bafan*, to out-roare
The horned Heard, for I have Savage cauſe,
And to proclaime it civilly, were like

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A

836

The Tragedy of

A halter'd neck, which do's the Hangman thank,
For being yare about him. Is he whipt ?

*Enter a Servant with Thidias.*

*Ser.* Soundly, my Lord.

*Ant.* Cryed he ? and begg'd a pardon ?

*Ser.* He did aske favour.

*Ant.* If that thy Father live, let him repent
Thou waft not made his Daughter, and be thou forry
To follow *Cafar* in his triumph, fince
Thou haft been whipt. For following him, henceforth
The white hand of a Lady Fever thee,
Shake to look on't. Get thee back to *Cafar*,
Tell him thy entertainment: look thou fay
He makes me angry with him. For he feams
Proud and difdainfull, harping on what I am,
Not what he knew I was, He makes me angry,
And at this time moft eafie 'tis to do't :

When my good *fearres*, that were my former guides
Have empty left their Orbes, and shut their Fires
Into the Abifme of Hell. If he miflike,
My *lincech*, and what is done, tell him he has
*Hiparchus*, my enfrauched Bondman, whom
He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture,
As he fhall like to quit me. Urge it thou :
Hence with thy *ftripes*, be gone.

*Cleo.* Have you done yet ?

*Ant.* Alack, our Tercene Moon is now Eclipſt,
And it portends alone the fall of *Anthony*.

*Cleo.* I muſt ſay his time.

*Ant.* To flatter *Cafar*, would you mingle eyes
With one that ties his points.

*Cleo.* Not know me yet ?

*Ant.* Cold-hearted toward me ?

*Cleo.* Ah (Dear) if I be so,
From my cold heart, let heaven ingender Haile,
And poyſon it in the force, and the firſt ſtone
Drop in my neck : as it determines ſo
Difſolve my life, the next *Cafarian* ſmile,
Till by degrees the memory of my wome,
Together with my brave *Egyptians* all,
By the diſcandering of this pelletted ſtorme,
Lye graveleſſe, till the Flies and Gnats of *Nyle*
Have buried them for prey.

*Ant.* I am fatſisfied :
*Cafar* fets down in *Alexandria*, where
I will oppoſe his Fate. Our force by Land,
Hath nobly held, and fever'd Navy too
Have knit again, and Fleet, threatening moſt Sea-like.
Where haſt thou been my heart ? Doſt thou hear, Lady ?
If from the Field I ſhall return once more
To kiffle theſe lips, I will appear in blood,
I, and my Sword, will earn my Chronicle,
There's hope in't yet.

*Cleo.* That's my brave Lord.

*Ant.* I will be trebble-finewed, hearted, breath'd,
And fight maliciously: for when mine houres
Were nice and lucky, men did ransome lives
Of me for jeſts: but now, I'le fet my teeth,
And ſend to darkneſſe all that ſtop me. Come,
Lets have one other gawdy night: Call to me
All my ſad Captains, fill our Bowles once more :
Let's mock the midnight Bell.

*Cleo.* It is my Birth-day,
I had thought I'have held it poor. But ſince my Lord
Is *Anthony* again, I will be *Cleopatra*.

*Ant.* We will yet doe well.

*Cleo.* Call all his noble Captains to my Lord,

*Ant.* Doe ſo, we'll ſpeak to them,
And to night I'le force
The Wine peep through their ſearres,
Come on (my Queen)

There's ſap in't yet. The next time I doe fight
I'le make death love me: for I will contend
Even with his peſtilent Sythe.

*Exeunt.*

*Enob.* Now he'll out-ſtare the Lightning, to be furious
Is to be frighted out of fear, and in that mood
The Dove will peck the Eſtridge; and I ſee ſtill
A diminution in our Captains brain,
Reſtores his heart; when valour prays in reaſon,
It eats the Sword it fights with: I will ſeek
Some way to leave him.

*Enter *Cafar*, Agrippa, and *Mecenas with his Army*,
Cafar reading a Letter.*

*Caf.* He calls me Boy, and chides as he had power
To beat me out of *Egypt*, My Melleſſenger
He hath whipt with Rods, dares me to perſonall Combat.
*Cafar* to *Anthony*: let the old Ruffian know,
I have many other wayes to dye: mean time
Laugh at this Challenge.

*Melece.* *Cafar* muſt think,
When one ſo great begins to rage, he's hunted
Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now
Make boot of his diſtraſtion: Never anger
Made good guard for it ſelf.

*Caf.* Let our beſt heads know,
That to morrow, the laſt of many Battels
We mean to fight. Within our ſiles there are,
Of thofe that ſerv'd *Marke Anthony* but late,
Enough to fetch him in. See it done,
And feaſt the Army, we have ſtore to do't,
And they have earn'd the waſte. *Poor Anthony.* *Exeunt.*

*Enter *Anthony and Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian*,
*Iras, Alexas, with others.*

*Ant.* He will not fight with me, *Dominian*.

*Enob.* No ?

*Ant.* Why ſhould he not ?

*Eno.* He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune,
He is twenty men to one.

*Ant.* To morrow, Souldier,
By Sea and Land I'le fight: or I will live,
Or bathe my dying honour in the blood,
Shall make it live again. Woo't thou fight well.

*Enob.* I'le ſtrike, and cry, take all.

*Ant.* Well ſaid, come on:
Call forth my houſhold ſervants, let's to night
*Enter three or four Servitours.*
Be bountious at our Meale. Give me thy hand,
Thou haſt been rightly honeſt, ſo haſt thou,
Thou, and thou, and thou: you have ſerv'd me well,
And Kings have been your ſellowes.

*Cleo.* What means this ?
*En.* 'Tis one of thofe odde tricks which ſorrow ſhoots
Out of the mind.

*Ant.* And thou art honeſt too :
I wifh I could be made ſo many men,
And all of you clapt up together, in
*An Anthony*: that I might doe you ſervice,
So good as you have done.

*Omnes.*

The Tragedy of

He shall not hear thee, or from Cæsar's Camp,
Say I am none of thine.

Ant. What faycft thou ?

Sold. Sir, he is with Cæsar.

Eros. Sir, his Chefs and Treasure he has not with him.
Aut. Is he gone ?

Sol. Moft certain.

Ant. Go, Eros, lend his Treasure after, doe it,
Detain no dot I charge thee: write to him,
(I will fubſcribe) gentle adieus, and* greetings :
Say, that I with he never find more caufe
To change a Maſter. Oh my fortunes have
Corrupted honest men. Diftatch, Eros.

Exit.

Enter Agrippa, Cæsar, with Enobarbus,
and Dolabella.

Cæf. Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight:
Our will is Anthony be took alive:
Make it ſo known.

Agrip. Cæſar, I shall.

Cæf. The time of univerſall peace is near,
Prove this a prop'rous day, the three-nook'd world
Shall bear the Olive freely.

Enter a Meſſenger.

Mef. Anthony is come into the field.

Cæf. Go charge Agrippa,

Plant thofe that have revolted in the Van,
That Anthony may seem to ſpend his Fury
Upon himself.

Exeunt.

Enob. Alexas did revolt, and went to ſeny on
Affaires of Anthony; there did diffwade
Great Herod to incline himself to Cæsar,
And leave his Maſter Anthony. For this pains
Cæſar hath hang'd him: Camidius and the reſt
That fell away, have entertainment, but
No honourable truſt: I have done ill,
Of which I doe accuse my ſelf so foreely,
That I will joy no more.

Enter a Soldier of Cæſars.

Sol. Enobarbus, Anthony

Hath after thee ſent all thy Treſuren, with
His bounty over-plus. The Meſſenger
Came on my guard, and at thy Tent is now
Unloading of his Mules.

Eno. I give it you.

Sol. Mock not, Enobarbus,
I tell you true: Beſt you faſ't the bringer
Out of the hoaſt, I muſt attend mine Office,
Or would have done not my ſelf. Your Emperor
Continues ſtil a Jove.

Exit.

Enob. I am alone the Villain of the Earth,
And ſeel I am ſo moſt. Oh Anthony,
Thou Mine of bounty, how wouldſt thou have payed
My better ſervice, when my turpitude,

Thou doſt to Crown with Gold. This blowes my heart
If ſwift thought break it not: a ſwifted mean
Shall out-ſtrike thought, but thought will do't. I ſeel
I fight againſt thee: No, I will go ſeeke
Some Ditch, where to dye: the foulſt beſt fits

My latter part of life.

Exit.

Alarum. Drummes and Trumpets.
Enter Agrippa.

Agrig. Retire, we have engag'd our ſelves too farre:
Cæſar himself ſhas work, and our oppreſſion
Exceeds what we expected.

Exit.

Alarums.
Enter Anthony, and Scarus wounded.

Scar. O my brave Emperour, this is ſought indeed,
Had we done to at firſt, we had droven them home
With Clouts about their head.

Ant. Thou bleed it apace.

Farre off.

Scar. I had a wound here that was like a T,
But now 'tis made an H.

Ant. They doe retire.

Scar. We'll beat'em into Bench-holes, I have yet
Room for fix scotches more.

Enter Eros.

Eros. They are beaten, Sir, and our advantage ſerves
For a fair victory.

Scar. Let us ſcore their backs,
And inatch'em up, as we take Hares behind,
Tis a ſport to maule a Runner.

Ant. I will reward thee
Once for thy ſlightly comfort, and ten-fold
For thy good valour. Come thee on.

Scar. I'le halt after.

Exeunt.

Alarum. Enter Anthony again in a March,
Scarus, with others.

Ant. We have beat him to his Camp: Run one
Before, and let the Queen know of our gueſts: to morrow
Before the Sun ſhall fee's, we'll ſpill the blood
That has to day eſcap'd, I thank you all,
For doughty handed are you, and have ſought
Not as you ferv'd the Caufe, but as't had been
Each mans like mine: you have ſhewn all Hectors,
Enter the Citry, clip your Wives, your Friends,
Tell them your feats, whil't they with joyfull teares
Wath the congealement from your wounds, and kiffe
The honour'd-gaſhes whole.

Enter Cleopatra.

Give me thy hand,
To this great Faieriy, I'le commend thy aſts,
Make her thanks bleſſe thee. O thou day oth' world,
Chain mine arm'd neck, leap thou, Attire and all
Through proof of Harneſſe to my part, and there
Ride on the paints triumphing.

Cleo. Lord of Lords,

Oh infinite Virtue, com't ſt thou ſmiling from
The worlds great Inare uncaught.

Ant. My Nightingale,
We have beat them to their Beds.

What, Girl, though gray
Do ſomething mingle with our younger brown, yet ha we
A brain that nourifes our Nerves, and can
Get gole for gole of youth. Behold this man,
Commend unto his lips thy favou'ing hand,
Kiffe it my Warriour: He hath ſought to day,
As if a god in hate of Mankind, had
Dellroyed in luch a shape.

Cleo. I'le give thee, Friend,
An Armour all of Gold: it was a Kings.

Ant. He has deferv'd it, were it Carbunkled
Like holy Phœbus Carre. Give me thy hand,
Through Alexandria make a jolly Maſch,
Bear our hackt Targets, like the men that owe them.
Had our great Palace the capacity

To Camp this hoaſt, we all would ſup together,
And drink Carowſes to the next dayes Fate

Which

Anthony and Cleopatra.

839

Which promises Royall perill. Trumpeters
With brazen dinne blastt you the Cities eare.
Make mingle with our ratling Tabouines,
That heaven and earth may strike their founds together,
Applauding our reproach.
Exeunt.

Enter a Century, and his Company, Enobarbus follows.

Cent. If we be not relief'd within this houre,
We must return to th' Court of Guard : the night
Is flathy, and they fay, we shall embattle
By th' second houre ith' Morn.

1. Watch. This last day was a shrewd one to's.
Enob. Oh bear me witneſſe night.

2. What man is this ?

1. Stand close, and lift him.
Enob. Be witneſſe to me (O thou bleſſed Moon)

When men revolted ſhall upon Record
Bear hatefull memory : poor Enobarbus did
Before thy face repent.

Cent. Enobarbus ?

3. Peace : harke further.

Enob. Oh Soveraign Miftris of true Melancholly,
The poytonous damp of night diſpunge upon me,
That life, a very Rebel to my will,
May hang no longer on me. Throw my heart
Against the flint and hardneſſe of my fault,
Which being dried with grief, will break to powder,
And finiſh all foule thoughts : Oh Anthony,
Nobler then my revolt is infamous,
Forgive me in thine own particular,
But let the world rank me in Regifter
A Maſter leaver, and a ſubitive :
Oh Anthony ! Oh Anthony !

1. Let's ſpeak to him.
Cent. Let's hear him, for the things he ſpeaks

May concern *Cafar*.

2. Let's doe ſo, but he ſleeps.

Cent. Swoonds rather, for so bad a Prayer as his
Was never yet for ſleep.

1. Go we to him.

2. Awake, fir, awake, ſpeak to us.

1. Hear you, fir ?

Cent. The hand of death hath rought him.

Drummes afarre off.

Harke how the Drummes demurely wake the ſleepers :
Let us bear him to th' Court of Guard : he is of note :
Our hour is fully out.

2. Come on then, he may recover yet.

Exeunt.

Enter Anthony, and Scarus, with their Army.

Ant. Their preparation is to day by Sea,

We pleafe them not by Land.

Scar. For both, my Lord.

Ant. I would they'd fight ith' Fire, or ith' Aire,
We'd fight there too. But this it is, our Foot
Upon the hills adjoyning to the City
Shall ſlay with us. Order for Sea is given,
They have put forth the haven :

Where their appointment we may beſt diſcover,
And look on their endeavour.

Exeunt.

Enter *Cafar*, and his Army.

Caf. But being charg'd, we will be ſtill by Land,
Which as I tak't we shall, for his beſt force
Is forth to Man his Gallies. To the Vales,

And hold our beſt advantage.

Exeunt.

Alarum afarre off, as at a Sea-fight.
Enter Anthony, and Scarus

Ant. Yet they are not joyn'd :

Where yond Pine does stand, I ſhall diſcover all.
I'le bring the word (straight, how 'tis like to go.

Exit

Scar. Swallowes have built

In Cleopatraes Sailes their neſts. The Auguries
Say, they know not, they cannot tell, look grimely,
And dare not ſpeak their knowledge. Anthony
Is valiant, and dejected, and by flarts.
His fretted Fortunes give him hope and fear
Of what he has, and has not.

Enter Anthony.

Ant. All is loſſ :

This foule Egyptian hath betrayed me:
My Fleet hath yielded to the Foe, and yonder,
They caſt their Caps up, and Carowſe together
Like friends long loſt. Tripple-turn'd Whore, 'tis thou
Haſt fold me to this Novice, and my heart
Makes onely Warres on thee. Bıd them all flye :
For when I am reveng'd upon my Charme,
I have done all. Bid them all flye, be gone.
Oh Sun, thy upriſe ſhall I fee no more :
Fortune and Anthony part here, even here
Doe we ſhake hands ? All come to this? The hearts
That pannelled me at heeles, to whom I gave
Their wifhes, doe dis-Candy, melt their iweets
On bloſſoming *Cafar* : and this Pine is barkt,
That over-topt them all. Betray'd I am.
Oh this falſe foule of *Egypt* ! this grave Charme,
Whofe eye beak'd forth my Wars, and call'd them home :
Whofe Boſome was my Crowne, my chief end,
Like a right Gypſie, hath at ſaſt and loſſe
Beguil'd me, to the very heart of loſſe.
What Eros, Eros ?

Enter Cleopatra.

Ah, thou Spell ! Avant.

Cleo. Why is my Lord eniag'd againk his Love ?

Ant. Vanilſh, or I ſhall give thee thy deſerving,
And blemiſh *Cafars* Triumph. Let him take thee,
And hoſt thee up to th' ſhouting *Plebeians*.

Follow his Chariot, like the greatest ſpot
Of all thy Sex. Moſt Monſter-like be ſhewn
For poor'ſt Diminutives, for Dolts, and let
Patient *Oſkavia* plough thy viſage up

Exit Cleopatra.

With her prepared nailes,
'Tis well th'art gone,

If it be well to live. But better 'twere

Thou ſell'ſt into my fury, for one death
Might have prevented many. Eros, hoa ?

The ſhirt of *Neffus* is upon me, teach me
*Alcides*, thou mine Anceſtor, thy rage.

Let me lodge *Licas* on the horns oth' Moon,
And with thate hands that graſp the heaviſt Club,
Subdue my worthiſt ſelf: the Witch ſhall dye :

To the young *Roman* Boy he hath ſold me, and I fall
Under his plot: the dyes ſort. Eros, hoa ?

Exit.

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, Mardian.

Cleo. Help me, my Woman : Oh he is more mad
Then *Telamon* for his Shield, the Boar of *Thoffaly*
Was never ſo imboſt.

Char. To th' Monument, there lock your ſelf,
And fend him word you are dead :

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Th

840

The Tragedy of

The foule and body rive not more in parting,
Then greateneſſe going off.

Cleo. To th' Monument :

Mardian, go tell him I have flain my ſelf :
Say, that the laſt I spoke was Anthony,
And word it (prethee) pittiousſly. Hence, Mardian,
And bring me how he takes my death to th' Monument.

Exeunt.

Enter Anthony, and Eros.

Ant. Eros, thou yet behold'ſt me ?

Eros. I, Noble Lord.

Ant. Some time we see a cloud that's Dragoniſh,
A vapour fometime, like a Bear, or Lyon,
A toward Cittadell, a pendant Rock,
A forked Mountain, or blew Promontory
With Trees upon't, that nodde unto the world,
And mock our eyes with Aire.

Thou haſt feen theſe ſignes,

They are black Vesper's Pageants.

Eros. I, my Lord.

Ant. That which is now a Horſe, even with a thought
The Rack diſlimes, and makes it indiſtinet

As water is in water.

Eros. It do's, my Lord.

Ant. My good Knave, Eros, now thy Captain is
Even ſuch a body : here I am Anthony,
Yet cannot hold this viſible ſhape (my Knave)
I made theſe warres for Egypt, and the Queen,

Whose heart I thought I had, for ſhe had mine :
Which whil'ſt it was mine, had an annex unto't

A Million moe ( now loſt : ) ſhe, Eros, has
Packt Cards with Caſars, and ſalſe plaid my Glory

Unto an Enemy's triumph.
Nay, weep not, gentle Eros, there is left us

Our ſelves to end our ſelves.

Enter Mardian.

Oh thy vilde Lady, ſhe has robb'd me of my Sword.

Mar. No, Anthony,

My Miſtris lov'd thee, and her Fortunes mingled
With thine intirely.

Ant. Hence, ſawcy Eunuch, peace, ſhe hath betraid me,
And ſhall dye the death.

Mar. Death of one perſon can be paid but once,
And that ſhe has diſcharg'd. What thou would'ſt do
Is done unto thy hand : the laſt the ſpake
Was Anthony, moſt Noble Anthony :

Then in the miſt a tearing groan did break

The name of Anthony : it was divided

Between her heart and lips : the tendred life

Thy name ſo buried in her.

Ant. Dead then ?

Mar. Dead.

Ant. Unarme, Eros, the long dayes taske is done,
And we must ſleep : that thou depart'ſt hence ſafe

Does pay thy labour richly : go.

Exit Mardian.

Oh, pluck off,

The ſeven-fold ſhield of Ajax cannot keep

The battery from my heart. Oh cleave my ſides,

Heart, once be ſtronger then thy Continent,
Crack thy fraile Caſe. Apace, Eros, apace :

No more a Souldier: bruſed pieces go,

You have bin Nobly born. From me awhile. Exit Eros
I will o're-take thee, Cleopatra, and

Weep for my pardon. So it muſt be, for now

All length is Torture: ſince the Torch is out,

Lye down and ſtray no farther. Now all labour

Marres what it does : yea, very force entangiles
It ſelf with ſtrength : Seale then and all is done,
Eros ? I come, my Queen. Eros ? Say for me,
Where Soules doe couch on Flowers, we'll hand in hand,
And with our ſprightly Port make the Ghoſtes gaze :
Dido, and her Eneme shall want Troops,
And all the haunt be ours. Come Eros, Eros.

Enter Eros.

Eros. What would my Lord ?

Ant. Since Cleopatra died,

I have liv'd in ſuch diſhonour, that the gods
Deteft my bafeſeneſſe. I, that with my Sword,

Quarter'd the World, and o're-green Neptunes back
With Ships, made Citties ; condemn my ſelf, to lack

The Courage of a Woman, leſſe Noble minde
Then ſhe which by her death, our Caſar tells

I ana Conqueror of my ſelf. Thou art ſworn Eros,
That when the exigent ſhould come, which now

Is come indeed : when I ſhould fee behind me
Th'inevitable ſproſecution of diſgrace and horrour,
That on my command, thou then would'ſt kill me.

Do't, the time is come : thou ſtrike'ſt not me,
'Tis Caſar thou defeat'ſt. Put colour in my cheek.

Eros. The gods with-hold me,

Shall I do that which all the Parrtian Darts,
(Though Enemy) loſt ayme, and could not.

Ant. Eros,

Would'ſt thou be window'd in great Rome, and fee
Thy Maſter thus with pleacht Armes, bending down
His corrigible neck, his face ſubdu'd

To penetrative ſhame ; whil'ſt the wheel'd ſeat
Of fortunate Caſar drawn before him, branded

His bafeſeneſſe that enfued.

Eros. I would not fee't.

Ant. Come then : for with a wound I muſt be cur'd.
Draw that thy honeſt Sword which thou haſt worn
Moſt uſefull for thy Country.

Eros. Oh, fir, pardon me.

Ant. When I did make thee free, ſwor'ſt thou not then
To doe this when I bad thee ? Doe it at once,

Or thy precedent Services are all

But accidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come.

Eros. Turn from me then that Noble countenance,
VWherein the worſhip of the whole world lics.

Ant. Loe thee.

Eros. My Sword is drawn.

Ant. Then let it doe at once

The thing why thou haſt drawn it.

Eros. My dear Maſter,

My Captain, and my Emperour. Let me ſay

Before I ſtrike this bloody ſtroke, farewell.

Ant. 'Tis ſaid man, and farewell.

Eros. Farewell great Chief. Shall I ſtrike now ?

Ant. Now, Eros.

Kills himself.

Eros. VVhy there then :

Thus I doe eſcape the forrow of Anthony's death.

Ant. Thrice-Nobler then my ſelf,

Thou teacheſt me: Oh valiant Eros, what

I ſhould, and could'ſt not, my Queen and Eros

Have by their brave inſtruction got upon me

A Noblenſe in Record. But I will be

A Bride-groom in my death, and run into?

As to a Lovers bed. Come then, and Eros,

Thy Maſter dies thy Schollar : to doe thus

I learnt of thee. How, not dead? not dead?

The Guard, how? oh diſpatch me.

Enter

Anthony and Cleopatra.

841

Enter a Guard.

1. Guard. What's the noyfle?

Ant. I have done my work, ill friends:
Oh make an end of what I have begun.

2. The Starre is faln.

1. And time is at his Period.

All. Alas, and woe.

Ant. Let him that loves me, strike me dead.

1. Not I.

2. Nor I.

3. Nor any one.

Exeunt.

Decre. Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers flye.
This Sword but shewn to Cæsar with this tidings,
Shall enter me with him.

Enter Diomedes.

Dio. Where's Anthony?

Decre. There, Diomed, there.

Diom. Lives he? wilt thou not another man?

Ant. Art thou there, Diomed?

Draw thy fword, and give me
Sufficing ftrokes for death.

Dio. Moft abfolute Lord,
My Miftris Cleopatra ſent me to thee.

Ant. When did he ſend thee?

Dion. Now, my Lord.

Ant. Where is he?

(feare

Diom. Lockt in her Monument: he had a Prophefying
Of what hath come to pafle: for when he ſaw
(VVhich never ſhall be found) you did ſuſpect
She had diſpos'd with Cæsar, and that your rage
VVould not be purg'd, he ſent you word he was dead:
But fearing ſince how it might work, had he ſent
Me to proclaime the truth, and I am come
I dread, too late.

Ant. Too late, good Diomed: call my Guard I require.
Dio. What hoa: the Emperours Guard.

The Guard, what hoa? Come, your Lord calls,
Enter four or five of the Guard of Anthony.

Ant. Bear me, good Friends, where Cleopatra bides,
'Tis the laſt ſervice that I ſhall command you.

1. Woe, woe are we, fir, you may not live to wear
All your true Followers out.

All. Moſt heavy day.

Ant. Nay, good my ſellowes, do not pleafe ſharp faſte
To grace it with your forrowes. Bid that welcome
Which comes to puniſh us, and we puniſh it

Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up,
I have led you oft, carry me now, good friends,

And have my thanks for all. Exeunt bearing Anthony.

Enter Cleopatra, and her Maids aloft, with
Charmian, and Iras.

Cleo. Oh Charmian, I will never go from hence.
Char. Be comforted, dear Madam.

Cleo. No, I will not :

All ſtrange and terrible events are welcome,
But comforts we defpife ; our ſize of forrow
Proportion'd to our caufe, muſt be as great
As that which makes it.

Enter Diomed.

How now? is he dead?

Diom. His deaths upon him, but not dead.
Look out oth' other ſide your Monument,
His Guard have brought him hither.

Enter Anthony, and the Guard.

Cleo. O Sun,

Burn the great Sphere thou mov'st in, darkling land
The varying shore oth' world.

O Antony, Antony, Antony,
Help, Charmian, help, Iras, help : help, friends,
Below, let's draw him hither.

Ant. Peace,

Not Cæsars Valour hath o're-thrown Anthony,
But Anthony hath Triumph on it ſelf.

Cleo. So it should be,

That none but Anthony should conquer Anthony,
But woe'tis so.

Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying : onely
I here importune death awhile, untill
Of many thouland kiffes the poor laſt
I lay upon thy lips.

Cleo. I dare not, Dear,
Dear my Lord pardon : I dare not,
Leaſt I be taken : not th'Imperious ſhew
Of the full-fortun'd Cæsar, ever ſhall
Be broach'd with me, if Knife, Drugs, Serpents have
Edge, ſting, or operation, I am ſafe :
Your Wife Oſtavias, with her modeſt eyes,
And ſtill conclusion, ſhall acquire honour
Demuring upon me : but, come, come, Anthony,
Help me, my women, we muſt draw thee up :
Aſſift, good friends.

Ant. Oh quick, or I am gone,
Cleo. Here's ſport indeed :
How heavy weighs my Lord ?

Our ſtrength is all gone into heavineſſe,
That makes the weight. Had I great Juno's power,
The ſtrong wing'd Mercury should fetch thee up,
And fet thee by Jove's ſide. Yet come a little,
Witheſters were ever Fooles. Oh come, come, come,

They heave Anthony aloft to Cleopatra,
And welcome, welcome. Dye when thou haſt liv'd,
Quicken with kiffing : had my lips that power,
Thus would I wear them out.

All. A heavy fight.

Ant. I am dying, Egypt, dying.
Give me fome Wine, and let me ſpeak a little.
Cleo. No, let me ſpeak, and let me raile so high,
That the falſe Hufwife, Fortune, break her Wheele,
Provok'd by my offence.

Ant. One word (sweet Queen)
Of Cæsar feek your honour, with your ſafety. Oh.

Cleo. They do not go together.

Ant. Gentle, hear me,
None about Cæsar truſt, but Procleius.

Cleo. My Refolution, and my hands, I'le truſt,
None about Cæsar.

Ant. The miferable change now at my end,
Lament nor forrow at: but pleafe your thoughts
In feeding them with thofe my former Fortunes
Wherein I lived. The greateſt Prince oth' world,
The Nobleft : and doe not bafely dye,
Not Cowardly put of my Helmet to
My Countryman. A Roman, by a Roman
Valiantly vanquifh'd. Now my ſpirit is going,
I can no more.

Cleo. Nobleft of men, woo't die ?
Haſt thou no care of me, ſhall I abide
In this dull world, which in thy abſence is
No better then a Stye? Oh ſee, my women :
The Crown oth' earth doth melt. My Lord ?
Oh wether'd is the Garland of the Warre.

The

The Tragedy of

The Souldiers pole is fain: young Boyes and Girles
Are levell now with men: The oddes is gone,
And there is nothing left remarkable
Beneath the vifing Moon.

Char. Oh quietneſſe, Lady.

Iras. She's dead too, our Soveraign,

Char. Lady.

Iras. Madam.

Char. Oh Madam, Madam, Madam.

Iras. Royall Egypt: Empresse,

Char. Peace, peace, Iras.

Cleo. No more but in a Woman, and commanded
By fuch poor paffion, as the Maid that Milks,
And does the meaneſt chares. It were for me
To throw my Scepter at the injurious gods,
To tell them that this World did equall theirs,
Till they had ſtoin our Jewel. All's but naught :
Patience is fottifh, and impatience does
Become a Dog that's mad: then is it ſin,
To ruſh into the ferret houſe of death,
Ere death dare come to us? How doe you, Women ?
What, what good cheer? Why how now, Charmian ?
My Noble Girles ? Ah women, women ! Look,
Our Lamp is ſpent, it's out. Good firs, take heart,
We'll bury him: And then, what's brave, what Noble,
Let's do't after the high R[oman] ſashion,
And make death proud to take us. Come, away,
This cafe of that huge Spirit now is cold.
Ah women, women ! Come, we have no friend
But Refolution, and the briefeſt end.

Exeunt, bearing of Anthonies body.

Enter Caſar, Agrippa, Dollabella, Menas, with
his Counsel of Warre.

Caſar. Go to him Dolabella, bid him yield,
Being ſo ftrustrate, tell him,
He mocks the pawſes that he makes.

Dol. Caſar, I ſhall.

Enter Decretas with the S[word] of Anthony.

Caſ. Wherefore is that? and what art thou that dar't
Appear thus to us?

Dec. I am call'd Decretas,

Mark Anthony I ferv'd, who beſt was worthy
Beſt to be ferv'd : whil't he ſood up, and ſpoke
He was my Maſter, and I wore my life

To ſpend upon his haters. If thou pleafe
To take me to thee, as I was to him,

I'le be to Caſar : if thou pleafeſt not, I yield thee up my

Caſ. What is't thou ſay'ft ? (life.

Dec. I ſay (Oh Caſar) Anthony is dead.

Caſ. The breaking of ſo great a thing, ſhould make
A greater crack. The round World
Should have ſhoo[ Lyons] into civil ſtreetes,

And Citizens to their dennes. The death of Anthony
Is not a ſingle doome, in the name lay

A moity of the world.

Dec. He is dead, Caſar,

Not by a publick minifter of J[ust]ice,

Nor by a hired Knife, but that ſelf-hand

Which writ his honour in the Acte it did,

Hath with the Courage which the heart did lend it,
Spitſted the heart. This is his Sword,

He robb'd his wound of it: behold it ſtain'd
With his moſt Noble blood.

Caſ. Look you, ſad friends,

The gods rebuke me, but it is a Tidings
To wash the eyes of Kings.

Dol. And ftrange it is,

That Nature muſt compell us to lament

Our moſt perſtifted deeds.

Men. His taints and honours may equall with him.

Dol. A Rarer ſpirit never

Did ſteere humanity : but you gods will give us

Some faults to make us men. Caſar is rouch'd.

Men. When ſuch a ſpacious Mirror's ſet before him,
He needs muſt fee him ſelf.

Caſ. Oh Anthony,

I have followed thee to this, but we do launch

Difeaſes in our Bodies. I muſt perſorce

Have ſhewn to thee ſuch a declining day,

Or look on thine: we could not ſtall together,

In the whole world. But yet let me lament

With teares as Soveraign as the blood of hearts,

That thou my brother, my Competitor,

In top of all deſign; my Mate in Empire,

Friend and Companion in the front of Warre,

The Arme of mine own Body, and the heart

Where mine his thoughts did kindle; that our Starres

Unreconcilable, ſhould divide our equalneſſe to this.

Hear me, good friends,

But I will tell you at ſome meeter Seafon,

The bufineſſe of this man looks out of him,

We'll hear him what he ſayes.

Enter an Egyptian.

Whence are you ?

A[eg]yp. A poor A[eg]ty[ian] yet, the Queen my Miftris
Contin'd in all, ſhe has her Monument
Of thy intents, deſires, inſtruction,
That ſhe preparedly may frame her ſelf
To th' way ſhe's forſ'd to.

Caſ. Bid her have good heart,
She ſoon ſhall know of us, by ſome of ours,
How honourable, and how kindly we

Determine for her. For Caſar cannot leave to be ungentle

A[eg]yp. So the gods preferye thee. Exit.

Caſ. Come hither Proculeus, go and ſay
We purpufe her no ſhame: give her what comforts

The quality of her paffion ſhall require ;
Leaſt in her greatneſſe, by ſome mortall ſtroke

She doe defeat us. For her life in Rome

Would be eternall in our triumph : go,
And with your ſpeedieſt bring us what ſhe ſayes,

And how you find of her.

Pro. Caſar, I ſhall. Exit Proculeus.

Caſ. Gallus, go you along : where's Dolabella, to ſe-
cond Proculeus?

All. Dolabella.

Caſ. Let him alone : for I remember now
How he's employ'd: he ſhall in time be ready,
Go with me to my Tent, where you ſhall fee
How hardly I was drawn into this Warre,
How calme and gentle I proceeded ſtill

In all my Writings. Go with me, and fee
What I can ſhew in this.

Exeunt.

Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, and Mardian.

Cleo. My defolation does begin to make
A better life: 'Tis paltry to be Caſar :

Not being fortune, he's but fortunes knave,
A minifter of her will : and it is great

To

Anthony and Cleopatra.

843

To doe that thing that ends all other deeds,
Which hackles accidents, and bolts up change ;
Which fleeps, and never pallats more the dung,
The Beggai's Nuitc, and *Cafars*.

*Enter Proculeius.*

Pro. *Cafar* fends greccting to the Queen of *Egypt*,
And bids thee fluid on what fair demands
Thou canst it to have him grant thee.

Cleo. What's thy name?

Pro. My name is *Proculeius*.

Cleo. *Anthony*.

Did tell me of you, bad me truſt you, but
I do not greatly care to be deceiv'd

That have no uſe for tretting. If your Maſter
Would have a Queen his Beggar, you muſt tell him,
That Majſtly, to keep decorum, muſt

No loffe be gge then a Kingdome : if he pleafe
To give me conquer'd *Egypt* for my Son,
He gives me ſo much of mine own, as I
Will kneele to him with thanks.

Pro. Be of good cheer :

Y'are faln into a Princely band, fear nothing,
Make your full reference freely to my Lord,
Who is full of Grace, that it flowes over
On all that need. Let me report to him
Your ſweet dependency, and you ſhall find
A Conqueror that will pray in aid for kindneſſe,
Where he for Grace is kneel'd to.

Cleo. Pray you tell him,
I am his Fortunes Vafall, and I ſend him
The greatneſſe he has got. I hourly learn
A Doſtrine of Obedience. And would gladly
Look him i'th' Face.

Pro. This I'le report (dear Lady)
Have comfort, for I know your plight is pittied
Of him that caus'd it.

Char. You fee how easily ſhe may be ſurpris'd:
Guard her till *Cafar* come.

Iras. Royall Queen.

Char. Oh *Cleopatra*, thou art taken Queen.

Cleo. Quick, quick, good hands.

Pro. Hold, worthy Lady, hold :

Doe not your ſelf ſuch wrong, who are in this
Reliev'd, but not betraid.

Cleo. What of death too that rids our dogs of languifh?

Pro. *Cleopatra*, doe not abufe my Maſters bounty, by
Th'undoing of your ſelf: Let the world fee
His Noblenſe well aſtced, which your death
Will never let come forth.

Cleo. Where art thou, Death ?

Come hither, come: Come, and take a Queen
VVorth many Babes and Beggars.

Pro. Oh temperance, Lady.

Cleo. Sir, I will eat no meat, I'le not drink, fir ;
If idle talk will once be neceffary

I'le not ſleep neither. This mortall house I'le mine,
Doe *Cafar* what he can. Know, fir, that I

V'ill not wait pinnion'd at your Maſters Court,
Not once to be chaſtis'd with the ſober eye
Of dull *Oſtavia*. Shall they hoſt me up,

And ſhew me to the ſhouting Varlotry
Of confuring *Rome* ? rather a ditch in *Egypt*.

Be gentle, grave, unto me: rather on *Nylus* mudde
Lay me ſtark nak'd, and let the water-Flies
Blow me into abhorring ; rather make

My Countreys high Pyramids my Gibber,

And hang meup in Chains.

Pro. You doe extend

Theſe thoughts of horrour further then you ſhall
Finde cauſe in *Cafar*.

*Enter Dolabella.*

Dol. *Proculeius,*

V'What thou haſt done, thy Maſter *Cafar* knowes,
And he hath ſent for thee : as for the Queen,
I'letake her to my Guard.

Pro. So *Dolabella*

It ſhall content me beſt : be gentle to her :

To *Cafar* I will ſpeak what you ſhall please,
If you'll employ me to him.

*Exit Proculeius.*

Cleo. Say, I would dye.

Dol. Moſt Noble Empreſſe, you have heard of me.

Cleo. I cannot tell.

Dol. Affuredly you know me.

Cleo. No matter, fir, what I have heard or known :
You laugh when Boyes or VVomen tell their Dreames,
Is't not your trick?

Dol. I underſtand not, Madam,

Cleo. I dreamt there was an Emperour *Anthony*.
Oh ſuch another ſleep, that I might fee
But ſuch another man.

Dol. If it might pleafe ye.

Cleo. His face was as the heavens, and therein ſuck
A Sun and Moon, which kept their cauſe, and lighted
The little oth' Earth.

Dol. Moſt Soveraignt Creature,

Cleo. His Legs beſtrid the Ocean, his rear'd Arme
Creſted the world : his voyce was propertied
As all the tuned Spheres, and that to friends :

But when he meant to quaile, and ſhake the Orbe,
He was as ratling Thunder. For his bounty,
There was no winter in't. An *Anthony* it was,

That grew the more by reaping : his delights
VVere Dolphin-like, they ſhew'd his back above
The Element they liv'd in ; In his Livery
VValk'd Crowns and Crownets : Realmes and Iflands
As plates dropt from his pocket,

Dol. *Cleopatra,*

Cleo. Think you there was, or might be ſuch a man
As this I dreamt of ?

Dol. Gentle Madam, no.

Cleo. You Lye up to the hearing of the gods :
But if there be, or ever were one ſuch
Its paſt the ſize of dreaming : Nature wants ſtuffe
To vye ſtrange formes with fancy, yet t'imagine
An *Anthony* with Natures piece, 'gainſt Fancy,
Condenning ſhadowes quite.

Dol. Hear me, good Madam :

Your loffe is as you ſelf, great ; and you bear it

As anſwering to the weight, would I might never

O're-take purfu'd ſucceſſe : but I doe feel

By the rebound of yours, a grief that ſuits

My very heart at root.

Cleo. I thank you, fir :

Know you what *Cafar* means to doe with me ?

Dol. I am loth to tell you what, I would you knew.

Cleo. Nay, pray you, fir.

Dol. Though he be honourable,

Cleo. He'll lead me then in triumph.

Dol. Madam, he will, I know't.

*Enter Proculeius, Cefar, Gallus, Mecenas,*
*and others of his Train.*

All. Make way there, *Cafar*.

*Cafar*

844

The Tragedy of

Cef. Which is the Queen of Egypt.

Dol. It is the Emperor, Madam.

Cleo. knees.

Cef. Arife, you shall not kneele :

I pray you rife, rife Egypt.

Cleo. Sir, the gods will have it thus,
My Mafter and my Lord I much obey,

Cef. Take to you no hard thoughts,
The Record of what injuries you did us,
Though written in our flesh, we shall remember
As things but done by chance.

Cleo. Sole Sir other world,

I cannot project mine own caufe so well
To make it clear, but doe confefle I have
Been laden with like frailties, which before
Have often fham'd our Sex.

Cef. Cleopatra, know,

We will extenuate rather then inforce :

If you apply your felf to our intents,
Which towards you are moft gentle, you ſhall finde
A benefit in this change, but if you feek

To lay on me a Cruelty, by taking

Anthony's caufe, you shall bereave your felf
Of my good purpofes, and put your Children
To that deftruction which I'le guard them from,
If thereon you relye. I'le take my leave.

Cleo. And may through all the world:tis yours, and we
Your Scutcheons, and your ſigns of Conqueſt ſhall
Hang in what place you pleate. Here, my good Lord.

Cef. You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra.

Cleo. This is the brief: of Money, Plate, and Jewels
I am poffeſt of, 'tis exaſtly valued,

Not petty things admitted. Whereas Seleucus ?

Seleu. Here, Madam.

Cleo. This is my Treasurer, let him ſpeak (my Lord)

Upon his perill, that I have reſerv'd

To my felf nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus.

Seleu. Madam, I had rather feale my lips,

Then to my perill ſpeak that which is not.

Cleo. What have I kept back ?

Sel. Enough to purchase what you have made known.

Cef. Nay, blufh not, Cleopatra, I approve

Your wifedome in the deed.

Cleo. See Cæsar : Oh behold,

How pomp is followed : mine will now be yours,
And ſhould we shift Eſtates, yours would be mine,
The ingratitude of this Seleucus, do's

Even make me wilde. Oh Slave, of no more truſt

Then love that's hir'd ? What, goeſt thou back, chou ſhal
Go back I warrant thee : but I'le catch thine eyes

Though they had wings. Slave, ſoule-leſſe, Villain, Dog,
O rarely bafe !

Cef. Good Queen, let us entreat you.

Cleo. O Cæsar, what a wounding ſhame is this,
That thou vouchſaſing here to vifit me,

Doing the honour of thy Lordlineſſe

To one ſomeek, that mine own Servant ſhould

Parcel the ſumme of my diſgraces, by
Addition of his Envy ! Say (good Cæsar)

That I fome Lady-trifles have reſerv'd,
Immoment toyes, things of ſuch Dignity

As we greet modern friends withall, and ſay

Some Nobler token I have kept apart

For Livia and Oſtavia, to induce

Their meditation, muſt I be unfolded

With one that I have bred : the gods ! it ſmites me
Beneath the fall I have. Prethee go hence,

Or I ſhall ſhew the Cynders of my ſpirits

Through th' affes of my chance : Wer't thou a man,
Thou would't have mercy on me,

Cef. Forbear, Seleucus.

Cleo. Be it known, that we the greatest are miſ-thought
For things that others doe: and when we fall,

We answer others merits, in our name
Are therefore to be pitied.

Cef. Cleopatra,

Not what you have reſer'd, nor what acknowledged'd
Put we ith' Roll of Conqueſt : ſtill be't yours,
Beflow it at your pleafure, and believe

Cæsar's no Merchant, to make prize with you

Of things that Merchants fold. Therefore be cheer'd,
Make not your thoughts your prifons : No, dear Queen,
For we intend ſo to diſpofe you, as

Your ſelf ſhall give us counſell: Feed, and ſleep :

Our care and pitty is ſo much upon you,
That we remain your friend, and ſo adieu.

Cleo. My Maſter, and my Lord.

Cef. Not ſo : Adieu.

Exeunt Cæsar, and his train.

Cleo. He words me, Girles, he words me,
That I ſhould not be noble to my ſelf.

But harke thee, Charmian.

Iras. Finifh, good Lady, the bright day is done,
And we are for the darke.

Cleo. Hye thee again,

I have ſpoke already, and it is provided,

Go put it to the haſte.

Charm. Madam, I will.

Enter Dolabella.

Dol. Where's the Queen ?

Char. Behold, fir.

Cleo. Dolabella.

Dol. Madam, as thereto ſworn, by your command
(Which my love makes Religion to obey)

I tell you this : Cæsar through ſyria

Intends his journey, and within three dayes,

You with your Children will he ſend before,

Make your beſt uſe of this. I have perform'd

Your pleafure, and my promife.

Cle. Dolabella, I ſhall remain your debtor.

Dol. I your Servant :

Adieu, good Queen, I muſt attend on Cæsar.

Cleo. Farewell, and thanks.

Now, Iras, what think'ſt thou ?

Thou, an Egyptian Puppet, ſhalt be ſhewn
In Ròme as well as I: Mechanick Slaves

With greaſe Aprons, Rules, and Hammers ſhall

Uplift us to the view. In their thick breaths,

Rank of groſſe Diet, ſhall we be enclouded,

And for'd to drink their vapour.

Iras. The gods forbid.

Cleo. Nay, 'tis moſt certain, Iras: ſawcy Liſtors
Will catch at us like Strumpets, and ſcal'd Rimers
Ballad us out a tune. The quick Comedians

Extemporally will ſtage us, and prefent

Our Alexandria Revels : Anthony

Shall be brought drunken forth, and I ſhall ſee

Some ſpeaking-Cleopatra-Boy my greatneſſe

Ith' poſture of a Whore.

Iras. O the good gods !

Cleo. Nay that's certain.

Iras. I'le never ſee't ; for I am ſure my Nailes
Are ſtronger than mine eyes.

Cleo.

Anthony and Cleopatra.

845

Cleo. Why that's the way to fool their preparation,
And conquer their moſt abust intents.

Enter Charmian.

Now Charmian.

Shew me my Women like a Queen : Go fetch
My best Attires. I am again for Cidrus

To meet Marke Anthony. Sitrah Iras, go,
(Now, noble Charmian, we'll dispatch indeed.)

And when thou haſt done this chare. I'le give thee leave
To play till Doomes-day : bring our Crown, and all.

A noyſe within.

Wherefore this noyſe ?

Enter a Guardſman.

Guardſ. Here is a rural Fellow,
That will not be deni'd your Highneſſe prefence,
He brings you Figs.

Cleo. Let him come in..

Exit Guardſman.

How poor an Infrument

May doe a noble deed : he brings me liberty :

My refolution's plac'd, and I have nothing

Of woman in me : Now from head to foot

I am Marble conſtant: now the fleeting Moon

No Planet is of mine.

Enter Guardſman and Clown.

Guardſ. This is the Man.

Cleo. Avoid and leave him.

Exit Guardſman.

Haſt thou the pretty worme of Nylus there,
That kills and pains not ?

Clow. Truly I have him : but I would not be the party that should defire you to touch him, for his biting is immortall : thoſe that doe dye of it, doe ſeldome or never recover.

Cleo. Remember'ſt thou any that have di'd on't ?

Clo. Very many men and women too. I heard of
one of them no longer than yeſterday, a very honet wo-
man, but thing ſomewhat given to lye, as a woman ſhould not
doe, but in the way of honet ſh, how ſhe died of the bi-
ting of it, what pain ſhe felt: Truly, ſhe makes a very
good report oth'worme : but he that will believe all that
they ſay, ſhall never be faved by half that they doe : but
this is moſt fallible, the Worme's an odde Worme.

Cleo. Get thee hence, farewell.

Clow. I wifh you all joy of the Worme.

Cleo. Farewell.

Clow. You muſt think this (look you) that the Worm
will doe his kinde.

Cleo. I, I, farewell.

Clo. Look you, the Worme is not to be truſted, but
in the keeping of wife people : for indeed, there is no
goodneſſe in the Worme.

Cleo. Take no care, it ſhall be heeded.

Clo. Very good: give it nothing I pray you, for it is
not worth the feeding.

Cleo. Will it eat me ?

Clo. You muſt not think I am ſo ſimple, but I know
the devil himſelf will not eat a woman : I know, that a
woman is a diſh for the gods, if the devil drefſe her not.
But truly, theſe fame whorſon devil's doe the gods great
harme in their women : for in every ten that they make,
the devil's marre five.

Cleo. Well, get thee gone, farewell.

Clo. Yes forſooth, I wifh you joy oth' worme. Exit.

Cleo. Give me my Robe, put on my Crown, I have
Immortall longings in me. Now no more
The juice of ſegypt's Grape ſhall moſt his lip.

Yare, yare, good Iras, quick : me thinks I hear

Anthony call : I fee him rowſe himself

To prieſe my Noble Aſt. I hear him mock

The luck of Cæſar, which the gods give men

To excule their after wrath. Husband, I come :

Now to that name, my courage prove my Title.

I am Fire, and Aire ; my other Elements

I give no baſer life. So, have you done ?

Come then, and take the laſt warmth of my lips.

Farewell kinde Charmian, Iras, long farewell.

Have I the Aſpick in my lips ? Doſt fall ?

If thou and Nature can ſo gently part,

The ſtroke of death is as a Lovers pinch,

Which hurts, and is defir'd. Doſt thou lie ſill ?

If thus thou vanilheſt, thou tell't the world

It is not worth leave taking.

Char. Diffolve thick Cloud and Rain, that I may ſay,

The gods themſelves doe weep.

Cleo. This proves me baſe:

If he proves the curled Anthony,

He'll make demand of her, and Ipend that kiffe

Which is my heaven to have. Come thou mortal wretch,

With thy ſharp teeth this knot intrinſicate,

Of life at once untie: Poor venemous Foole,

Be angry and dispatch. Oh could't thou (peak,

That I might hear thee call great Cæſar Aſſe, unpolicied.

Char. Oh Eastern ſtarre.

Cleo. Peace, peace :

Doſt thou not fee my Baby at my breast,

Thatucks the Nurſe aſleep.

Char. O break ! O break !

Cleo. As ſweet as Balme, as ſoft as Aire, as gentle.

O Anthony ! Nay I will take thee too.

What ſhould I ſtay------

Dies.

Char. In this wild world ? So fare thee well :

Now boaſt thee death, in thy poſſeffion lies

A Laffe unparalell'd. Downy Windows cloze,

And golden Phœbus never be beheld

Of eyes again ſo Royall : your Crowns away,

I'le mend it, and then play-------

Enter the Guard ruitling in, and Dolabella.

1. Guard. Where's the Queen ?

Char. Speak ſofely, wake her not.

1. Cæſar hath ſent.

Char. Too ſlow a Meſſenger.

Oh come apace, dispatch, I partly feel thee,

1. Approach hoa,

All's not well : Cæſar's beguil'd.

2. There's Dolabella ſent from Cæſar : call him.

1. What work is here, Charmian ?

Is this well done ?

Char. It's well done, and fitting for a Princeſſe
Defended of ſo many Royall Kings.

Ah Souldier.

Charmian dyes.

Enter Dolabella.

Dol. How goes it here ?

2. Guard. All dead.

Dol. Cæſar, thy thoughts

Touch their effects in this: thy ſelf art comming

To fee perform'd the dreaded Aſt which thou

So ſought it to hinder.

Enter Cæſar and all his trains, marching.

All. Make way there, make way for Cæſar.

Dol.

846

The Tragedy of Anthony and Cleopatra.

Dol. Oh, Sir, you are too ture an Augurer :
That you did fear, is done.

Cæsar. Braveſt at the laſt,

She level'd at our purpofes, and being Royall
Took her own way : the manner of their deaths,
I do not fee them bleed,

Dol. Who was laſt with them ?

1. Guard. A Simple Countryman, that brought her Figs:
This was his Basket,

Cæſ. Poyſon'd then.

1. Guard. Oh Cæsar :

This Charmian liv'd but now, the flood and spake :
I found her trimming up the Diadem,
On her dead Miftris, tremblingly the flood,
And on the sudden dropt.

Cæsar. Oh noble weakneſſe :

If they had swallowed poyſon, 'twould appeare.
By externall twelling: but the looks-like sleep,
As she would catch another Anthony
In her strong toyle of Grace.

Dol. Here on her dreft,

There is a vent of blood, and something blown,
The like is on her Arme.

1. Guard. This an Alpſeets traile

And these Fig-leaves have ſtine upon them ſuch
As th' Alpick leaves upon the Caves of Nyle.

Cæſ. Moſt probable

That ſo the dyed : for her Phyſian tells me
She hath put ſu'd Conſuſions infinite

Of eafe wayes to dye. Take up her Bed,
And bear her Women from the Monument,
She ſhall be buried by her Anthony.

No Grave upon the earth ſhall clip in it
A pair ſo famous : high events as theſe

Strike thofe that make them : and their ſtory is
No leſſe in pitty, than his glory which

Brought them to be lamented. Our Army ſhall
In ſolemn ſhew, attend this Funerall,

And then to Rome. Come Dolabella, see
High Order in this great Solemnity.

Exeunt, omnes.

FINIS.

The Tragedy of CYMBELINE.

Actus Primus. Scena Prima.

Enter two Gentlemen.

1. Gent.

Or do not meet a man but frowns.
Our clouds no more obey the heavens
Then our Courtiers:
Still seem as do's the Kings.

2. Gent. But what's the matter ?

1. His daughter, and the heir of's Kingdome ( whom
He purpos'd to his wives sole fon, a Widow
That late he married) hath refer'd her self
Unto a poor, but worthy Gentleman. She's wedded.
Her husband banifh'd; ſhe imprifon'd, all
Is outward forrow, though I think the King
Be touch'd at very heart.

2. None but the King ?

1. He that hath loft her too : fo is the Queen,
That moſt defir'd the Match. But not a Courtier,
Although they wear their faces to the bent
Of the Kings looks, hath a heart that is not
Glad at the thing they ſcoule at.

2. And why fo ?

1. He that hath mifs'd the Princeſſe, is a thing
Too bad, for bad report : and he that hath her,
(I mean, that married her, alack good man,
And therefore banifh'd) is a Creature, ſuch,
As to feek through the Regions of the earth
For one, he like; there would be something failing
In him, that ſhould compare. I do not think,
So fair an Outward, and ſuch fluffe within
Endows a man, but he.

2. You ſpeak him fair.

1. I do extend him (Sir) which himself,
Crufh him together, rather then unfold
His measure dully.

2. What's his name and Birth ?

1. I cannot delve him to the root: his father
Was call'd *Sicillius*, who did joyn his honour
Against the Romans, with *Caffibelan*,
But had his Titles by *Tenantiuſ*, whom
He ſerv'd with Glory and admir'd Succeſſe:
So gain'd the Sur-addition, *Leonatus*.
And had (befides this Gentleman in queſtion)
Two other Sons, who in the Warrs o'th'time
Dy'd with their ſwords in hand. For which their father
Then old, and fond of illuſe, took ſuch forrow
That he quit Being; and his gentle Lady

Big of this Gentleman (our Theam) decaſt
As he was born. The King he takes the Babe
To his protection, calls him *Poſthumus* *Leonatus*,
Breeds him, and makes him of his Bed-chamber,
Puts to him all the Learnings that his time
Could make him the receiver of, which he took
As we do aire, faſt as 'twas miniftr'd,
And in's Spring, became a Harveſt: Liv'd in Court
(Which rare it is to do) moſt prais'd, moſt lov'd,
A fample to the youngeſt: to th'more Mature,
A glaſſe that feared them: and to the graver,
A child that guided Dotards. To his Miftris,
(For whom he now is banifh'd) her own price
Proclaims how ſhe eſteem'd him; and his Vertue
By her election may be truly read, what kind of man he is.

2. I honor him, even out of your report.

But pray you tell me, is the ſole child to'ch'King ?

1. His only child ?

He had two Sons (if this be worth your hearing,
Mark it) the eldest of them, at three years old
I'ch'iwathing cloathes, the other from their Nurſery
Were ſtoln, and to this hour, no gueſſle in knowledge
Which way they went.

2. How long is this age ?

1. Some twenty years.

2. That a Kings Child: en ſhould be ſo convey'd,
So ſlackly guarded, and the ſearch ſo flow
That could not trace them,

1. Howſoere 'tis ſtrange,
Or that the negligence may well be laugh'dat
Yet is it true fir.

2. I do well believe you,

1. We muſt forbear. Here comes the Gentleman,
The Queen, and Princeſſe.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter the Queen, Poſthumus, and Imogen

Que. No, be affur'd you shall not find me (Daughter)
After the ſlander of moſt Step-Mothers,
Evil-ey'd unto you. You're my Prifoner, but
Your Goaler shall deliver you the keys

C c c c

That

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

848

That lock up your restraints. For you Pessuthus,
So soon as I can win the offended King,
I will be known your Advocate: marry yet
The fire of Rage is in him, and were good
You lean'd unto his Sentence, with what patience
Your wifdome may inform you.

Post. Please your Highneſſe,
I will from hence to day.

Que. You know the perill:
Ple fetch a turn about the Garden, pitcying
The pangs of barr'd Affections, though the King
Hath charg'd you should not speak together.

Exit.

Imo. O diflembing Curbefle ! How fine this tyrant
Can tickle where the wounds ? My deareft Husband,
I fomething fear my fathers wrath, but nothing
(Always referv'd my holy duty) what
His rage can do on me. You muſt be gone,
And I ſhall here abide the hourly flot
Of angry eyes: not comforted to live,
But that there is this Jewell in the world,
That I may fee again.

Post. My Queen, my Miftris:
O Lady, weep no more, left I give caufe
To be lufpected of more tenderneſſe
Then doth become a man. I will remain
The loyall't husband, that did ere plight troth,
My refidence in Rome, at one Florio's,
Who, to my Father was a friend, to me
Known but by Letter; thither write (my Queen)
And with mine eyes, I'le drink the words you ſend,
Though Ink be made of Gall.

Enter Queen.

Que. Be brief, I pray you:
If the King come, I ſhall incur, I know not
How much of his difpleasure: yet I'le move him
To walk this way: I never do him wrong,
But he do's buy my injuries, to be friends.
Payes dear for my offences.

Post. Should we be taking leave
As long a terme as yet we have to live,
The loathneſſe to depart, would grow: Adieu.

Imo. Nay, flay a little:

Were you but riding forth to aire your ſelf,
Such parting were too petty. Look here (Love)
This Diamond was my Mothers; take it (Heart)
But keep it till you wooe another Wife,
When Imogen is dead.

Post. How, how? Another?
You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
And feare up my embracements from a next,
With bonds of death. Remain, remain thou here,
While ſenſe can keep it on: And sweeteſt, faireſt,
As I (my poor ſelf) did exchange for you
To your ſo infinite loffe: ſo in our trifles
I fill win of you. For my ſake wear this,
It is a Manacle of Love, I'le place it
Upon this faireſt Prifoner.

Imo. O the gods !
When ſhall we fee again ?

Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.

Post. Alack, the King.
Cym. Thou bafeſt thing, avoid hence, from my fight:
If after this command thou fraught the Court
With thy unworthyneſſe, thou dyeſt. Away,
Thou'rt poifon to my cloud.

Post. The gods protec't you,

And bletſe the good Remainders of the Court:
I am gone.

Exit.

Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death
More ſharpen this is.

Cym. O diſloyal thing,
That should'ſt repair my youth, thou heap'ſt
A years age on me.

Imo. I beſeech you, fir,
Harme not your ſelf with your vexation,
I am ſenſeleſſe of your wrath; a touch more rare
Subdues all pangs, all fears.

Cym. Paſt Grace ? Obedience ?

Imo. Paſt hope, and in diſpair, that way paſt Grace.

Cym. That might'ſt have had
The ſole Son of my Queen.

Imo. O bleſſed that I might not: I chose an Eagle,
And did avoid a Puttock.

Cym. Thou took'ſt a Beggar, would'ſt have made my
Throne, a Seat for baſeneſſe.

Imo. No, I rather added a luſtre to it.

Cym. O thou vild one !

Imo. Sir,

It is your fault that I have lov'd Poffuthus :
You bred him as my Play-fellow, and he is
A man, worth any woman: Over-buyes me
Almoſt the ſum he payes.

Cym. What ? art thou mad ?

Imo. Almoſt, Sir: heaven reſtore me: would I were
A Neat-heards Daughter, and my Leonatus
Our Neighbour-Shepheards Son.

Enter Queen.

Cym. Thou foolish thing;
They were again together: you have done
Not after our command. Away with her,
And pen herup.

Que. Befeech your patience: Peace
Dear Lady daughter, peace. Sweet Soveraign,
Leave us to our ſelves, and make your ſelf some comfort
Out of your beſt advice.

Cym. Nay let her languish
A drop of bloud aday, and being aged
Dye of this Folly.

Enter Pisanio.

Que. Fie, you muſt give away:
Here is your Servant. How now, Sir ? What news ?

Pis. My Lord your Son, drew on my Maſter.

Que. Hah ?

No harme I tuſt is done?
Pisa. There might have been,
But that my Maſter rather plaid, then fought,
And had no help of Anger: they were parted
By Gentlemen, at hand.

Que. I am very glad on't.

Imo. Your Son's my fathers friend, he takes his part.
To draw upon an Exile, O brave Sir,
I would they were in Aſſrick both together,
My ſelf by with a Needle, that I might prick
The goer back. Why came you from your Maſter?

Pisa. On his command: he would not ſuffer me
To bring him to the hayen: left these Notes
Of what commands I should be ſubjeſt to,
When't please you to employ me.

Que. This hath been
Your faithfull Servant: I dare lay mine honour
He will remain ſo.

Pisa. I humbly thank your Highneſſe.

Que.

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

849

Qu. Pray walk a while.

Imo. About some half hour hence,
Pray you speak with me;
You shall ( at least ) go see my Lord aboard.
For this time leave me.

Exeunt.

## Scena Tertia.

### Enter Clotten, and two Lords.

1. Sir, I would advise you to shift a skirt; the Vio-
lence of Action hath made you reek as a Sacrifice: where
aire comes out, aire comes in: there's none abroad so
wholome as that you vent.

Clot. If my Shirt were bloudy, then to shift it.
Have I hurt him?

2. No faith: not so much as his patience.

1. Hurt him ? His bodie's a paffable Carkaffe if he be not hurt. It is a thorough-fare for Steel if it be not hurt.

2. His Steel was in debt, it went oth' Back-side the
Town.

Clot. The Villain would not stand me.

2. No, but he fled forward still, toward your face.

1. Stand you ? you have Land enough of your own :
But he added to your having, gave you fome ground.

2. As many Inches, as you have Oceans (Puppies).

Clot. I would they had not come between us.

2. So would I, till you had meafur'd how long a fool
you were upon the ground.

Clot. And that he should love this fellow, and re-
fufe me.

2. If it be a fin to make a true election, he is damn'd.

1. Sir, as I told you always: her Beauty and her Brain
go not together. She's a good figne, but I have seen
my small reflection of her wit.

2. She Shines not upon Fools, left the reflection
Should hurt her.

Clot. Come, I'le to my Chamber: would there had been some hurt done.

2. I wiſh not so, unleſſe it had bin the fall of an Aſ,
which is no great hurt.

Clot. You'll go with us?

1. I'le attend your Lordship.

Clot. Nay come, let's go together.

2. Well, my Lord.

## Scena Quarta.

### Enter Imogen, and Pisanio.

Imo. I would thou grew'ſt unto the shores oth' haven,
And questioned'ſt every Sail: if he should write,
And I not have it, 'twere a Paper loft
As offer'd mercy is: What was the laſt
That he ſpake to thee ?

Pisa. It was his Queen, his Queen.

Imo. Then wav'd his Handkerchief?

Pisa. And kiff 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 ear,
Diftinguſh him from others, he did keep
The Deck, with Glove, or Hat, or Handkerchief,
Still waving, as the fits and flirrs of's mind
Could beſt expreſſe how flow his foul ſail'd on,
How ſwift his Ship.

Imo. Thou ſhould'ſt have made him
As little as a Crow, or leſſe, ere left
To after-eye him.

Pisa. Madam, ſo I did.

Imo. I would have broke mine eye-strings;
Crack'd them, but to look upon him, till the diminution
Of ſpace, had pointed him ſharp as my Needle :
Nay, followed him, till he had melted from
The smallneſſe of a Gnat, to aire: and then
Have turn'd mine eye, and wept. But, good Pisanio,
When shall we hear from him.

Pisa. Be aſſur'd, Madam,
With his next vantage.

Imo. I did not take my leave of him, but had
Moft pretty things to ſay: Ere I could tell him
How I would think on him at certain hours,
Such thoughts, and ſuch: Or I could make him ſwear,
The She's of Italy ſhould not betray

Mine Intereft, and his Honour: or have charg'd him
At the fixt hour of Morn, at Noon, at Midnight,
I' encounter me with Orifons, for then
I am in heaven for him: Or ere I could,
Give him that parting kiffe, which I had ſet
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father,
And like the tyrannous breathing of the North,
Shakes all our buds from growing.

### Enter a Lady.

Lad. The Queen (Madam)
Defeſſes your highneſſe Company.

Imo. Thoſe things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd,
I will attend the Queen.

Pisa. Madam, I ſhall.

Exeunt.

## Scena Quinta.

### Enter Philario, Iachimo, Frenchman, Dutchman, and a Spaniard.

Iach. Believe it, Sir, I have seen him in Britain; he
was then of a Creffent none, expected to prove ſo wor-
thy, as ſince he hath been allowed the name of. But I
could then have look'd on him, without the help of Ad-
miration, though the Catalogue of his endowments had
bin tabled by his ſide, and I to perufe him by Irems.

Phil. You ſpeak of him when he was leſſe furniſh'd,
then now he is, with that which makes him bothl with-
out and within,

French. I have seen him in France: we had very ma-
ny there, could behold the Sun, with as firm eyes as
he.

Iach. This matter of marrying his Kings Daughters,
wherein he muſt be weighed rather by her value, then
his own, words him (I doubt not) a great deal from the
matter.

French. And then his banifhment.

Iach. I, and the approbation of thate that weep this
lamentable divorce under her colours, are wonderfully

C c c c 2

850

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

to extend him, be it but to fortify her judgement, which else an eafe battery might lay flat, for taking a Beggar without leffe quality. But how comes it, he is to foyourn with you? how creeps acquaintance?

*Phil.* His father and I were Souldiers together, to whom I have bin often bound for no leffe then my life.

*Enter Pothumus.*

*Here comes the Britain.* Let him be so entertained a-mongst you, as suits with Gentlemen of your knowing; to a ſtranger of his quality. I befeech you all be better known to this Gentleman, whom I commend to you, as a Noble Friend of mine. How Worthy he is, I will leave to appear hereafter, rather then ſtory him in his own hearing.

*Fren.* Sir, we have known together in Orleance.

*Poſt.* Since when I have bin debter to you for counteſes, which I will be ever to pay, and yet pay still,

*Fren.* Sir, you ore-rate my poor kindelſe, I was glad I did alone my Countryman and you; it had bin pitty you should have been put together, with so mortal a purpofe, as then each bore, upon importance of ſo flight and trivial a nature.

*Poſt.* By your pardon, fir, I was then a young Traveler, rather, hun'rd to go even with what I heard, then in my very action to be guided by others experiences: but upon my mened judgment (if I offend to fay it is mened) my Quarrel was not altogether flight.

*French.* Faith yes, to be put to the arbitrement of Swords, and by fuch two, that would by all likelyhood have confounded one the other, or have faln both.

*Iach.* Can we with manners, ask what was the difference?

*Fren.* Safely, I think, 'twas a contention in publick, which may (without contradiction) ſuffer the report. It was much alike an argument that fell out laſt night, where each of us fell in prae of our Country-Miſtreſſes. This Gentleman, at that time vouching (and upon war-ran of bloody affirmation) his to be more Fair, Vertuous, Wiser, Chafte, Conſtant, Qualified, and leſſe attemptle then any, the rateſt of our Ladies in France.

*Iach.* That Lady is not now living: this Gentlemen's opinion by this worn out.

*Poſt.* She holds her Vertue full, and I my mind.

*Iach.* You muſt not, ſo far preferre her, 'fore ours of Italy.

*Poſt.* Being ſo far provok'd as I was in France: I would abate her nothing, though I proſeſſe my ſelf her Adorer, not her friend.

*Iach.* As fair, and as good: a kind of hand in hand comparison, had been ſomething too fair, and too good for any Lady in Brittany: if she went before others, I have ſeen, as that Diamond of yours out-luſers many I have beſhed. I could not believe ſhe excelled many: but I have not ſeen the moſt precious 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 eſteem it at?

*Poſt.* More then the world enjoys.

*Iach.* Either your unparagon'd Miſtris is dead, or ſhe's out-priz'd by a trifle.

*Poſt.* You are miſaken: the one may be ſold or given, or if there were wealth enough for the purchaſes, or me-rit for the gift. The other is not a thing for ſale, and only the gift of the gods.

*Iach.* Which the gods have given you?

*Poſt.* Which by their Graces I will keep.

*Iach.* You may wear her in title yours: but you know ſtrange Fowle light upon neighbouring Ponds. Your Ring may be ſolne too, ſo your brace of unprizeable Eſtimations, the one is but frail, and the other Cafaal. A cunning Thief, or a (that way) accompliſh'd Courtier, would hazzard the winning both of firſt and laſt.

*Poſt.* Your Italy, contains none ſo accompliſh'd a Courier to convince the honour of my Miſtris; it in the holding or leſſe of that, you terme her frail, I do nothing doubt you have ſtore of Thieves, notwithstanding I fear not my Ring.

*Phil.* Let us leave here Gentlemen.

*Poſt.* Sir, with all my heart. This worthy Signior I thank him, makes no ſtranger of me, we are familiar at firſt.

*Iach.* With five times ſo much converſation, I should get ground of your fair Miſtris; make her go back, even to the yielding, had I admittance, and opportunity to friend.

*Poſt.* No, no.

*Iach.* I dare thereupon pawn the moſty of my Estate, to your Ring, which in my opinion ore-values it ſomething: but I make my wager rather againſt your Confidence, then her Reputation. And to bar your ofſence herein too, I durſt attempt it againſt any Lady in the world.

*Poſt.* You are a great deal abus'd in too bold a perſuafion, and I doubt not you ſuſtain what y'are worthy of, by your Attempt.

*Iach.* What's that?

*Poſt.* A Repuſe though your Attempt (as you call it) deferſe more; a puniſhment too.

*Phil.* Gentlemen, enough of this, it came in too ſudendly, let it dye as it was born, and I pray you be better acquainted.

*Iach.* Would I had put my Eſtate, and my Neighbours on the approbation of what I have ſpoke.

*Poſt.* What Lady would you choofe to ſaffail?

*Iach.* Yours, whom in conſtancy you think ſtands ſo ſafe. I will lay you ten thouſand Ducks to your Ring, that commend me to the Court where your Lady is, with no more advantage then the opportunity of a ſecond conference, and I will bring from thence, that honour of hers, which you imagine to reſerv'd.

*Pothumus.* I will wage againſt your Gold, Gold to it: My Ring I hold dear as my finger, 'tis part of it.

*Iach.* You are a friend, and therein the wifer: if you buy Ladies fleſh at a Million a Drain, you cannot preſerve it from painting; but I fee you have ſome Religion in you, that you fear.

*Poſt.* This is but a cultome in your tongue: you bear a graver purpope I hope.

*Iach.* I am the Maſter of my ſpeeches, and would under-go what's ſpoken, I ſwear.

*Poſhu.* Will you? I ſhall but ſend my Diamond till your return: let there be Covenants drawn between's. My Miſtris exceeds in goodneſſe, the hugeneſſe of your unworthy things. I dare you to this match: here's my Ring.

*Phil.* I will have it no lay.

*Iach.* By the gods it is one: if I bring you no ſuſſicient testimony that I have enjoy'd the deareſſ bodily part of your Miſtris: my ten thouſand Ducks are your-

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

851

so is your Diamond too: if I come off, and leave her in
such honour as you have truft in: She your Jewell, this
your Jewell, and my Gold are yours: provided I have
my commendation, for my more entertainment.

Post. I embrace thefe Conditions, let us have Articles
betwixt us : onely thus far you shall anſwer, if you
make your voyage upon her, and give me directly to un-
derſtand, you have prevail'd, I am no further your Ene-
my, ſhe is not worth our debate. If ſhe remain unſe-
duc'd, you not making it appear otherwife: for your ill
opinion, and th' affaull you have made to her chaſtity, you
ſhall anſwer me with your Sword.

Iach. Your hand, a Covenant : we will have theſe
things fet down by lawfull Counſell, and ſtraight away
for Britain, left the Bargain ſhould catch cold, and
ſtarve: I will fetch my Gold, and have our two Wagers
recorded.

Post. Agreed.

French. Will this hold, think you.

Phil. Signior Iachimo will not from it.

Pray let us follow 'em.

Exeunt.

## Scena Sexta.

### Enter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius.

Que. Whiles yet the dew's on ground
Gather theſe Flowers,
Make haſte. Who has the note of them?

Lad. I, Madam.

Que. Difpatch.

Exeunt Ladies.

Now Maſter Doctor, have you brought theſe drugs :
Cor. Pleaſeth your highneſs, I: here they are, Madam:
But I beſeeth your Grace, without offence
(My Conſience bids me ask) wherefore you have
Commanded of me theſe moſt poſſionous Compounds,
Which are the moovers of a languifhing death :
But though flow, deadly.

Que. I wonder, Doctor,
Thou ask'ſt me ſuch a Question; have I not been
Thy Pupil long? haſt thou not learn'd me how
To make Perfumes? Diftill? Preferve? Yea so,
That our great King himſelf doth wooe me off
For my Conſences? having thus far proceeded,
(Unleſſe thou think'ſt me deuilch) is't not meet
That I did ampliſe my judgement in
Other Conſuſions? 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 ſeveral vertues, and effects.

Corn. Your highneſſe

Shall from this practice, but make hard your heart:
Befides, the feeing theſe effects will be
Both noſome and inſectious.

Que. O content thee.

### Enter Pisanio.

Here comes a flattering Raſcal, upon him
Will I firſt work: He's for his Maſter,
And enemy to my Son. How now Pisanio?
Doctor, your ſervice for this time is ended,
Take your own way.

Cor. I do ſuſpect you, Madam.
But you ſhall do no harme.

Que. Hark thee a word.

Cor. I do not like her. She doth think ſhe has
Strange ling'ring poſions: I do know her ſpirits,
And will not truſt one of her malice, with
A drug of ſuch damn'd Nature. Thoſe ſhe has,
Will ſtupſe and dull the Senſe a while,
Which firſt (perchance) ſhe'll prove on Cats and Dogs,
Then afterward up higher: but there is
No danger in what ſhew of death it makes,
More then the locking up the Spirits a time,
To be more fresh, reviving. She is ſtock'd
With a moſt false effect: and I the truer,
So to be false with her.

Que. No further ſervic[e], Doctor,
Untill I ſend for thee.

Cor. I humbly take my leave.

Que. Weeps the firſt (faſt thou?)
Do it thou think in time

Exit.

She will not quench, and let inſtructions enter
Where folly now poſſesses? do thou work :
When thou ſhalt bring me word ſhe loves my Son,
I'le tell thee on the inſant, thou art then

As great as is thy Maſter: Greater, for
His Fortunes all lye speechleſſe, and his name
Is at laſt gaſpe. Return he cannot, nor
Continue where he is: to ſhift his being,
Is to exchange one miſery with another,
And every day that comes, comes to decay

A dayes work in him. What ſhalt thou expect
To be depender of a thing that leans?

Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends

So much, as but to prop him? Thou tak't up
Thou know'ſt not what: But take it for thy labour,
It is a thing I make, which hath the King
Five times redeem'd from death. I do not know
What is more Cordial. Nay I prethee take it,
It is an earneſt of a farther good

That I mean to thee. Tell thy Miftris how
The cafe ſtands with her: do't, as from thy ſelf:
Think what a chance thou changeſt on, but think
Thou haſt thy Miftris firſt, too boor, my Son,
Who ſhall take notice of thee. I'le move the King
To any shape of thy Preferment, ſuch

As thou'lt defire: and then my ſelf, I chiefly,
That fet thee on to this defert, am bound

To load thy merit richly. Call my women. Exit Pisanio.
Think on my words. A flye, and conſant knave,
Not to be ſhak'd: the Agent for his Maſter,
And the Remembrancer of her, to hold

The hand faſt to her Lord. I have given him that,
Which if he take, ſhall quite unpeople her
Of Leidgers for her Sweet: and which the after,
Except the bend her humor, ſhall be affuſ'd
To taſte of too.

### Enter Pisanio, and Ladies.

So, so: well done, well done!

The Violets, Cowflips, and the Prime-Roses

Bear to my Cloſſet: Fare thee well, Pisanio,

Think on my words.

### Exit Queen, and Ladies.

Pisa. And ſhall do:

But when to my good Lord, I prove untrue,
I'le choak my ſelf: there's all I'le do for you.

Ccc. 3

Exit.

Scena

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

853

Slaver with lips as common as the ftaires

That mount the Capitol: joyn gyrypes, with hands
Made hard with hourly falhood (falhood as
With labour: ) then by peeping in an eye
Bafe and illuftrious as the lmoaky light
That's fed with ftinking Tallow: it were fit
That all the plagues of hell fhou'd at one time
Encounter fuch revolt.

Imo. My Lord, I fear

Has forgot Britain.

Iach. And himself, not I

Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce

The Beggery of his change: but 'tis your Graces
That from my nature Con Science, to my tongue,
Charmes this report out.

Imo. Let me hear no more.

Iach. O deareft soul: your Caufe doth strike my heart
With pity, that doth make me fick. A Lady
So fair, and faftned to an Empiry

Would make the great'ft King double, to be partner'd
With Tomboyes hyr'd, with that felf-exhibition
Which your own Coffers yield: with dites'd ventures
That play with all infirmities for Gold,
Which rottenneſſe can lend Nature, Such boyl'd fluff
As well might poifon Poifon. Be reveng'd,

Or that he bore you, was no Queen, and you
Recoyl from your great Stock.

Imo. Reveng'd :

How should I be reveng'd ? if this be true,
(As I have fuch a heart, that both mine ears
Muſt not in haſte abufe ) if it be true,
How ſhall I be reveng'd ?

Iach. Should he make me

Live like Diana's Prief, betwixt cold fheets;
Whiles he is vaulting variable Ramps
In your defpight, upon your purfe: revenge it.
I dedicate my ſelf to your fweet pleafure,
More Noble then that runnagate to your bed,
And will continue ſaft to your Affection,
Still cloſe, as ſure.

Imo. What hoa, Pifanio ?

Iach. Let my ſervicè tender on your lips

Imo. Away, I do condemne mine ears, that have

So long attended thee. If thou wert honorable
Thou wouldſt have told this tale for Vertue, not
For fuch an end thou ſeek'ft, as bafe, as ſtrange :

Thou wrong'ſt a Gentleman, who is as far
From thy teport, as thou from honor: and
Solicitt here a Lady, that difdains

Thee, and the Devil alike. What hoa, Pifanio ?

The King my father ſhall be made acquainted

Of thy Affault: if he ſhall think it fit,

A fawey Stranger in his Court, to Mart

As is a Romifh Stew, and to expound

His beaſtly mind to us; he hath a Court

He little cares for, and Daughter, whom

He not reſpects at all. What hoa, Pifanio ?

Iach. O happy Leonatus, I may ſay,

The credit that thy Lady hath of thee
Deſerves thy truſt, and thy moſt perfect goodneſſe
Her affuſ'd credit, bleſſed live you long,

A Lady to the worthiſt fir, that ever

Country call'd his: and you his Miftris, only

For the moſt worthiſt fit. Give me your pardon,
I have ſpoke this to know if your Affiance

Were deeply rooted, and ſhall make your Lord,

That which he is, new ore; and he is one
The trueſt manner'd: ſuch a holy Wic'h,
That he inchants Societies into him:
Half all mens hearts are his.

Imo. You make amends.

Iach. He fits amongſt men, like a defcended god :
He hach a kind of honour ſets him off,

More then a mortal ſeeming. Be not angry
(Moft mighty Princeſſe) that I have adventur'd
To try your taking of a falſe report, which hath
Honour'd with confirmation your great judgement,

In the election of a Sir, ſo rare,

Which you know, cannot erre. The Love I hear him,
Made me to fan you thus, but the gods made you
( Unlike all others) chaffeleſſe. Pray your Pardon.

Imo. All's well, fir :

Take my power ither Court for yours,

Iach. My humble thanks: I had almost forgot

T'intreat your Grace, but in a ſmall requeſt,

And yet of moment too, for it concerns,

Your Lord, my ſelf, and other Noble friends

Are partners in the bufſineſſe.

Imo. Pray what is't ?

Iach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your Lord
(The beſt feather of our wing) have mingled fums
To buy a Prefent for the Emperor:

Which I (the ſaſtor for the reſt) have done.

In France: 'tis Plate of rare devices, and Jewels

Of rich and exquifite forme, their values great,

And I am ſomething curious, being ſtrange,

To have them in faſe flowage: May it pleafe you

To take them in protection.

Imo. Willingly:

And pawn mine honor for their ſafety, ſince

My Lord hath intereſt in them, I will keep them

In my Bed chamber,

Iach. They are in a Trunk

Attended by my men: I will make bold

To ſend them to you, only for this night:

I muſt aboard to morrow.

Imo. O no, no.

Iach. Yes I beſeech you: or I ſhall forſt my word
By length'ning my return. From Gallia,
I croſt the Seas on purpose, and on promife
To fee your Grace.

Imo. I thank you for your pains:

But not away to morrow.

Iach. O I muſt Madam,

Therefore I ſhall beſeech you, if you pleafe

To greet your Lord with writing, do't to night,

I have out-ſood my time, which is material

To th'tender of our Prefent.

Imo. I will write:

Send your Trunk to me, it ſhall be ſafe kept,

And truly yielded you: you're very welcome.

Exeunt.

Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.

Enter Clotten, and the two Lords.

Clot. Was there ever man had ſuch luck ? when I kifſ
the; Jack upon an up-caſt, to be hit away ? I had an hundred
pound on't; and then a whorſon Jack-an-Apes,
muſt

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

855

Winning will put any man into courage; if I could get
this foolish Imogen, I should have Gold enough: it's al-
most morning, is't not?

1. Day, my Lord,

Clot. I would this Mufick would come: I am advised,
to give her Mufick a mornings, they fay it will penetrate
Enter Muficians.

Come on, tune: if you can penetrate here with your fin-
gering, so we'll try with tongue too: if none will do, let
her remain: but I'll never give o're. First, a very excel-
lent good conceited thing; after a wonderful sweet aire,
with admirable rich words to it, and then let her con-
fider.

Song.

Hark, hark, the Lark at Heavens gate fings,
and Phebus 'gins arife,

His Steeds to water at those Springs
on chalch'd Flowers that lies:

And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their Golden eyes
With every thing that pretty is, my Lady sweet arife:

Arife, arife.

So, get you gone: if this penetrate, I will confider your
Mufick the better: if it do not, it is a voice in her ears
which Horfe-hairs, and Calves-guts, nor the voice of
unpaved Eunuch to boot, can never amend.

Enter Queen and Cymbeline.

2. Here comes the King.

Clot. I am glad I was up so late, for that's the reason
I was up so early: he cannot choose but take this Ser-
vice I have done, fatherly. Good morrow to your Ma-
jeffy, and gracious Mother.

Cym. Attend you here the door of our fern daughter.
Will the not forth?

Clot. I have affaid'd her with Muficks, but she vouch-
fates no notice.

Cym. The Exile of her Minion is too new.
She hath not yet forgot him, some more time.
Muft wear the print of his remembrance ou't,
And then she's yours.

Que. You are most bound to th'King,
Who lets go by no vantages, that may
Preferre you to his daughter: frame your self
To orderly folicits, and be friended
With apneffe of the season: make denials
Encreale your fervices: so feem, as if
You were inſpir'd to do thofe duties which
You tender to her: that you in all obey her.
Savethe way to your diſmission tends,
And therein you are ſenſeleſſe.

Clot. Senſeleſſe ? Not ſo.

Mef. So like you (Sir) Ambaffadours from Rome;
The one is Cains Lucius.

Cym. A worthy Fellow,

Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
But that's no fault of his: we muſt receive him
According to the honour of his Sender,
And towards himself, his goodneſſe foreſpent on us
We muſt extend our notice: Our dear Son,
When you have given good morning to your Miftris,
Attend the Queen, and us, we have need
I' employ you towards this Roman.

Come our Queen.

Exeunt.

Clot. If she be up, I'll speak with her: if not,
Let her lye still, and dream: by your leave hoa,
I know her women to about her: what

If I do line one of their hands: 'tis gold
Which buyes admittance (oft ic doth) yea and makes
Diana's Rangers falſe themſelves, yield up
Their Deer to'ch fland o'ch Stealer: and 'tis gold
Which makes the True-man kill'd, and faves the Thieſe:
Nay, ſome time hangs both Th'ef's, and True-man : what
Can it not do, and undo: I will make
One of her women Lawyer to me, for
I yet not underſtand the caſe my ſelf.

By your leave.

Enter a Lady.

Knocks.

Lad. Who's there that knocks ?

Clot. A Gentleman.

Lad. No more.

Clot. Yes, and a Gentlewomans Son.

Lad. That's more

Then ſome whole Taylors are as deer as yours,

Can juſtly boeſt of: what's your Lordſhips pleafure ?

Clot. Your Ladies perſon, is the ready ?

Lad. I, to keep her Chamber.

Clot. There is gold for you,

Sell me your good report.

Lad. How, my good name? or to report of you
What I ſhall think is good. The Princeſſe.

Enter Imogen.

Clot. Good morrow faireſt, Sifter your ſweet hand.

Imo. Good morrow, fir, you lay out too much pains
For purchasing but trouble: the thanks I give,
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,
And ſcience can ſpare them.

Clot. Still I ſwear I love you.

Imo. If you'd but faſd, 'twere as deep with me:
If you ſwear ſtill, your recompence is ſtill
That I regard it nor.

Clot. This is no anſwer.

Imo. But that you ſhall not ſay, I yield being ſilent,
I would not ſpeak. I pray you ſpare me, faith
I ſhall unfold equall diſcourteſſe

To your beſt kindneſſer: one of your great knowing
Should learn ( being taught ) forbearance.

Clot. To leave you in your madneſſe, 'twere my ſin,
I will not.

Imo. Fools are not mad folks,

Clot. Do you call me fool ?

Imo. As I am mad I do:

If you'll be patient, I'le no more be mad,
That cures us both. I am much forry (Sir)
You put me to forget a Ladies manners
By being ſo verbal: and learn now, for all,
That I which know my heart, do here pronounce
By th' very truth of it, I care not for you,
And am ſo near the lack of Charity
To accuſe my ſelf, I hate you : which I had rather
You felt, then make't my boaſt.

Clot. You fin againſt
Obedience, which you owe your father, for
The Contraſt you pretend with that bafe Wrench,
One, bred of Almes, and ſofter'd with cold dithes
With ſeraps oth' Court: It is no Contraſt, none;
And though it be allowed in meaner parties
(Yet who then he more mean ) to knit their ſouſs
(On whom there is no more dependancy)
But Brats and Beggery ) in ſelf figur'd knot,
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement, by

The

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find
You need it not.

Poſt. Proceed.

Iach. Fift, her Bed-chamber

(Where I confesse I fleft not, but professe
Had that was well worth watching) it was hang'd
With Tapiftry of Silk, and Silver, the Story
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
And Cidnus (I swell'd above the Banks, or for
The preſſe of Boats, or Pride: A piece of Work
So bravely done, fo rich, that it did ſtrive
In Workmanship, and Value, which I wonder'd
Could be fo rarely, and exaſtly wrought

Since the true life on't was--------

Poſt. This is true :

And this you might have heard of here, by me,
Or by some other.

Iach. More particulars

Muſt juſtifie my knowledge

Poſt. So they muſt,

Or do your Honor injury.

Iach. The Chimney

Is South the Chamber, and the Chimney-piece
Chaſt Dian, bathing: never faw I figures
So likely to report themſelves; the Cutter
Was as another Nature dumb, out-went her,
Morion, and Breath left out.

Poſt. This is a thing

Which you might from Relation likewise read,
Being, as it is, much ſpoke of.

Iach. The Rooſe o'ch'Chamber,

With golden Cherubins is fretted. Her Andirons
(I had forgot them) were two winking Cupids
Of Silver, each on one foot ſtanding, nicely
Depending on their Brands.

Poſt. This is her honour:

Let it be granted you have been all this (and praisè
Be given to your remembrance) the deſcription
Of what is in her Chamber, nothing ſaves

The wager you have laid.

Iach. Then if you can

Be pale, I beg but leave to aire this Jewel: See,
And now 'tis up again: it muſt be married

To that your Diamond, I'le keep them.

Poſt. Jove--------

Once more let me behold it: Is it that
Which I left with her ?

Iach. Sir (I thank her) that

She ſtript it from her Arme: I fee her yet
Her pretty Action, did out-fell her gift,
And yet enrich'd it too: ſhe gave it me,
And ſaid ſhe priz'd it once.

Poſt. May be, the pluck'd it off

To fend it me.

Iach. She writes ſo to you ? doth ſhe ?

Poſt. O no, no, no,'tis true. Here take this too,
It is a Bafliſk unto mine eye,

Kills me to look on't: Let there be no Honour,
Where there is beauty: Truth, where ſemblance: Love,
Where there's another man. The Vows of Women,
Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,
Then they are to their Vertues, which is nothing :
O, above meaſure falſe.

Phil. Have patience, fir,

And take your Ring again, 'tis not yet won :
It may be probable ſhe loft it: or

Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted
Hath ſtole it from her.

Poſt. Very true,

And fo I hope he came by't: back my Ring,
Render to me ſome corporal ſigne about her
More evident then this: for this was ſtole.

Iach. By Jupiter, I had it from her Arme.

Poſt. Hark you, he ſwears: by Jupiter he ſwears.
'Tis true, nay keep the Ring: 'tis true: I am ſure
She should not ſooſe it: her Attendants are
All ſworn, and honorable: they induc'd to ſteal it?
And by a Stranger ? No, he har' enjoy'd her,
The Cognizance of her incontinency

Is this: ſhe hath bought the name of Whore, thus dearly.
There, take thy hyre, and all the fiends of hell
Divide themſelves between you.

Phil. Sir, be patient :

This is not ſtrong enough to be belie'd
Of one perſwaded well of.

Poſt. Never talk on't :

She hath been colted by him.

Iach. If you ſeek

For further ſatisfying; under her Breast
(Worthy her preſſing) lies a Mole, right proud
Of that moſt delicate Lodging. By my life
I kif't it, and it gave me preſent hunger
To feed again, though full. You do remember
This ſtain upon her ?

Poſt. I, and it doth confirm

Another ſtain, as big as Hell can hold,
Were there no more but it,

Iach. Will you hear more ?

Poſt. Spare your Arithmetick,

Never count the Turns: Once, and a Million.

Iach. I'le be ſworn.

Poſt. No ſwearing :

If you will ſwear you have not don'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 here, to tear her Limb-meal;
I will go there and do't iſh'Court, before

Her father. I'le do ſomething.

Phil. Quite befides.

The Government of Patience. You have won :
Let's follow him, and pervert the preſent wrath
He hath againſt himself.

Iach. With all my heart.

Exi't.

Exen't.

Enter Poffhumus.

Poſt. Is there no way for Men to be, but Women
Muſt be half-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 Tools
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 pleafure ſhe reſtrain'd,
And pray'd me oſt forbearance: did it with
A pudency ſo Rofie, the ſweet view on't
Might well have warm'd old Saturn :
That I thought her
As Chafte, as un-Sunn'd Snow. Oh, all the devils !
This yellow Iachimo in an hour, was't not ?

Or

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

859

Is faln into thy ear ? What falſe Italian,
(As poifonous tongue'd, as handed) hath prevail'd
On thy too ready hearing ? Difloyal ? No,
She's puniſh'd for her truth; and undergoes
More Goddeſs-like, then Wifc-like; ſuch Aſſaults
As would take in ſome Virtue. Oh my Mafter,
Thy mind to her, is now as low, as were
Thy Fortunes. How ? that I ſhould murther her,
Upon the Love, and truth, and wows; which I
Have made to thy command ? I her ? Her bloud ?
If it be ſo, to do good ſervic[e], never
Let me be counted ſervic[e]able. How look I,
That I ſhould seem to lack humanitie,
So much as this Faſt comes to ? Do't: the Letter,
That I have ſent her, by her own command,
Shall give thee opportunitie. Oh damn'd paper,
Black as the Ink that's on thee: ſeneleſſ bauble,
Art thou a Foedarie for this act; thou look't
So Virgin-like without ? Loe here ſhe comes.

Enter Imogen.

I am ignorant in what I am commanded.

Imo. How no, Pifanio ?

Pif. Madam, here is a Letter from my Lord.

Imo. Who! thy Lord ? that is my Lord Leonatus ?
Oh, learn'd indeed were that Aſſtonomer
That knew the Starres, as I his Characters,
Held lay the Future open. You good gods,
Let what is here contain'd, reſtill of Love,
Of my Lord's health: of his content: yet not
That we two are a-funder, let that grieve him ;
Some griefs are medicinable, that is one of them,
For it doth phyſick Love, of his content,
All but in that. Good Wax, thy leave: bleſſe
You Bees that make theie Locks of counſel, Lovers,
And men in dangerous Bonds pray not alike.
Though Forfeitours you caſt in prifon, yet
You clasp young Cupid's tables: good Newes gods.

I llfice, and your Father's wrath (should he take me in his Dominion) could not be so cruel to me, as you, (oh the deareſt of Creature:) would even renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria at Milford-Haven: what your own Love, will out of this adviſe you, follow. Sa he wishes you all happineſſ, that remains loyal to his Pow, and your increaſing in Love.

Leonatus Poſthumus.

Oh for a Horſe with wings: Hear it, Pifanio ?
He is at Milford-Haven: Read, and tell me
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
May plod it in a week, why may not I
Glide thither in a day ? then true Pifanio,
Who long'ft like me, to fee thy Lord ; who long'ft
(Oh let me bate) but not like me: yet long'ft
But in a fainter kind. Oh not like me :
For mine's beyond, beyond: ſay, and ſpeak thick
(Love's Counſellor ſhould fill the bores of hearing,
To th' ſmothering of the Senſe) how far it is
To this fame bleſſed Milford. And by th'way
Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as
T'inherit ſuch a Haven. But firſt of all,
How may we ſteal from hence: and for the gap
That we ſhall make in time, from our hence-going,
And our return, to excufe: but firſt, how get hence.
Why ſhould excufe be borne or e're begot ?
We'll talk of that hereafter. Prythee ſpeak,
How many ſcore of Miles may we well ride

'Twixt hour and hour ?

Pif. 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 never go ſo flow: I have heard of Rid ng wagers.
Where Horſe's have been nimbler then the Sands
That run i'ch'Clocks behalf. But this is Foolrie,
Go, bid my Woman feign a ſickneſſ, ſay
She'll home to her Father, and provide me preſently
A Riding Suit: No coſtlier then would fit
A Franklins Hufwife.
Pif. Madam, you're beſt confider.
Imo. I fee before me (Man) nor here, nor here,
Nor what enſues but have a Fog in them,
That I cannot look through. Away, I prythee,
Do as I bid thee: there's no more to ſay :
Accelible is none but Milford way.

Exeunt.

## Scena Tertia.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.

Bel. A goodly day, not to keep houſe with ſuch,
Whofe Roofe's as low as ours: Sleep Boyes, this gate
Inſtruets you how t'adore the Heavens; and bows you
To a mornings holy office. The Gates of Monarchs
Are Arch'd to high, that Giants may jet through
And keep their impious Turbands on, without
Good morrow to the Sun. Hail thou fair Heaven,
We houſe i'th' Rock, yet uſe thee not ſo hardly,
As prouder lives do.

Guid. Hail Heaven.

Arvir. Hail Heaven.

Bela. Now for our Mountain ſport, up to yond hill,
Your legs are young: I le tread theſe Flats. Confider,
When you above perſence me like a Crow,
That it is Place, which leſſens and fetts off
And you may then revolve what tales I have told you,
Of Courts of Princes; of the tricks in War,
This ſervice, is not ſervice; ſo being done,
But being ſo allowed. To apprehend thus,
Draws us a profit from all things we fee :
And often to our comfort, ſhall we find
The ſharded Beetle, in a ſafer hold
Then is the full-wing'd Eagle. Oh this life,
Is Nobler, then attending for a check :
Richer, then doing nothing for a Babe :
Prouder then ruffling in un-paid-for Silk :
Such gain the Cap of him, that makes him fine,
Yet keeps his Book uncroſſ'd, no life to ours.

Gui. Out of your proof you ſpeak: we poor unſledg'd,
Have never wing'd from view o' th'neſt; nor know not
What Airs from home. Hap'ly this life is beſt,
(If quiet life be beſt) ſweeter to you
That have a ſharper known; Well correſponding
With your ſtiff Age; but untous, it is
A Cell of Ignorance: travailing a bed,
A Prifon or a Debtor, that not dares
To ſtride a limit.

Arvi. What ſhould we ſpeak of
When we are old as you ? when we ſhall hear
The rain and wind beat da k December ? How
In this our pinching Cave, ſhall we diuicouſe

D d d

The

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

860

The freezing hours away ? We have seen nothing :
We are beatiſt ; ſubſte as the Fox for piey,
Like warlike as the Wolf, for what we eat :
Our Valour is to chafe what flies : our Cage
We make a Quire, as doth the prifon'd Bird,
And fing our Bondage freely.

Bel. How you ſpeak ?

Did you but know the Citie's Uſuries,
And felt them knowingly : the Art o'th'Court,
As hard to leave, as keep: wholeſe top to climb
Is certain falling: or ſo ſlipp'ry, that
The fear's as bad as falling. The toil o'th'War
A pain that onely ſeems to ſee k our danger
I th' name of Fame, and Honour, which dyes i'th'ſearch,
And hath as oft a ſland'rous Epitaph,
As Record of fair Act. Nay, many times
Doth ill deſerve, by doing well: what's worſe
Muſt curſe i'le at the Cenſure. Oh Boyes, this Storie
The world may read in me: My bodie's mark'd
With Roman Swords; and my report was once
Firſt with the beſt of Note. Cymbeline lov'd me,
And when a Souldier was the Theme, my name
Was not far off: then was I as a Tree
Whofe boughes did bend with fruit. But in one night,
A Storm, or Robbery (call it what you will)
Shook down my mellow hangings: nay my Leaves,
And left me bare to weather.

Gui. Uncertain favour.

Bel. My fault being nothing (as I have told you oft)
But that two Villains, wholeſe falſe Oathes prevail'd
Before my perſect Honour, ſwore to Cymbeline,
I was Confederate with the Romans: ſo
Followed my Banifhment, and this twenty yeares,
This Rock, and theſe Demesnes, have been my World,
Where I have liv'd at honyſt freedome, payed
More pious debts to Heaven, then in all
The fore-end of my time. But, up to th'Mountains,
This is not Hunter's Language; he that ſtrikes
The Veniton firſt, ſhall be the Lord o'th'Feaſt,
To him the other two ſhall minifter,
And we will fear no poſſon, which attends
In place of greater State :

Ile meet you in the Vallyes. Exeunt.
How hard it is to hide the ſparks of Nature ?
Theſe Boyes know little they are Sonnes to th'King,
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think they are mine,
And though train'd up thus meanly
I' th'Cave, whereon the Bow their thoughts do hit
The Roofes of Palaces, and Nature prompts them
In ſimple and low things, to Prince it, much
Beyond the trick of others. This Paladour,
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom
The King his Father call'd Guiderius, Jove,
When on my three-foot ſool I fit, and tell
The warlike feats I have done, his ſpirits fly out
Into my ſtory: ſay thus mine Enemy ſell,
And thus I fet my foot on's neck, even then
The Princely blond flows in his Cheek, he fweats,
Strains his young Nerves, and puts himſelf in poſture
That acts my words. The younger Brother Cadwall,
Once Arviragus, in as like a figure
Strikes life into my ſpeech, and ſhews much more
His own conceiving. Heark, the Game is rouz'd,
Oh Cymbeline. Heaven and my Conſcience knows
Thou did't unjuſtly banifh me : whereon

At three, and two years old, I ſtole theſe Babes,
Thinking to bar thee of Succeſſion,
Thou reſts me of my Lands. Enrichile,
Thou waſt their Nurſe, they took thee for their mother
And every day do honour to her Grave:
My ſelf Belarius, that am Morgan call'd
They take for Natural Father. The Game is up. Exit.

## Scena Quarta.

Enter Pifanio and Imogen.

Imo. Thou told'ſt me when we came from horſe, the place
Was near at hand: Ne're long'd my Mother ſo
To ſeem firſt, as I have now: Pifanio, Man:
Where is Poffumus ? What is in thy mind
That makes theſe ſtare thus ? Wherefore breaks that ſigh
From th'inward of thee ? One, One, but painted thus
Would be interpreted a thing perſplex'd.
Beyond ſelf-explication. Put thy ſelf
Into a haviour of leſs ſear, e're wildneſs
Vanquifh my ſtaſher Senſes. What's the matter ?
Why tender'ſt thou that Paper to me, with
A look untender ? If't be Summer News
Smile to't before : if Winterly, thou need'ſt
But keep that count'nance firſt, My Husband's hand ?
That Drug-damn'd Italy, has out-crafted him,
And he's at ſome hard point. Speak man, thy tongue
May take off ſome extremity, which to read
Would be even mortal to me.

Pif. Pleaſe you read,
And you ſhall find me (wretched man) a thing
The moſt diſdain'd of Fortune.

Imogen reads.

Thy Mifſtreß (Pifanio) hath play'd the Strumpeſt in
my Bed: the Teſtimonies whereof, lyes bleeding in
me. I ſpeak not out of weak Surmiſes, but from proof as
ſtrong as my grief, and as certain as I expeſt my Revenge.
That part, thou (Pifanio: muſt aſt for me, if thy faith be
not tainted with the breach of her s; let i hine own hands
take away her life: I ſo ll give thee opportunity at Mil-
ford Haven. She hath my Letter for the puſpofe; where,
if thou fear to ſtrike, and to make me certain it is done,
thou art the Pander to her diſhonour, and equally to me
diſloyal.

Pif. What ſhall I need to draw my Sword, the Paper
Hath cut her throat already. No, tis ſlander,
Whofe edge is ſharper then the Sword, wholeſe tongue
Out-venoms all the Worms of Nile, wholeſe breath
Rides on the poſting winds, and doth belje
All corners of the World. Kings, Queens, and States,
Maids, Matrons, nay the ſecrets of the Grave
This viſerous ſlander enters. What chear, Madam ?

Imo. Falſe to his Bed ? What is it to be falſe ?
To lye in watch there, and to think on him ?
To weep 'twixt clock and clock ? If ſleep charge Nature,
To break it with a fearfull dream of him,
And cry my ſelf awake ? that's falſe to's bed ? is it ?

Pisa. Alas, good Lady.
Imo. I falſe ? thy Conſcience witneſſs: Iachimo,
Thou did'ſt accufe him of Incontinencie,
Thou then look'dt like a Villain: now, me thinks

Thy

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

961

Thy favours good enough. Some Jay of Italy
(Whose Mother was her painting) hath bestraid him:
Poor I am false, a Garment out of fashion,
And for I am richer then to hang by th' walles,
I muft be ript: To pieces with me: Oh!
Mens Vowes are Womens Traitors. All good feeming
By thy revolt (oh Husband) shall be thought
Put on for Villany; not born wher't growes,
But worn a bait for Ladies.

Pis. Good Madam, hear me.

Imo. True honest men being heard, like falfe Æneas,
Were in his time thought false: and Synons weeping
Did scandall many a holy teare: took pitty
From muft true wretchedneffe. So thou, Posthumus,
Wilt lay the leven to all proper men;
Goodly, and gallant, shall be falfe and perjur'd
From thy great faile: Come, Fellow, be thou honest,
Doe thou thy Masters bidding. When thou feest him,
A little winteneffe my obedience. Look,
I draw the Sword my self, take it, and hit
The innocent Manfion of my Love (my Heart !)
Fear not, 'tis empty of all things, but Grief:
Thy Mafter is not there, who was indeed
The riches of it. Do his bidding, strike,
Thou may'ft be valiant in a better caufe;
But now thou feem't a Coward.

Pis. Hence, vile Inſtrument,
Thou Chalt not damn my hand.

Imo. Why, I muſt dye:
And if I doe not by thy hand, thou art
No Servant of thy Maſters. Againſt Self-flaughter,
There is a prohibition to Divine
That clavens my weak hand: Come, here's my heart:
Something's afoot: Soft, soft, we'll no defence,
Obedient as the Scabhard. What is here,
The Scriptures of the Loyall Leonatus,
All turn'd to Hereſtie? Away, away,
Corrupters of my Faith, you Chalt no more
Be Stomachers to my heart: thus may poor Fooles
Believe falſe Traitors: Though that are betraid
Doe feele the Treafon (harply, yet the Traitor
Stands in worſe cafe of woe. And thou, Posthumus,
That didd'ft fet up my diſobedience 'gainſt the King
My Father, and makes me put into contempt the tuits
Of Princely Fellowes, Chalt hereafter finde
It is no act of common paſſage, but
A ſtrain of Rareneſſe: and I grieve my ſelf,
To think, when thou Chalt be diſed'd by her,
That now thou tirſet on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me. Prethee dispatch,
The Lamb enterats the Butcher. Where's thy Knife ?
Thou art too flow to doe thy Maſters bidding
When I defire it too.

Pis. Oh gracious Lady :

Since I receiv'd command to doe this buſineſſe,
I have not flept one wink.

Imo. Do't, and to bed then.

Pis. Ile wake mine eye-balles first.

Imo. Wherefore then

Didd'ft undertake it ? Why haſt thou abus'd
So many Miles, with a presence ? This place ?
Mine Action ? and thine own ? Our Horſes labour ?
The time inviting thee ? the perturb'd Court
For my being abſent; whereunto I never
Purpose return. Why haſt thou gone ſo farre
To be un-bent ? when thou haſt tane thy ſtand,

Th' elected Deer before thee ?

Pis. But to win time

To looke to bad employment, in the which
I have confider'd of a courſe: good Lady,
Hear me with patience.

Imo. Talk thy Tongue weary, ſpeak :

I have heard I am a Strumpet, and mine eare
Therein falſe ſtrook, can take no greater wouſd,
Nor tent, to bottom that. But ſpeak.

Pis. Then, Madam,

I thought you would not back again.

Imo. Moſt like,

Bringing me here to kill me.

Pis. Not ſo neither :

But if I were as wife, as honest, then
My purpofe would prove well: it cannot be,
But that my Maſter is abus'd. Some Villain,
I, and ſingular in his Art, hath done you both
This curſed injury.

Imo. Some Roman Curtezan ?

Pis. No, on my life :

I'le give him notice you are dead, and ſend him
Some bloody ſign of it. For 'tis commanded
I should doe ſo : you shall be miſt at Court,
And that will well confirm it,

Imo. Why, good Fellows,

What ſhall I doe the while ? Where bide ? How live ?
Or in my life, what comfort, when I am
Dead to my Husband ?

Pis. If you'll back to th' Court.

Imo. No Court, no Father: nor no more adoe
With that harſh, noble, ſinple nothing ?
That Clotten, whose Love-ſuit hath been to me
As fearfull as a Siege.

Pis. If not at Court,
Then not in Britain muſt you bide.

Imo. Where then ?

Hath Britain all the Sun that ſhines ? Day ? Night ?
Are they not but in Britain ? Ith' worlds Volume
Our Britain ſeems as of it, but not in't :
In a great Poole a Swannes neſt, prethee think
There's livers out of Britain.

Pis. I am moſt glad

You think of other Place: Th' Ambaffador
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford- Haven
To morrow. Now, if you could wear a minde
Dark, as your Fortune is, and but diſguſe
That which t'appear it ſelf, muſt not yet be,
But by ſelf-danger, you ſhould tread a courſe
Pretty, and full of view: yea, happily, near
The refidence of Posthumus ; ſo nigh (at laſt)
That though his Actions were not viſible, yet
Report ſhould render him hourly to your care,
As truly as he moves.

Imo. Oh for ſuch meaneſ,
Though perill to my modeſtly, not death on't
I would adventure.

Pis. Well then, here's the point:
You muſt forget to be a Woman: change
Command into Obedience. Fear and Niceneſſe
(The Handmaids of all Women, or more truly
Woman it pretty ſelf) into a waggifh courage,
Ready in gybes, quick-anſwer'd, lawcy, and
As quarrellous as the Weazell: Nay, you muſt
Forget that rareſt treaſure of your Cheek,
Exposing it (but oh the harder hearts.

D d d 2

Alack

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

862

Attack no remedy to the greedy touch
Of common killing Titan: and forget
Your labouring one and dainty trimmes, wherein
You made great Juno angry.

Imo. Nay, be brief:

I fee into thy end, and am almost
A man already.

Pis. First, make your self but like one,
Fore-thinking this. I have already fit
(Tis in my Cloak-bagge) Doublet, Hit, Hole, all
That answer to them: Vould you in their serving,
(And with what imitation you can borrow
From youth of such a seafon) 'fore Noble Lucius
Present your self, define his service: tell him
Wherein you're happy, which will make him know,
If that his head have care in Musick, doubtlesse
With joy he will embrace you: for he's Honourable,
And doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad:
You have me rich, and I will never faile
Beginning, nor supplyment.

Imo. Thou art all the comfort
The God's will diet me with. Prethee away,
There's more to be confider'd: but we'll even
All that good time will give us. This attempt,
I am Souldier too, and will abide it with
A Princess Courage. Away, I prethee.
Pis. Well, Madam, we must take a short farewell,
Left being mift, I be suspected of
Your carriage from the Court. My Noble Miftris,
Here is a box, I had it from the Queen,
What's in' is precious: If you are sick at Sea,
Or Stomach-quall'd at Land, a Diamme of this
Will drive away diftemper. To some thade,
And fit you to your Manhood: may the Gods
Direct you to the beft.

Imo. Amen: I thank thee,

Exeunt

## Scena Quinta.

Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius,
and Lords.

Cym. Thus farre, and so farewell.

Luc. Thanks, Royall Sir:

My Lord, hath wrote, I muft from hence,
And am right forry, that I muft report ye.
My Mafters Enemy.

Cym. Our Subjects (Sir)

Will not endure his yoake; and for our self.
To flew leffe Soveraignty then they, muft needs
 Appear un-Kinglike.

Luc. So, Sir: I defire of you
A Conduct over Land, to Milford-Haven.
Madam, all joy befall your Grace, and you.

Cym. My Lords, you are appointed for that Office:
The due of Honour in no point omit:

So farewell Noble Lucius.

Luc. Your hand, my Lord.

Clot. Receive it friendly; but from this time forth
I wear it as your Enemy.

Luc. Sir, the Event

Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.

Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my Lords,
Till he have croft Severn. Happineſſe. Exit Lucius, &c.

Qu. He goes hence frowning: but it honours us
That we have given him caufe.

Clot. 'Tis all the better,

Your valiant Britains have their wifhes in it.

Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor
How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely,
Our Chariots, and our Horſemen be in readineſſe:
The Powers that he already hath in Gallia
Will ſoon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
His warre for Britain.

Qu. 'Tis not sleepy buſineſſe,
But muſt be look'd to ſpedily, and strongly.

Cym. Our expectation that it should be thus
Hath made us forward. But my gentle Queen,
Where is our Daughter? She hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
The duty of the day. She looks as like
A thing more made of malice, then of duty,
We have no'd it. Call her before us, for
We have been too light in ſufferance.

Qu. Royall Sir,
Since the exile of Poſthumus, muſt retire'd
Hath her life bin: the Cure whereof, my Lord,
'Tis time muſt doe. 'Befeech your Majefty,
Forbear ſharp speeches to her. She's a Lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are ſtrokes,
And ſtrokes death to her.

Enter a Meſſenger.

Cym. Where is the, Sir? How
Can her contempt be anſwer'd?

Mef. Pleafe you, Sir,
Her Chambers are all lock'd, and there's no anſwer
That will be given to th' loud of noife we make.

Qu. My Lord, when laſt I went to visit her,
She play'd me to excufe her keeping close,
Where to conftrain'd by her infirmity;
She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
Which daily ſhe was bound to proffer : this
She with'd me to make known: but our Great Court
Made me too blame in memory.

Cym. Her doores lock'd? Not been of late? Grant Heavens, that which I Fear, prove falſe.

Exit.

Qu. Son, I ſay, follow the King.

Clot. That man of hers, Pifanio, her old Servant
I have not been theſe two dayes.

Exit.

Qu. Go, look after:

Pifanio, thou that ſtand'ſt ſo for Poſthumus,
He hath a Dugge of mine: I pray, his abſence
Proceed by ſwallowing that. For he believes
It is a thing moſt p[ro]icious. But for her,
Where is the gone? Haply deſpaire hath feiz'd her :
Or wing'd with fervour of her love, ſhe's flown
To her deſired Poſthumus: gone ſhe is,
To death, or to diſhonour, and my end
Can make good uſe of either. She being down,
I have the placing of the Britifh Crown.

Enter Cloten.

How now, my Son ?

Clot. 'Tis certain ſhe is fled.
Go in and cheer 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.

Clot. I love and hate her: for her's fair and Royall,
And that ſhe hath all courtly parts more exquifite

Then

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

863

Then Lady, Ladies, Woman, from every one

The beſt ſhe hath, and ſhe of all compounded

Out-tells them all, I love her therefore, but

Difdaining me, and throwing Favours on

The low *Poſthumus*, ſlanders for her judgement,

That what's eſſe rale, is choak'd : and in that point

I will conclude to hate her, nay indeed,

To be reveng'd upon her. For, when Fools—

Enter Pifani.

Who is here ? What, are you packing, firrah ?

Come hither : Ah you precious Pander, Villain,

Where is thy Lady ? In a word, or eſſe

Thou art ſtraight way with the Fiends.

Pif. Oh, good my Lord.

Clo. Where is thy Lady ? Or, by Jupiter,

I will not aske again. Cloſe Villain,

I'le have this ſecret from thy heart, or rip

Thy heart to find it. Is ſhe with *Poſthumus* ?

From whose ſo many weights of bateneſſe, cannot

A dramme of worth be drawn.

Pif. Alas, my Lord,

How can ſhe be with him ? When was ſhe mifs'd ?

He is in *Rome*.

Clot. Where is ſhe, Sir ? Come nearer :

No farther halting : ſatſſe me home,

What is become of her :

Pif. Oh, my all-worthy Lord.

Clo. All-worthy Villain,

Difcover where thy Miftis is, at once,

At the next word : no more of worthy Lord :

Speak, or thy ſilence on the inſtant, is

Thy condemnation and thy death.

Pif. Then, fir,

This Paper is the hiftory of my knowledge

Touching her flight.

Clo. Let's fee't; I will purſue her

Even to *Auguſtus* Throne.

Pif. Or this, or perith,

She's farre enough, and what he learns by this,

May prove his travel, not her danger.

Clo. Hunh.

Pif. I'le write to my Lord ſhe is dead : Oh, *Imogen*,
Safe may'ſt thou wander, ſafe return agen.

Clot. Sirrah, is this Letter true ?

Pif. Sir, as I think.

Clot. It is *Poſthumus*'s hand, I know't. Sirrah, if
thou would'ſt not be a Villain, but doe me true ſervice:
undergo thofe employments wherein I should have cauſe
to uſe thee with a ſerious industry, that is, what villainy
foe're I bid thee doe to perform it, directly and truly, I
would think thee an honſt man : thou ſhould'ſt neither
want my meanes for thy relief, nor my voyce for thy
preferment.

Pif. Well, my good Lord.

Clot. Wilt thou ſerve me ? For ſince patiently and
confantly thou haſt ſuck to the bare Fortune of that
Beggar *Poſthumus*, thou canſt not in the course of grati-
tude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou ſerve
me ?

Pif. Sir, I will.

Clo. Give me thy hand, here's my Purſe. Haſt any
of thy late Maſters Garments in thy poſſion ?

Pifan. I have (my Lord) at my Lodging, the ſame
Suit he wore, when he took leave of my Lady and Mi-
ſtreſſe.

Clo. The firſt ſervice thou doſt me, fetch that Suit

hither; let it be thy firſt ſervice, go.

Pif. I ſhall, my Lord.

Exeunt.

Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Haven : ( I forgot to aske him one thing, I'le remember't anon : ) even there, thou villain, *Poſthumus*, will I kill thee. I would theſe Garments were come. She faid upon a time (the bitterneſſe of it, I now beſt from my heart) that ſhe held the very Garment of *Poſthumus*, in more reſpect, then my Noble and naturall perſon ; together with the adornment of my Qualities. With that Suit upon my back will I ravish her : firſt kill him, and in her eyes : there ſhall ſhe fee my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the Ground, my ſpeech of inſultment ended on his dead body, and when my luſt hath dined (which, as I ſay, to vex her, I will execute in the Cloathes that the ſo prais'd:) to the Court I'll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath deſpis'd me rejoicingly, and I'le be merry in my Revenge.

Enter Pifanio.

Be that the Garments ?

Pif. I, my Noble Lord,

Clo. How long is't ſince the ſe went to Milford-Haven ?

Pif. She can ſearce be there yet.

Clo. Bring this Appaſſell to my Chamber, that is the
ſecond thing that I have commanded thee. The third is,
that thou wilt be a voluntary Mute to my deſign. Be but
dutious, and true preferment ſhall tender it ſelf to thee.
My Revenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to
foilow it, Come and be true.

Exit.

Pif. Thou bidd'ſt me to my loſſe : for true to thee,
Were to prove ſalſe, which I will never be
To him that is moſt true, To Milford, go,
And find not her, whom thou purſuelt. Flow, flow
You heavenly bleſſings on her : This Foole's ſpeed
Be croſt with flownneſſe ; Labour be his meed.

Exit.

## Scena Sexta.

Enter Imogen alone.

Imo. I fee a man's life is a tedious one,
I have tired my ſelf : and for two nights together
Have made the ground my bed. I should be ſick,
But that my revolution helps me : Milford,
When from the Mountain top *Pifanio* ſhew'd thee,
Thou was't within a kenne. Oh, *Jove*, I think
Foundations flye the wretched, ſuch I mean,
Where they ſhould be relieſ'd. Two Beggars told me,
I could not miſſe my way. Will poor Folks ſye
That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
A puniſhment, or trial ? Yes ; no wonder,
When Rich-ones ſcarce tell true. To lapſe in Fulneſſe
Is forer, then to lye for Need : and Falthood
Is worſe in Kings, then Beggars. My dear Lord,
Thou art one oth' ſalſe Ones: now I think on thee,
My hunger's gone ; but even before, I was
At point to ſink for Food. But what is this ?
Here is a path to't : 'tis ſome ſavage hold :
I were beſt not call ; I dare not call : yet Famine
Ere it clean o're-throw Nature, make it valiant.
Plenty and peace breeds Cowards, Hardneſſe ever
Of Hardineſſe is Mother. Hoa ? who's here ?
If any that's civil, ſpeak, if ſavage,

D d d d 3

Take

864

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

Take, or lend. Hoa ? no anfwer ? then I le enter,
Belt draw my Sword ; and if mine Enemy
But fear the Sword like me, he'll ſcarcely look on't.

Such a Foe, good Heavens.

Exit.

## Scena Septima.

Bel. You Polidore have prov'd belt Woodman, and
Are Maſter of the feast: Cadwall and I

Will play the Cook, and Servant, 'tis our match:
The sweat of industry would dry, and dye.
But for the end it works to. Come, our ſtomacks
Will make what's homely, favour'd; Wearineſſe
Can ignore upon the Flint, when reſty Sloth
Findes the Down-pillow hard. No peace be here,
Poor house, that keep't thy ſelf.

Gui. I am throughly weary.

Arvi. I am weak with toyle, yet ſtrong in appetite.

Gui. There is cold meat ith' Cave, we'll brouz on that
Whil't what we have kill'd be Cook'd.

Bel. Stay, come not in :

But that it eats our victualls, I should think
Here were a Faerie.

Gui. What's the matter, Sir ?

Bel. By Jupiter an Angel : or if not,
An earthly Paragon. Behold Divineneſſe
No elder then a Boy.

Enter Imogen.

Imo. Good Maſter, harme me not:

Before I enter'd here, I call'd, and thought
To have begg'd, or bought, what I have took : good troth
I have ſtoln nought, nor would not, though I had found
Gold ſtrew'd ith' Floore. Here's money for my Meat,
I would have left it on the Board fooon
As I had made my Maſe : and parted

With Prayers for the Provider.

Gui. Money ? Youth,

Arvi. All Gold and Silver rather turn doe durt,
As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of thofe
Who worſhip duryt gods.

Imo. I fee you're angry :

Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
Have died, had I not made it,

Bel. Whether bound ?

Imo. To Milford-Haven,

Bel. What's your name ?

Imo. Fidele, Sir; I have a Kinaſman, who
Is bound for Italy : he embaſk'd at Milford,
To whom being going, almoſt ſpent with hunger,
I am faln in this offence.

Bel. Prethee (fair youth)

Think us no Churles : nor meaſure our good mindeſ
By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd,
'Tis almoſt night, you ſhall have better cheere
Ere you depart, and thanks to ſlay and eat it :
Boyes, bid him welcome.

Gui. Were you a woman, youth,

I should wooe hard, but be your Groom in honeſty ;
I bid for you, as I doe buy.

Arvi. I'e make't my comfort

He is a man, I'e love him as my Brother :
And ſuch a welcome as I'd give to him

(After long aſence) 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 Father's Sons, then had my prize
Bin leſſe, and ſo more equall ballaſting
To thee, Poſthamſſe.

Bel. He wrings at ſome diſtreſſe,

Gui. Would I could free't.

Arvi. Or I, what ere it be,

What pain it coſt, what danger : gods !

Bel. Harke, Boyes.

Imo. Great men

That had a Court no bigger then this Cave,
That did attend themſelves, and had the virtue
Which their own Conſcience ſeal'd them: laying by
That nothing-gift of differing Multitudes
Could not out-piece theſe twain. Pardon me gods,
I'd change my ſex to be Companion with them,
Since Leonatus falſe.

Bel. It ſhall be ſo :

Boyes, we'll go diſreſſe our Hunt. Fair, you come in;
Diſcourſe is heavy, faſting : when we have ſupp'd
We'll mannerly demand thee of thy Story.

So farre as thou wilt (peak it,

Gui. Pray draw near.

Arvi. The night to th' Owle,
And Morn to th' Larke leſſe welcome.

Imo. Thanks, Sir.

Arvi. I pray draw near.

Exeunt.

## Scena Ottava.

Enter two Roman Senators, and Tribunes.

1. Sen. This is the tenour 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 weak to undertake our Warres againſt

The faln-off Britains, that we doe incite

The Gentry to this bufineſſe. He creates

Lucius Pto-Conſull: and to you the Tribunes

For this immediate Levy, he commands

His absolute Commiffion. Long live Cæsar.

Tri. Is Lucius Generall of the Forces ?

2. Sen. I.

Tri. Remaining now in Gallia ?

1. Sen. With thofe Legions
Which I have ſpoke of, whereunto your levy
Moft be ſuppliant : the words of your Commiffion
Will tye you to the Numbers and the time

Of their diſpatch,

Tri. We will diſcharge our duty.

Exeunt.

## Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.

Enter Cloten alone.

Clot. I am near to th' place where they ſhould meet,
if Pifanio have mapp'd it truly. How fit his Garments
ſerve me ? Why ſhould his Miftris who was made by him
that

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

865

that made the Taylor, not be fit too ? The rather (laving
reverence of the Word) for 'tis faid a Womans fitneſſe
comes by firs : therein I must play the Workman, I dare
ſpeak it to my ſelf, for it is not Vain-glory for a man,
and his Glaſſe, to conferre in his own Chamber ; I mean,
the Lines of my body are as well drawn as his ; no leſſe
young, more ſtrong, not beneath him in Fortunes, be-
vond him in the advantage of the time, above him in
Birth, alike converſant in generall ſervices, and more re-
markable in ſingle oppositions : yet this imperſeverant
Love things him in my despight. What Mortality is?
Poſthumus, thy head (which now is growing upon thy
shoulders) shall within this hour be off, thy Miltis in-
forced, thy Garments cut to pieces before thy face : and
all this done, ſpurn her home to her Father, who may
(happily) be a little angry for my ſo rough ſuſage : but my
Mother having power of his fitneſſe, ſhall turn all in-
to my commendations. My Horſe is tyed up ſafe, out
Sword, and to a fore purpufe : Fortune put them into my
hand : This is the very deſcription of their meeting place
and the fellow dares not deceive me.

Exii.


## Scena Secunda.

Enter Belarines, Guiderius, Arviragus, and Imogen from the Cave.

Bel. You are not well : Remain here in the Cave,
We'll come to you after hunting.
Arvi. Brother, fay here :

Are we not brothers ?

Imo. So man and man should be,
But Clay and Clay differs in dignity,
Whofe duſt is both alike. I am very ſick,

Gii. Go you to hunting, I'le abide with him.

Imo. So ſick I am not, yet I am not well :

But not ſo Citizen a wanton, as :

To ſeem to dye, ere ſick : So pleafe you, leave me,
Stick to your Journall course : the breach of Cuffome,
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 ſick,

Since I can reaſon of it : pray you truſt me here,
I'le rob none but my ſelf, and let me dye

Stealing ſo poorly.

Gii. I love thee : I have ſpoke it,
How much the quantity, the weight as much,
As I doe love my Father.

Bel. What ? how ? how ?

Arvi. If it be fin to ſay to (Sir) I yoak me
In my good Brothers ſault : I know not why
I love this youth, and I have heard you ſay,
Love's reaſons without reaſon. The Beer at door,
And a demand who is't shall dye, I'd ſay
My Father, not this Youth.

Bel. Oh noble ſtrain !

O worthineſſe of Nature, breed of greatneſſe !

" Cowards, Father, Cowards, and bafe things, Sire, bafe :
" Nature hath Meale and Bran ; Contempt and Grace,

I'ne not their Father, yet who this ſhould be,

Doth miracle it ſelf, lov'd before me.

Tis the ninth hour oth' Morn.

Arvi. Brother, farewell.

Imo. I wiſh ye ſport.

Arvi. You health, --- So pleafe you, Sir.

Imo. Theſe are kind Creatures.

Gods, what lyes I have heard :

Our Courtiers ſay, all's ſavage, but at Court :

Experience, oh thou diſproſt Report.

Th' imperious Seas breed Monſters : for the Difſ

Poor Tributary Rivers, as ſweet diſh :

I am ſick ſill, heart-ſick : Pifanio.

Ile now taſe of thy Drugge.

Gii. I could not ſirre him :

He ſaid he was gentle, but unfortunate :

Difhonetly afflietd, but yet hontet.

Arvi. Thus did he anſwer me : yet ſaid hereafter,
I might know more.

Bel. To th' field, to th' field :

We'll leave you for this time, go in, and reſt.

Arvi. We'll not be long away.

Bel. Pray be not ſick,

For you must be our Hufwife.

Imo. Well or ill,

I am bound to you,

Bel. And ſhalt be ever.

This youth, how e're diſtrefſt, appeares he hath had

Good Anceſtors.

Arvi. How Angel-like he ſings ?

Gii. But his neat Cookery ?

Arvi. He cut our Roots in Characters,

And ſaw't our Broths, as Juno had been ſick,

And he her Dieter.

Arvi. Nobly he yoaks

A smiling with a ſigh : as if the ſigh

Was that it was, for not being ſuch a ſmile ?

The ſmile mocking the ſigh, that it would ſlye.

From ſo divine a Temple, to commix

With windes that Sailors raile at,

Gii. I doe note,

That grief and patience rooted in them both,
Mingle their ſpurres together,

Arvi. Grow patient,

And let the ſinking Elder (Grief) untwine

His perſhing root, with the encreafing Vine.

Bel. It is great morning. Come away : who's there ?

Enter Clotten.

Clot. I cannot find thofe Runagates, that Villain
Hath mock'd me. I am faint.

Bel. Thofe Runagates ?

Means he not us ? I partly know him, 'tis

Cloten, the Son oth' Queen. I fear ſome Ambuſh

I ſaw him not theſe many yeares, and yet

I know 'tis he : we are held as Out-lawes; hence.

Gii. He is but one : you, and my brother ſeareh

What Companies are near : pray you away,

Let me alone with him.

Clot. ſoſt, what are you

That ſlye me thus ? Some Villain Mountainers ?

I have heard of ſuch. What Slave art thou ?

Gii. A thing,

More ſlavith did I ne're, then anſwering

A Slave without a knock.

Clot. Thou art a Robber,

A Law-breaker, a Villain : yield thee, Thief.

Gii. To whom ? to thee ? what art thou ? Have not I

An Arme as big as thine ? a Heart as big :

Thy words I grant are bigger : for I wear not

My Dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art :

Why

["The Tragedy of Cymbeline.", "Why I should yield to thee ?", "Clo. Thou Villain bafe,", "Know't me not by my Cloathes ?", "Gui. No, nor thy Taylor, Rascall,", "Who is thy Grandfather : He made thofe Cloathes,", "Which (as it seems) make thee :", "Clo. Thou precious Varlet,", "My Taylor made them not.", "Gui. Hence then, and thank", "The man that gave them thee, Thou art some Foole,", "I am loth to beat thee.", "Clot. Thou injurious Thief,", "Hear but my name, and tremble.", "Gui. What's thy name ?", "Clo. Cloten, thou Villain.", "Gui. Cloten, thou double Villain be thy name,", "I cannot tremble at it, were it Toad, or Adder, Spider,", "'Twould move fooner, yawn, goul'd on life.", "Clot. To thy further fear,", "Nay, to thy meer Confusion, thou fhalt know", "I am Son to th' Queen.", "Gui. I am forry for't : not feeming", "So worthy as thy Birth,", "Clot. Att not afraid ?", "Gui. Thofe that I reverencethoje I fear, the Wife:", "At Fooles I laugh, not fear them.", "Clot. Dye the death :", "When I have flain thee with my proper hand,", "I'le follow thofe that even now fled hence :", "And on the Gates of Luds-Town fet your heads :", "Yield Ruftick Mountaineer,", "Fight and Executem,", "Enter Belarius and Arviragus.", "Bel. No Company's abroad ?", "Arvi. None in the world : you did mistake him, fure.", "Bel. I cannot tell: long is it since I saw him,", "But Time hath nothing blurr'd thofe lines of Favour", "Which then he wore: the fnaiches in his voyce,", "And burft off speaking were as his : I am absolute", "'Twas very Cloten.", "Arvi. In this place we left them ;", "I with my Brother make good time with him,", "You say he is for fell.", "Bel. Being scarce made up,", "I mean to man ; he had not apprehension", "Of hearing terrores : For defect of judgement :", "Is oft the caufe of Fear.", "Enter Guiderius.", "But fee thy Brother.", "Gui. This Cloten was a Fool, an empty purfe,", "There was no mony in't: Not Hercules", "Could have knock'd out his Brains, for he had none :", "Yet I not doing this, the Foole had born", "My head, as I do his,", "Bel. What haft thou done ?", "Gui. I am perfect what ; cut off one Cloten's head,", "Son to the Queen (after his own report)", "Who call'd me Traitor, Mountaineer, and fware", "With his own hand he'd take us in,", "Difplace our heads, where (thanks to th' gods) they grow", "And fet them on Luds-Town.", "Bel. We are all undone.", "Gui. Why, worthy Father, what have we to loofe,", "But that he fware to take our Lives ? the Law", "Protects not us, then why should we be tender,", "To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us?", "Play Judge, and Executioners all himself?", "For we doe fear no Law. What company", "Discover you abroad ?", "Bel. No fingle foule", "Can we fee on' : but in all fafe reason", "He muft have fome Attendants. Though his Honour", "Was nothing but mutation ; I, and that", "From one bad thing to worfe : Not Frenzy,", "Not absolute madneſſe could ſo farre have rav'd", "To bring him here alone, although perhaps", "It may be heard at Court, that ſuch as we", "Cave here, haunt here, are Out-lawes, and in time", "May make fome ſtronger head, the which he hearing,", "(As it is like him) might break out, and ſwear", "He'd fetch us in, yet is't not probable", "To come alone, either ſo undertaking,", "Or they ſo suffering : then on good ground we fear,", "If we doe fear this body hath a taile", "More perilous then the head,", "Arvi. Let Ord'nance", "Come, as the gods fore-fay it, howſe're", "My Brother hath done well.", "Bel. I had no minde", "To hunt this day : The Boy Fideles ſickneſſe", "Did make my way long forth.", "Gui. With his own Sword,", "Which he did wave againſt my throat; I have tane", "His head from him : I'le throw't into the Creek", "Behinde our Rock, and let it to the Sea,", "And tell the Fithes, he's the Queens Son, Cloten,", "That's all I reake.", "Exit.", "Bel. I fear 'twill be reveng'd :", "Would (Polidore) thou hadſt not done't : though valour\nBecomes thee well enough.", "Arvi. Would I had done't :", "So the Revenge alone purſu'd me : Polidore,", "I love thee brotherly, but envy much", "Thou haſt robb'd me of this deed : I would Revenges", "That ſoſible ſtrength might meet, would ſeek us through", "And put us to our anſwer.", "Bel. Well, 'tis done :", "We'll hunt no more to day, nor ſee for danger", "Where there's no profit. I prethe to our Rock,", "You and Fidele play the Cooks : I'le ſtay", "Till haſty Polidore return, and bring him", "To dinner prefently.", "Arvi. Poor ſick Fidele.", "I'le willingly to him, to gain his colour,", "I'ld let a Parifh of ſuch Clotens blood,", "And prais'd my ſelf for charity,", "Exit.", "Bel. Oh thou Goddeſſe,", "Thou divine Nature ; thy ſelf thou blazon't", "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 Mountain Pine,", "And make him ſtopp to th' Vaile. 'Tis wonder", "That an invifible infinct should frame them", "To Royalty unlearn'd, Honour untaught,", "Civility not feen from other: Valour,", "That wildly growes in them, but yields a crop", {"bbox": [586, 1222, 86

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

867

I have lent Clotens Clot-pole down the streame ;
In Embassie to his Mother ; his Bodies hoffage.
For his return.

Bel. My ingenious Instrument,

(Harke Polidore) it founds : but what occasion,
Hath Cadwall now to give it motion ? Hark.

Gui. Is he at home ?

Bel. He went hence even now.

Gui. What does he mean ?

Since death of my dear'ft Mother

It did not speak before. All solemn things

Should anwer solemn Accidents. The matter ?

Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toyes,

Is jollity for Apes, and grief for Boyes.

Is Cadwall mad ?

Enter Arviragus, with Imogen dead, bearing
her in his Armes.

Bel. Look, here he comes,

And brings the dire occasion in his Armes,

Of what we blame him for.

Arvi. The Bird is dead

That we have made so much on. I had rather

Have skipt from fixteen years of Age, to fixty :

To have turn'd my leaping time into a Crutch,

Then have seen this.

Gui. Oh fweeieft, faireft Lilly :

My Brother weares thee nor the one half so well,
As when thou grew't thy self.

Bel. Oh melancholly,

Who ever yet could found thy bottome ? Finde

The Ooze, to thew that Conf thy fluggifh care

Might caſeift harbour in. Thou bleſſed thing.

Jove knowes what man thou might'ft have made: but I,

Thou dyed'ft a more rare Boy, of Melancholly,

How found you him ?

Arvi. Starke, as you fee :

Thus smiling as fome Flye had tickled flumber,
Not as deaths dart being laugh'd at : his right Cheek
Repofing on a Cuffion.

Gui. Where?

Arvi. O'ch' floore :

His armes thus leagut'd, I thought he flept, and put

My clouded Brogues from off my feet, whose rudeneſſe
Anſwer'd my steps too loud.

Gui. Why, he but fleeps :

If he be gone he'll make his Grave a Bed :

With Female Fajerics will his Tombe be haunted,

And Wormes will not come to thee.

Arvi. With faireſt Flowers

Whil'ft Sommer Jaſts, and I live here, Fidele,

Ile weeſten thy ſad grave: thou ſhalt not lack

The Flower that's like thy face. Pale-Primroſe, nor

The azur'd Hare-bell, like thy Veins : no nor

The leaf of Eglantine, whom not to flander,

Out-sweetned nor thy breath : the Raddock would

With Charitable bill (Oh bill fore ſhaming

Thofe rich-left-heires, that let their Fathers lye

Without a Monument) bring thee all this,

Yea, and furr'd Mofſe besides. When Flowers are none
To winter-ground thy Coarſe------

Gui. Prethee have done,

And does not play in Wench-like words with that
Which is ſo ferious. Let us bury him,

And not protraſt with admiration, what

Is now due debt. To th' grave.

Arvi. Say, where's thall's lay him ?

Gui. By good Euriphile, our Mother.

Arvi. Be't so:

And let us (Potidore) though now our voyces
Have got the mannif crack, ſing him to th' ground

As once to our Mother : uſe like note, and words,

Save that Euriphile muſt be Fidele.

Gui. Cadwall,

I cannot ſing : I'le weep, and word it with thee,
For Notes of forrow, out of tune, are worſe

Then Prieſts, and Vanes that lye.

Arvi. We'll ſpeak it then.

Bel. Great grieſs I fee med'cine the leſſe, For Clotens
Is quite forgot. He was a Queens Son, Boyes,
And though he came our Enem y, remember
He was paid for that: thou mean, and mighty rotting
Together have one duſt, yet Reverence

(That Angel of the world) doth make diffiſtention

Of place 'twixt high and low. Our Foe was Princely,

And though you took his life, as being our Foe,

Yet bury him, as a Prince.

Gui. Pray thee fetch him hither;
Therſites body is as good as Ajax,

VVhen neither are alive.

Arvi. If you'll go fetch him,

We'll ſay our Song the whil'ft: Brother begin.

Gui. Nay Cadwall, we muſt lay his head to th' Baſt,
My Father hath a realon for't.

Arvi. 'Tis true,

Gui. Come on then, and remove him.

Arvi. So, begin.

SONG.

Guid. Fear no more the heat oth' Sun,

Nor the furious Winters rages,

Thou thy worldly task haſt done,

Home art gone, and take thy wages.

Golden Lads and Girls all muſt,

As Chimney-Sweepers come to duſt.

Arvi. Fear no more the frown oth' Great,

Thou art paſt the Tirants ſtoake,

Care no more to cloathe and eate,

To thee the Reed is as the Oake :

The Scepter, Learning, Physick, muſt,

All follow this and come to duſt.

Guid. Fear no more the Lightning flauſt.

Arvi. Nor th' all-dreaded Thunder-stone.

Gui. Fear no ſlander, Cenſure rafſo.

Arvi. Thau heſt finiſh'd Joy and Moan.

Both. All overs young, all Lovers muſt,
Conſign to thee, and come to duſt.

Guid. No Exorciser harme thee,

Arvi. Nor no witch-craft charme thee,

Guid. Ghoſt unlaid forbear thee.

Arvi. Nothing ill come near thee.

Both. Quiet consummation have,

And renowned be thy grave.

Enter Belarum with the body of Cloten.

Gui. VVe have done our obſequies :

Come lay him down.

Bel. Here's few Flowers, but about midnight more :

The hearbs that have on them cold dew oth' night

Are ſtrewings firſt for Graves: upon their faces,

You were as Flowers, now wither'd : even so

Theſe Herbeleths ſhall, which we upon you ſtrew.

Come on away, apart upon our knees :

The ground that gave them firſt, has them again :

Their pleafures here are paſt, so are their pain.
Exeunt.
Imogen

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

669

Imogen awakes.

Yes, Sir, to Milford-Haven, which is the way ?
I thank you: by yond bush ? pray how farre thither ?
'Ods pizikins: can it be fix mile yet ?
I have gone all night : faith, I'le lye down and sleep.
But foft: no Bedfellow ? Oh Gods, and Goddeffes !
Thete Flowers are like the pleafures of the World ;
This bloody man the care on't. I hope I dreame :
For fo I thought I was a Cave-keeper,
And Cook to honet Creatures. But 'tis not so :
'Twas but a bolt of nothing, ſhot at nothing,
Which the Brain makes of Fumes. Our very eyes,
Are sometimes like our Judgements, blinde. Good faith
I tremble till with fear : but if there be
Yet left in heaven, as ſmall a drop of pitty
As a Wrens eye; fear'd Gods, apart of it.
The Dreame's here fill : even when I wake it is
Without me, as within me : nor imagin'd, felt.
A headleſſe man ? The Garments of Pothhumus ?
I know the ſhape of's Leg : this is his Hand :
His Foot Mercuriall: his Martiall Thigh
The Brawns of Hercules: but his Joviall face
Murther in heaven ? How ?'tis gone. Pisanio,
All curſes madd'd Allcuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be daied on thee: thou
Conſpir'd with that irregulous devil Clotten,
Hath here cut off my Lord. To write, and read,
Be henceforth treacherous. Damnd Pisanio
Hath with his forg'd Letters (damnd Pisanio)
From this moſt braveſt veſſel of the world
Strook the main top ! Oh Pothhumus, alaſ,
Where is thy head ? where's that ? Aye me ! where's that
Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
And left his head on. How ſhould this be, Pisanio ?
Tis he and Clotten. Malice and Lucre in them
Have laid this Woe here. Oh 'tis pregnant, pregnant !
The Drugge he gave me, which he faid was precious
And Coiall to me, have I not found it
Murdr'ous to th' Senſes ? that confirms it home :
This is Pisanio's deed, and Clotten : Oh !
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horriour may ſeem to thofe
Which chace to finde us, Oh, my Lord ! my Lord !

Enter Lucius, Captains, and a Soothsayer.

Cap. To them, the Legions garrifon'd in Gallia
After your will, have creſt the Sea, attending
You here at Milford Haven, with your Ships :
They are in readineſſe.

Luc. But what from Rome ?

Cap. The Senate hath ſtir'd up the Conſiners,
And Gentlemen of Italy, moſt willing Spirits,
That p omife Noble Service : and they come
Under the Conduct of bold Iachimo,
Syenna's Brother.

Luc. When expreſt you them ?

Cap. With the next benefit oth' winde.

Luc. This forwardneſſe

Makes our hopes fair. Command our prefent numbers
Be muſtered, bid the Captains look to't. Now, Sir,
What, have you dream'd of late of this warres purpofe.

Sooth. Last night the very gods ſhew'd me a vifion
(I feaſt, and pray'd for their Intelligence) thus :
I faw Joves Bird, the Roman Eagle wing'd
From the Spungy South, to this part of the West,
There vanifh'd in the Sun-beames, which portends
Unleſſe my Sins abufe my Divination)

Succeſſe to th' Roman hoaſt.

Luc. Dreame often ſo,

And never falſe. Soft hoa, what Trunk is here ?
Without his top ? the ruine ſpeaks, that sometime
It wasa worthy building. How ? a Page ?
Or dead, or ſleeping on him ? but dead rather :
For Nature doth abhorre to make his bed
With the defuſt, or ſleep upon the dead.
Let's fee the Boyes face.

Cap. He's alive, my Lord.

Luc. He'll then inſtruct us of his body. Young one,
Inform us of thy Fortunes, for it ſeems
They crave to be demanded : who is this
Thou mak'ſt thy bloody Pillow ? Or who was he
That (otherwife then noble Nature did)
Hath alter'd that good picture ? What's thy intereſt
In this ſad wrack ? How cam'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 Britain, and a good,
That here by Mountainers lies ſlain: Alaſs,
There are no more ſuch Maſters : I may wander
From Eaſt to Occident, cry our for Service,
Try many, all good : ſerve truly : never
Finde ſuch another Maſter.

Luc. 'Lack, good youth :
Thou mov'ſt no leſſe with thy complaining, then
Thy Maſter in bleeding : ſay his name, good Friend,

Imo. Richard du Camp : If I doe lye and doe,
No harme by it, though the Gods hear, I hope

I hev'll pardon it. Say you, Sir ?

Luc. Thy name ?

Imo. Fidele, Sir.

Luc. Thou doſt approve thy ſelf the very fame :
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 belov'd. The Roman Emperors Letters
Sent by a Conſull to me, ſhould no ſooner
Then thine own worth preferre thee : Go with me.

Imo. Ile follow, Sir. But firſt, an't please the gods,
Ile hide my Maſter from the Flyes as deep
As theſe poor Pickaxes can dig : and when
With wild wood-leaves & weeds I ha' ſtrew'd his grave,
And on it ſaid a Century of prayes,
(Such as I can) twice o're, Ile weep, and ſigh,
And leaving ſo his ſervice, follow you,
So please you entertain me.

Luc. I, good youth,
And rather Father thee, then Maſter thee: My Friends,
The Boy hath taught us manly duties : Let us
Finde out the prettieſt Dazied-Plot we can,
And make him with our Pikes and Partizans
A Grave : Come, Arme him : Boy he is preferr'd
By thee, to us, and he ſhall be interr'd
As ſouldiers can. Be cheerfull, wipe thines eyes,
Some falls are means the happier to arife.

Exeunt.

## Scena Tertia.

Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pisanio.

Cym. Again : and bring us word how 'tis with her,
A Feaver with the abſence of her Son ;

A

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

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
Upon a deliberate bed, and in a time
When fearfull Warres point at me: Her Son gone,
So needfull for his prefent ? It strikes me, me, palt
The hope of comfort. But for thee, Fellow,
Who needs muſt know of her departure, and
Doſt feem so ignorant, we'll inforce it from thee
By a ſharp torture.
Pis. Sir, my life is yours,
I humbly fet it at your will: But for my Miftrefſs,
I nothing know where ſhe remains: why gone,
Nor when the purpofes return, Befeech your Highneſs,
Hold me your loyal Servant.
Lord. Good my Liege,
The day that ſhe was miffing, ſhe was here;
I dare be bound he's true, and ſhall perform
All parts of his ſubjeſtion loyally. For Cloten,
There wants no diligence in ſeeking him,
And will no doubt be found.
Cym. The time is troubleſome:
We'll flip you for a ſeafon, but with jealouſe
Do's yet depend.
Lord. So pleafe your Majefty,
The Roman Legions all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your Coaſt, with ſupply
Of Roman Gentlemen, by the Senate ſent.
Cym. Now for the Counsel of my Son and Queen,
I am amaz'd with matter.
Lord. Good my Liege,
Your preparation can affront no leſs ( ready:
Then what you hear of. Come more, for more you're
The want is, but to put theſe powers in motion,
That long to move.
Cym. I thank you: let's withdraw
And meet the time, as it feeks us. We fear not
What can from Italy annoy us, but
We grieve at chances here. Away.
Pis. I heard no Letter from my Maſter, ſince
I wrote him Imogen was flain. 'Tis ſtrange:
Nor hear I from my Miftrefſs, who did promife
To yield me often tidings. Neither know I
What is betide to Cloten, but remain
Perplext in all. The Heavens ſtill muſt work:
Wherein I am false, I am honest: not true, to be true.
Theſe pretent warres ſhall find I love my Countrey,
Even to the note o'th'King, or I'le fall in them:
All other doubts, by time let them be cleer'd,
Fortune brings in ſone Boats, that are not ſteer'd. Exit.

## Scena Quarta.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.
GUi. The noife is round about us.
Bel. Let us from it.
Arvi. What pleafure, Sir, we find in life, to lock it
From Action, and Adventure ?
Gui. Nay, what hope
Have we in hiding us? this way the Romans
Muſt, or for Britains ſlay us, or receive us
For barbarous and unnatural Revolts
During their uſe, and ſlay us after.

Bel. Sonnes,
We'll higher to the Mountains, there ſecure us
To the King's party there's no going: neſneſs
Of Cloten's death (we being not known, not muſter'd
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 his torture.
Gui. This is (Sir) a doubt.
In fuch a time, nothing becoming you,
Nor fatisfying us.
Arvi. It is not likely,
That when they hear their Roman horſes neigh,
Behold their quarter'd ſires; have both their eyes
And eares ſo cloyd importantly as now,
That they will waſte their time upon our note,
To know from whence we are.
Bel. Oh, I am known
Of many in the Army: Many yeares
(Though Clotten then but young) you fee, not wore him
From my remembrance. And beſides, the King
Hath not deferv'd my ſervice, nor your loves
Who find in my Exile, the want of Breeding;
The certainty of this hard life, aye hopeleſs
To have the coutefie your Cradle promis'd,
But to be ſill hot Summer's tanlings, and
The shrinking Slaves of Winter.
Gui. Then be ſo,
Better to ceafe to be. Pray, Sir, to th' Army:
I, and my Brother are not known; your ſelf
So out of thought, and thereto ſo o're-grown,
Cannot be queſtion'd.
Arvi. By this Sun that ſhines
Ile thither: what thing is it, that I never
Did fee man dye, ſcarce ever look'd on bloud,
But that of Coward Hares, hot Goats, and Venifon ?
Never beſtrid a Horſe ſave one, that had
A Rider like my ſelf, who ne're wore Rowel,
Nor Iron on his heel? I am aſham'd
To look upon the holy Sun, to have
The benefit of his bleſt Beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.
Gui. By heavens Ile go,
If you will bleſs me, Sir, and give me leave,
I'le take the better care: but if you will not,
The hazard therefore due fall on me, by
The hands of Romans.
Arvi. So ſay I, Amen.
Bel. No reaſon I (ſince of your lives you ſet
So flight a valuation) I should reſerve
My crack'd one to more care. Have with you Boyes :
If in your Countrey warres you chance to dye,
That is my Bed too (Lads) and there Ile lye.
Lead, lead; the time seems long, their bloud thinks ſeem
Till it ſlie out, and ſhew them Princes born.
Exeunt.

## Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Enter Poſthumus alone.
Poſ. Yea bloudy cloth, I'll keep thee: for I am wifl
Thou ſhould'ſt be colour'd thus. You married ones,
If each of you would take this courſe, how many
Muſt murther Wivés much better then themſelves

For

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

870

For wrying out a little ? Oh Pisanio,
Every good Servant does not all Commands :
No Bond, but to do just ones. Gods, if you
Should have ta'ne vengeance on my faults, I never
Had liv'd to put on this: so had you faved
The noble Imogen to repent, and ftrook
Me (wretch) more worth your Vengeance. But alack,
You snatch from hence for little faults; that's love
To have them fall no more: you fome permit
To ſecond ills with ills, each Elder worſe,
And make them dread it, to the doers thrift
But Imogen is your own, do your beſt wills,
And make me bleft to obey. I am brought hither
Among the Italian Gentry, and to fight
Againſt my Ladies Kingdome: 'is enough
That (Britain) I have kill'd thy Miftrels: Peace,
I le give no wound to thee: therefore good Heavens,
Hear patiently my purpofe. I'le diſrobe me
Of theſe Italian weeds, and ſuit my ſelf
As do's a Britain Pezant: to I'le fight
Againſt the part I come with: to I'le 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
My ſelf I'll 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 guile o' th' world, I will begin,
The fashion leis without, and more within.

Exit.

### Scena Secunda.

Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and the Roman Army at one door: and the Britain Army at another: Leonatus Poffhumus following like a poor Souldier. They march over, and go out. Then enter again in Skirmish Iachimo and Poffhumus: he vanquisheth and diſarmeth Iachimo, and then leaves him.

Iac. The heavineſs and guilt within my boſome,
Takes off my manhood: I have belyed a Lady,
The Princes of this Countrey; and the air on't
Revingingly enfeebles me, or could this Carle,
A very drudg e of Natures, have ſubdu'd me
In my profefſion ? Knighthoods, and Honours borne
(As I wear mine) are titles but of ſcorn.
If that thy Gentry (Britain) go before
This Lowt, as he exceeds our Lords, the odds
Is, that we ſcare are men, and you are gods.

Exit.

The Battel continues, the Britains flye, Cymbeline is taken: then enter to his ſenſe, Bellarius, Guide, vius, and Arvius.

Bel. Stand, ſtand, we have the advantage of the ground, The Lane is guarded: Nothing routs us, but The villany of our fears.

Gui. Arvi. Stand, ſtand and fight.

Enter Poffhumus, and ſecondes the Britains. They reſeue Cymbeline, and Exeunt.

Then enter Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen.

Luc. Away boy from the troops, and ſave thy ſelf: For friends kill friends, and the disorder ſuch

As War 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 Poffhumus, and a Britain Lord.

Lor. Cam'ſt thou from where they made the ſtand ?

Poff. I did.

Though you it ſeems came from the Fliers.

Lo. I did.

Poff. No blame to you, Sir, for all was loft,
But that the Heavens ſought: the King himſelf
Of his wings deſtute, the Army broken,
And but the backs of Britains ſeen; all flying
Through a ſtraight Lane, the Enemy full-heated,
Lolling the tongue with ſlaught'ring: having work
More plentifull, then tools to do't: ſtook down
Some mortally, ſome flightely touch'd, ſome falling
Merely through fear, that the ſtrait pafs was danam'd
With dead-men, hurt behind, and Cowards living
To dye with length'ned ſhame.

Lo. Where was this Lane?

Poff. Cloſe by the battel, ditch'd, and wall'd with turfe,
Which gave advantage to an ancient Souldier
(An honest one I warrant) who deferv'd
So long a breeding, as his white beard came to,
In doing this for's Countrey. Athwart the Lane,
He, with two ſtriplings (Lads more like to run
The Countrey bafe, then to commit ſuch ſlaughter,
With faces fit for Masks, or rather fairer.
Then thate for prefervation cas'd, or ſhame)
Made good the paſſag'e, cryed to thate that ſled,
Our Britain's hearts die flying, not our men,
To darkneſs fleet ſoules that fly backwards; ſtand,
Or we are Rgmans, and will give you that
Like beaſts, which you ſun beaſtly, and may ſave
But to look back in frown: Stand, ſtand. Theie three,
Three thouand confident, in aſt as many :
For three performeis are the File, when all
The reſt do nothing. With this word ſtand, ſtand,
Accommodated by the Place; more Charming
With their own Nobneſs, which could have turn'd
A Dittatt o a Lance, gultید pale looks;
Part ſhame, part ſpirt renew'd, that ſome turn'd coward
But by example (Oh a fin in War,
Dann'd in the ſi. ſt beg nners) 'gan to look
The way that they did, and to grin like Lyons
Upon the Piks o' th'Hunters. Then began
A ſtop i'th Chaſer; a Retire: Anon
A Rour, conſuion thick: forthwith they ſlie
Chickens, the way which they ſupt Eagles: Slaves
The ſt ides the Victois made: and now our Cowards
Like Fragments in hard Voyages became
The life o' th'need: having found the back door open
Of the unguarded hearts: heavens, how they wound,
Some flain before, ſome dying; ſome their Friends
O're-born i'th former wave, ten chac'd by one,
Are now each one the ſlaughter-man of twenty :
Thofe that would dye, or c're reſiſt, are grown
The mortal bugs o' th'Field.

Lor.

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

To taint his nobler heart & brain, with needlefs jealousie,
And to become the geek and corn o'th'others villany ?

2. Bro. For this, from filler feats we came,
   our Parents, and us twain,

That striking in our Countries caufe,
fell bravely, and were flain,

Our Fealty, & Tenantius right, with honour to maintain.

1. Bro. Like hardiment Poſthumus hath
to Cymbeline perform'd: (journ'd

Then Jupiter, thou King of gods, why haſt thou thus ad-

The Graces for her Merits due, being all to dolors turn'd?

Sici. Thy Chryſtal window ope; look out
no longer exercife

Upon a valiant Race, thy harſh, and potent injuries :

Moth. Since (Jupiter) our Son is good,
take off his mileries.

Sicil. Peep through thy Marble Manſion, help,
or we poor Ghoſts will cry

Tooth flining Synod of the reſt, againſt thy Deity.

Bre. Help (Jupiter) or we appeal,
and from thy justice flye.

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: huff. How dare you Ghoſts
Accufe the Thunderer, whose Bolt (you know)
Sky-planted, batters all rebelling Coaſts.
Poor ſhadows of Elizum, hence, and reſt
Upon your never-withering banks of Flowres,
Be not with mortal accidents oppreſt,
No care of yours it is, you know'tis ours.

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 Tryals well are ſpent :

Our Jovial Star reign'd at his Birth, and in

Our Temple was he married : Rife, and fade,

He ſhall be Lord of Lady Imogen,

And happier much by his Afflaction made

This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein

Our pleafure, his full Fortune, doth confine,

And to away: no farther with your dinne

Expreſs Impatience, left you ſtir up mine :

Mount Eagle, to my Palace Chryſtalline.

Aſcends.

Sicil. He came in thunder, his Celestial breath

Was ſulphurous to ſmell: the holy Eagle

Stoop'd, as to foot us: his Aſcenſion is

More ſweet then our bleſt fields: his Royal Bird

Prunes the immortall wing, and cloyes his Beak,

As when his god is pleas'd.

All. Thanks Jupiter.

Sici. The Marble Pavement clozes, he is enter'd
His radiant Roof: Away, and to be bleſt

Let us with care perform his great beheſt.

Vanifh.

Poff. Sleep, thou haſt bin a Grandſire, and begot
A Father to me: and thou haſt created

A Mother, and two Brothers. But (oh ſcorn)

Gone, they went from hence to ſoon as they were born ;

And to 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 deferve,

And yet are ſleep'd in Favours; ſo am I

That have this Golden chance, and know not why :

What Fairies haunt this ground ? a book ? Oh rare one,

Be not, as is our fangied world, a Garncrit
Nobler then that it covers. Let thy effects
So follow, to be moſt unlike our Courtiers,
As good, as promife.

Reads.

When as a Lyon'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 lop'd
branches, which being dead many yeares, ſhall after re-
vive, be joynted to the old Stock, and freshly grow, then
ſhall Poſthumus end his miſeries, Britain be fortunate,
and flourilſh in Peace and Plenty.

'Tis till a Dream : or else ſuch tuff as Mad-men
Tongue, and brain not: either both, or nothing,
Or ſenſeleſs speaking, or a ſpeaking ſuch
As ſenſe cannot untie. But what it is,
The Action of my life is like it, which Ile keep
If bus for ſympathy

Enter Gaoler.

Gao. Come Sir, are you ready for death ?

Poff. Over-roafed rather: ready long age.

Gao. Hanging is the word, Sir, if you be ready for
that, you are well Cook'd.

Poff. So if I prove a good repaſt to the Spectators, the
diſh payes the ſhot.

Gao. A heavy reckoning for you, Sir: but the comfort
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 for want of
meat, depart reeling with too much drink: forry that
you have payed too much, and forry that you are payed
too much: Purſe and Brain, both empty: the brain the
heavier, for being too light; the Purſe too light, being
drawn of heavineſs. Oh, of this contradiction you ſhall
now be quit: Oh the charity of a penny Cord, it ſummes
up thouſands in a trice: you have no true Debtor, and
Creditor but it: of what's p[er]ſt, is, and to come, the diſ-
charge: your neck (Sir) is Pen, Book, and Counters: to the
Acquittance follows.

Poff. I am merrier to die, then thou art to live.

Gao. Indeed, Sir, he that ſleeps, feels not the Tooth-
Ache: 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 know not
which way you ſhall go.

Poff. Yes indeed do I, fellow.

Gao. Your death has eyes in's head then : I have not
feen him ſo p[ictur'd: you muſt either be directed by
fome that take upon them to know, or to take upon your
ſelf that which I am ſure you do not know: or lump
the after-enquiry on your own peril: and how you ſhall
ſpeed in your journies end, I think you'll never return
to tell one.

Poff. I tell thee, Fellow, there are none want eyes, to
direct them the way I am going, but ſuch as wink, and
and will not uſe them.

Gao. What an infinite mock is this, that a man ſhould
have the beſt uſe of eyes, to fee the way of blindneſs :
I am ſure ſuch hanging's the way of winking.

Enter a Meſſenger.

Mef. Knock off his Manacles, bring your Prisoneſ to
the King.

Poff. Thou bring't good newes, I am call'd to be made
free.

Gao. I'le be hang'd then.

Poff. Thou ſhalt be then freer then a Gaoler; no boſs
for

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

973

for the dead.

Exeunt.

Gao. Unleffe a man would marry a Gallows, and be-
get young Gibbets, I never saw one so prone: yet on my
Confidence, there are verier Knaves desire to live, for all
he be a Roman : and there be fome ot them too that die
againft their wills: so I should I, if I were one. I would
we were all of one mind, and one mind good: O there
were defolation of Gaolers and Galowles: I speak a-
gainft my prefent profit, but my wilh hath a preferment
in't.

Exit.

## Scena Quinta.

Enter Cymbeline, Bellarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio, and Lords.

Cym. Stand by my fide you, whom the gods have made
Prefivers of my Throned: wo is my heart,
That the poor Souldier that so richly fought,
Whofe rags, fpan'd gilded Armes, whoſe naked breſt
Sept before Targets of proof, cannot be found:
He shall be happy that can find him, if
Our Grace can make him ſo.

Bel. I never faw

Such Noble fury in ſo poor a Thing;
Such precious deeds, in one that promis'd nought
But begery and poor looks.

Cym. No tidings of him?

Pisa. He hath bin fearch'd among the dead, and living,
But no trace of him.

Cym. To my grief, I am

The heir of his reward, which I will adde
To you (the Liver, Heart, and Brain of Britain)
By whom (I grant) the lives. 'Tis now the time
To ask of whence you are. Report it.

Bel. Sir,

In Cambria we are born, and Gentlemen:
Further to boast, were neither true, nor moded,
Unleſſe I adde, we are honest.

Cym. Bow your knees:

Arife my Knights oth'Battle, I create you
Companions to our perſon, and will fit you
With Dignities becoming your eſtates.

Enter Cornelius and Ladies.

There's buſineſſe in theſe faces: why ſo fadly
Greet you our Viceroy ? you look like the Romans,
And not oth'Court of Britain.

Corn. Hail great King,

To ſowre your happineſſe, I muſt report
The Queen is dead.

Cym. Whom worſe then a Phyſitian
Would this report become; but I confider,
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 cruel to the world ) concluded
Moſt cruell to her ſelf. What ſhe conſeſt,
I will report ſo pleafe you. Theſe her Women
Can trip me, if I erre, who with wet cheeks
Were ſerſent when ſhe ſinſh'd.

Cym. Prithee ſay.

Cor. Firſt, ſhe conſeſt ſhe never lov'd you: only
Aſſeeming 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 wouſt not
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.

Corn. Your daughter, whom ſhe bore in hand to love
With ſuch integrity, ſhe did conſeſſe

Was a Scorpion to her fight, whoſe life
(But that her flight prevented it) ſhe had
Tane off by poifon.

Cym. O moſt delicate fiend !

Who is't can read a Woman ? is there more?

Corn. More, fir, and worſe. She did conſeſſe ſhe had
For you a mortal Mineral, which being took,
Should by the minute feed on life, and lingring,
By inches wafe you. In which time, ſhe purpos'd
By watching, weeping, tendance, kifſing, to
O'recome you with her ſhew: yes and in time
(When ſhe had fitted you with her craft, to work
Her Son into th'adoption of the Crown:

But failing of her end by his ſtrange abſence,
Grew ſhameleſſe desperate, open'd (in deſpight
Of heaven, and men) her purpofes: repented
The evils ſhe hatch'd, were not effectèd: ſo
Difpairing, died.

Cym. Heard you all this, her Women?

Lad. We did, ſo pleafe your highneſſe.

Cym. Mine eyes

Were not in fault, for ſhe was beaſutifull:
Mine ears that heard her flattery, nor my heart,
That thought her like her feeming. It had been vicious
To have miſtruſted her: yet (Oh my Daughter)
That it was folly in me, thou maſſt ſay,

And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all.

Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and other Roman prifoners,
Leonatus behind, and Imogen.

Thou com'ſt not Caius now for Tribute, that
The Britains have rac'd out, though with the loſſe
Of many a bold one: whoſe Kinſmen have made ſuit
That their good fouls may be appeas'd, with ſlaughteſ
Of you their Captives, which our ſelf have granted,
So think of your eſtate.

Luc. Confider, fir, the chance of War the day
Was yours by accident: had it gone with us,
We should not when the bloud was cool, have threatened
Our Prifoners with the Sword. But ſince the gods
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
May be call'd ranſome, let it come: ſufficeth,
A Roman, with a Romans 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 Britain born)
Let him be ranſom'd: never Maſter had

A page ſo kind, ſo duteous, diligent,
So tender over his occafions, true,

So ſeat, ſo Nurſe-like: let his vertue joyn
With my requeſt, which I'le make bold, your highneſſe

Cannot deny: he hath done no Britain harme,
Though he have ſerv'd a Roman. Save him (Sir)

And ſpare no bloud beſide.

Cym. I have ſurely ſeen him:
His favour is familiar to me: Boy,
Thou haſt look'd thy ſelf into my grace,
And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore,

To ſay, live boy: nere thank thy Maſter, live ;
And ask of Cymbeline what Boon thou wilſ,

Fitting my bounty, and thy ſtate, I'le give it:

Eccle 2

Yes,

874

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

Yea, though thou do demand a Prifoner,
The Nobleft tane:

Imo. I humbly thank your Highneſſe.

Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good Lad,
And yet I know thou wilt.

Imo. No, no, alack,

There's other work in hand : I fee a thing

Bitter to me as death : your life, good Maſter,
Muſt ſhuffle for it ſelf.

Luc. The Boy diſdains me,

He leaves me, ſcorn me: briefly dye their joyes,
That place them on the truth of Girls, and Boyes.
Why ſtands he ſo perplext?

Cym. What would'ſt thou Boy ?

I love thee more, and more: think more and more
What's beſt to ask. Know'ſt thou him look'ſt on ? ſpeak
Wilt have him live ? Is he thy Kin ? thy friend ?

Imo. He is a Roman, no more kin to me,
Then I to your Highneſſe, who being born your vafail
Am ſomething neerer.

Cym. Wherefore ey'ſt thou him ſo ?

Imo. I'le tell you (Sir) in private, if you pleafe
To give me hearing.

Cym. I, with all my heart,

And lend my beſt attention. What's thy name ?

Imo. Fidele, fir.

Cym. Thou'rt my good youth, my Page,
I'le be thy Maſter: walk with me: ſpeak freely.

Bel. Is not this Boy reviv'd from death ?

Arvi. One ſand another

Not more reſembles that fweet Rofie Lad :

Who dyed, and was Fidele: what think you ?

Gui. The fame dead thing alive.

Bel. Peace, peace, fee further; he eyes us not, forbear,
Creatures may bealike: wer't he, I am ſure

He would have ſpoke to us,

Gui. But we fee him dead.

Bel. Be ſilent: let's fee further.

Pifa. It is my Miftris :

Since ſhe is living, let the time run on,
To good, or bad.

Cym. Come, ſtand thou by our fide.

Make thy demand aloud. Sir, ſtep you forth,
Give anſwer to this boy, and do it freely,
Or by your Greatneſſe, and the grace of it
(Which is our honour) bitter torſure ſhall

Winnow the truth from falſhood. On, ſpeak to him.

Imo. My boon is, that this Gentleman may tender

Of whom he had this Ring.

Poft. What's that to him :

Cym. That Diamond upon your finger, ſay

How came it yours?

Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unſpoken, that
Which to be ſpoke wou'd torture thee.

Cym. How ? me ?

Iach. I am glad to be conſtrain'd to utter that

Which torments me to conceal. By Villany

I got this Ring : it was Leonatus Jewel,

Whom thou did'ſt banifh: and, which more may grieve
As it doth me, a Nobler Sir ne're liv'd (chee)

Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more my Lord ?

Cym. All that belongs to this.

Iach. That Paragon, thy daughter,

For whom my heart drops loud, and my falſe spirits

Quail to remember. Give me leave, I faint.

Cym. My daughter what of her ? Renew thy ſtrength

I had rather thou ſhou'ſt live, while Nature will,
Then die ere I hear more: I strive man, and ſpeak.

Iach. Upon a time, unhappy was the clock

That ſtrock the hour: it was in Rome, accuſt

The Maſſon where: twas at a ſeaf, oh would

Our Viands had bin poifon'd (or at leaſt

Thofe which I heav'd to head:) the good Poſſumus,
(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 us praſe our Loves of Italy

For beauty, that made barren the twelv'd boaſt

Of him that beſt could ſpeak: for Feature, laming

The Shrine of Venus, or ſtraight-pight Minerva,

Poſures, beyond brief Nature. For Condition,

A ſhop of the qualities, that man

Loves woman for, beſides that hook of Wiving,

Fairneſſe, which ſtrikes the eye.

Cym. I ſtand on fire. Come to the matter.

Iach. All too ſoon I ſhall,

Unleſſe thou would'ſt grieve quickly. This Poſſumus,
Moſt like a Noble Lord, in love, and one

That had a Royal-Lover, took his hint,

And (not diſpraſing whom we prais'd, therein
He was as calme as vertue) he began

His Miftris pícture, which by his tongue, being made,

And then a mind put in't, either our brags

Were crack'd of Kitchin-Trulls, or his deſcription

Prov'd us unſpeaking fots.

Cym. Nay, nay, to th' purpose.

Iach. Your daughters Chaſtity, (there it begins)

He ſpake of her, as Dian had hot dreams,

And the alone were cold: Whereat, I wretch

Made ſeruple of his praſe, and wag'd with him

Pieces of Gold, 'gainſt this, which then he wore

Upon his honor'd finger; to attain

In ſuit the place of's bed, and win this Ring

By hers, and mine Adultery: he (true Knight)

No leſſer of her honour confident

Then I did truly find her, ſakes this Ring,

And would ſo, had it been a Carbuncle

Of Phæbus Wheel; and might ſo safely, had it

Bin all the worth of's Car. Away to Britain

Poſt I in this deſigne: well may you (Sir)

Remember me at Court, where I was taught

Of your chaſt Daughter, the wide difference

'Twixt Amorous, and Villanous. Being thus quench'd

Of hope, not longing; mine Italian brain,

'Gan in your duller Britain operate

Moſt vildly: for my vantage excellent.

And to be brief, my praſeſt ſo prevail'd

That I return'd with ſimular proof enough,

To make the Noble Leonatus mad,

By wounding his belief in her Renown,

With Tokens thus, and thus; averring notes

Of Chamber hanging, Píctures, this her Bracelet

(Oh cunning how I got it) nay ſome marks

Of ſecret on her perſon, that he could not

But think her bond of Chaſtity quite crack'd,

I having tane the forfeit, whereupon,

Me thinks I fee him now.

Poſt. I, ſo thou do'ſt,

Italian fiend. Aye me, moſt credulous fool,

Egregious murtherer, Thieſ, any thing.

That's due to all the Villains paſt, in being

To come. Oh give me Cord, Knife, or Poſſon,

Some

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

879

Some upright Justicer. Thou King, lend out
For tortures ingenious: it is I

That all th'abhorred things oth'earth amend
By being woe then they. I am Poffhumus,
That kill'd thy Daughter: Villain-like, I lie,
That caus'd a lefter villain then my self,
A facrilegious Thief to do't. The Temple
Of Vertue was the yea, and the her self.

Spet, and throw stones, caft myre upon me, fet
The dogs oth'street to bait me: every villain
Be call'd Poffhumus Leonatus,
Be villany leſſe then 'twas. Oh Imogen !
My Queen, my life, my wife: oh Imogen,
Imogen, Imogen.

Imo. Peace, my Lord, hear, hear.

Post. Shall's have a play of this?

Thou feornfull Page, there lie thy part,
Pisa. Oh Gentleman, help,

Mine and your Miftris: Oh, my Lord Poffhumus,
You ne're kill'd Imogen till now: help, help,
Mine honor'd Lady.

Cym. Does the world go round?

Post. How comes thefe flagges on me?

Pisa. Wake my Miftris.

Cym. If this be to, the gods do mean to ſtrike me
To death with mortal joy.

Pisa. How fates my Miftris.

Imo. Oh get thee from my fight,

Thou gav't me poifon: dangerous Fellow hence,
Breath not where Queens are.

Cym. The tune of Imogen.

Pisa. Lady, the gods throw ſtones of ſulphure on me, if
That box I gave you, was not thought by me
A pretious thing, I had it from the Queen.

Cym. New matter full,

Imo. It poyfon'd me,

Corn. Oh gods !

I left out one thing which the Queen conſeft,
Which muſt approve theſe honſt. If Pisanio
Have (aſd ſhe) given his Miftris that Conſeſſion
Which I gave him for Cordial, ſhe is ſerv'd,
As I would ſerve a Rat.

Cym. What's this, Cornelius?

Corn. The Queen (Sir) very oft importun'd me
To temper poifons for, full pretending
The ſatistaction of her knowledge, only
In killing Creatures vild, as Cats and Dogs
Of no eſteem, I dreading, that her purpofe
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain fluff, which being tan'd, would ſeize
The prefent power of life, but in ſhort time,
All Offices of Nature, ſhould again

Do their due Functions. Have you tane of it?

Imo. Moſt like I did, for I was dead,

Bel. My Boycs, there was our error.

Gui. This is ſure Fidele.

Imo. Why did you throw your wedded Lady fro you?
Think that you are upon a Rock, and now
Throw me again.
Post. Hang there like fruit, my foul,
Till the tree die.

Cym. How now, my fleſh? my child ?

What, mak'ft thou me a dullard in this Act?

Wilt thou not ſpeak to me ?

Imo. Your bleſſing, fir.

Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not,

You had a motive for't.

Cym. My tears that fall

Prove holy-water on thee; Imogen,
Thy Mother's dead.

Imo. I am forry for't, my Lord.

Cym. Oh, ſhe was nought; and long of her it was
That we meet here ſo ſtrangely: but her Son
Is gone, we know not how, nor where.

Pisa. My Lord,

Now fear is from me, I'le ſpeak troth. Lord Clotten

Upon my Ladies miſſing, came to me

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 ſeigned Letter ot my Maſters

Then in my pocket, which directed him

To ſeek her on the Mountains nere to Milford,

Where in a frenzy, in my Maſters Garments

(Which he inſor'd from me) away he poſts
With unchaſt purpofe, and with oath to violate

My Ladies honour, what became of him,
I further know not,

Gui. Let me end the Story : I flew him there.

Cymb. Marry, the gods foreſend.

I would not thy good deeds, ſhould from my lips
Pluck a hard ſentence: prithoe valiant youth
Deny't again.

Gui. I have ſpoke it, and I did it,

Cym. He was a Prince,

Gui. A moſt incivil one. The wrongs he did me
Were nothing Prince-like; for he did poyoke me
With Language that would make me ſpurn the Sea,

If it could to roar to me. I cut off's head,
And am right glad he is not tianding here

To tell this tale of mine,

Cym. I am forry for thee :

By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and muſt
Endure our Law: thou'rt dead.

Imo. That headleſſe man I thought had bin my Lord
Cym. Bind the offender,

And take him from our prefence,

Bel. Stay, Sir King.

This man is better then the man he flew,

As well deſcended as thy ſelf, and hath

More of thee merited, then a band of Clottens

Had ever ſear for. Let his Armes alone,

They were not born for ſondage.

Cym. Why old Souldier :

Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for

By taſting of our wrath? how of deſcent
As good as we ?

Arvi. In that he ſpake too far.

Cym. And thou ſhalt die for't.

Bel. We will die all three,

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,

Arvi. Your danger's ours,

Guid. And our good his.

Bel. Have at it then, by leave

Thou had'ſt (great King) a Subject, who

Was call'd Belarius.

Cym. What of him ? he is a banilh'd traitor.

Bel. He it is that hath.

Affum'd this age: indeed a banilh'd man,

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

990

I know how, a Traitor.

Cym. Take him hence,
The whole world shall not fave him.

Bel. Not too hot;

First pay me for the Nursing of thy Sons,
And let it be conficate all, so soon
As I have receiv'd it.

Cym. Nursing of my Sons?

Bel. I am too blunt, and fawcy: here's my knee:
Ere I arife, I will preferre 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,
They are the ille of your Loyns, My Liege,
And cloud of your begetting.

Cym. How? my ille,

Bel. So fure as you, your fathers: I (old Morgan)
Am that Bellarius, whom you sometime banifh'd:

Your pleafure was my near offence, my puniſhment
It self, and all my trefaon that I ſuffer'd,
Was all the harme I did. These gentle Princes

(For Iuch, and fo they are) theſe twenty years
Have I trau'n'd up; thofe Arts they have, as I
Could put into them. My breeding was (Sir)

As your Highneſſe knows, their Nurse Euriphe
(Whom for the Theft I wedded) ſtole theſe Children
Upon my Banifhment: I moov'd her too't,

Having receiv'd the puniſhment before

For that which I did then. Beaten for Loyalty,
Excited me to trefaon. Their dear Ioffe,
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 Ioffe
Two of the ſweetſt Companions in the World,
The benedification of theſe covering heavens

Fall on their heads like dew, for they are worthy
To in-lay heaven with Starrs.

Cym. Thou weep't, and ſpeak't:

The ſervice that you three have done, is more
Unlike, then this thou tell't. I loft my children,
If theſe be they, I know not how to wifh

A pair of worthier Sons.

Bel. Be pleas'd a while:

This Gentleman, whom I call Polidore,

Moft worthy Prince, as yours, is true Guiderius:
This Gentleman, my Cadwall, Arviragus.

Your younger Princely Son, he fir, was lapt

In a moſt curious Mantle, wrought by th'hand

Of his Queen Mother, which for more probation
I can with eafe produce.

Cym. Guiderius had

Upon his neck a Mole, a ſanguine Star,
It was a mark of wonder.

Bel. This is he,

Who hath upon him ſtill that naturall stamp:

It was wife Natures end, in the donation

To be his evidence now.

Cym. Oh, what am I

A Mother to the birth of three ? Nere Mother
Rejoyc'd deliverance more ? Bleſt, pray you be,
That after this strange ſtarting from your Orbes,
You may reign in them now: Oh Imogen,
Thou haſt left by this a Kingdome.

Imo. No, my Lord:

I have got two worlds by't. Oh my gentle Brothers,
Have we thus met? Oh never ſay hereafter

But I am trueſt ſpeaker. You call'd me Brother

When I was but your Sifter: I you Brother,

When we were ſo indeed.

Cym. Did you e're meet ?

Arvi. I my good Lord.

Gui. And at firſt meeting lov'd,

Continu'd ſo, untill we thought he died.

Corn. By the Queens Dram he ſwallow'd.

Cym. O rare infinct !

When ſhall I hear all through ? this ſierce abridgement,
Hath to it Circumſtantal branches, which
Diffination ſhould be rich in. Where? how liv'd you?

And when came you to ſerve our Roman Captive?

How parted with your Brother ? How firſt met them?

Why fled you from the Court ? And whether theſe ?

And your three motives to the Battle; with

I know not how much more ſhould be demanded,

And all the other by-dependances

From chance to chance ? But not the time, nor place

Will ſerve our long Interrogatories. See,
Poſthamus Anchors upon Imogen;

And ſhe ( like harmeſſe lightning ) throws her eye

On him: her brothers, Me: her Maſter hitting

Each objeſt with a Joy: the Counter-change

Is feverely in all. Let's quit this ground,

And ſmoak the Temple with our Sacrifices.

Thou art my Brother, ſo we'll hold thee ever.

Imo. You are my Mother too, and did relieve me:
To fee this gracious ſeafon.

Cym. All ore-joy'd

Save theſe in bonds, let them be joyfull too,
For they ſhall tafte our Comfort.

Imo. My good Maſter, I will yet do you ſervice.

Luc. Happy be you,

Cym. The forlorn ſouldier that ſo Nobly fought
He would have well becom'd this place, and grac'd
The thankings of a King,

Poſt. I am, fir,

The ſouldier that did company theſe three

In poor beſeeming: 'twas a fitment for

The purpofe I then follow'd. That I was he,

Speak Iachimo, I had you down and might

Have made your finiſh.

Iach. I am down again:

But now my heavy Conſtance finks my knee,

As then your force did. Take that life, beſeech you,

Which I ſo often owe: but your Ring firſt,

And here your Bracelet of the trueſt Pinceſſe
That ever ſwore her faith.

Poſt. Kneel not to me:

The power that I have on you is to ſpare you :

The malice towards you, to forgiſe you. Live

And deal with others better.

Cym. Nobly doom'd:

We'll learn our Freeneſſe of a Son-in-Law:

Pardon's the word to all,

Arvi. You holp us, fir,

As you did mean indeed to be our Brother,
Joy'd are we, that you are.

Poſt. Your Servant, Princes. Good my Lord of Rome

Call forth your Sooth-fayer: As I flept, me thought

Great Jupiter upon his Eagle back'd

Appear'd to me, with other ſprightly ſhews

Of mine own Kindred. When I wak'd, I found

This Labell on my boſome: wholeſe containing

Is ſo from ſenſe in hardneſſe, that I can

Make

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

Make no Collection of it. Let him shew His skill in the construction.

Luc. Philarmonus.

Sooth. Here, my good Lord.

Luc. Read, and declare the meaning.

Redds.

WHEN as a Lyon's whelp, shall to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender Air: and when from a stately Cedar shall be lopt branches, which being dead many yeares, shall after revive, be joyned to the old Stock, and freshely grow, then shall Poethumus end his miferies, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in Peace, and Plenty.

THOU Leonatus art the Lyon's Whelp,
The fit and apt Construction of thy name
Being Leonatus, doth import so much :

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 conftant Wife, who even now
Answering the Letter of the Oracle,
Unknown to you unfought, were clipt about
With this most tender Air.

Cym. This hath some feeming.

Sooth. The lofty Cedar, Royal Cymbeline,
Personates thee: And thy lopt Branches, point
Thy two Sonnes forth: who by Belarius toln
For many yeares thought dead, are now reviv'd
To the Majestick Cedar joyn'd; whose influence

Promifes Britain, Peace and Plenty.

Cym. Well,

My Peace we will begin: And Caius Lucius,
Although the Victor, we submit to Caesar,
And to the Roman Empire; promifing
To pay our wonted Tribute, from the which
We were diffwaded by our wicked Queen,
Whom Heavens in justice both on her, and hers,
Have laid most heavy hand.

Sooth. The fingers of the Powres above, do tune
The harmony of this Peace: the Vifon
Which I made known to Lucius e're the Stroke
Of this yet scarce-cold-Battel, at this inſtant
Is full accomplish'd. For the Roman Eagle
From South to Weſt, on wing foaring aloft
Leſſen'd her ſelf, and in the Beams o' th'Sun
So vaniſh'd; which fore-shew'd our Princely Eagle
Th'Imperial Caſar, ſhould again unite
His favour, with the Radiant Cymbeline,
Which ſhines here in the Weſt.

Cym. Laud we the gods,
And let our crooked Smoaks climb to their Noftrils
From our bleft Altars, Publiſh this peace
To all our Subjeets. Set we forward: let
A Roman, and a Britiſh Enſign wave
Friendly together; fo through Lud's-Town march,
And in the Temple of great jupiter
Our Peace we'll ratifie. Seal it with feaſts.
Set on there: Never was a VVar did ceafe
(E're bloudy hands were wath'd) with ſuch a Peace,

Exeunt.

FINIS.