["The Tragedy of", "The foule and Body rive not more in parting,\nThen greateneffe going off.", "Cleo. To'th'Monument :", "Mardian, goe tell him I have flaine my felfe :", "Say, that the laft I spoke was Anthony,", "And word it (prethee) pitteoufly. Hence Mardian,", "And bring me how he takes my death to th'Monument.", "Excunt.", "Enter Anthony, and Eros.", "Anth. Eros, thou yet beholdst me?", "Eros. I Noble Lord.", "Ant. Sometime we fee a clowd thats Dragonifh,", "A vapour fometime, like a Beare, or Lyon,", "A toward Cittradell, a pendant Rocke,", "A forked Mountaine, or blew Promontory", "With Trees upon't, that nodde unto the world,", "And mocke our eyes with Ayre.", "Thou haft feene thefe lignes,", "They are blacke Vespers Pageants.", "Eros. I my Lord;", "Ant. That which is now a horſe, even with a thought\nthe Racke diſtimes, and makes it indiſtinet", "As water is in water.", "Eros. It does my Lord.", "Ant. My good Knave Eros, now thy Captaine is\nEven ſuch a body : heere I am Anthony,", "Yet cannot hold this viſible ſhape (my Knave)\nI made theſe warres for Egypt, and the Queene,", "Whofe heart I thought I had, for ſhe had mine :\nWhich whilft it was mine, had annect unto't", "A Million moe, (now loft:) ſhe Eros has", "Packt Cards with Caſars, and ſalſe plaid my Glory", "Vnto an Enemies triumph.\nNay, weepe not gentle Eros, there is left us", "Our ſelves to end our ſelves.", "Enter Mardian.", "Oh thy vilde Lady, ſhe has rob'd me of my Sword.", "Mar. No Anthony,", "My Milſter lov'd thee, and her Fortunes mingled\nWith thine intirely.", "Ant. Hence ſawcy Eunuch peace, ſhe hath betraid me\nAnd ſhall dye the death.", "Mar. Death of one perſon, can be paide but once,\nAnd that ſhe has diſcharg'd. What thou wouldſt doe", "Is done onto thy hand : the laſt ſhe ſpake", "Was Anthony, moſt Noble Anthony :", "Then in the middft a tearing grone did breake", "The name of Anthony: it was divided", "Betweene her heart, and lips: ſhe tendred life", "Thy name ſo buried in her.", "Ant. Dead then?", "Mar. Dead.", "Ant. Vnname Eros, the long daycs taske is done,\nAnd we muſt ſeele: that thou departſt hence ſafe", "Does pay thy labour richly : goe.", "Exit Mardian.", "Oh, plucke off,", "The ſeven-fold ſhield of *Ajax* cannot keepe", "The battery from my heart. Oh cleave my fides.", "Heart, once be ſtronger then thy Continent,\nCracke thy fraile Cafe. Apace Eros, apace :", "No more a Souldier: bruifed peeces goe,", "You have bin Nobly borne. From me a while. Exit Eros.", "I will ore-take thee Cleopatra, and", "Weepe for my pardon. So it muſt be, for now", "Alllength is Torture: ſince the Torch is out,", "Lye downe and iltray no farther. Now all labour", "Marres what it does : yea, very force entangles", "It ſelfe with ſtrength: Seale then and all is done.", "Eros ? I come my Queene. Eros ? Say for me,", "Where Soules doe couch on Flowers, we'll hand in hand,\nAnd with our frightly Port make the Ghoſtes gaze :", "Dido, and her Æneas ſhall want Troopes,", "And all the haunt be ours. Come Eros, Eros!", "Enter Eros.", "Eros. What would my Lord?", "Ant. Since Cleopatra dyed,", "I have liv'd in ſuch diſhonor, that the gods", "Deteft my bafeſneſſe. I, that with my Sword,", "Quarter'd the World, and ore greene Neptunes backe", "With Ships, made Citties; condemne my ſelfe, to lacke", "The Courage of a Woman, ſelfe Noble minde", "Then ſhe which by her death, our Caſar telles", "I am Conqueror of my ſelfe. Thou art ſworne Eros,", "That when the exigent ſhould come, which now", "Is come indeed: When I ſhould fee behind me", "Th'inevitable p[ro]ſecution of diſgrace and horror,", "That on my command, then then wouldſt kill me.", "Doo't, the time is come : thou ſtrikſt not me,", "Tis Caſar thou defeatſt. Put colour in my cheeke.", "Eros. The gods with-hold me,", "Shall I doe that which all the Parthian Darts,", "(Though Enemy) loft ayme, and could not,", "Eros.", "Wouldſt thou be window'd in great Rome, and ſee", "Thy Maſter thus with pleacht Armes, bending downe", "His corrigible necke, his ſace ſubdu'd", "To p[en]etrative ſhame; whilft the wheelſe ſeate", "Of Fortunafe Caſar drawne before him, branded", "His bafeſneſſe that enfuſed.", "Eros. I would not fee't.", "Ant. Come then : for with a wound I muſt be cur'd.", "Draw that thy honelt Sword which thou haſt worne", "Moft uſeſull for thy Country.", "Eros. Oh fir, pardon me.", "Ant. When I did make thee free, ſworſt thou not then", "To doe this when I bad thee ? Doe it at once,", "Or thy precedent Services are all", "But occidents unpurpos'd. Draw, and come.", "Eros. Turne from me then that Noble countenance,", "Wherein the worſhip of the whole world lyes.", "Ant. Loe thee.", "Eros. My ſword is drawne.", "Ant. Then let it doe at once", "The thing w by thou haſt drawne it.", "Eros. My deere Maſter,", "My Captaine, and my Emperor. Let me ſay", "Before I ſtrike this bloody ſtroke, farewell.", "Ant. Tis faſd man, and farewell.", "Eros. Farewell great Chieſe. Shall I ſtrike now?", "Ant. Now Eros.", "Killes himſelfe.", "Eros. Why there then :", "Thus I doe elcape the forrow of Anthonies death.", "Ant. Thrice-Nobler then my ſelfe,", "Thou teacheſt me: Oh valiant Eros, what", "I ſhould, and thou couldſt not, my Queene and Eros", "Have by their brave inſtruction got upon me", {"bbox": [6

Anthony and Cleopatra.

283

### Enter a Guard.

1 **Guard.** What's the noise?

*Ant.* I have done my work for ill friends.

Oh make an end of what I have begun.

2 The Starre is falne.

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 fword but shewne to *Cafar* with this tydings,
Shall enter me with him.

### Enter Diomedes.

*Dio.* Wheres *Anthony*?

*Decre.* There *Diomed* there.

*Diom.* Lives he : wilt thou not answer man ?

*Ant.* Art thou there *Diomed*?

Draw thy fword, and give me,

Sufficing ftrokes for death.

*Dio.* Moft abolute Lord :

My Miftris *Cleopatra* fent me to thee.

*Ant.* When did ſhee ſend thee ?

*Diom.* Now my Lord.

*Ant.* Where is the ?

(feare

*Diom.* Lockt in her Monument: ſhe had a Prophefying
Of what hath come to paffe : for when the faw
(Which never ſhall be found) you did ſuſpect
She had diſpos'd with *Cafar*, and that your rage
Would not be purg'd, the ſent you word ſhe was dead :
But fearing ſince how it might worke, hath ſent
Metoproclaine the truth, and I am come
Idread, too late.

*Ant.* Too late good *Diomed*: call my Guard I prethee,
*Dio.* What hoa : the Emperors Guard.

The Guard, what hoa ? Come, your Lord calles.

### Enter 4 or 5 of the Guard of Anthony.

*Ant.* Beare me good Friends were *Cleopatra* bides,
Tis the laft ſeevice that I ſhall command you.

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

*All.* Moſt heavy day.

*Ant.* Nay good my fellowes, doe not pleafe ſharp ſate
Tograce it with your forrowes. Bid that welcome
Which comes to puniſh us, and we puniſh it
Seeming to beare it lightly. Take me up,
I have led you oft, carry me now good friends,
And have my thankes for all.

[Exeunt bearing Anthony.

### Enter Cleopatra, and her Maides aloft, with
Charmian, and Irae.

*Cleo.* Oh *Charmian*, I will never goe from hence.

*Char.* Be comforted deere Madam.

*Cleo.* No, I will not :

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

### Enter Diomed's

How now ? is he dead ?

*Diom.* His deaths upon him, but not dead.

Looke out oth other ſide your Monument,
His Guard have brought him hither.

### Enter Anthony, and the Guard.

*Cleo.* Oh Sunne,

Burne the great Sphere thou mouſt in, darkling ſland
The varrying ſhore oth'world.

*O *Antony*, *Antony*, *Antony*

Helpe *Charmian*, helpe *Irae* helpe : helpe friends

Below, lets draw him hither.

*Ant.* Peace,

Not *Cafar* Valour hath orethrowne *Anthony*,
But *Anthony*, hath Triumph on it ſelfe.

*Cleo.* So it ſhould be,

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

*Ant.* I am dying Egypt, dying : onely
I heere importune death a while, untill
Of many thouſand kiffles the poore laſt
I lay upon thy lippes.

*Cleo.* I dare not Deere,

Deere my Lord pardon : I dare not,

Left I be taken : not th'Imperious ſhew

Of the full-fortun'd *Cafar*, ever ſhall

Be brooch'd with me, if Knife, Drugges, Serpents have
Edge, fling, or operation, I am ſafe :

Your Wife *Oſtavia*, with her modelf eyes,

And ſtill conclusion, ſhall acquire no honor

Demuring upon me : but, come, come *Anthony*,

Helpe me my women, we must draw thee up :

Affift good friends.

*Ant.* Oh quicke, or I am gone,

*Cleo.* Heeres ſport indeed :

How heavy weighes my Lord?

Our ſtrength is all gone into heavineſte,

That makes the waight. Had I great *Inno's* power,

The ſtrong wing'd Mercury ſhould fetch thee up,

And fet thee by Joves ſide. Yet come a little,

Wifhers were ever Fooles. Oh come, come, come.

### They heave Anthony aloft to Cleopatra.

And welcome, welcome. Dye when thou haſt liv'd,

Quicken with kifſing : had my lippes that power.

Thus would I weare them out.

*All.* A heavy fight.

*Ant.* I am dying Egypt, dying.

Give me ſome Wine, and let me ſpeake a little.

*Cleo.* No, let me ſpeake, and let me rayle ſo hye,

That the falſe Hufwife Fortune, breake her Wheelc,

Provok'd by my offence.

*Ant.* One word (Iweet *Queene*)

Of *Cafar* ſeeke your honor, with your ſafety. Oh !

*Cleo.* They doe not goe together.

*Ant.* Gentle heare me,

None about *Cafar* truſt, but *Proculeius*.

*Cleo.* My Refolution, and my hands, Ile truſt,

None about *Cafar*.

*Ant.* The miſerable change now at my end,
Lament nor forrow at : but pleafe your thoughts
In feeding them with theſe my former Fortunes
Wherein I lived. The greatest Prince oth world,
The Nobleft : and doe now not bafely dye,
Not Cowardly put off 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 dye?

Haſt thou no care of me, ſhall I abide

In this dull world, which in thy abſence is

No better then a ſtyle ? Oh fee my women :

The Crowne oth earth doth melt. My Lord ?

Oh wither'd is the Garland of the Warre,

The

Anthony and Cleopatra.

To do that thing that ends all other deeds,
Which flackles accidents; and bolts up change;
Which fleepes, and never pallats more the dung,
The beggers Nurle, and Caſars.

*Enter Proculeius.*

Pro. Caſar lends greeting to the Queene of Egypt.
And bidst he study on what faire demands
Thou mean't to have him grant thee.

Cleo. What's thy name?

Pro. May 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 vie for truſting. If your Maſter

Would have a Queene his begger, you muſt tell him,
That Majelly to keepe *decorum*, muſt

No leſſe begge then a Kingdome : if he pleafe
To give me conquer'd Egypt for my Sonne,
He gives me ſo much of mine owne, as I
Will kneele to him with thanks.

Pro. Be of good cheere :

Y'are ſalne into a Princely hand, ſeare nothing.

Make your full reference freely to my Lord,
Who is ſo full of Grace, that it flowes over
On all that neede. Let me report to him
Your ſweet dependancy, and you ſhall find

A Conqueror that will pray in ayde for kindneſſe,
Where he for grace is kneel'd too.

Cleo. Pray you tell him,

I am his Fortunes Vafall, and I ſend him
The greatneſſe he has got. I hourly ſearne

A Doſtine of Obedience, and would gladly
Looke him ith'Face.

Pro. This Ile report (deere Lady)

Have comfort, for I know your plight is pittied
Of him that cauſd it.

Char. You ſee how caſily ſhe may be ſurpriz'd :

Guard her till *Caſar* come.

Iras. Royall Queene.

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

Cleo. Quicke, quicke, good hands.

Pro. Hold worthy Lady, hold :

Doe not your ſelſe ſuch wrong, who are in this
Reliev'd, but not befraid.

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

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

Cleo. Where art thou death ?

Come hither come ; Come, come, and take a Queene
Worth many Babes and Beggers.

Pro. Oh temperance Lady.

Cleo. Sir, I will eate no meate, Ile not drinke ſir,
If idle talke will once be neceſſary

Ile not ſleepe neither. This mortall houſe ile ruine,
Doe *Caſar* what he can. Know ſir, that I

Will not waite pinnion'd at your Maſters Court,
Nor once be chaftrie'd with the ſober eye

Of dull Oſtavia. Shall they hoyſt me up,
And ſhow me to the ſhowtning Varlotry

Of cenſuring Rome ? Rather a ditch in Egypt,
Be gentle grave unto me, rather on Nylas mudde
Lay me ſtarke-nak'd, and let the water-Flies,

Blow me into abhorring; rather make
My Countries hygh pyramides my Gibbet,

And hang me up in Chaines,

Pro. You doe extend

The ſeethoughts of horror further then you ſhall
Find cauſe in *Caſar*.

*Enter Dolabella.*

Dol. *Proculeius,*

What thou haſt done, thy Maſter *Caſar* knowes,
And he hath ſent for thee : as for the Queene,
Ile take her to my Guard.

Pro. So *Dolabella*,

It ſhall content me beſt : be gentle to her,

To *Caſar* I will Ipeake, what you ſhall pleafe,

If youll 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. Affuſedly you know me.

Cleo. No matter ſir, what I have heard or knowne :
You laugh when Boyes or Women tell their Dreames,
Ist not your tricke ?

Dol. I underſtand not, Madam.

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

Dol. If it might pleafe ye.

Cleo. His face was as the heavens, and therein ſtucke
A Sunne and Moone, which kept their courſe, and lighted
The little o'ch'th'earth.

Dol. Moſt Soveraigne Creature.

Cleo. His legges 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 ratiſing Thunder. For his bounty,
There was no winter in't. An *Anthony* it was,

That grew the more by reaping : his delights
Were Dolphin-like, they ſhew'd his backe above

The Element they liv'd in ; In his Livery

Walk'd Crownes and Crownets : Realmes and Inlands

As plates dropt from his pocket.

Dol. *Cleopatra.*

Cleo. Thinke 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, nor ever were one ſuch

Its paſſ the ſize of dreaming : Nature wants ſtuffe
To vye ſtrange formes with ſancy, yet t'imagine

An *Anthony* were Natures peecce, gainſt ſancy,
Condemning ſhadows quite.

Dol. Heare me, good Madam :

Your ſoffe is as your ſelſe, great; and you beare it
As antwering to the waight, would I might never
Ore-take purſu'd ſucceſſe : but I doe feele

By the rebound of yours, a grieſe that ſuites
My very heart at roote.

Cleo. I thanke you ſir :

Know you what *Caſar* meanes to do with me?

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

Cleo. Nay pray you ſir.

Dol. Though he be honorable.

Cleo. He'll leade me then in Triumph.

Dol. Madam he will, I knowt.

*Enter Proculeius, Caſar, Gallus, Medecinas,*
*and others of his Traine.*

All. Make way there, *Caſar*.

*Caſar?*

386

The Tragedy of

Caf. Which is the Queene of Egypt.

Dol. It is the Emperor Madam.

Caf. Arife, you shall not kneele : I pray you rite, rife Egypt.

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

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

Cleo. Sole Sir oth'world, I cannot project mine owne caufe so well To make it cleare, but doe confeffe I have Beene laden with like frailties, which before Have often fham'd our Sex.

Caf. Cleopatra know,
We will extenuate rather then inforce :
If you apply your felfe to our intents,
Which towards you are moft gentle, you shall finde
A benefit in this change, but if you feeke
To lay on me a Cruelty, by taking
Anthonies course, you shall bereave you ſelfe
Of my good purpofes, and put your children
To that deftruction which ile guard them from,
If thereon you relye. Ile take my leave.

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

Caf. You shall advife me in all for Cleopatra.

Cleo. This is the briefe : of Mony, Plate, and Iewels I am poffeſt of, tis exaſtly valewed, Not petty things admitted. Wheres Seleucus ?

Seleucus. Heere Madam.

Cleo. This is my Treasurer, let him ſpeak(e my Lord) Vpon his perill, that I have reſerv'd

To my ſelfe nothing. ſpeak e the truth Seleucus.

Seleu. Madam I had rather feele my lippes,

Then to my perill ſpeak(e that which is not.

Cleo. What have I kept ſacke?

Seleu. Enough to purchase what you have made known
Caf. Nay blufh not Cleopatra, I approve
Your Wifedome in the deed.

Cleo. See Cafar : Oh behold,

How pompe is followed : Mine will now be yours,
And ſhould we shift eſtates, yours would be mine,
The ingratitude of this Seleucus, does

Even make me wilde. Oh Slave, of no more truſt
Then love thaths hyr'd? What goeſt thou backe, thou ſhalt
Goe backe I warrant thee : but Ile catch thine eyes
Though they had wings. Slave, foule-leſſe, Villaine, Dog,
O rarely bafe !

Caf. Good Queene, let us intreat you.

Cleo. O Cafar, what a wounding ſhame is this,
That thou vouchſaſing heere to viſit me,
Doing the honor of thy Lordlineſſe

To one ſo meeke, that mine owne Servant ſhould
Parcell the ſumme of my diſgraces, by
Addition of his Envy! Say (good Cafar)

That I fome Lady-trifles have reſerv'd,
Immoment toyes, things of ſuch Dignity
As we greet moderne friends withall, and ſay
Some Nobler token I have kept apart
For Livia and Ottavia, to induce
Their mediation, muſt I be unfolded

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

Cleo. kneeles.

Or I ſhall ſhow the Cynders of my ſpirits
Through th'Aſhes of my chance : W'ert thou a man,
Thou wouldt have mercy on me.

Caf. Forbeare Seleucus.

Cleo. Be it knowne, that we the greateſt are miſ-thought
For things that others doe : and when we fall,
We anſwer others merits, in our name
Are thereſoeto be pittied.

Caf. Cleopatra,
Not what you have reſerv'd, nor what acknowledge'd
Put we ith'Roll of Conqueſt: Iſt be't yours,
Beſlow it at your pleafure, and beleeve
Caſar's no Merchant, to make prize with you
Of things that Merchants fold. Therefore be cheer'd,
Make not your thoughts your prifons: No deere Queene,
For we intend ſo to diſpofe you, as
Your ſelfe ſhall give us confell: Feede, and ſleepe :
Our care and pitty is ſo much upon you,
That we remaine your friend, and ſo adieu.

Cleo. My Maſter, and my Lord.

Caf. Not ſo: Adien.

Exeunt Cafar, and his Traine.

Cleo. He words me Gyrls, he words me,
That I ſhould not be Noble to my ſelfe.

But heare thee Charminian.

Irae. Finſh good Lady, the bright day is done,
And we are for the darke.

Cleo. Hye thee againe.

I have ſpoke already, and it is provided,
Goe put it to the haſte.

Char. Madam, I will.

Enter Dolabella.

Dol. Wheres the Queene ?

Char. Behold fir.

Cleo. Dolabella.

Dol. Madam, as thereto ſworne, by your command
(Which my love makes Religion to obey)
I tell you this : Cafar 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.

Cleo. Dolabella, I ſhall remaine your debter.

Dol. I your Servant :

Adieu good Queene, I muſt attend on Cafar,

Cleo. Farewell, and thanks.

Now Irae, what think'ſt thou ?

Thou, an Egyptian Puppet ſhalt be ſhewne

In Rome aſwell as I: Mechanicke Slaves
With greazy Aprons, Rules, and Hammers ſhall
Vplift us to the view. In their thicke breathes,
Ranke of groſſe dyet, ſhall we be enclowded,
And ſor'd to drinke their vapour.

Irae. The gods forbid.

Cleo. Nay, tis moſt certaine Irae: ſawcy Lictors
Will catch at us like Strumpets, and feald Rimers
Ballad us out a Tune. The quicke 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'pofture of a W hore.

Irae. O the good gods !

Cleo. Nay that's certaine.

Irae. Ile never ſee't; for I am ſure my Nailes
Are stronger then mine eyes.

Exit.

Cleo.

Anthony and Cleopatra.

387

Cleo. Why that's the way to foole their preparation,
And conquer their moſt aburd intentes.

Enter Charmian.

Now Charmian.

Shew me my Women like a Queene: Goe fetch
My beſt Attyres. I am againe for Cidrus
To meet Marke Anthony. Sirra Iras, goe

(Now Noble Charmian, wee'l diſpatch indeed.)
And when thou haſt done this char, Ile give thee leave
To play till Doomeſday: bring our Crowne, and all.

A noſſe within.

Wherefore's this noyſe?

Enter a Guardsman.

Guards. Here is a ruralle Fellow,

That will not be deny'd your Highneſſe prefence,
He brings you Figges.

Cleo. Let him come in.

Exit Guardsman.

How poore an Inſtrument

May doe a Noble deed: he brings me liberty:
My Reſolution's plac'd, and I have nothing
Of woman in me: Now from head to foot
I am Marble conſtant: now the ſleeting Moone
No Planet is of mine.

Enter Guardſman and Clowne.

Guards. This is the Man.

Cleo. Avoyd and leave him.

Exit Guardſman.

Haſt thou the pretty worſome of Nylus there,
That kils and paines not?

Clew. Truely I have him: but I would not be the part-
tie that hould ſeure you to touch him, for his byting is
immortall: though that doe dye of it, doe ſeldome or ne-
ver recover.

Cleo. Remember't thou any that have dyed ont?

Cleo. Very many men and women too. I heard of
one of them no longer than yesterday, a very honest wo-
man, but ſomething given to lye, as a woman ſhould not
dos, but in the way of honefly, how ſhe dyed of the by-
ting of it, what paine ſhe felt: Truly, ſhe makes a very
good report o' th' worſe: but he that will believe all that
they ſay, ſhall never be faſed by haſe that they doe: but
this is moſt fallible, the Worſe an odde Worſe.

Cleo. Get thee hence, farewell.

Clew. I wifh you all joy of the Worſe.

Cleo. Farewell.

Clew. You muſt thinke this (looke you) that the
Worme will doe his kinde.

Cleo. I, I, farewell.

Cleo. Looke you, the Worſe is not to be truſted, but
in the keeping of wife people: for indeed, there is no
goodneſſe in the Worſe.

Cleo. Take no care, it ſhall be heeded.

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

Cleo. Will it eat me?

Cleo. You muſt not thinke I am ſo ſimple, but I know
the divell himſelfe will not eat a woman: I know, that
a woman is a diſh for the gods, if the divell drefſe her
not. But truely, the ſe fame whorſon Divels doe the gods
great harme in their women: for in every ten that they
make, the divells marre ſive.

Cleo. Well, get the gone, farewell.

Cleo. Yes for ſooth, I wifh you joy o' th' worſe. Exit.

Cleo. Give me my Robe, put on my Crowne, I have
Immortall longings in me. Now no more

The juyce of Egypts Grape ſhall moyſt this lip.

Yare, yare, good Iras quicke: me thinkes I heare

Anthony call: I fee him rowſe himſeſe

To praite my Noble Aſt I heare him mocke

The lucke of Cefar, which the gods give men

To excufe their after wrath. Husband, I come :

Now to that name, my courage prove my Title.

I am Fire, and Ayre; my other Elements

I give to baſer life. So, have you done ?

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

Farewell kinde Charmian, Iras, long farewell.

Have I the Aſpicke 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 vanifliſt, thou tell't the world,

It is not worth leave taking.

Char. Diffolve thicke Cloud, & Raine, that I may ſay,
The gods themſelves doe weepe.

Cleo. This proves me bafe:

If the proves the curled Anthony,

Hee'l make demand of her, and I pend that kiffe

Which is my heaven to have. Come thou mortall

With thy ſharpe teeth this knot intrinſicate, (wretch,

Of life at once untie: Poore venemous Foole,

Be angry and diſpatch. Oh could I thou ſpeake,

That I might heare thee call great Cefar Aſſe, unpolicied.

Char. Oh Eafterne ſtarrre.

Cleo. Peace, peace:

Doſt thou not fee my Baby at my breaſt,

That fuckes the Nurſe aſſepe.

Char. O breaſe ! O breaſe !

Cleo. As ſweer as Balme, as ſoft as Ayre, as gentle.

O Anthony! Nay, I will take thee too.

What should I ſlay—

Dyes.

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

Now boast thee Death, in thy poffeſlion lies

A Laffe unparalel'd. Downy Windowes cloze.

And golden Phœbus never be held

Of eyes againe to Royall : your Crownes away,

Ile mend it, and then play—

Enter the Guard rufſling in, and Dolabella.

1 Guard. Where's the Queene?

Char. Speake softly, wake her not.

1 Cefar hath ſent.

Char. Too flow a Meſſenger.

Oh come apace, diſpatch, I partly feele thee.

1 Approach hoz,

All's not well: Cefars beguilde.

2 Theres Dolabella ſent from Cefar : call him.

1 What worke is here Charmian?

Is this well done?

Char. It is well done, and fitting for a Princesſſe

Defended of ſo many Royall Kings.

Ah ſouldier.

Charmian djes.

Enter Dolabella.

Dol. How goes it here?

2 Guard. All dead.

Dol. Cefar, thy thoughts

Touch their effects in this: thy ſelfe art comming

To fee perform'd the dreaded Aſt which thou

So ſought it to hinder.

Enter Cefar and all his Traine, marching.

All. A way there, a way for Cefar.

Dol.

THE TRAGEDY OF
CYMBELINE.

*Actus Primus. Scena Prima.*

*Enter two Gentlemen,*

1 Gent.

Ou do not meet a man but frowning.
Our bloods no more obey the heavens
Then our Courtiers :

Still seeme as do's the Kings.

2 Gent. But what's the matter ?

1 His daughter, and the heire ofs kingdome (whom
He purpos'd to his wives sole fonde, a Widdow
That late he married) hath referr'd her felie
Vinto a poore, but worthy Gentleman. She's wedded,
Her husband banifh'd; the imprifon'd, all
Is outward forrow, though I thinke the King
Betouch'd at very heart.

2 None but the King?

1 He that hath left her too: fo is the Queene,
That moft defir'd the Match. But not a Courtier,
Although they wear their faces to the bent
Of the Kings lookes, hath a heart that is not
Glad at the thing they fowle at.

2 And wy fo ?

1 He that hath miff'd the Princeſſe, is a thing
Too bad, for bad report : and he that hath her,
(1 meane, that married her, alacke good man,
And therefore banifh'd) is a Creature, ſuch,
Asto feeke through the Regions of the earth
For one, he like ; there would be ſomething failing
In him, that ſhould compare. I doe not thinke,
So faire an Outward, and ſuch ſtuffe within
Endowes a man, but hee.

2 You ſpeake him farre.

1 I doe extend him (Sir) which himſelfe,
Cruff him together, rather then unfold
His meaſure dully.

2 What's his name and Birth ?

1 I cannot delue him to the roote : his father
Was call'd Sicillius, who did joyne his honor
Against the Romanes, with Caſſibelan,
But had his Titles by Tenanſtus, whom
He ferv'd with Glory and admir'd Succeſſe :

So gain'd the Sur-addition, *Leonatus*.

And had (besides this Gentleman in queſtion)
Two other Sonnes, who in the Warres o'th'time

Dy'd with their Swords in hand. For which their father
Then old, and fond of iſlue, tooke ſuch forrow
That he quit Being ; and his gentle Lady

Bigge of this Gentleman (our Theame) deceaſt

As he was borne. The King he takes the Babe
To his protection, calls him *Poſſhumus* *Leonatus*,

Breedes 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 tooke.

As we doe ayre, faſt as twas miniftr'd,

And in's Spring, became a Harveſt : Liv'd in Court

(Which rare it is to doe) moſt prais'd, moſt lov'd,

A ſample to the yongeſt : to th'more Mature,

A glaſle that feared them : and to the graver,

A child that guided Dotards. To his Miftris,

(For whom he now is banifh'd) her owne price

Proclaimes 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'th'King ?

1 His only child ?

He had two Sonnes (if this be worth your hearing,

Marke it) the eldest of them, at three yeeres old

I'th'wat(hing) cloathes, the other from their Nurſery

Were ſolne, and to this houre, no gheſſe in knowledge

Which way they went.

2 How long is this agoe ?

1 Some twenty yeeres.

2 That a Kings Children ſhould be ſo convey'd,

ſo flackely guarded, and the ſearch ſo flow

That could not trace them.

1 How ſoere, tis ſtrange,

Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at.

Yet is it true Sir.

2 I doe well believe you,

1 We muſt forbear. Heere comes the Gentleman,
The Queene, and Princeſſe.

Exult.

*Scena Secunda.*

*Enter the Queene, Poſſumus, and Imogen.*

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

bbb

That

["The Tragedy of Cymbeline.", "390", "That locke up your reftraint. For you *Posthumus*,\nSo soone as I can win th'offended King,", "I will be knowne your Advocate : marry yet", "The fire of Rage is in him, and twere good", "You lean'd unto his Sentence, with what patience", "Your wifedome may informe you.", "*Post.* Pleafe your Highneſſe,", "I will from hence to day.", "*Que.* You know the perill :", "He fetch a turne about the Garden, pittying", "The pangs of barr'd Affections, though the King", "Hath charg'd you should not ſpeake together.", "Exit.", "*Imo.* O diſembling Curſeſe ! How fine this Tyrant\nCan tickle where the wounds ? My deereft Husband,\nI fomethine ſeare my fathers wrath, but nothing\n(Always referv'd my holy duty) what", "His rage can doe on me. You muſt be gone,", "And I ſhall heere abide the hourly ſhot", "Of angry eyes : not comforted to live,", "But that there is this Iewell in the world,", "That I may fee againe.", "*Poſt.* My Queene, my Miftris :", "O Lady, weepe no more, left I give cauſe", "To be ſuſpected of more tenderneſſe", "Then doth become a man. I will remaine", "The loyall ſt husband, that did ere plight troth.", "My refidence in Rome, at one Filorio's,", "Who, to my Father was a friend, to me", "Knowne but by Letter ; thither write (my Queene)", "And with mine eyes, Ile drinke the words you ſend,", "Though Inke be made of Gail.", "Enter Queene.", "*Que.* Be briefe, I pray you :", "If the King come, I ſhall incurre, I know not", "How much of his diſpleasure : yet Ile move him", "To walketh this way : I never doe him wrong,", "But he do's buy my injuries, to be friendes.", "Payes deere 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, ſtay a little :", "Were you but riding forth to ayre your ſelfe,", "Such parting were too petty. Looke heere (Love)", "This Diamond was my Mothers ; take it (Heart)", "But keepe it till you wooe another Wife,", "When I moſten is dead.", "*Post.* How, how ? Another ?", "You gentle gods, give me but this I have,", "And ſeare up my embracements from a next,", "With bonds of death. Remaine, remaine thou heere,", "While ſenſe can keepe it on : And ſweeteſt, faireſt,", "As I (my poore ſelfe) did exchange for you", "To your ſo infinite loſſe : ſo in our trifles", "I ſtill winne of you. For my ſake weare this,", "It is a Manacle of Love, Ile place it", "Vnpon this fayre ſt Prifoner.", "*Imo.* O the Gods !", "When ſhall we fee againe?", "Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.", "*Poſt.* Alacke, the King.", "*Cym.* Thou bafeſt thing, avoyd hence, from my fight :", "If after this command thou fraught the Court", "With thy unworthineſſe, thou dyer't. Away,", "Thou'rt poyſon to my blood.", "*Post.* The gods protect you,", "And bleſſe the good Remainders of the Court :\nI am gone.", "Exit.", "*Imo.* There cannot be a pinch in death", "More ſharpe then this is.", "*Cym.* O diſloyall thing,", "That ſhouldſt repayre my youth, thou heap'ſt", "A yeares age on me.", "*Imo.* I beſeeth you Sir,", "Harme nor your ſelfe with your vexation,", "I am ſenſeleſſe of your Wrath ; a Touch more rare", "Subdues all pangs, all ſeares.", "*Cym.* Paſt Grace ? Obedience ?", "*Imo.* Paſt hope, and in diſpaire, that way paſt Grace.", "*Cym.* That mightſt have had", "The ſole Sonne of my Queene.", "*Imo.* O bleſſed, that I might not : I choſe an Eagle,\nAnd did avoyd a Puttocke.", "*Cym.* Thou tookt a Begger, wouldſt have made my\nThrone, a Scate for bafeſſe.", "*Imo.* No, I rather added a luſtre to it.", "*Cym.* O thou vilde one !", "*Imo.* Sir,", "It is your fault that I have lov'd *Posthumus* :", "You bred him as my Play-fellow, and he is", "A man, worth any woman : Over-buyes me", "Almoſt the ſumme 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-Shepheard's Sonne.", "Enter Queene.", "*Cym.* Thou foolish thing ;", "They were againe together : you have done", "Not after our command. Away with her.", "And pen her up.", "*Que.* Befeech your patience : Peace", "Deere Lady daughter, peace. Sweet Soveraigne,", "Leave us to our ſelves, and make your ſelfe ſome comfort", "Out of your beſt advice.", "*Cym.* Nay let her languish", "A drop of blood a day, and being aged", "Dye of this Folly.", "Exit.", "Enter Pisanio.", "*Que.* Fye, you muſt give way :", "Hereere is your ſervant. How now Sir ? What newes ?", "*Pisa.* My Lord your Sonne, drew on my Maſter.", "*Que.* Hah ?", "No harme I tuft is done ?", "*Pisa.* There might have beene,", "But that my Maſter rather plaid, then ſought,", "And had no helpe 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\nTo draw upon an Exile, O brave Sir,", "I would they were in Aſſricke both together,", "My ſelfe by with a Needle, that I might pricke", "The goer backe. Why came you from your Maſter ?", {"bbox": [696, 119

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

391

Que. Pray walke a-while.

Imo. About fome halfe houre hence,
Pray you I fpeake with me;
You fhall (at leaft) goe fee my Lord aboord.
For this time leave me.

Exeunt.

## Scæna Tertia.

Enter Clotten, and two Lords.

1 Sir, I would advife you to shift a Shirt; the Violence of Action hath made you reeke as a Sacrifice: where ayre comes out, ayre comes in : Theres none abroad so whole-fome as that you vent.

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

2 No faith : not so much as his patience.

1 Hurt him ? His bodie's a paflable Carkaffe if he be not hurt. It is a through-fare for Steele if it be not hurt.

2 His Steele was in debt, it, went oth'Backe-fide the Towne.

Clot. The Villaine would not fland me!

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

1 Stand you ? you have Land enough of your owne :
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 betwene us.

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

Clot. And that he should love this fellow, and refufe me.

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

1 Sir, as I cold you alwayse: her Beauty and her Braine
goe not together. Shees a good figne, but I have feene
fmall reflection of her wit.

2 She fhines not upon Fooles, left the reflection
Should hurt her.

Clot. Come, Ile to my Chamber: would there had beene fome hurt done.

2 I wifh not fo, unleſſe it had bin the fall of an Aſſe,
which is no great hurt.

Clot. You'll goe with us ?

1 Ile attend your Lordship.

Clot. Nay come, lets goe together.

2 Well my Lord.

Exeunt

## Scæna Quarta.

Enter Imogen, and Pisanio.

Imo. I would thou grew it unto the flores oth'haven,
And quefioned it every Saile : if he should write,
And I not have it, twere a Paper lott.

As offer'd mercy is: What was the laſt
That he ſpake to thee?

Pisa. It was his Queene, his Queene.

Imo. Then wav'd his Handkerchieſe?

Pisa. And kiff it, Madam.

Imo. Senſeleſſe Linnen, happier therein then I:
And that was all ?

Piso. No Madam: for so long

As he could make me with his eye, or care,
Diftinguſh him from others, he did keepe
The Decke, with Glove, or Hat, or Handkerchieſe,
Still waving, as the fits and firres of's mind
Could beſt expreſſe how flow his Soule ſayl'd on,
How ſwift his Ship.

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

Pisa. Madam, I did.

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

Pisa. Be affur'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 thinke on him at certaine houres,
Such thoughts, and ſuch: Or I could make him ſweare,
The Shees of Italy ſhould not betray
Mine Interſt, and his Honor : or have charg'd him
At the fixt houre of Morne, at Noone, at Midnight,
Tencounter me with Oribons, for then
I am in heaven for him: Or ere I could,
Give him that parting kiffle, which I had fet
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father,
And like the Tyrannous breathing of the North,
Shakes all our buddes from growing.

Enter a Lady.

Lad. The Queene (Madam)

Defires your highneſſe Company.

Imo. Thofe things I bid you doe, get them dispatch'd,
I will attend the Queene.

Pisa. Madam, I shall.

Exeunt.

## Scæna Quinta.

Enter Philario, Iachimo, a Frenchman, a Dutch-
man, and a Spaniard.

Iach. Beleeve it Sir, I have ſene him in Britaine; he
was then of a Cresſent note, expected to prove so wor-
thy, as ſince he hath beene allowed the name of. But I
could then have look'd on him, without the helpe of Ad-
miration, though the Catalogue of his endowments had
bin tabled by his ſide, and I to perufe him by Items.

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

French. I have ſene him France: we had very ma-
ny there, could behold the Sunne, with as firme eyes as
he.

Iach. This matter of marrying his King Daughter,
wherein he muſt be weighed rather by her valew, then
his owne, words him (I doubt not) a great deal from the
matter.

French. And then his baniſhment.

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

bbb 2

392

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

to extend him, be it but to fortify here judgement, which
elfe an eafe battery might lay flat, for taking a Begger
without leſſe quality. But how comes it, he is to fo-
journe with you? How creepes acquaintance?

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

Enter Posthumus.

Heere comes the Britaine. Let him be so entertained a-
mongſt you, as ſuites with Gentlemen of your knowing,
to a ſtranger of his quality. I beſeech you all be better
knowne to this Gentleman, whom I commend to you,
as a Noble Friend of mine. How Worthy he is, I will
leave to appeare hereafter, rather then ſtory him in his
owne hearing.

Fren. Sir, we have knowne together in Orleance.

Poſt. Since when I have bin debtor to you for courte-
fies, which I will be ever to pay, and yet pay full.

Fren. Sir, you ore-rate my poore kindneſſe, I was
glad I did attone my Countryman and you; it had beene
bitty you ſhould have beene put together, with ſo more-
tall a purpofe, as then each bore, upon importance of ſo
flight and triviall a nature.

Poſt. By your pardon Sir, I was then a young Travel-
ler, rather ſhunn'd to goe even with what I heard, then in
my every action to be guided by others experiences : but
upon my mended judgement (if I offend to ſay it is men-
ded) my Quarrell was not altogether flight.

French. Faith yes, to bee put to the arbitrement of
Swords, and by ſuch two, that would by all likelyhood
have confounded one the other, or have falne both.

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

Fren. Safely, I thinke, twas a contention in publicke,
which may (without contradiction) ſuffer the report.
It was much like an argument that fell out laſt night,
where each of us fell in prieſe of our Country-Miſtrſes.
This Gentleman, at that time vouching (and upon war-
rant of bloody affirmation) his to be more Faire, Vertu-
ous, Wife, Chafte, Conſtant, Qualified, and leſſe at-
temptible then any, the rareſt of our Ladies in France.

Iach. That Lady is not now living : or this Gentlemen opinion by this worne out.

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

Iach. You muſt not ſo farre preferre her, fore ours of
Italy.

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

Iach. As faire, and as good : a kind of hand in hand
comparifon, had beene ſomething too faire, and too
good for any Lady in Britany : if he went before others.
I have ſeene as that Diamond of yours out-lifters many.
I have beheld. I could not believe ſhe excelled many :
but I have not ſeene the moſt pretious Diamond that is,
nor you the Lady.

Poſt. I prais'd her, as I rated her: ſo doe I my Stone.

Iach. What doe you eſteeme it at ?

Poſt. More then the world enjoyes.

Iach. Either your unparagon'd Miftris is dead, or
ſhes 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 purchafe, or
merite 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 keepe.

Iach. You may weare her in title yours : but you
know ſtrange Fowle light upon neighbouring Ponds.
Your Ring may be ſtolne too, ſo your brace of unprizea-
ble Eſtimations, the one is but fraile, and the other Caſu-
all. A cunning Thieſe, 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
Courtier to convince the honour of my Miftris : if in the
holding or leſſe of that, you terme her fraile, I doe no-
thing doubt you have ſtore of Theues, notwithstanding
I feare not my Ring.

Phil. Let us leave heere Gentlemen.

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

Iach. With five times ſo much converſation, I ſhould
get ground of your faire Miftris ; make her goe backe, e-
ven to the yeilding, had I admittance, and opportunity
to friend.

Poſt. No, no.

Iach. I dare thereupon pawne the moſty of my E-
ſtate, 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 barre your of-
fence herein to, I durſt attempt it againſt any Lady in the
world.

Poſt. You are a great deale abus'd in too bold a per-
ſwervation, and I doubt not you ſuſtaine whaty'are worthy
of, by your Attempt.

Iach. What's that ?

Poſt. A Repuſe though your Attempt (as you call it)
deferve more : a puniſhment too.

Phil. Gentlemen, enough of this, it came in too fo-
daincy, let it dye as it was borne, and I pray you be bet-
ter acquainted.

Iach. Would I had put my Eſtate, and my Neighbors
on th' approbation of what I have ſpoke.

Poſt. What Lady would you chufe to aſſaile ?

Iach. Yours, whom in confiancy you thinke flands
ſo farre. I will lay you ten thouſands Duckers to your
Ring, that commend me to the Court where your La-
dy is, with no more advantage then the opportunity of a
fecond conference, and I will bring from thence, that
honor of hers, which you imagine to referv'd.

Posthumus. I will wage againſt your Gold, Gold to
it: My Ring I hold deere as my finger, tis part of
it.

Iach. You are a friend, and therein the wiser : if you
buy Ladies fleth at a Million a Dram, you cannot pre-
ſerve it from raiming; but I fee you have ſome Religion
in you, that you feare.

Poſt. This is but a cuitome in your tongue: you beare
a graver purpofe I hope.

Iach. I am the Mafter of my ſpeeches, and I would un-
der-go what's ſpoken, I ſware.

Toſhu. Will you ? I ſhall but lend my Diamond till
your returne: let there be Covenants drawne between's.
My Miftris exceeds in goodneſſe, the hugne neſſe of your
unworthy thinking. I dare you to this match: heres my
Ring.

Phil. I will have it no lay.

Iach. By the gods it is one : if I bring you no ſuffi-
cient teſtimony that I have enjoy'd the deereſt bodily
part of your Miftris: my ten thouſand Duckers are yours
ſo

fo is your
fuch hou-
your lea-
your co-

Poſt. betwixt
make y
derflan-
my, the
duc'd, y
opini
thall an-

Iach. things
for Brit-
ſterve :
recorded

Poſt. French
Phil. Pray let

Quee. Gather to
Make ha
Lad.
Que. Now M
Cor. I
But I be
(My Cor
Comm
Which a
But thou

Que. Thou as
Thy Pup
To make
That ou
For my C
(Virlele
That I di
Other C
Of thefe
We coun
To try th
Allayme
Their fev

Corn. Shall fro
Betides,
Both no

Quee.

Heere co
Will I fir
And ener
Doctor,
Take you

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

393

fo is your Diamond too: if I come off, and leave her in
fuch honor as you have truft in : She your Iewell, this
your Iewell, and my Gold are yours: provided I have
your commendation, for my more entertainment.

Poff. I embrace thefe Conditions, let us have Articles
betwixt us: only thus farre you shall anſwer, if you
make your voyage upon her, and give me directly to un-
derland, you have prevay'd, I am no further your Ene-
my, the is not worth our debate. If the remaine unfe-
duc'd, you not making it appear otherwise: for your ill
opinion, and th' aſtaint you have made to her chaſtness, you
ſhall anſwer me with your Sword.

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

Poff. Agreed.

French. Will this hold, thinke you.

Phil. Signior Iachimo will not from it.

Pray let us follow em.

Exeunt.

## Scena Sexta.

Enter Queene, Ladies, and Cornelius.

Quee. Whiles yet the dewe's on ground
Gather thole Flowers,

Make haſte. Who has the note of them ?

Lad. I Madam.

Que. Difpatch.

Exeunt Ladies.

Now Maſter Doctor, have you brought thofe drugges :

Cor. Pleaſeth your highneſſe, I : here they are, Madam:
But I beſeech your Grace, without offence.

(My Conſcience bids me aske) wherefore you have
Commanded of me theſe moſt poyſonous Compounds,
Which are the moovers of a lauſuſhing death :
But though flow, deadly.

Que. I wonder, Doctor,

Thou ask't me ſuch a Question; have I not beene
Thy Pupill long ? haſt thou not learn'd me how

To make Perfumes ? Diftill? Preferve ? Yea fo,

That our great King himſelfe doth woe me oft
For my Conſections ? having thus farre proceeded,
(Valeſſe thou think't me divellifh) is not mette

To any ſhape of thy Preferment, ſuch

As thou'lt defire : and then my ſelfe, I chieflyely,

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.

Cor. Your highneſſe

Shall from this practife, but make hard your heart :

Belides, the ſeeing theſe effects will be

Both noſtome and inſectious.

Quee. O content thee.

Enter Pifanio.

Heree comes a flattering Raſcail, upon him
Will I firſt worke: Hes for his Maſter,
And enemy to my Sonne. How now Pifanio ?
Doctor, your ſervice for this time is ended,
Take your owne waye.

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

Que. Hearke thee a word.

Cor. I doe not like her. She doth thinke ſhe has
Strange ling'ring poyſons : I doe know her ſpirit,
And will not truſt one of her malice, with
A drudge of ſuch damn'd Nature. Thole ſhe has,
Will upſipie 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 ſlew of death it makes,
More then the locking up the Spirits a time,
To be more freſh, reviving. She is fool'd
With a moſt falſe effect : and I the truer,
Soto be falſe with her.

Que. No further ſervice, Doctor,
Vntill I ſend for thee.

Cor. I humbly take my leave.

Que. Weepes ſhe ſtill (ſaith thou ?)

Doff thou thinke in time

She will not quench, and let inſtructions enter

Where Folly now poffeſſes ? Doe thou worke :

When thou ſhalt bring me word ſhe loves my Sonne,

Ile tell thee on the instant, thou art then

As great as is thy Maſter: Greater, for

His Fortunes all ſye ſpeechleſſe, and his name

Is at laſt gaſſe. Returne he cannot, nor

Continue where he is : To lift his being,

Is to exchange one miſery with another,

And every day that comes, comes to decay

A dayes worke in him. What ſhalt thou expect?

To be depender on a thing that leanes ?

Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends

So much, as but to prop him ? Thou takeſt up

Thou knowſt 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 doe not know

What is more Cordiall. Nay I prethee take it,

It is an earneſt of a farther good

That I meane to thee. Tell thy Miftris how

The cafe ſtands with her : doo't, as from thy ſelſe :

Thinke what a chance thou changeſt on, but thinke

Thou haſt thy Miftris ſtill, too boote, my Sonne,

Who ſhall take notice of thee. Ile move the King

That ſet thee on to this defert, am bound

To loade thy merit richly. Call my women. Exit Pifanio

Thinke 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 ſaſt to her Lord. I have given him that,

Which if he take, ſhall quite unpeople her

Of Leidgers for her Sweet : and which ſhe after,

Except ſhe bend her humor, ſhall be aſſur'd

To taſte of too.

Enter Pifanio, and Ladies.

So, fo : Well done, well done :

The Violets, Cowflippeſ, and the Prime-Rofes

Beare to my Cloſſet : Fare thee well, Pifanio,

Thinke on my words. Exit Queene, and Ladies.

Pifa. And ſhall doe :

But when to my good Lord, I prove untrue,

Ile choake my ſelfe : there's all Ile doe for you.

bbb 3

Exit.

Exiſ.

Scena

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

## Scæna Septima.

*Enter Imogen alone.*

*Imo.* A Father cruel, and a Stepdame false,
A foolish Suitor to a Wedded Lady,
That hath her Husband banish'd : O, that Husband,
MySUPREME Crowne of griefe, and thofe repeated
Vexations of it. Had I bin Theefe-Itolne,
As my two Brothers, happy : but moft miferable
Is the defire that's glorious. Blessed be thofe
How meane fo ere, that have their honeſt wills,
Which feafons comfort. Who may this be ? Eye.

*Enter Pisanio, and Iachimo.*

*Pisa.* Madam, a Noble Gentleman of Rome,
Comes from my Lord with Letters.

*Iach.* Change you, Madam !

The Worthy Leonatus is in safety,

And greets your Highneſſe deerely.

*Imo.* Thanks good Sir,

You're kindly welcome.

*Iach.* All of her, that is out of doore, moſt rich :
If the be furniſh'd with a mind fo rare,
She is alone th'Arabian-Bird; and I
Have loſt the wager. Boldneſſe be my Friend :
Arme me Audacity from head to foote,
Or like the Parthian I ſhall flying fight,
Rather diuoc'tly flye.

*Imogen reads.*

He is one of the Nobleft note, to whose kindneſſes I am moſt infinitely tyed. Reſſt upon him accordingly, as you value your truſt.

*Leonatus.*

So farre I reade aloud,

But even the very middle of my heart
Is warm'd by th' reſt, and take it thankefully.

You are as welcome (worthy Sir) as I
Have words to bid you, and ſhall finde it ſo
In all that I can doe.

*Iach.* Thanksereſt Lady :

What are men mad ? Hath Nature given them eyes

To fee this valuted Arch, and the rich Crop
Of Sea, and Land, which can diſtinguifh twixt
The ſiry Orbes above, and the twinn'd Stones
Vpon the number'd Beach, and can we not
Partition make with Spectales ſo prectious
Twixt faire, and foule ?

*Imo.* What makes your admiration ?

*Iach.* It cannot be ith'eye: for Apes, and Monkeyes
Twixt two ſuch Shes, would chatter this way, and
Contemne with mowes the other. Nor ith' judgement :
For Idiots in this cafe of fauour, would
Be wifely definite: Nor ith' Appetite.
Sluttery to ſuch neate Excellence, oppos'd
Should make defire vomit emptineſſe,
Not ſo allur'd to feed.

*Imo.* What is the matter trow ?

*Iach.* The Cloyed will :

That fatiate yet unfatih'd defire, that Tub
Both fill'd and running: Ravening fit the Lambe,
Longs after the Garbage.

*Imo.* What, deere Sir,

Thus rap's you ? Are you well ?

*Iach.* Thanks Maſd, well: Befeech you Sir,
Defire my Maſs abode, where I did leave him:
Hes ſtrange and pcevih.

*Pisa.* I was going Sir,

To give him welcome.

*Imo.* Continues well my Lord?

His health beſeech you ?

*Iach.* Well, Madam.

*Imo.* Is he diſpo'd to mirth ? I hope he is.

*Iach.* Exceeding pleafant: none a ſtranger there,
So merry, and ſo gameſome: he is calld

The Britaine Reveller.

*Imo.* When he was heere

He did incline to fadneſſe, and oft times
Not knowing why.

*Iach.* I never faw him ſad.

There is a Frenchman his Companion, one
An eminent Monfieur, that it feemes much loves
A Gallian-Girle at home. He furnaces

The thickc ſides from him; whiles the jolly Britaine,
(Your Lord meane) laughes from free lungs: cries oh,
Can my ſides hold, to thinke that man who knowes
By Hiftory, Report, or his owne proofe

What woman is, yea what ſhe cannot choofe
But muſt be : wills free houres languifh,
For affu'red bondage ?

*Imo.* Will my Lord ſay ſo ?

*Iach.* I Madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter,
It is a Recreation to be by
And heare him ſmocke the Frenchman :

But heaſs know ſome men are much too blame.

*Imo.* Not he I hope.

*Iach.* Not he :

But yet heavens bounty towards him, might
Be us'd more thankfully. In himſelfe tis much;

In you which I account his beyond all Talents.
Wihilt I am bound to wonder, I am bound
Topitty too.

*Imo.* What doe you pitty Sir ?

*Iach.* Two Creafures heartily.

*Imo.* Am I one Sir ?

You looke on me : what wracke diſeerne you in me
Deferves your pitty ?

*Iach.* Lamentable : what

To hide me from the radiant Sun, and ſolace
Ith Dungeon by a Snuffe?

*Imo.* I pray you Sir,

Deliver with more openneſſe your anſwering
To my demands. Why doe you pitty me ?

*Iach.* That others doe

(I was about to ſay) enjoy your —— but
It is an office of the gods to venge it,
Not mine to ſpeak on't.

*Imo.* You doe ſeeme to know
Something of me, or what concerues me : pray you
Since doubting things goe ill, often hurts more
Then to be ſure they doe. For Certainties
Either are paf't remedies ; or timely knowing,
The remedy then borne. Difcover to me
What both you ſpur and ſtop.

*Iach.* Had I this cheeke

To bathe my lips upon : this hand, whoſe touch,
(Whoſe every touch) would force the feelers ſoule
To th' oath of Loyalty. This object, which
Takes prifoner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it onely here, should I (damnd then)

Slaver

Slaver w
That mo
Made ha
With lab
Bafe and
That's fe
That all
Encoun

*Imo.*

*Iach.*

Inclin'd
The Beg
That fro
Charmes

*Imo.*
*Iach.*

With pitt
So faire,
Would w
With T
Which pl
That pla
Which h
As well
Or the t
Recoyle

*Imo.*

How fl
(As I ha
Muſt no
How fh

*Iach.*

Live lik
Whiles
In your
I dedica
More N
And wil
Stillcloſ

*Imo.*

*Iach.*

So long
Thou w
Thou fuc
Thou w
From th
Solicit
Thee, a
The Kin
Of thy
A fawcy
As in a
His bea
He little
He not n
Iach.

*Imo.*

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

395

Slaver with lippas as common as the staires
That mount the Capitoll : Ioyne gripes, with hands
Made hard with hourly falfhood (falfhood as
With labour :) then by peeping in an eye
Bafe and iluftrious as the (moaky light
Thats fed with finking Tallow : it were fit
That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter fuch revolt.

Imo. My Lord, I feare
Has forgot Brittaine.

Iach. And himfelfe, not I
Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce
The Beggery of his change : but tis your Graces
That from my muteft Conſcience, to my tongue,
Charmes this report out.

Imo. Let me heare no more.

Iach. O deerſt Soule: your Canſe doth ſtrike my heart
With pitty, that dothmake me ſckeke. A Lady
So faire, and faften'd to an Empry
Would make the greatſt King double, to be partner'd
With Tomboyes hyr'd, with that ſelfe-exhibition
Which your owne Coffers yeeld : with diſeas'd ventures
That play with all infirmities for Gold,
Which rottenneſſe can lend Nature, Such boyl'd ſtuffe
As well might poyſon Poyſon. Be reveng'd,
Or ſhe that bore you, was no Queene, and you
Recyle from your great Stocke.

Imo. Reveng'd:
How should I be reveng'd ? if this be true,
(As I have found a heart, that both mine cares
Muſt not in haſte abuse) if it be true,
How should I be reveng'd?

Iach. Should he make me
Live like *Diana*'s Prieft, betwixt cold fleets;
Whiles he is valting variable Rampes
In your deſpight, upon your purſe : revenge it.
I dedicate my ſelfe to your ſweet pleasure,
More Noble then that rannagate to your bed,
And will continue ſaft to your Affection,
Stillcloſe, as ſure.

Imo. What hoa, *Pifanio* ?
Iach. Let me my ſervicetender on your lippes.
Imo. Away, I doe condemne mine eares, that have
So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable
Thou wouſit have told this tale for Vertue, not
For fuch an end thou feekſt, as bafe, as ſtrange :
Thou wrongſt a Gentleman, who is as farre
From thy report, as thou from honor: and
Solicity here ſe a Lady, that didaines
Thee, and the Divell alike. What hoa, *Pifanio* ?
The King my father ſhall be made acquainted
Of thy Affaunt : if he ſhall thinke it ſit,
A laſwy Stranger in his Court, to Mart
As in a Romiſh Stew, and to expound
His beaſtly minde to us ; he hath a Court
He little cares for, and a 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 aſſu'd credit, Bleſſed line you long,
A Lady to the worthiſt Sir, that ever
Country call'd his; and you his Milſtris, 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 Wicth,
That he enchants Societies into him :
Halfe all mens hearts are his.

Imo. You make amends.

Iach. He fits mongſt men, like a defended god :
He hath a kinde of honor fets him off,
More then a mortall ſeeming. Be not angry
(Moſt mighty Princeſſe) that I have adventur'd
To try your taking of a falſe report, which hath
Honour'd with confirmation your great J udgement,
In the election of a Sir, ſo rare.
Which you know, cannot erre. The love I beare him,
Made me to fan you thus, but the gods made you
(Vnlike all others) chaffeleſſe. Pray your pardon.

Imo. Alls well Sir :
Take my powre iſt Court for yours.
Iach. My humble thankes : I had almoſt forgot
T'intreat your Grace, but in a ſmall requeſt,
And yet of moment too, for it concernes,
Your Lord, my ſelfe, and other Noble friends
Are partners in the buſineſſe.

Imo. Pray what ist ?

Iach. Some dozen Romanes of us, and your Lord
(The beſt feather of our wing) have mingled ſummes
To bay a Prefent for the Emperor :
Which I (the factor for the reſt) have done
In France: tis Plate of rare device, and lewels
Of rich, and exquifite forme, their valewes great,
And I am ſomethng curious, being ſtrange,
To'have them in ſafe ſtowage: May it pleate you
To take them in protection.

Imo. Willingly :
And pawne mine honours for their ſaſty, ſince
My Lord hath intereſt in them, I will kepe them
In my Bed chamber:

Iach. They are in a Trunke
Attended by my men : I will make bold
To ſend them to you, onely for this night :
I muſt aboord to morrow,

Imo. On e, no.

Iach. Yes I beſeech : or I ſhall ſhort my word:
By length'ning my returne. From Gallia,
I croſt the Seas on purpofe, and on promife
To ſee your Grace.

Imo. I thanke you for your paines :
But not away to morrow.

Iach. O I muſt Madam.
Therefore I ſhall beſeech you, if you pleafe
To greet your Lord with writing, doo't to night,
I have out-ſood my time, which is materiall
To' th'tender of our Prefent.

Imo. I will write :
Send your Trunke to me, it ſhall ſaſe be kept,
And truely yeelded you : you're very welcome. Fxeunt.

## Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.

Enter Clotten, and the two Lords.

Clot. Was there ever man had ſuch lucke ? when I kifſ
the Iacke upon an up-caſt, to be hit away ? I had a hun-
dred pound on't; and then a whorfon Iacke-an-Apes,
muſt

396

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

must take me up for wearing, as if I borrowed mine
oathes of him, and might not suspend them at my pleasure.

1 What got he by that? you have broke his pate with
your Bowle.

2 If his wit had bin like him that broke it: it would
have run all out.

Clot. When a Gentleman is disposed to wear: it is
not for any flanders by to curtail his oathes. Ha?

2 No my Lord; nor crop the cares of them.

Clot. Whorson dog: I give him satisfaction? would
he had bin one of my Ranke.

2 To have smell'd like a Foole.

Clot. I am not vext more at any thing in th'earth: a
pox on't. I had rather not be so Noble as I am: they dare
not fight with me, because of the Queene my Mother :
every Iacke-Slave hath his belly full of fighting, and I
must goe up and downe likea Cocke, that no body can
match.

2 You are Cocke and Capon too, and you crow Cocke,
with your combe on.

Clot. Sayest thou?

2 It is not fit you Lordship should undertake every
Companion, that you give offence to.

Clot. No, I know that: but it is fit I should commit
offence to my inferiors.

2 I, it is fit for your Lordship onely.

Clot. Why so I fay.

1 Did you heare of a Stranger that's come to Court to
night?

Clot. A Stranger, and I not know on't?

2 He's a ftrange fellow himselfe, and knowes it not.

1 Theres an Italian come, and tis though one of Leonatus
friends.

Clot. Leonatus? A banifht Rascall; and he's another.
whatfoever he be. Who told you of this Stranger?

1 One of your Lordships Pages.

Clot. Is it fit I went to looke upon him? Is there no
derogation in't?

2 You cannot derogate my Lord.

Clot. Not easily I thinke.

2 You are Foole granted, therefore your Iffues being
foolish doe not derogate.

Clot. Come, Ile goe fee this Italian: what I have loft
to day at Bowles, Ile winne to night of him. Come: go.
2 Ile attend your Lordship.

That fuch a crafty Divell as is his Mother
Should yeild the world this Affe: a woman, that
Beares all downe with her Braine, and this her Sonne,
Cannot take two from twenty for his heart,
And leave eighteene. Alas poore Princeffe,
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'ft,
Betwixt a Father by thy Step-dame govern'd,
A Mother hourly coyning plots: A Wooer,
More hatefull then the foule expulsion is
Of thy deere husband, Then that horrid Act
Of the divorce, he'd make the heavens hold firme
The walls of thy deere honor. Keepe unflak'd
That Temple thy faire mind, that thou maist stand
T'enjoy thy banif'd Lord: and this great Land. Exeunt.

## Scena Secunda.

Enter Imogen, in her Bed, and a Lady.

Imo. Whos there? My woman: Helene?

La. Please you Madam.

Imo. What houre is it?

Lad. Almost midnight, Madam.

Imo. I have read three hours then:

Mine eyes are weake,

Fold downe the leafe where I have left: to bed.

Take not away the Taper, leave it burning:

And if thou canst awake by foure o' th' clocke,

I prethee call me: Sleepe hath feiz'd me wholly.

To your protection I commend me, gods,

From Fayries, and the Tempters of the night,

Guard me befeech yce.

Sleeper.

Iachimo from the Trunke,

Iach. The Crickets sing, and mans ore-labor'd senſe

Repaires it ſelbe by reſt: Our Tarquin thus

Did foſtly preſſe the Ruſhes, ere he waken'd

The Chaſtity he wounded. Cytherea,

How bravely thou becomſt thy Bed; freſh Lilly,

And whiter then the Sheets: that I might touch,

But kiffe, one kiffe. Rubies unparagon'd,

How deerely they do't: Tis her breathing that

Perſumes the Chamber thus: the flame oth' Taper

Bowes toward her, and would under-peee her lids.

To fee th'inclosed Lights, now Canopied

Vnder the windowes, White and Azure lac'd

With Blew of heavens owne tinſt, But my defige.

To note the Chamber, I will write all downe,

Such, and such pichures: There the window, such

Th'adornement of my Bed; the Aras, Figures,

Why fuch, and fuch: and the Contents oth' Story.

Ah, but ſoſe the naturall notes about her Body,

Above ten thouſand meaneer. Moveables

Would teſtifie, t'enrich mine Inventory.

Of ſleepe, thou Ape of death, lye dull upon her,

And be her Senſe but as a Monument,

Thus in a Chappell lying. Come off, come off;

As slippery as the Gordin-knot was hard.

Tis mine, and this will witneſſe outwardly,

As strongly as the Conſcience do's within:

To th'madding of her Lord. Ou her left breſt

A mole Cinque-spotted: Like the Crimfon drops

I' th bottome of a Cowſlippe. Heeres a Voucher,

Stronger then ever Law could make: this Secret

Will force him thinke I have pick'd the locke, and t'ane

The treasure of her honor. No more: to what end?

Why should I write this downe, that's riveted, and

Screw'd to my memory. She hath bin reading late,

The Tale of Tereu, here the leafes turn'd downe

Where Philomele gave up. I have enough;

To th' Truncke againe, and flut the Spring of it.

Swift, ſwift, you Dragons of the night, that dawning

May beare the Ravens eye: I lodge in ſeare,

Though this a heavenly Angell: hell is here.

Clocke Striket,

Exit.

One, two, three: time, time.

## Scena Tertia.

Enter Clotten, and Lords.

1 Your Lordship is the moſt patient man in Ioffe, the
moſt coldeſt that turn'd up Ace.

Clot. It would make any man cold to loofe.

1 But not every man patient after the noble temper of
your Lordship; You are moſt hot, and furious when you
winne.

Clot.

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

397

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

1 Day, my Lord,

Clot. I would this Muficke would come: I am adviced
to give her Muficke a mornings, they fay it will pen-
trate.

Enter Mufitians.

Come on, tune: if you can penetrate here with your fin-
gering, for we'll try with tongue too: if none will doe, let
her remaine: but Ile never give o're. Firft, a very excel-
lent good conceited thing; after a wonderfull sweet aire,
with admirable rich words to it, and then let her confi-
der.

Song.

Heare, hearke, the Larke at Heavens gate fings,
and Phoebus gins arife,

His Steeds to water at thofe Springs

on chalic'd flowers that lyes :

And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their Golden eyes

Wuh every thing that pretty is, my Lady sweet arife :

Arife, arife.

So, get you gone: if this penetrate, I will consider your Muficke the better: if it do not, it is a voyce in her eares which Horfe-haires, and Calves-guts, nor the voyce of unpaved Eunuch to boot, can never amend.

Enter Cymbeline, and Queene.

2 Heere comes the King.

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

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

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

Cym. The Exile of her Minion is too new.

She hath not yet forgot him, fome more time
Muft weare the print of his remembrance ou't,
And then she's yours.

Queen. You are moft bound to'th King,
Who lets goe by no vantages, that may
Preferre you to his daughter: Frame your felfe
To orderly felicit's, and be friended

With haptnefle of the feafon: make denials
Encreafe your Services: fo feeme, as if

You were inſpir'd to doe thofe duties which
You tender to her: that you in all obey her.

Save when command to your diſmiffion tends,

And therein you are fenſeleſſe.

Clot. Senſeleſſe ? Not fo.

Mef. So like you (Sir) Ambaffador's from Rome;

The one is Catus Lucinus.

Cym. A worthy Fellow,

Albeit he comes on angry purpofe now;

But that's no fault of his: we muſt receive him

According to the honor of his Sender,

And towards himſelfe, his goodneſſe tore ſpent on us

We muſt extend our notice: Our deere Sonne,

When you have given good morning to your Miftris,

Attend the Queene, and us, we ſhall have need

T'employ you towards this Romane.

Come our Queene.

Exemns.

Clot. If ſhe be up, Ile ſpeake with her: if not,
Let her lye ſill, and dreame: by your leave hoa,

I know her women are about her: what

If I doe line one of their hands, tis gold

Which buyes admittance (oft it doth) yea and makes
Diana's Rangers falſe themſelves, yeeld up

Their Deere to'ſh'itand o'th Stealer: and tis gold
Which makes the True-man kill'd, and faves the Theefe:

Nay, ſometime hangs both Theefe, and True-man: what
Can it not doe, and undoo ? I will make

One of her women Lawyer to me, for
I yet not underſtand the cafe my ſelfe.

By your leave.

Enter a Lady.

Knocket.

Lad. Who's there that knockes?

Clot. A Gentleman.

Lad. No more.

Clot. Yes, and a Gentlewomans Sonne.

Lad. Thats more

Then ſome whole Taylors are as deere as yours,

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

Clot. Your Ladies perſon, is ſhe ready?

Lad. I, to keepe 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 thinke is good. The Princeſſe.

Enter Imogen.

Clot. Good morrow faireſt, Sifter your ſweet hand.

Imo. Good morrow Sir, you lay out too much paines
For purchasing but trouble: the thankes I give,

I stelling you that I am poore of thankes,

And ſcarfe can ſpare them.

Clot. Still I ſweare I love you.

Imo. If you but ſaid fo, twere as deepe with me:
If you ſweare ſtill, your recompence is ſtill

That I regard it not.

Clot. This is no anſwer.

Imo. But that you ſhall not ſay, I yeeld being ſilent,
I would not ſpeake. I pray you ſpare me, faith

I ſhall unfold equall diſcourteſe

To your beſt kindneſſe: one of your great knowing

Should learne (being taught) forbearance.

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

Imo. Fools are not mad folkes.

Clot. Doe you call me foole?

Imo. As I am mad I doe:

If you'll be patient, Ile no more be mad,

That cures us both. I am much forry (Sir)

You put me to forget a Ladies manners

By being ſo verball; and learne now, for all,

That I which know my heart, doe heere pronounce

By th' very truth of it, I care not for you,

And am ſo neere the lacke of Charity

To accuſe my ſelfe, I hate you: which I had rather

You feit, then make't my boaf.

Clot. You finne againſt

Obedience, which you owe your father, for

The Contract you pretend with that bafe Wretch,
One, bred of Almes, and foſter'd with cold diſhes.

With ſcrops o'th'Court: It is no Contraſt, none;

And though it be allowed in meaner parties

(Yet who then he more means) to knit their foules

(On whom there is no more dependancy)

But Brats and Beggery) in ſelfe--figur'd knot,

Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement, by

The

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

299

You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall finde
You neede it not.

Poſt. Proceed.

Iach. Firſt, her Bed-chamber

(Where I confesse I leſt not, but proſeſſe
Had that was well worth watching) it was hang'd
With Tapiftry of Silke, and Silver, the Story
Proud Cleopatra, when the met her Roman,
And Ciduus ſwell'd above the Bankes, or for
The preſſe of Boates, or Pride: A peec e of Worke
Sobravely done, ſo rich, that it did ſtrive
In Workemanship, and Value, which I wonder'd
Could be ſo rarely, and exaſtly wrought
Since the true life on't was—

Poſt. This is true:

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

Iach. More particulars

Muſt juſtifie my knowledge.

Poſt. So they muſt,

Or doe your Honour injury.

Iach. The Chimney

Is South the Chamber, and the Chimney-peeſe

Chaſte Dian, bathing : never ſaw I figures
So likely to report themſelves; the Cutter

Was as another Nature dumbe, out-went her,
Motion, and Breath left out.

Poſt. This is a thing

Which you might from Relation likewife reape,
Being, as it is, much ſpoke of.

Iach. The Rooſe o'th'Chamber,

With golden Cherubins is fetted. Her Andirons
(I had ſorg ſe them) were two winking Cupids
Of Silver, each on one foote ſtanding, nicely
Depending on their Brands.

Poſt. This is her honor :

Let it be granted you have ſene all this (and prouſe
Be giv en to your remembrance) the deſcription
Of what is in her Chamber, nothing faſes
The wager you have laid.

Iach. Then if you can

Be pale, I begge but leave to ayre this Iewell: See,
And now tis up againe it muſt be married
To that your Diamond, Ile keepe them.

Poſt. Iove—

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

Iach. Sir (I thanke her) that

She ſtript it from her Arme : I fee her yet
Her pretty Action, did on ſell her guifſ,
And yet enrich'd it too : ſhe gave it me,
And ſaid, ſhe priz'd it once.

Poſt. May be, ſhe pluck'd it off

To ſend it me

Iach. She writes ſo to you ? doth ſhe ?

Poſt. O no, no, no, tis true. Heere, take this too,

It is Baſſiliske unto mine eye,

Killes me to looke on't: Let there be no Honor,

Where there is beauty : Truth, where ſemblance : Love,

Where thereſo another man. The Vowes of Women,
Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,

Then they are to their Vertues, which is nothiug :
O, above meaſure falſe.

Phil. Have patience Sir,

And take your Ring againe, tis not yet wonne :

It may be probable the loſt it: or

Who knowes if one of her women, being corrupted
Hath ſolte it from her.

Poſt. Very true,

And to I hope he came by't : backe my Ring,
Render to me ſome corporall ſigne about her
More evident then this : for this wat ſtole.

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

Poſt. Hearke you, he ſweares : by Iupiter he ſweares.
Tis true, may keepe the Ring ; tis true : I am ſure

She would not looſe it : her Attendants are

All ſworne, and honorable : they induc'd to ſcate it ?

And by a Stranger ? No, he hath enjoy'd her,

The Cognifance of her incontinency

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

Phil. Sir, be patient :

This is not ſtrong enough to be beleev'd
Of one perfuwaded well of.

Poſt. Never talke on't :

She hath bin colted by him.

Iach. If you ſeeke

For further satisfying; under her Breaſt

(Worthy her preſſing) lyes a Mole, right proud

Of that moſt delicate Lodging. By my life

I kiff it, and it gave me preſent hunger

To feede againe, though full. You doe remember

This ſtaine upon her ?

Poſt. I, and it doth confirme

Another ſtaine, as bigge as Hellcan hold,
Were there no more but it.

Iach. Will you heare more ?

Poſt. Spare your Arithmeticke,

Never count the Turnes: Once, and a Million.

Iach. Ile be ſworne.

Poſt. No ſwearing :

If you will ſware you have not done't, you lye,
And I will kill thee if thou doſt deny

Thou'ſt made me Cuckold.

Iach. Ile deny nothing.

Poſt. O that I had her heere, to teare her Limb-meale;
I will goe there and doo't, ith'Court, before
Her father. Ile doe ſomething.

Phil. Quite befides.

The government of Patience. You have wonne :
Lets follow him, and pervert the preſent wrath

He hath againſt himſelſe.

Iach. With all my heart.

Enter Poffhumus.

Poſt. Is there no way for Men to be, but Women
Muſt be halſe-workers ? We are all Baſſards,
And that moſt venerable man, which I

Dih call my father, was, I know not where
When I was ſlampt. Some Coyner with his Tooles
Made me a counterfeit: yet my Mother ſeem'd

The Dian of that time : to doth my Wife
The Non-pareill of this. Oh Vengeance, Vengeance!

Me of my lawfull pleafure ſhe reſtrain'd,
And pray'd me oft forbearance: did it with
A pudency to Rofſe, the ſweer view on't

A pudency fo Rofſe, the ſweer view on't
Might well have warm'd old Saturne :
That I thought her

As Chaſte, as un-Sunn'd Snow. Oh, all the divels !
This yellow Iachimo in an houre, was't not?

O

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

Or lesſe ; at firſt ? Perchance he ſpoke not, but
Like a full Acorn'd Boare, a Iarmen on,
Cry'de oh, and mounted, found no oppoſition
But what he look'd for, ſhould oppole, and the
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
The Womans part in me, for there's no motion
That tends to vice in man, but I aſſirme
It is the Womans part : be it Lying, note it,
The womans : Flattering, hers : deceiving, hers :
Luſt, and ranke thoughts, hers, hers : Revenges hers :
Ambitions, Covetings, change of Prides, Difdaine,
Nice-longing, Slanders, Mutability :
All faults that may be named, nay, that Hell knowes,
Why hers, in part, or all : but rather all. For even to Vice
They are not conſtant, but are changing ſtill;
One Vice, but of a minute old, for one
Not halſe ſo old as that. Ile write againſt them,
Deteft them, curſe them : yet tis greater Skill
In a true Hate, to pray they have their will :
The very Divels cannot plague them better.

Exit.

Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima.

Enter in State, Cymbeline, Queen, Clotten, and Lords as
one doore, and at another, Caius, Lucius,
and Attendants.

Cym. Now ſay, what would Augustus Cæsar with us?
Luc. When Julius Cæsar (whole remembrance yet
Lives in mens eyes, and will to Eares and Tongues
Be Theame, and hearing ever (was in this Britaine,
And Conquer'd it, Caffibelan thine Vnkle
(Famous in Caſars prayſes, no white lesſe
Then in his Feats deſerving it) for him,
And his Succeſſion, granted Rome a Tribute,
Yeerely three thouſand pounds ; which (by thee) lately
Is left untender'd.

Que. And to kill the mervaile,
Shall be ſo ever.
Clot. There be many Caſars,
Ere ſuch another Julius: Britaine's a world
By it ſelfe, and we will nothing pay
For wearing our owne Nefes.

Quee. That opportunity
Which then they had to take from's, to ſume
We have againe. Remember Sir, my Liege,
The Kings your Anceſtors, together with
The Naturall bravery of your Ifle, which ſtands
As Neptunes Parke, ribb'd, and pal'd in
With Oakes unskalable, and roaring Waters,
With Sands that will not beare your Enemies Boates
But fucke them up to'th'Top-maſt. A kind of Conqueſt
Caſars made heere, but made not heere his bragge
Of Came, and Saw, and Overcome : with ſhame
(The firſt that ever touch'd him) he was carried
From off our Coaſt, twice beaten ? and his shipping
(Poore ignorant Baubles) on our terrible Seas
Like Egge-thels, mov'd upon their Surges crack'd
As eafly gainſt our Rockes. For joy whereof,
The fam'd Caffibelan, who was once at point
(Oh giglet Fortune) to maſter Caſars Sword,
Made Luds-Towne with rejoycing-Fires bright,

And Brittaines ſtrut with Courage,
[Clot. Come, there's no more Tribute to be paid ? our
Kingdome is ſtronger then it was at that time : and (as I
faid) there is no more ſuch Caſars, other of them may
have crook'd Nefes, but to owe ſuch ſtraite Armes, none.

Cym. Son, let your Mother end.
[Clot. We have yet many among us, can gripe as hard
as Caffibelan. I doe not ſay I am one : but I have a hand.
Why Tribute ? Why should we pay Tribute ? If Caſar
can hide the Sun from us with a Blanket, or put the Moone
in his pocket, we will pay him Tribute for light : eſſe Sir,
no more Tribute, pray you now.

Cym. You muſt know,
Till the injurious Romans, did extort
This Tribute from us, we were free. Caſars Ambition,
Which ſwell'd ſo much, that it did almost ſtretch
The ſides o'th'World, againſt all colour heere,
Did put the yoake upon's: which to ſhake off
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
Our ſelves to be, we doe. Say then to Caſar,
Our Anceſtor was that Mulmutius, which
Ordain'd our Lawes, whole uſe the Sword of Caſar
Hath too much mangled : whole repayre, and franchise,
Shall (by the power we hold) be our good deed,
Tho Rome be therfore angry. Mulmutius made our lawes
Who was the firſt of Britaine, which did put
His browes within a golden Crowne, and call'd
Himſelfe a King.

Luc. I am forry Cymbeline,
That I am forry Cymbeline,
[Caſar, that hath more Kings his Servants, then
Thy ſelfe Domeſticke Officers) thine Enemy ?
Receive it from me then. Warre, and Confuſion
In Caſar's name pronounce I gainſt thee: Looke
For fury, not to be refiſt. Thus defide,
I thanke thee for my ſelfe.

Cym. Thou art welcome Caius,
Thy Caſar Knighted me; my youth I ſpent
Much under him : of him, I gather'd Honour,
Which he, to feeke of me againe, perſorce,
Behooves me keepe at utterance. I am perfect,
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for
Their Liberties are now in Armes : a Preſident
Which not to reade, would ſhew the Britaines cold :
So Caſar shall not find them.

Luc. Let proofe ſpeake.
Clot. His Majehy biddes you welcome. Make paſſime
with us a day, or two, or longer : if you feeke us after-
wards in other tearmes, you ſhall finde us in our Salt-
water-Girdle : if you beate us out of it, it is yours : if you
fall in the adventure, our Crowes ſhall fare the better for
you : and there's an end.

Luc. So fir.
Cym. I know your Maſters pleasure, and he mine:
All the Remaine, is welcome.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

*Enter Pifania reading of a Letter.*

Pis. How ? of Adultery ? Wherefore write you not
What Monſters her accuſe ? Leonatus :
Oh Maſter, what a ſtrange Infection

Is

The Tragedie of Cymbeline.

401

Is falne into thy care ? What false Italian,
(As poyfousongt'u'd, as handed) hath prevail'd
On thy too ready hearing ? Difloyall? No.

She'spunifh'd for her Truth; and undergoes
More Goddeffle-like, then Wife-like; fuch Affaults
As would take in some Vertue. Oh my Mafter,
Thy mind to her, is now as lowe, as were

Thy Fortunes. How? That I should murther her,
Vpon the Love, and Truth, and Vowes; which I
Havemade to thy command? I her? Her blood ?
If it be so, to doe good ſervice; never

Let me be counted ſerviceable. How looke I,
That I should feeme to lacke humanitie,
So much as this Faſt comes to ? Doo't: The Letter.

That I have ſent her, by her owne command,
Shall give thee opportunitie. Oh damn'd paper,

Blacke as the Ink that's on thee: ſenſeleſſe bauble,
Art thou a Fcedarie for this act; and look it

Sovirgin-like without? Loe here ſhe comes.

Enter Imogen.

I am ignorant in what I am commanded.

Imo. How now Pisanio?

Pis. Madam, heree is a Letter from my Lord.

Imo. Who! thy Lord? That is my Lord Leonatus?

Oh, learn'd indeed were that Astronomer
That knew the Starres, as I his Characters,
Heel'd lay the Future open. You good Gods,
Let what is heere contain'd, rellifh of Love,
Of my Lords health: of his content: yet not
That we two are a funder, let that grieve him;
Some griefes are medcinable, that is one of them,
For it doth phyſicke Love, of his content,
All but in that. Good Wax, thy leave: bleft be
You Bees that make theſe Lockes of confuſe: Lovers,
And men in dangerous Bondes pray not alike.
Though Forfeytours you caſt in prifon, yet
You clafpe young Cupids Tables: good Newes Gods.

I P[er]ſic, and your Fathers w[ha]t (I should hee take mee in his
(Dominion) could not be so cruell to me, as you, (oh the dec-
rest of Creanures) would even review me with your eyes. Take
notice that I am in Cambria at Milford-Haven: what your
owe Love, will out of this adviaſon, follow. So he wishes you
all happineſſe, that remanies loyall to his tow, and your encra-
fing in Love.
Leonatus Poſthumus.

Oh for a Horſe with wings: Hear it thou P[is]anio ?
He is at Milford-Haven: Read, and tell me
How farre this thither. If one of meane affaires
May plod it in a weeke, why may not I
Glide thither in a day ? Then true P[is]anio.

Who long'it like me, to fee thy Lord; who long'ft
(Oh let me bate) but not like me: yet long'ft
But in a fainter kinde. Oh not like me:

For mine's beyon'd, beyond: ſay, and ſpeake thicke
(Loves Counſailor ſhould fill the bores of hearing,
To'th' mothering of the Senſe) how farre it is
To this fame blotted Milford. And by'th' way
Tell me how Wales was made ſo happy, as
T'innerite ſuch a Haven. But firſt of all,
How we may ſteale from hence: and for the gap

That we ſhall make in Time, from our hence-going,
And our returne, to excufe: but firſt, how get hence.
Why should excufe be borne or ere begot?
Weele talke of that hereafter. Prythee ſpeake,
How many ſcore of Miles may we well ride

Twixt houre, and houre ?

Pis. One ſcore twixt Sun, and Sun,

Madam, enough for you: and too much too.

Imo. Why, one that rode to's Exceſlion Man,

Could never go to flow: I have heard of Riding wagers,
Where Horſes have bin nimbler then the Sand's
That run i'th' Clocks behaite. But this is Fooirie,
Go, bid my Woman faigne a Sickneſſe, ſay
She'll home to her Father, and provide me preſently
A Riding Suit: No coſtlier then would fit
A Franklins Hufwife.

Pis. Madam, you're beſt confider.

Imo. I fee before me (Man) nor heree, nor heree,
Nor what enſues but have a Fog in them
That I cannot looke through. Away, I prythee,
Do as I bid thee: There's no more to ſay :

Acceſſible is none but Milford way.

Exeunt.

## Scena Tertia.

Enter Belarinus, Guiderius, and Arviragus.

Bel. A goodly day, not to keepe houſe with ſuch,
Whoſe Rooſe's as low as ours: Sleepe Boyes, this gate
Inſtructs you how t'adore the Heavens; and bowes you
To a mornings holy office. The Gates of Monarches
Are Arch'd to high, that Giants may jet through
And keepe their impious Turbands on, without
Good morrow to the Sun. Haile thou faire Heaven,
We houſe i'th' Rocke, yet uſe thee not: to hardly
As prouder livers do.

Guid. Haile Heaven.

Arvir. Haile Heaven.

Bela. Now for our Mountaine ſport, up to yond hill
Your legges are young: Ile tread theſe Flats, Confider,
When you above perceive me like a Crow,
That it is Place, which leſſen's and fetſ off
And you may then revolve what Tales I have told you,
Of Courts of Princes; of the Trickers in Warre.
This ſervice, is not ſervice; to be being done,
But being to allowed. To apprehend thus,
Drawes us a profit from all things we fee;
And often to our comfort, ſhall we finde
The ſharded-Beetle, in a faſer hold
Then is the full-wing'd Eagle. Oh this life,
Is Nobler, then attending for a checche:
Richer, then doing nothidg for a Babe:
Prouder, then ruffling in unpaid-for Silke:
Such gaine the Cap of him, that makes him fine,
Yet keepeſs his Booke uncroſ'd, no life to ours.

G[ui]. Out of your proofe you ſpeak: we poore unſled'd
Have never wing'd from view o'th'neſt; nor know not
What Ayre's from home. Happly this life is beſt,
(If quiet life be beſt) ſweeter to you
That have a ſharper knowne. Well corſeſponding
With your ſtiffe Age; but unto us, it is
A Cell of Ignorance: travailing abed,
A Prifon or a Debtor, that not dares
To ſride a limit.

Arvi. What ſhould we ſpeak of
When we are old as you? When we ſhall heare
The Raine and winde beate darke December? How
In this our pinching Cave, ſhall we diſcourſe

ccc

The

The Tragedie of Cymbeline.

The freezing hours away ? We have feene nothing:
We are beatiely; subtle as the Fox for prey,
Like warlike as the Wolfe, for what we eat:
Our Valour is to chace what flyes : Our Cage
We make a Quire, as doth the prifon'd Bird,
And fing our Bondage freely.

*Bel.* How you fpeake?
Did you but know the Citties Vfuries,
And felt them knowingly : the Art o'th' Court,
As hard to leave, as keepe: whole top to climbe
Is certaine falling: or fo flipp'ry, that
The feare's as bad as falling. The toyle o'th' Warre,
A paine that only feemes to feeke our danger
I' th' name of Fame,and Honour, which dyes i'th' fearch,
And hath as oft a fland'rous Epitaph,
As Record of faire Act. Nay, many times
Doth ill deferve by doing well: what's worfe
Mutt curfie at the Cenfure. Oh Boyes>this Storie
The world may reade in me: My bodie's mark'd
With Roman Swords; and my report, was once
Firſt, with the beſt of Note. Cymbeline lov'd me,
And when a Souldier was the Theame, my name
Was not farre off: then was I as a Tree
Whole boughes did bend with fruit. But in one night,
A Storme, or Robbery (call it what you will)
Shooke downe my mellow hangings: nay my Leaves,
And left me bare to wather.

*Gui.* Vicertaine favour.

*Bel.* My fault being nothing (as I have told you oft)
But that two Villaines, whole falte Oathes prevail'd
Before my perſect Honor, ſwore to Cymbeline,
I was Confederate with the Romanes: ſo
Followed my Banifhment, and this twenty yeeres,
This Rocke, and theſe Demefnes, have bene my World,
Where I have liv'd at honeſt freedome, payed
More pions debts to Heaven, then in all
The fore-end of my time. But, up to'th' Mountaines,
This is not Hunters Language; he that ſtrikes
The Venilon firſt, ſhall be the Lord o'th' Feaſt,
To him the other two ſhall minuſter,
And we will feare no poyſon, which attends
In place of greater State :

*Ile meete you in the Valleyes.*

*Exeunt.*

How hard it is to hide the ſparkes of Nature ?
Theſe Boyes know little they are Sonnes to'th' King,
Nor Cymbeline dreames that they are alive.
They thinke they are mine,
And though train'd up thus meanely
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 tricke of others. This Paladour,
The heyre of Cymbeline and Britaine, whom
The King his Father call'd Guiderius. Iove,
When on my three-foot ſtoole I fit, and tell
The warlike feats I have done, his ſpirits flye out
Into my ſtory: ſay thus mine Enemie fell,
And thus I fet my foote on's necke, even then
The Princely blood flowes in his Cheeke, he ſweats,
Straines his young Nerves, and puts himſelfe in poſture
That aſt my words. The younger Brother Cadwall,
Once Arviragus, in as like a figure
Strikes life into my ſpeech, and ſhewes much more
His owne conceyuing. Hearke, the Game is rows'd,
Oh Cymbeline. Heaven and my Conſcience knowes
Thou didt unjuſtly banifh me : whereon

At three, and two yeeres old, I ſtole theſe Babes,
Thinking to barre thee of Succeſſon, as
Thou reſts me of my Lands. Eurispile,
Thou was't their Nurſe, they took thee for their mother
And every day do honor to her grave:
My ſelfe Belarius, that am Morgan call'd
They take for Naturall Father. The Game is up. Exit.

## Scæna Quarta.

*Enter Pisanio and Imogen.*

*Imo.* Thou toldt it me when we came ſro theſe, the place
Was neere ar hand: Ne're longd my Mother ſo
To ſeeme firſt, as I have now: Pisanio, Man:
Where is Pothhumus ? What is in thy mind
That makes thee ſiare thus? Wherefore breaks that ſigh
From th'inward of thee? One, One, but painted thus
Would be interpreted a thing preplex'd
Beyond ſelfe explication. Put thy ſelfe
Into a haviour of ſleſe ſeare, ere wildneſſe
Vanquifh my ſtayer ſentens. What's the matter?
Why tender it thou that Paper to me, with
A looke untender ? I' t he Sumner Newes
Smile too't before: if Winterly, thou need it
But keepe that count'nance full. My Husbands hand?
That Drug-dam'd Italy, hath out-craftied him,
And hee's at ſome hard point. Speake man, thy Tongue
May take off ſome extremicie, which to reade
Would be even mortall to me.

*Pisf.* Pleafe you reade,

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

*Imogen reades.*

*T*hy Maſtris (Pisanio) bath playde the Strumpet in my
Bed: the Teſtimones whereof, eyes bleeding in me, I speak
not out of weake Surmises, but from proofe as ſtrong as my
griefe, and as certaine as I expect my Revenge, That part, thou
(Pisanio) muſt aſte for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the
be each of hers; let the ſone owne hands take away her life: I ſhall
give thee opportunity at Milſard Heaven. She bath my Leter
for the purpofe; where, if thou ſeare to ſtrike, and to make mee
certaine it is done, thou art the Pander to her diſhonour, and
equally to me diſloyall.

*Pisf.* What ſhall I need to draw my Sword, the Paper
Hath cut her throat already ? No, tis flander,
Whole edge is ſharper then the Sword, whole tongue
Out-venomes all the Wormes of Nyle, whole breath
Rides on the poſing windes, and doth betye
All corners of the World. Kings, Queenes, and States,
Maides, Matrons, nay the Secrets of the Grave
This vipterous flander enters. What cheere Madam?

*Imo.* Falſe to his Bed? What is it to be falſe ?

*T*olye in watch there, and to thinke on him ?
To weepe twixt clock and clock? If ſleep charge Nature,
To breake it with a ſcarefull dreame of him,
And cry my ſelfe awake ? That's falſe to's bed? Is it?

*Pisf.* Alas good Lady.

*Imo.* I falſe ? Thy Conſcience witneſſe: Iachimo,
Thou didt accuſe him of Incontinencie,
Thou then look'dt like a Villaine: now, me thinkes

Thy

The Tragedie of Cymbeline.

4°3

Thy favours good enough. Some lay of Italy
(Whose mother was her painting) hath betraid him :
Poore I am flate, a Garment out of fashion,
And for I am richer then to hang by th' walles,
I muft be ript : To peeces with me: Oh !
Mens Vowes are womens Traitors: All good feeming
By thy revolt (oh Husband) shall be thought
Put on for Villainy, not borne where't growes,
But worne a baite for Ladies.

Pis. Good Madam, heare me.

Imo. True honest men being heard, like falfe Ænens,
Were in his time thought falfe : and Synons weeping
Did scandall many a holy teare: tooke pitty
From moft true wretchednffee. So thou, Poſthumus
Wilt lay the leven to all proper men ;

Goodly, and gallant, shall be falfe and perior'd
From thy great faile: Come Fellow, be thou honest,
Do thou thy Maſters bidding. When thou seest him,
Alittle witneſſe my obedience. Looke
I draw the Sword my ſelfe, take it and hit
The innocent Manſion of my Love (my Heart!)

Fare not, tis empty of all things, but Griefe:

Thy Maſter is not there, who was indeede

The riches of it. Do his bidding, ſtrike,

Thou mayſt be valiant in a better cauſe ;

But now thou seem't a Coward.

Pis. Hence vile Inſtrument,

Imo. Why, I muſt dye:

And if I do not by thy hand, thou art

No Servant of thy Maſters. Againſt ſelſe-flaughteſt,

There is a prohibition ſo Divine,

That cravenes my weake hand : Come, here's my heart:
So meething's a-foot: Soft, soft, wee'l no defence.

Obedient as the Seabbard. What is heere,

The Scriptures of the Loyall Leonatus,

All turn'd to Hereſie? Away, away

Corrupters of my Faith, you shall no more

Be Stomachers to my heart: thus may poore Fooles

Beleeve falſe Teachers : Though that are betraid

Do feele the Treaton ſharpely, yet the Traitor

Stands in worſe cafe of woe. And thou Poſthumus,

That didd't fet up my diſobedience 'gainſt the King

My Father, and makes me put into contempt the ſuites

Of Princely Fellowes, ſhalt hereafter finde

It is no act of common paſſage, but

A ſtraine of Rareneſſe : and I greeve my ſelſe,

To thinke, when thou ſhalt be diſedg'd by her,

That now thou tyſeft on, how thy memory

Will then be pang'd by me. Prythee dispatch,

The Lambe entreats the Butcher. When's thy knife?

Thouart to flow to do thy Maſters bidding
When I defire it too.

Pis. Oh gracious Lady :

Since I receiv'd command to do this buſineſſe,
I have not flept one winke.

Imo. Doo't, and to bed then.

Pis. Ile wake mine eye-balles firſt.

Imo. Wherefore then

Didd't undertake it? Why haſt thou abus'd

So many Miles, with a pretence? This place?

Mine Action ? and thine owne ? Our Horſes labour?

The time inviting thee ? The perturb'd Court

For my being abſent; whereunto I never

Purpofe returne. Why haſt thou gone ſo farre

To be un-bent ? when thou haſt tane thy ſtand,

Th' elected Deere before thee?

Pis. But to win time

To loofe ſo bad employment, in the which

I have confider'd of a courſe: good Lady

Heare me with patience.

Imo. Talke thy Tongue weary, ſpeake :

I have heard I am a Strumpet, and mine eare

Therein falſe ftooke, can take no greater wounds,

Nor tent, to bottome that. But ſpeake.

Pis. Then Madam,

I thought you would not backe againe.

Imo. Moſt like,

Bringing me heere to kill me.

Pis. Not ſo neither :

But if I were as wife, as honest, then

My purpofe would prove well: it cannot be,

But that my Maſter is abus'd. Some Villaine,
I, and ſingular in his Art, hath done you both
This curled injurie.

Imo. Some Roman Curtezan ?

Pis. No, on my life :

Ile give but notice you are dead, and ſend him

Some bloody ſigne of it. For tis commanded

I should do ſo: you shall be mift at Court,

And that will well confirme it,

Imo. Why good Fellow,

What ſhall I do the while ? Where bide's How live?

Or in my life, what comfort, when I am

Dead to my Husband?

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

Imo. No Court, no Father: nor no more adoe

With that harſh, noble, ſimple nothing ;

That Clotten, whole Love-suite hath bene tome

As fearefull as a Siege.

Pis. If not at Court,

Then not in Britaine muſt you bide.

Imo. Where then?

Hath Britaine all the Sunne that ſhines? Day? Night?

Are they not but in Britaine? I' th' worlds Volume

Our Britaine ſeemes as of it, but not in't:

In a great Poolea Swannes-neſt, prythee thinke

There's livers out of Britaine.

Pis. I am moſt glad

You thinke of other Place : Th' Ambaſſador,

Luciuu the Romane comes to Milford-Haven

To morrow. Now, if you could weare a minde

Darke, as your Fortune is, and but diſguife

That which'tappeare it ſelſe, muſt not yet be,

But by ſelſe-danger, you ſhould tread a courſe

Pretty, and full of view: yea, happily, neere

The residence of Poſthumus ; to ſic (at lait)

That though his Actions were not viſible, yet

Report should render him hourly to your eare,

As truly as he mooves.

Imo. Oh for ſuch means,

Though perill to my modelſie, not death on't

I would adſenture.

Pis. Well then, heere's the point :

You muſt forget to be a Woman: change

Command, into obedience. Feare and Niceneſſe

(The Handmaides of all Women, or more truely

Woman it pretty ſelſe) into a waggifh courage,

Ready in gybes, quicke-anſwer'd, ſawcie, and

As quarrellous as the Weazell: Nay, you muſt

Forget that rareſt Treaſure of your Cheeke,

Expoſing it (but oh the harder heart,

ccc 2

Macke

The Tragedie of Cymbeline.

404

Alacke no remedy) to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titin: and forgot
Your labourfome and dainty Trimmes, wherein
You made great Iuno angry.
Imo. Nay be breefe :
I fee into thy end, and am almost
A man already.
Pif. Firft, make your felfe but like one,
Fore-thinking this. I have already fit
(Tis in my Cloake-bagge) Doublet, Hat, Hole, all
That anſwer to them: Would you in their ferving,
(And with what imitation you can borrow
From youth of ſuch a leafon)? fore Noble Lucius
Prefent your felfe, define his ſervice: tell him
Wherein you're happy; which will make him know,
If that his head have care in Muficke, doubleſſe
With joy he will embrace you: for hee's Honourable,
And doubling that, moſt holy. Your meanes abroad to
You have me rich, and I will never faile
Beginning, nor ſupplyment.
Imo. Thou art all the comfort
The Gods will diet me with. Prythee away,
There's more to be confider'd: but weel even
All that good time will give us. This attempt,
I am Souldier too, and will abide it with
A Princes Courage. Away, I prythee.
Pif. Well Madam, we muſt take a ſhort farewell,
Left being miſt, I be ſuspected of
Your carriage from the Court. My Noble Miftris,
Heere is a boxe, I had it from the Queene,
What's in't is precious: If you are ſicke at Sea,
Or Stomacke-qualm'd at Land, a Dramme of this
Will drive away diſtemper. To ſome ſhade,
And fit you to your Manhood: may the Gods
Direct you to the beſt.
Imo. Amen: I thanke thee,

Exeunt.

## Scena Quinta.

Enter Cymbeline, Queene, Clotěu, Lucius,
and Lords.
Cym. Thus farre, and ſo farewell.
Luc. Thankes, Royall Sir:
My Emperor hath wrote, I muſt from hence,
And am right forry, that I muſt report ye
My Maſters Enemy.
Cym. Our Subjects (Sir)
Will not endure his yoake; and for our ſelfe
To ſhow leſe Soveraignty then they, muſt needs
Appeare un-Kinglike.
Luc. So Sir: I defire of you
A Conduſt 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 weare it as your Enemy.
Luc. Sir, the Event
Is yet to namethe winner, Fare you well.
Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my Lords
Till he have croſt Severn. Happines. Exit Lucius, &c.

Qu. He goes hence frowning: bur it honours us
That we have given him caufe.
Clot. Tis all the better,
Your Valiant Britaines have their wifhes in it.
Cym. Lucius hath wrot already to the Emperor
How it goes heere. It fits us therefore ripely
Our Chariots, and our Horſemen be in readineſſes
The Powers that he already hath in Gallia
Will ſoon be drawne to head, from whence he moves
His warre for Britaine.
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 Queene,
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 noted it. Call her before us, for
We have beene too light in ſufferance.
Qu. Royall Sir,
Since the exile of Poffummus, moſt rety'r'd
Hath her life bin: the Cure whereof my Lord,
Tis time muſt doe. Befeech your Majefly,
Forbeare ſharpe ſppeeches to her. She's a Lady
So tender of reſbukes, that words are ſtrokes,
And ſtrokes death to her.
Enter a Mussenger.
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't: lowd of noife, we make,
Qu. My Lord, when laſt I went to vifit her,
She pray'd me to excufe her keeping cloſe,
Whereto conftraint by her infirmitie,
She should that duty leave unpaide to you
Which daily ſhe was bound to proffer: this
She wifh'd me to make knowne: but our great Court
Made me too blame in memory.
Cym. Her doores lock'd?
Not ſeene of late? Grant Heavens, that which I
Feare, prove false.
Qu. Sonne, I ay, follow the King.
Clot. That man of her's, Pisanio, her old Servant
I have not ſeene theſe two dayes.
Qu. Go, looke after:
Pisanio, thon that ſtand'ſt ſo for Poffummus
He hath a Drugge of mine: I pray, his abſence
Proceed by ſwallowing that. For he beleeves
It is a thing moſt precious. But for her,
Where is the ſone? Haply diſpaire hath feiz'd her:
Or wing'd with fervour of her love, ſhe's flowne
To her defired Poffummus: gone ſhe is,
To death, or to diſhonor, and my end
Can make good vſe of either. Shee beeing downe,
I haue the placing of the Britiſh Crowne.
Enter Clotěn.
How now my Sonne?
Clot. 'Tis certaine ſhe is ſled:
Go in and cheere the King, he rages, none
Dare come about him.
Qu. All the better: may
This night fore-ſtall him of the comming day. Exit Qu.
Clot. I loue and hate her: for ſhe's Faire and Royall,
And that ſhe hath all courtly parts more exquifite
Then

Then

The Tragedie of Cymbeline.

405

Then Lady, Ladies, Woman, from every one
The beſt ſhe hath, and ſhe of all compounded
Our ſelles them all. I love her therefore, but
Difdaining me, and throwing Favours on
The low Poſtbumus, ſlanders to her judgment,
That what's ſelfe rare; is choak'd: and in that point
I will conclude to hate her, nay indeed,
To be reveng'd upon her. For, when Fooles ſhall

Enter Pisanio.

Who is heere? What, are you packing ſirrah ?
Come hither : Ah you precious Pander, Villaine,
Where is thy Lady? In a word, or ſelfe
Thou art ſtraightway with the Fiends.

Pis. Oh, good my Lord.

Clo. Where is thy Lady ? Or, by Jupiter,
I will not aske againe. Cloſe Villaine,
Ile have this ſectet from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to finde it. Is ſhe with Poſtbumui ?
From whose ſo many weights of bafeſſe, cannot
A dram of worth be drawne.

Pis. Alas, my Lord,

How can ſhe be with him ? When was the miſs'd ?
He is in Rome.

Clo. Where is the ſhe Sir? Come neerer :

No farther halting : ſatſe me home,
What is become of her :

Pis. Oh, my all-worthy Lord.

Clo. All-worthy Villaine,
Difcover where thy Miſtr is, at once,
At the next word : no more of worthy Lord :
Speake, or thy ſilence on the inſant, is
Thy condemnation and thy death

Pis. Then fir :

This Paper is the hiftory of my knowledge
Touching her flight.

Clo. Let's feet; I will purſue her
Even to Auguſtres Thrope.

Pis. Or this, or perſh.

She's farre enough, and what he learnes by this,
May prove his travell, not her danger.

Clo. Humh.

Pis. Ile write to my Lord he is dead : Oh Imogen,
Safe mayſt thou wander, ſale returne agen.

Clo. Sirra, is this Letter true ?

Pis. Sir, as I thinke

Clo. It is Poſtbumus hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou
would't not be a Villaine, but do me true ſervice: under-
gothoſe Imploymen't wherein I ſhould have cauſe to uſe
thou with a ſerious inſuſtry, that is, what villainy ſoere I
bid thee doe to performe it, directly and truely, I would
thinke thee an honœſt man : thou ſhould't neither want
my meaneſ for thy releſe, nor my voyce for thy prefer-
ment,

Pis. Well, my good Lord.

Clo. Wilt thou ſerve mee ? For ſince patiently and
conſantly thou haſt ſucke to the bare Fortune of that
Begger Poſtbumus, thou canſt not in the courſe of grati-
tude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou ſerve
mee?

Pis. Sir I will.

Clo. Give me thy hand, heere's my purſe. Haſt any
of thy late Maſters Garments in thy poſſion?

Pisan. I have (my Lord) at my Lodging, the fame
Suite he wore, when he tooke leave of my Ladie and Mi-
treſſe.

Clo. The firſt ſervice thou doſt mee, fetch that Suite

hither, let it be thy firſt ſervice, go.

Pis. I ſhall my Lord.

Exeunt,

Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Haven : (I forgot to aske
him one thing, Ile remember't anon : ) even there, thou
villaine Poſtbumus will I kill thee. I would theſe Gar-
ments were come. She ſaid upon a time ( the bitterneſſe
of it, I now belch from my heart) that ſhe held the very
Garment of Poſtbumus , in more reſpect, then my Noble
and naturall perſon; together with the adornement of
my Qualities. With that Suite upon my backe will I ra-
vifh her: firſt kill him, and in her eyes: there ſhall ſhe ſee
my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt.
He on the Ground, my ſpeech of inſultment ended on his
dead bodie, and when my luſt hath diſed (which, as I
ſay, to vex her, I will execute in the Cloathes that ſhe ſo
prais'd;) to the Court Ile knock her backe, foot her home
againe. She hath diſpis'd mee rejoicingly, and Ile be mer-
ry in my Revenge.

Enter Pisanio.

Be theſe the Garments ?

Pis. I, my Noble Lord.

Clo. How long is't ſince ſhe went to Milford-Haven ?

Pis. She can ſcarſe be there yet,

Clo. Bring this Apparrell 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 deſigne. Be
but dutious, and true preferment ſhall tender it ſelfe to
thee. My Revenge is now at Milford, would I had wings
to follow it. Come and be true.

Exit.

Pis. Thou bid't me to my loffe: for true to thee,
Were to prove ſalſe, which I will never be
To him that is moſt true. To Milford go,
And ſinde not her, whom thou purſueth. Flow, flow
You Heavenly bleſſings on her : This Fooles ſpeede
Becroſt with ſlowneſſe; Labour be his meede. Exit.

## Scena Sexta.

Enter Iaugen alone.

Ima. I fee a man life is a tedious one,
I have tyr'd my ſelfe : and for two nights together
I have made the ground my bed. I ſhould be ſicke,
But that my resolution helps me : Milford,
When from the Mountaine top Pisanio ſhew'd thee,
Thou was't within a kenne. Oh love, I thinke
Foundations flye the wretched: ſuch I meane,
Where they ſhould be relee'd. Two beggers told me,
I could not miſſe my way. Will poore Folkes lye
That have affiCTIONS on them, knowing tis
A puniſhment, or Triall? Yes; no wonder,
When Rich-ones ſcarſe tell true. To laple in ſulneſſe
Is ſorer, then to lye for Neede: and Falſhood
Is worſe in Kings, then Beggers, My deere Lord,
Thou art one o'th ſalſe Ones: now I thinke on thee,
My hunger's gone ; but even before, I was
At point to ſinke, for Food. But what is this ?
Heere is a path to't: tis ſome ſavage hold :
I were beſt not call ; I dare not call: yet Famine
Ire cleane it o're-throw Nature, make it valiant.
Plentie and peace breedes Cowards, Hardneſſe ever
Of Hardin ſeſſe is Mother. Hoa? who's heere ?
If any thing that's civill, (speake; if ſavage,

ccc 3

Take

406

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

Take, or lend. Hoa ? No answer ? Then Ile enter,
Bef draw my Sword; and if mine Etenemy
But feare the Sword like me, heell fcarfely looke on't.
Such a Foe, good Heavens.
Exit.

## Scæna Septima.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.

Bel. You Polidore have prov'd beſt Woodman, and
Are Maſter of the feaſt: Cadwall, and I
Will play the Cooke, and Servant, tis our match:
The feare of induſtry would dry, and dye
But for the end it workes to. Come, our ſtomackes
Will make what's homely, favoury; Wearineſſe
Can ſnore upon the Flint, when reſty Sloth
Findes the Downe-pillow hard. Now peace be heere,
Poore houſe, that keept thy ſelſe.

GUi. I am throughly weary.
Arvi. I am weake with toyle, yet ſtrong in appetite.
GUi. There is cold meat ith'Cave, we'll brouz on that
Whiſt what we have killd, be Cook'd.

Bel. Stay, come not in:
But that it eates our viſualles, I should thinke
Heere were a Faiery.

GUi. What's the matter, Sir ?
Bel. By Iupiter an Angell : or if not,
An earthly Paragon. Behold Divineneſſe
No elder then a Boy.

Enter Imogen.

Imo. Good maſter harme me not:
Before I enter'd heere, I call'd, and thought
To have begg'd, or bought, what I have took : good troth
I have ſtolne nought, nor would not, though I had found
Gold ſtrew'di'th' Floore. Heere's money for my Meate,
I would have left it on the Boord, ſo ſoone
As I had made my Meale: and parted
With Pray'rs for the Provider.

GUi. Money ? Youth.
Arvi. All gold and Silver rather turne doe dunt,
As tis no better reckon'd, but of thofe
Who worſhip durty gods.

Imo. I fee your angry :
Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
Have dyed, had I not made it.

Bel. Whether bound ?
Imo. To Milford-haven.
Bel. What's your name?
Imo. Fidele Sir; I have a Kinfman, who
Is bound for Italy : he embark'd at Milford,
To whom being going, almost ſpent with hunger,
I am falne in this offence.

Bel. Prethee (faire youth)
Thinke 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 thankes to ſlay, and eate it:
Boyes, bid him welcome.

GUi. Were you a woman, youth,
I should wooe hard, but be your Groome in honeſty :
I bid for you, as I doe buy.

Arvi. Ile make't my comfort
He is a man, Ile love him as my Brother :
And ſuch a welcome as Ild give to him

(After long abſence) ſuch is yours. Moſt welcome:
Be ſprightly, for you fall morgſt friends.
Imo. Mongſt friends.

If Brothers : would it had bin ſo, that they
Had bin my fathers Sonnes, then had my prize
Bin leſſe, and ſo more equall ballaſting
To thee Poſtbumus.

Bel. He wrings at ſome diſſrefle.

GUi. Would I could free't.

Arvi. Or I, what ere it be,

What paine it coſt, what danger : gods !

Bel. Hearke Boyes.

Imo. Great men

That had a Court no bigger then this Cave,
That did attend them ſeives, and had the vertue
Which their owne Conſcience ſeel'd them : laying by
That nothing-guift of differing Multitudes
Could not out-peeceth theſe twaine. Pardon me gods,
Ild change my ſexe to be Companion with them,
Since Leonatus falſe,

Bel. It ſhall be ſo:

Boyes we'll goe diſſre our Hunt. Faire you come in,
Diſcourſe is heavy, ſaſting : when we have ſupp'd
Weell mannerly demand thee of thy Story.

So farre as thou wilt ſpeake it,

GUi. Pray draw neere.

Arvi. The Night toth' Owle,
And Morne toth'Larke leſſe welcome.

Imo. Thanks Sir.

Arvi. I pray draw neere.

Exeunt.

## Scæna Octava.

Enter two Roman Senators, and Tribunes.

1 Sen. This is the tenor of the Emperors Writ;
That ſince the common men are now in Action
Gainſt the Pannonians, and Dalmatians,
And that the Legions now in Gallia, are
Full weake to undertake our Warres againſt
The falne-off Britaine, that we doe incite
The Gentry to this buſineſſe. He creates
Lucius Pro-Conſull : and to you the Tribunes
For this immediate Levy, he commands
His abſolute Commiſſion. Long live Cæsar.

Tri. Is Lucius Generall of the Forces ?
2 Sen. 1.
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 Commiſſion
Will tye you to the Numbers and the time
Of their diſpatch.

Tri. We will diſcharge our duty.

Exeunt.

## Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima.

Enter Clotten alone.

Clot. I am neere toth' place where they ſhould meet,
if Pſanio have mapp'd it truely. How ſit his Garments
ſerve me? Why ſhould his Miftris who was made by him
that

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

407

that made the Taylor, not be fit too? The rather (faving
reverence of the Word) for tis faid a Womans fitneffe
comes by fits : therein I must play the Workeman, I dare
fpeake it to my felfe, for it is not Vainglory for a man,
and his Glaſſe, to confer in his owne Chamber ; I meane,
the Lines of my body are as well drawne as his; no leſſe
young, more ſtreng, not beneath him in Fortunes, be-
yond him in the advantage of the time!, above him in
Birth, alike converſant in generall ſervices, and more re-
markeable in ſingle oppofitions ; yet this imperfeverant
Thing loves him in my despight. What Mortality is?
*Poſthumus*, thy head (which now is growing upon thy
 Shoulders) (hall within this houre be off, thy Miftris in-
forced, thy Garments cut to peeces before thy face : and
all this done, ſpurne her home to her Father, who may
(happily) be a little angry for my ſo rough vſage : but my
Mother having power of his teſtineſſe, ſhall turne all in-
to my commendations. My horſe is tyed up ſafe, our
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.
Exit.

## Scena Secunda.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, and
Imagen from the Cave.

Bel. You are not well : Remaine heere in the Cave,
We'll come to you after hunting.

Arvi. Brother, flay 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 ſicke,

Gni. Goe you to hunting, Ile abide with him.

Imo. So ſicke I am not, yet I am not well :

But not ſo Citizen a wanton, as

To ſeeme to dye, ere ſicke : So pleafe you, leave me,

Sticke to your Iournall courſe : the breach of Cottome,

Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me

Cannot amend me. Society, is no comfort

To one not ſociable : I am not very ſicke.

Since I can reaſon of it : pray you truſt me heere,

Ile rob none but my ſelfe, and let me dye

Stealing ſo poorly.

Gni. I love thee : I have ſpoke it,

How much the quantity, the waight as much,

As I doe love my father.

Bel. What ? how ? how ?

Arvi. If it be finne to ſay ſo (Sir) I yoake me

In my good Brother's fault : I know not why

I love this youth, and I have heard you ſay,

Loveseaſons without reaſon. The beere at doore,

And a demand who ist ſhall dye, Ild ſay

My father, not this yonth.

Bel. Oh noble traine!

O worthineſſe of Nature, breed of greatneſſe I

"Cowards father Cowards, and Bafe things Syre Bace :"

"Nature hath Meale, and Bran; Contempt, and Grace.

I me not their father, yet who this should be,

Doth myracle it ſelfe, lov'd before me.

Tis the ninth houre oth Morne.

Arvi. Brother, farewell.

Imo. I wifh ye ſport.

Arvi. You health. — So pleafe you Sir.

Imo. Theſe are kind Creatures.

Gods, what lyes I have heard :

Our Courtiers ſay, alls favage, but at Court :

Experience, oh thou diſprov't Report.

Th'emperious Seas breed Monſters : for the Diſh,

Poore Tributary Rivers, as wift efih :

I am ſicke ſtill, heart-ſicke : Pſafanio,

Ile now tafte of thy Drugge.

GUi. I could not ſtirre him :

He ſaid he was gentle, but unfortunate :

Diſhoneſtly affiſted, but yet honteft.

Arvi. Thus did he anſwer me : yet ſaid heereafter,

I might know more.

Bel. To th'field, to th'field :

We'll leave you for this time, goe in, and reſt.

Arvi. We'll not be long away.

Bel. Pray be not ſicke,

For you muſt be our hufwife.

Imo. Well, or ill,

I am bound to you.

Bel. And Ithalt be ever.

This youth, how ere diſtreft, appeares he hath had

Good Anceſtors.

Arvi. How Angell-like he ſings ?

GUi. But his neate Cookery ?

Arvi. He cut our Rootes in Charaſters,

And faw't our Broches, as Iuſo hâd bin ſicke,

And he her Dieter.

Arvi. Nobly he yoakes

A failing, with a ſigh : as if the ſighe

Was that it was, for not being ſuch a Smile :

The Smile, mocking the Sigh, that it would flye

From fo divine a Temple, to commix

With windes, that Sayers raile at.

GUi. I doe note,

That grieſe and patience rooted in them both,

Mingle their ſpurres together,

Arvi. Grow patients,

And let the ſtinking- Elder (Grieſe) untwine

His perſhing roote, with the encreaſing Vine.

Bel. It is great morning. Come away : Who's there ?

Enter Clotten.

Clot. I cannot finde thofe Runagates, that Villaine

Hath mock'd me. I am faint.

Bel. Thofe Runnagates?

Meanes he not us ? I partly know him, tis

Clotten, the Sonne oth' Queene. I feare ſome Ambuſh :

I faw him not theſe many yeares, and yet

I know tis he : we are held as Out-lawes ; hence.

GUi. He is but one : you, and my brother ſeareth

What Companies are neere : pray you away,

Let me alone with him.

Clot. Soft, what are you

That flye me thus ? Sonne villaine-Mountainers ?

I have heard of ſueh. What Slave art thou ?

GUi. A thing.

More flaviſh did I ne're, then anſwering

A Slave without a knocker.

Clot. Thou art a Robber,

A Law-breaker, a Villaine : yeeld thee Theeſe.

GUi. To whom ? to thee ? What art thou ? Have not I

An arme as bigge as thine ? a heart, as bigge :

Thy words I grant are bigger : for I weare not

My Dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art :

Why

["408", "The Tragedie of Cymbeline.", "Why I should yeeld to thee ?", "Clot. Thon Villaine bafe,", "Know'ft me not by my Cloathes ?", "Gni. No, nor thy Taylor, Rafcall,", "Who is thy Grandfather : He made thofe cloathes,\nWhich (as it feemes) make thee.", "Clo. Thou precious Varlet:", "My Taylor made them not.", "Gui. Hence then, and thanke", "The man that gave them thee. Thou art fome Foole;\nI am loath to beat thee.", "Clot. Thou injurious Theefe,", "Heare but my name, and tremble.", "Gui. What's thy name ?", "Clo. Cloten, thou Villaine.", "Gri. Cloten, thou double Villaine be thy name,", "I cannot tremble at it, were it Toad, or Adder, Spider,\nTwould move me sooner.", "Clot. To thy further feare,", "Nay, to thy meere Confusion, thou fhalt know\nI am Sonne to'th' Queene.", "Gni. I am forfy for't: not feeming", "So worthy as thy Birth.", "Clot. Art not afeard ?", "Gri. Thofe that I reverence, thofe I feare: the Wife:", "At Fooles I laugh: not feare them.", "Clot. Dye the death :", "When I have flaine thee with my proper hand,", "Ile follow thofe that even now fled hence :", "And on the Gates of Luds-Towne fet your heads:", "Yeeld Rufficke Mountaineer.", "Fight and Exenunt.", "Enter Belarius and Arviragius.", "Bel. No Companie's abroad ?", "Arvi. None in the world : you did miftake him ſure.", "Bel. I cannot tell : Long is it ſince I law him,", "But Time hath nothing blurr'd thofe lines of Favour", "Which then he wore : the flatches in his voyce,", "And burft of speaking were as his : I am absolute", "Twas very Cloten.", "Arvi. In this place we left them;", "I wifh my Brother make good time with him.", "You ſay he is ſo fell.", "Bel. Being ſcarſe made up,", "I meane to man ; he had not apprehenſion", "Of roaring terrors : For defect of juſgement", "Is oft the caufe of Feare.", "Enter Guiderius.", "But fee thy Brother.", "Gri. This Cloten was a Foole, an empty purſe,", "There was no money in't : Not Hercules", "Could have knock'd out his Braines, for he had none:", "Yet I not doing this, the Foole had borne", "My head, as I do his.", "Bel. What haſt thou done ?", "Gri. I am perfect what ; cut off one Clotens head,", "Sonne to the Queene (after his owne report)", "Who call'd me Traitor, Mountaineer, and ſwore", "With his owne ſingle hand hee'd take us in,", "Difplace our heads, where (thanks the gods) they grow\nAnd fet them on Luds-Towne.", "Bel. We are all undone.", "Gri. Why, worthy Father, what have we to loofe,", "But that he ſwore to take, our Lives? the Law", "Proteſts not us, then why should we be tender,", "To let an arrogant peecce of fleſh threat us ?", "Play Iudge, and Executioner, all himſelfe ?", "For we do feare no Law, What company", "Difcover you abroad ?", "Bel. No ſingle foule", "Can we ſet eye on : but in all ſafe reaſon", "He muſt have ſome Ateendauts. Though his Honor", "Was nothing but mutation, I, and that", "From one bad thing to worſe : Not Frenzie,", "Not abſolute madneſſe could ſo farre have rav'd", "To bring him heere alone although perhaps", "It may be heard at Court, that ſuch as we", "Cave heere, hunt heere, are Out-lawes, and in time", "May make ſome ſtronger head, the which he hearing,\n(As it is like him) might breake out, and ſwere", "Hee'd fetch us in, yet is't not probable", "To come alone, either he ſo undertaking,", "Or they ſo suffering : then on good ground we feare,", "If we do feare this body hath a taile", "More perillous then the head.", "Arvi. Let Ord'nance", "Come as the Gods fore-fay it: how ſoere,", "My Brother hath done well.", "Bel. I had no minde", "To hunt this day: The Boy Fideles ſickneſſe", "Did make my way long forth-", "Gri. With his owne Sword,", "Which he did wave againſt my throat, I have tane", "His head from him: Ile throw't into the Creeke", "Behinde our Rocke, and let it to the Sea,", "And tell the Fifhes, hee's the Queenses Sonne, Cloten,", "That's all I reake.", "Exit.", "Bel. I ſeare twill be reveng'd :", "Would (Polidore) thou had' ſt 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 poffible ſtrength might meet, wold ſeeke us through", "And put us to our anſwer.", "Bel. Well, tis done :", "Wee'l hunt no more to day, nor ſeeke for danger", "Where there's no profit. I prythe to our Rocke,", "You and Fidele play the Cookes : Ile ſtay", "Till haſty Polidore returne, and bring him", "To dinner prefently.", "Arvi. Pore ſickſe Fidele.", "Ile willingly to him, to gaine his colour,\nI'd let a parſh of ſuch Clotens blood,", "And praiſe my ſelſe for charity,", "Exit.", "Bel. Oh thou Goddeſſe,", "Thou divine Nature: thy ſelſe thou blazon'ſt", "In theſe two Princely Boyes: they are as gentle", "As Zephires blowing below the Violet,", "Not wagging his ſweet head; and yet, as rough", "(Their Royall blood encliaſ'd) as the rud'ſt winde,", "That by the top doth take the Mountaine Pine,", "And make him ſtoope to th'Vaile. Tis wonder", "That an inviſible inſtinct should frame them", {"bbox": [658, 1195,

The Tragedie of Cymbeline.

410

Imogen awakes.

Yes Sir, to Milford-Haven, which is the way ?
I thank you : by yond bush ? pray how farre thither ?
'Ods pittkins : can it be fixe mile yet ?
I have gone all night : 'Faith, Ile lye downe, and sleepe.
But soft : no Bedfellow ? Oh Gods, and Goddeffes !
Thele Flowers are like the pleafures of the World :
This bloody man the care on't. I hope I dreame :
For so I thought I was a Cave-keeper,
And Cooke to honest Creatures. Butt is not so :
Twas but a bolt of nothing, fhor at nothing,
Which the Braine makes of Fumes. Our very eyes,
Are fometimes like our Judgements, blinde. Good faith
I tremble still with feare: but if there be
Yet left in heaven, as fmall a drop of pitty
As a Wrenseye ; fear'd Gods, apart of it.
The Dreame's heere still : even when I wake it is
Without me, as within me : not imagin'd, felt.
A headleffe man ? The Garments of Poffhumus ?
I know the shape of's Legge : this is his Hand :
His Foote Mercuriall : his martiall Thigh
The brawnes of Hercules : but his Ioviall face—
Murther in heaven ? How ?'tis gone. Pisanio,
All Curfes madded Hecuba gave the Greekes,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee : thou
Confpir'd with that Irregulous divell Cloten,
Hath heere cut off my Lord. To write, and read,
Be henceforth treacherous. Damnd Pisanio
Hath with his forged Letters (damnd Pisanio)
From this moft bravet veffell of the world
Strooke the maine top ! Oh Poffhumus, alas,
Where is thy head? where's that ? Aye me ! wher's that
Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
And left this head on. How should this be, Pisanio?
Tis he, and Cloten : Malice, and Lucre in them
Have laid this Woe heere. Oh tis pregnant, pregnant !
The Drugge he gave me, which he faid was precious
And Cordiall to me, have I not, found it
Murd'rous to'th' Senſes ? That confirms it home :
This is Pisanio's decede, and Cloten : Oh !
Give colour to my pale cheeke with thy blood,
That we the horrider may ſeeme to thofe
Which chace to finde us, Oh, my Lord! my Lord !

Enter Lucius, Captaines, and a Soothsayer.

Cap. To them, the Legions garrifon'd in Gallia
After your will, have croft the Sea, attending
You heere at Milford-Haven, with you Shippes :
They are in readineſſe.
Luc. But what from Rome ?
Cap. The Senate hath flirr'd up the Conſiners,
And Gentlemen of Italy, moſt willing Spirits,
That promife Noble Service : and they come
Vnder the Conduct of bold Iachino,
Syenna's Brother.

Luc. When expect you them ?

Cap. With the next benefit o'th' winde.

Luc. This forwardneſſe

Makes our hopes faire. Command our preſent numbers
Be muſtered, bid the Captaines looke too'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 I ntellectuall) thus :
I ſaw Loves Bird, the Roman Eagle wing'd
From the ſpungy South, to this part of the Weſt,
There vaniſh'd in the Sun-beames, which portends
(Valeſſe my Sinnes abufe my Divination)

Succeſſe to th' Roman hoaſt.

Luc. Dreame often ſo,

And never falſe. Soft hoa, what trunke is heere ?
Without his top ? The ruine ſpeakes, that fometime
It was a worthy building. How ? a Page ?
Or dead, or ſleeping on him ? But dead rather :
For Nature doth abhore to make his bed
With the defunſt, or ſleepe upon the dead,
Let's fee the Boyes face.

Cap. Hee's alive my Lord,

Luc. Hee' then inſtruct us of his body : Young one,
Informe us of thy Fortunes, for it ſeemes
They crave to be demanded : who is this
Thou mak't 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 wracke ? How cam't? Who is't ?
What art thou ?

Iwo. I am nothing : or if not,
Nothing to be were better : This was my Maſter,
A very valiant Britaine, and a good,
That here by Mountainers lyes flaine: Alas,
There are no more ſuch Maſters : I may wander
From Eaſt to Occident, cry out for Service,}
Try many, all good : ſerve truly : neuer
Finde ſuch another Maſter.

Luc. 'Lacke, good youth :
Thou mov'ſt no leſſe with thy complaining, then
Thy Maſter in bleeding : ſay his name, good Friend,

Iwo. Richard du Champ : If I doe lye, and do
No harme by it, though the Gods heare, I hope
They'l pardon it. Say you Sir ?

Luc. Thy name?

Iwo. Fidele Sir.

Luc. Thou doo'ſt approve thy ſelſe 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 beſou'd The Romane Emperors Letters
Sent by a Conſull to me, ſhould no ſooner
Then thine owne worth preferre thee: Go with me.
Iom. Ile follow Sir. But firſt, an't pleaſe the Gods,
Ile hide my Maſter from the flyes as deepe
As theſe poore Pickaxes can digge : and when
With wild wood-leaves & weeds, I ha' ſtrew'd his grave
And on it ſaid a Century of prayers,
(Such as I can ) twice o're, Ile weepe, and ſfighe,
And leaving ſo his ſervice, follow you,
Sopleaſe you entertaine me.

Luc. I good youth,
And rather Father thee, then Maſter thee : My Friends,
The Boy hath taught us manly duties : Let us
Find out the prettiſt 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 cheereful wipethine eyes,
Some falſes are meanes the happiſto arife.

Exequie.

## Scæna Tertia.

Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pisanio.

Cym. Againe: and bring me word how tis with her,
A Feavour with the abſence of her Sonne;

A

The Tragedie of Cymbeline.

4II

A madneſſe, 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 Queene
Upon a deſperate bed, and in a time

When fearefull Warres point at me: Her Sonne 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 ſeeme ſo ignorant, weel enſorce it from thee
By a ſharpe Torture.

Pif. Sir my life is yours,

I humbly fet it at your will: But for my Miſtris,
I nothing know where ſhe remaines: why gone,
Nor whenſhe purpofes returne. Befeech your Highnes,
Hold me your loyall Servant.

Lord. Good my Liege,

The day that ſhe was miſling, he was heere;
I dare be bound hee's true, and ſhall performe
All parts of his ſubjeſtion loyally. For Cloten,
There wants no diligence in ſeeking him,
And will no doubt be found.

Cym. The time you is troubleſome :

Weel flip you for a featon, but with jelouſe
Do's yet depend.

Lord. So pleafe your Maſely,

The Romane Leg ions all from Gallia drawne,
Are landed on your Coaſt, with ſupply
Of Romane Gentlemen, by the Senate ſent.

Cym. Now for the Counſaile of my Son and Queene,

I amam'd with matter.

Lord. Good my Liege,

Your preparation can affront no leſſe
(ready: Then what you heare of. Come more, for more you're
The want is, but to put theſe powers in motion,
That long to move.

Cym. I thanke you: lets withdraw

And meete the Time, as it ſeekes us. We fear not
What can from Italy annoy us, but
We greeve at chances heere. Away.

Pif. I heard no Letter from my Maſter, ſince

I wrote him Imogen was ſaine. Tis ſtrange:
Nor heare I from my Miſtris, who did promife
Toyeld me often tydings. Neither know I
What is betide to Cloten, but remaine

Perplext in all. The Heavens ſtill muſt worke:
Wherein I am ſalſe, I am honest: not trne, to be true.
Thefe prefent warres ſhall finde I love my Country,
Even to the note o'th' King, or Ile fall in them:
All other doubts, by time let them be cleer'd,

Fortune brings in ſome Boats, that are not ſteer'd.

Exit

## Scæna Quarta.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, & Ariviragus.

GUi. The noyle is round about us.

Bel. Let us from it.

Arvi. What pleafure Sir, ſinde we in life, to locke it
From Action, and Adventure?

Gu. Nay, what hope

Have we in hiding us ? This way the Romaines
Muſt, or for Britaines ſay us or receive us
For barbarous and unnaturall Revolts
During their uſe, and ſlay us after.

Bel. Sonnes,

Weel higher to the Mountaines, there ſecure us
To the Kings party there's no going: neſneſſe
Of Cloten's death (we being not knowne, nor muſter'd
Among the Bands) may drive uſto a render
Where we have liv'd; and ſo extort ſrom that
Which we have done, whoſe anſwer would be death
Drawne on his Torture.

Gui. This is (Sir) a doubt

in luch a time, nothing becoming you,
Nor ſatisfying us.

Arvi. It is not likely,

That when they heare their Roman horſes neigh,
Behold their quarter'd Fires; have both their eyes
And cares ſo cloyd importantly as now,
That they will waffle their time upon our note,
To know from whence we are.

Bel. Oh, I am knowne

Of many in the Army: Many yeeres
(Though Cloten then but young) you fee, not wore him
From my remembrance. And befides, the King
Hath not deferv'd my Service, nor your Loves,
Who finde in my Exile, the want of Breeding;
The certainty of this hard life, aye hopeleſſe
To have the courteſie your Cradle promis'd,
But to be ſtill hot Summers Tanlings, and
The shrinking Slaves of Winter.

Gui. Then be fo,

Betrer to ceafe to be. Pray Sir, to'th Army :
I, and my Brother are not knowne; your ſelſe
So out of thought, and thereto ſo ore-growne,
Cannot be queſtione.

Arui. By this Sunne that ſhines
Ile thither: what thing is it, that I never
Did fee man dye, ſearſe ever look'd on blood,
But that of Coward Hares, hot Goats, and Venifon ?
Never beſtrid a Horſe ſave one, that had
A Rider like my ſelſe, who ne're wore Rowell,
Nor Iron on his heele ? I am aſham'd
To looke upon the holy Sunne, to have
The benefit of his bleſſed Beames, remaining
So long a poore unknowne.

Gui. By heavens Ile go,
If you will bleſſe me Sir, and give me leave,
Ile take the better care; but but if you will not,
The hazard therefore due fall on me, by
The hands of Romanes.

Arui. So ſay I, Amen.

Bel. No reaſon I (ſince of your lives you ſet
So flight a valuation) ſhould reſerue
My crack'd one to more care. Have with you Boyes:
If in your Country warres you chance to dyes,
That is my Bed too (Lads) and there Ilye.
Lead, lead; the time ſeemes long, their blood thinks ſcorn
Till it flye out, and ſhow them Princes borne.

## Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima.

Enter Posthumus alone.

Post. Yea bloody cloth, Ile keep thee: for I am wifht
Thou ſhouldſt be colour'd thus. You married ones,
If each of you ſhould take this courſe, how many
Muſt murther Wives much better then themselves.

For

The Tragedie of Cymbeline.

For wrying but a little? Oh Pisanio,
Every good Servant do's not all Commands :
No Bond, but to doe juſt ones. Gods, if you
Should have tane vengeance on my faults, I never
Had liv'd to put on this: Io had you faſed
The noble Imogen, to repent, and ſtrooke
Me (wretch) more worth your Vengeance. But alacke,
You ſnatch from hence for little faults; that's love
To have them fall no more: you ſome permit
To ſecond illes with illes, each Elder worſe,
And make them dread it, to the doers thrift
But Imogen is your owne, do your beſt willes,
And make me bleſt to obey. I am brought hither
Among th' Italian Gentry, and to fight
Against my Ladies Kingdome: Tis enough
That (Britaine) I have kill'd thy Miftris: Peace,
Ile give no wound to thee: therefore good Heavens,
Heare patiently my purpose. Ile diſrobe me
Of theſe Italian weedes, and ſuite my ſelfe
As do's a Britaine Pezant: Io Ile fight
Against the part I come with: Io Ile dye
For thee (O Imogen) even for whom my life
Is every breath, a death: and thus unknowne,
Pittied, nor hated, to the face of perill
My ſelfe Ile dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me, then my habits flow.
Gods, put the ſtrength o'th' Leonati in me:
To ſhame the guize o'th' world, I will begin,
The fashion leſſe without, and more within.
Exit.

## Scena Secunda.

Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and the Remane Army at one door:
and the Britaine Army at another: Leonatus Poſthumus
following like a poore Souldier. They march over, and goe
out. Then enter againe in Skirmſt Iachimo and Poſthu-
mus : he vanquiseth and disarmeth Iachimo, and then
leaves him.

Iac. The heavineſſe and guilt within my boſome,
Takes off my manhood: I have belyed a Lady,
The Prinſe of this Country, and the ayre on't
Revengingly enſeables me, or could this Carle,
A very drudge of Natures, have ſubdu'd me
In my proſeilion? Knightships, and Honors borne
(As Iware mine) are titles but of ſcorne,
if that thy Gentry (Britaine) go before
This Lowt, as he exceeds our Lords, the oddes
Is, that we ſcare are men, and you are Gods.
Exit.
The Battailc continues, the Britaines flye, Cymbeline is
taken: Then enter to his ſeſene, Bellarius, Guiderius,
and Arviragus.

Bel. Stand, ſtand, we have the advantage of the ground,
The Lane is guarded: Nothing rowts us, but
The villany of our ſeares.

Gui. Arvi. Stand, ſtand and fight.

Enter Poſthumus, and ſecond the Britaines. They ſeſene
Cymbeline, and Exeunt.
Then enter Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen.
Luc. Away boy from the Troopes, and ſave thy ſelfe:
For friends kill friends, and the disorder's ſuch

As warre were hood-wink'd.

Iac. Tis their freeſh ſupplies.

Luc. It is a day turn'd ſtrangely : or betimes
Let's re,inſorce, or fly.

Exeunt.

## Scena Tertia.

Enter Poſthumus, and a Britaine Lord.

Lor. Cam't thou from where they made the ſtand?
Poſt. I did.

Though you it ſeemes come from the Flier.

Lo. I did.

Poſt. No blame be to you Sir, for all was loſt,
But that the Heavens fought: the King himſelfe
Of his wings deſtitute, the Army broken,
And but the backes of Britaines ſeene; all flying
Through a ſt right Lane, the Enemy full-hearted,
Lolling the Tongue with ſlaughtering: having worke
More plentifull, then Tools to doo't: ſtroke downe
Some mortally, ſome flightly touch'd, ſome falling
Meereely through ſeare, that the ſtrait pafle was damm'd
With deadmen, hurt behind, and Cowards living
To dye with lengthned ſhame.

Lo. Where was this Lane?

Poſt. Cloſe by the battell, diſh'd, & wall'd with turph,
Which gave advantage to an ancient Soldiour
(An honſt one I warrant) who deferu'd
Solong a breeding, as his white beard came to,
In doing this ſa'rs Country. Athwart the Lane,
He, with two ſtriplings (Lads more like to run
The Country bafe, then to commit ſuch ſlaughter,
With faces fit for Maskes, or rather ſayrer
Then thoſe for prefervation cas'd, or ſhame)
Made good the paſſage, cryed to thoſe that ſled,
Our Britaines hearts dye flying, not our men,
To darkeneſſe ſleete ſoules that flye backwards; ſland,
Or we are Romanes, and will give you that
Like beaſts, which you ſhan beaſtly, and may ſave
But to looke backe in frowne: Stand, ſtand. Theſe three,
Three thouſand confident, in aſt as many:

Forthree performers are the File, whenall
The reſt do nothing. With this word ſtand, ſtand,
Accommodated by the Place; more Charming
With their owne Noblenſe, which could have turn'd
A Diſtaffe, to a Lance, gilded pale lookes;
Part ſhame, part ſpirit renew'd, that ſome turn'd coward
But by example (Oh a finne in Warre,
Damnd in the firſt beginners) gan to looke
The way that they did, and to grin like Lyons
Vpon the Pikes o'th' Hunters. Then beganne
A ſlop i'th' Chaſer; a Retyre: Anon
A Rowt, conſuſion thickc: forthwith they flye
Chickens, the way which they ſlopt Eagles: Slaves
The ſtrides the Viftors made: and now our Cowards
Like Fragments in hard Voyages became
The life o'th' need: having found the backe doore open
Of the unguarded hearts: heavens, how they wound,
Some ſaine before, ſome dying; ſome their Friends
Ore-borne i'th' former wave, ten chad' by one,
Are now each one the ſlaughter-man of twenty:
Thofe that would dye, or cre refiſt, are growne
The mortall bugs o'th' Field.

Lors

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

413

Lord. This was strange chance :
A narrow Lane, an old man, and two Boyes.

Post. Nay, doe not wonder at it: you are made
Rather to wonder at the things you heare,
Then to worke any. Will you Rime upon't,
And vent it for a Mock'ry ? here is one :
Two Boyes, an Oldman (twice a Boy) a Lane,
"Preferr'd the Britaines, was the Romanesbane.

Lord. Nay, be not angry Sir.
Post. Lacke, to what end?

Who dares not fland his Foe, ile be his friend:
For if he'll doe, as he is made to doe,
I know he'll quickly flye my friendship too.
You have put me into Rime.

Lord. Farewell, you're angry.

Exit.

Post. Still going ? This is a Lord : Oh Noble mifery
To be ith'field, and aske what newes of me :
To day, how many would have given their honors
To have fav'd their Carkaſſes ? Tooke heele to doo't,
And yet dyed too. I, in mine owne woe charm'd,
Could not find death, where I did heare him groane,
Nor feele him where he frooke. Being an ugly Monſter
Tis ſtrange he hides him in freſh Cups, ſtoft Beds,
Sweet words; or hath moe minifters then we
That draw his knives i'th'War. Well I will ſinde him:
For being now a Favourer to the Britaine,
No more a Britaine, I have reſum'd againe
The part I came in. Fight I will no more,
But yeld me to the verieſt Hind, that ſhall
Once touch my ſhoulder. Great the ſlaughter is
Heere made by'th'Romane; great the anſwer be
Britaines muſt take. For me, my Ranſomes death,
On eyther ſide I come to ſpend my breath ;
Which neither heere I keepe, nor beare agen,
But end it by ſome means for Imogen.

Enter two Captaines and ſon soldiers.

1 Great Iupiter be prais'd, Lucius is taken,
Tis thought the old man, and his fonnes, were Angels.

2 There was a fourth man, in a filly habit,
That gave th'Affront with them.

1. Sot is reported :
But none of em can be found. Stand, who's there?

Post. A Roman,
Who had not now beene drooping heere, if ſeconſs
Had anſwer'd him.

2 Lay hands on him : a Dogge,
Alegge of Rome shall not reterne to tell
What Crowes have peckt them here; he brags his ſervice
As if he were of note : bring him to th'King.

Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Aruagius, Pisanio,
and Romane Captives. The Captaines preſent Poſtbumus to
Cymbeline, who delivs him over to a Gaoler.

## Scena Quarta.

Enter Poſtbumus, and Gaoler.

Gao. You shall not now be ſolne,

You have lockske upon you :

So graze, as you finde Paſture.

2 Gao. I, or a ſlomacke.

Poſt. Moſt welcome bondage : for thou art a way
(I thinke) to liberty : yet am I better

Then one that's ſicke o'th'Gowt, ſince he had rather

Groane ſo in perpetuity, then be cur'd
By'th'fure Phyſitian, Death ; who is the key
Tunbarre theſe Lockes. My confidence, thou art fetter'd
More then my thanks, and wriſts; you good gods give me
The penitent inſtrument to picke that Bolt,
Then free for ever. Ist enough I am forſt ?
So Children temporall fathers doe appeale ;
Gods are more full of mercy. Muſt I repent,
I cannot doe it better then in Gyves,
Defir'd, more then conſtrain'd, to ſatistſe
If of my freedome tis the maine part, take
No ſtricter render of me, then my All.
I know you are more clement then vild men,
Who of their broken Debtors take a third,
A fixt, a tenth, letting them thrive againe
On their abatement; that's not my defire.
For Imogen deere life, take mine, and though
Tis not to deere, yet tis a life, you coyn'd it,
Tweene man, and man, they waigh not every ſlampe :
Thou light, take Pecees for the figureſake,
(You rather) mine being yours : and ſo great Powres,
If you will take this Audit, take this life,
And cancell thate cold Bonds. Oh Imogen,
Ile ſpeake to thee in ſilence.

Solemnno Muficke. Enter (as in an Apparition) Siciliius Leonatus, Father to Poſtbumus, an old man, at ſt, like a war-vior, leading in his hand an ancient Matron (his wife, and Mother to Poſtbumus) with Muficke before them. Then after other Muficke, followes the two young Leonati (Brothers to Poſtbumus) with wounds as they dyed in the warres. They circle Poſtbumus round as he lies ſleeping.

Sicil. No more thou Thunder-Mafter
flew thy ſpight, on Mortall flies :

With Mars fall out, with Luno chide, that thy Adulteries
Rates, and Revenges.

Hath my poore Boy done ought but well,
whole face I never faw :

Idy'de whiſt in the Wombe he ſlaide,
attending Natures Law.

Whole Father then (as men report,
thou Orphanes Father art)

Thou ſhouldſt have bin, and ſhould ed him,
from this earth-vexing ſmarte.

Moth. Lucina lent not me her ayde,
but tooke me in my Throwes,
That from me was Poſtbumus ript,
came crying mongt his Foes.

A thing of pitty.

Sici. Great Nature like his Anceſtry,
moulded the fluffe ſo faire :

That he diferv'd the praeife oth'World,
as great Siciliius heyre.

1 Bro. When once he was mature for man,
in Britaine where was he
That could ſtand up his parallel ?
or fruitfull object be ?

In eye of Imogen, that beſt
could deeme his dignity.

Moth. With Marriage wherefore was he mockt
to be exil'd, and throwne

From Leonati Seate, and caſt
from her his deereſt one :

Sweet Imogen?

Sicil. Why did you ſuffer Iachimo, flighting thing of Italy,
ddd

To

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

414

To taint his nobler hart and braine, with needleffle jelouſe
And to become the geeke and ſcorne oth'others villany ?

2 **Bro.** For this, from ſtiler Seats we came,

our Parents, and us twaine,

That striking in our Countries caufe,
tell bravely, and were ſlaine,

Our Fealty, and Tenantiuſt right, with honor to maintaine,
1 **Bro.** Like hardiment Poſthumus hath

to Cymbeline perform'd: (journd'st
Then Iupiter, thou King of gods, why haſt thou thus ad-
The Graces for her Merits due, being all to dolors turn'd
Sici. Thy Chrifiall window ope; looke out

no longer exercife

Vpon a valiant Race, thy haſh, and potent injuries :

Moth. Since (Iupiter) our Son is good,
take off his miſeries.

Sicil. Peepe through thy Marble Manſion, helpe,
or we poore Ghoſts will cry.

To th'fhining Synod of the reſt, againſt thy Deity,

Bro. Helpe (Iupiter) or we appeale,
and from thy juſtice flye.

Iupiter deſends in Thunder and Lightning, sitting upon an
Eagle; he throwes a Thunder-bolt. The Ghosts fall on their
knees.

Imp. No more you petty Spirits of Region low
Offend our hearing : haſh. How dare you Ghoſtes
Accufe the Thunderer, whole Bolt (you know)
Sky-planted, batters all rebelling Coaſts.

Poore ſhadowes of Elizium, hence, and reſt
Vpon your never-withering bankes of Flowres.

Be not with mortall accidents oppreſt,

No care of yours it is, you know tis ours.

Whom beſt I love, I croſſe : to make my guift

The more delay'd, delighted. Be content,

Your low-laid Sonne, our godhead will uplift :
His comforts thrive, his Trialls well are ſpent.

Our Ioviall Starre 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 Affiſion made

This Tablet lay upon his breſt, wherein

Our pleafure, his full Fortune, doth confine,

And ſo away : no farther with your dinne

Expreſſe Impatience, left you ſtirre up mine

Mount Eagle, to my Palace Chriſtalline.

Aſcends.

Sicil. He came in Thunder, his Celeſtiall breath

Was fulphurous to ſmell : the holy Eagle

Stoop'd, as to foote us : his Aſcenſion is

More (ſweet) then our bleſt fields : his Royall Bird.

Prunes the immortall wing, and cloyes his Beake,

As when his god is pleas'd.

All. Thankes Iupiter.

Sici. The Marble Pavement clozes. he is enter'd

His radiant Roove : Away, and to be bleſt

Let us with care performe his great behaſt.

Vanisbo.

Poſt. Sleepe, thou haſt bin a Grandſire, and begot

A Father to me : and thou haſt created

A Mother, and two brothers. But (oh ſcorne)

Gone, they went hence ſo ſoone as they were borne ;

And ſo I am awake. Poore Wretches, that depend

On Greatneſſe, Favour ; Dreame as I have done,

Wake, and find nothing. But (alas) I ſwerve :

Many Dreame 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 Fayeries haunt this ground? a booke? Oh rare one,

Be not, as is our fangled world, a Garment
Nobler then that it covers. Let thy effects
So follow, to be moſt unlike our Courtiers,
As good, as promife.

Reades.

VV
Hen as a Lyons whelpe, ſhall to himselfe unknown
without ſecking ſind, and be embrac'd by a peace
of tender Ayre : And when from aately Cedar ſhall be
lopt branches, which being dead many yeeres, ſhall after re-
ſive, be joyn'ted to the old Stocke, and ſre ſoly grow, then
ſhall Poſthumus and his miſeries, Britaine be fortunate, and
flourifh in Peace and Plenty.

Tis ſtill a Dreame : or eſſe ſuch ſtuffe as Madmen
Tongue, and braine not : either both, or nothing,
Or ſenſeleſſe ſpeaking, or a ſpeaking ſuch
Aſſence cannot untey. Be what it is,

The Action of my life is like it, which I keepe

If but for ſimpathy.

Enter Gaoler.

Gao. Come Sir, are you ready for death ?

Poſt. Over-roaſted rath. : ready long agoe.

Gao. Hanging is the word, Sir, if you be ready for that,
you are well Cook'd.

Poſt. So if I prove a good repaſt to the Spectators, the
diſh payes the flot.

Gao. A heavy reckoning for you Sir : but the comfort
is you ſhall be called to no more payments, ſeare no more
Taverne Bils, which are often the ſadneſſe of parting, as
the procuring of birth: you come in faint for want of
meate, depart reeling with too much drinke : forry that
you have payed too much, and ſorry that you are payed
too much : Purfe and Braine, both empty : the braine the
heavier, for being too light the Purfe too light, being
drawe of heaveinneſſe. Oh, of this contradicion you ſhall
now be quit : Oh the charity of a penny Cord, it ſummes
up thouſands in a trice : you have no true Debitor, and
Creditor but it : of what paſt, is, and to come, the di-
charge : your necke (Sii) is Pen, Booke, and Counters : ſo
the Acquitance followes.

Poſt. I am merrier to dye, then thou art to live.

Gao. Indeed Sir, he that ſleepes, ſeels not the Tooth-
Ache : but a man that were to ſleepe your ſleepe, and a
Hangman to helpe him to bed, I thinke he would change
places with his Officer : for looke you Sir, you know not
which way you ſhall goe.

Poſt. Yes indeed doe I, fellow.

Gao. Your death has eyes ins head then : I have not
ſeene him ſo pietu'd : you muſt either be directed by
fome that take upon them to know, or to take upon your
ſelfe that which I am ſure you doe not know : or lump
the after-enquiry on your owne perill: and how you ſhall
ſpeed in your journies end, I thinke you'll never returne
to tell one.

Poſt. I tell thee, Fellow, there are none want eyes, to
direct them the way I am going, but ſuch as winke, and
will not uſe them.

Gao. What an infinite mocke is this, that a man ſhould
have the beſt uſe of eyes, to fee the way of blindneſſe : I
am ſure hanging's the way of winking.

Enter a Mefſenger.

Mef. Knocke off his Manacles, bring your Prifoner to
the King.

Poſt. Thou bringſt good newes, I am calld to be made
free.

Gao. Ile be hang'd then.

Poſt. Thou haſt been then freer then a Gaoler; no bolts
for

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

415

for the dead.

Exeunt.

Gao. Vnleffe a man would marry a Gallowes, and be-
get yong Gibbets, I never saw one fo prone: yet on my
Confidence, there are verier Knaves defire to live, for all
he be a Roman; and there be some of them too that dye
aginft their willes : fo should I, if I were one. I would
we were all of one minde, and one minde good: O there
were defolation of Gaolers and Galowes: I speake a-
gainft my prefent profit, but my wifh hath a preferment
int.

Exit.

## Scæna Quinta.

Enter Cymbeline, Bellarina, Guiderins, Arvi-
ragus, Tisjanio, and Lords.

Cym. Stand by my fide you, whom the Gods have made
Prefervers of my ſhrone: woe is my heart,
That the poore Souldier that fo richly fought,
Whofe ragges, ſham'd gilded Armes, whoſe naked breft
Stept before Targes of proofe, cannot be found :
He ſhall be happy that can finde him, if
Our Grace make you him fo.

Bel. I never saw

Such Noble fury in fo poore a Thing ;
Such precious deeds, in one that promit nought
But beggery, and poore lookes.

Cym. Notydings of him ?

Pisa. He hath bin fearch'd among the dead, and living,
But no trace of him.

Cym. To my griefe, I am

The heyre of his Reward, which I will adde
To you (the Liver, heart, and Braine of Britaine)
By whom (I grant) ſhelives. Tis now the time
To aske of whence you are. Report it.

Bel. Sir.

In Cambria we are borne, and Gentlemen :
Further to boast, were neither true, nor modelf,
Vnleſſe I adde, we are honest.

Cym. Bow your knees :

Arife my Knights oth' Battell, I create you
Companions to our perſon, and will fit you
With Dignities becoming your eſtates.

Enter Cornelius and Ladies.

There's buſineſſe in thefe faces : why fo fadly
Greet your our Viftory ? you looke like Romanes,
And not oth' Court of Britaine.

Corn. Hayle great King,

To ſowre your happineſſe, I muſt report
The Queene 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 cruell to the world) concluded
Moſt cruell to her ſelfe. What ſhe conſeft,
I will report, ſo pleafe you. Theſe her Women
Can trip me, if I erre, who with wet cheekes
Were preſent when ſhe finiſh'd.

Cym. Prethee ſay.

Corn. First, the conſeft the never lov'd you : only
Aſſected Greatneſſe got by you : not you :

Married your Royalty, was wife to your place :

Abhor'd your perſon.

Cym. She alone knew this :

And but ſhe ſpoke it dying, I would not
Beleeve her lips in opening it. Proceed.

Conn. Your daughter, whom ſhe bore in hand to love
With ſuch integrity, ſhe did conſeſſe

Was as a Scorpion to her fight, whoſe life
(But that her fight prevented it) ſhe had
Tane off by poyfon.

Cym. O moſt delicate fiend!

Who ist can reade a Woman ? is there more ?

Corn. More Sir, and worſe. She did conſeſſe ſhe had
For you a mortall Minerall, which being tooke,
Should by the minute ſeede on life, and lingring,

By inches waffe you. In which time, ſhe purpòſ'd
By watching, weeping, tendance, kiſſing, to

Orecome you with her ſhew : yes and in time
(When ſhe had fitted you with her craft, to worke

Her Sonne into th' adoption of the Crowne :

But ſayling of her end by his ſtrange abſence,
Grew ſhameleſſe desperate, open'd (in deſpight

Of heaven, and Men) her purpofes: repented

The evill ſhe hatch'd, were not effected: ſo
Difpayring, dyed.

Cym. Heard you all this, her Women ?

Lad. We did, fo pleafe your highneſſe.

Cym. Mine eyes

Were not in fault, for ſhe was beautifull :

Mine eares that heare her flattery, nor my heart.

That thought her like her ſeeming. It had beene vicious
To have miftrued her : yet (Oh my Daughter)

That it was folly in me, thou mayſt ſay,

And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all.

Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and other Roman prifoners,
Leonatus behind, and Imogen.

Thou comm'it not Caius now for Tribute, that

The Britaines have rac'd out, though with the loſſe

Of many a bold one : whole Kinfmen have made ſuite

That their good foules may be appeas'd, with ſlaughteer

Of you their Captives, which our ſelfe have granted,
So thinke of your eſtate.

Luc. Confider fir, the chance of Warre, the day

Was yours by accident: had it gone with us,

We ſhould not when the blood 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 : ſuſſiceth,

A Roman, with a Romans heart can tuffer :

Augustus lives to thinke on't : and ſo much

For my peculiar care. This one thing onely

I will entreate, my Boy (a Britaine borne)

Let him be ranſom'd: Never Maſler had

A Page ſo kinde, ſo duteous, diligent,

So tender over his occafions, true,

So ſeate, ſo Nurſe-like: let his vertue joyne

With my requeſt, which Ile make bold, your highneſſe

Cannot deny: he hath done no Britaine harme,

Though he have ſerv'd a Roman. Save him (Sir)

And ſpare no blood before.

Cym. I have ſurely ſeene him :

His favour is familiar to me : Boy,

Thou haſt look'd thy ſelfe into my grace,

And art mine owne. I know not why, wherefore,

To ſay, live boy : nere thanke thy Maſter, live ;

And aske of Cymbeline what Boone thou wilt,

Fitting my bounty, and thy ſtate, Ile give it :

ddd 2

Yes,

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

416

Yea, though thou doe demand a Prifoner,
The Nobleft tane.

Imo. I humbly thanke your Highneſſe.

Luc. I doe not bid thee begge my life, good Lad;
And yet I know thou wilt.

Imo. No, no, alacke,

Theres other worke in hand : I fee a thing
Bitter to me, as death : your life, good Maſter,
Muſt ſhuffle for it ſelſe.

Luc. The Boy diſdaines me,
He leaves me, ſcornes me: briefly dye their joyes,
That place them on the truth of Gyſles, and Boyes.
Why ſlands he ſo perplex ?

Cym. What would it thou Boy ?
I love thee more, and more: thinke more and more
What's beſt to aske. Knowſt him thou look'st on? ſpeake
Wilt have him live ? Is he thy Kin ? thy friend ?

Imo. He is a Romane, no more kin to me,
Then I to your highneſſe, who being borne your vassaile
Am ſomething neerer.

Cym. Wherefore ey'ft him ſo ?

Imo. Ile 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 Sir.

Cym. Thou'rt my good youth, my Page,
Ile be thy Maſter : walke with me : ſpeake freely.

Bel. Is not this Boy revi'u'd from death ?

Arvi. One ſand another

Not more ſembles that ſweet Rofie Lad :
Who dyed, and was Fidele : what thinke you ?

Guis. The fame dead thing alive.

Bel. Peace, peace, fee further; he eyes us not, for beare,
Creatures may be alike : were't he, I am ſure
He would have ſpoke to us.

Guis. But we fee him dead.

Bel. Be ſilent : lets fee further.

Pifis. It is my Miſtris :
Since ſhe is living, let the time run on,
To good, or bad.

Cym. Come, ſtand thou by our ſide.
Make thy demand alowd. Sir, ſte you forth,
Give anſwer to this boy, and doe it freely,
Or by our Greatneſſe, and the grace of it
(Which is our honor) bitter torture ſhall
Winnow the truth from falſhood. One ſpeake to him.

Imo. My boone is, that this Gentleman may tender
Of whom he had this Ring.

Poff. What's that to him :

Cym. That Diamond upon your ſinger, 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 vitter that
Which torments me to conceal. By Villany
I got this Ring : twas Leonatus lewell,
Whom thou didſt banish : and which more may greeve
As it doth me : a Nobler Sir nere liv'd (thee,
Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou heare more my Lord ?

Cym. All that belongs to this.

Iach. That Paragon, thy daughter,
For whom my heart drops blood, and my falſe ſpirites
Quile to reme ube. Give me leave, I faint.

Cym. My Daughte ? what of her ? Renew thy ſtrength

I had rather thou shouldſt live, while Nature will,
Then dye ere I heare more : ſtrive man, and ſpeake.

Iach. Vpon a time, unhappy was the clocke.
That ſrooke the houre : it was in Rome, accurſt
The Manſion where : twas at a ſeaf, oh would
Our Viands had bin poyſon'd (or at leaſt
Thofe which I hea'd to head :) the good Poffumus,
(What should I ſay ? he was too good to be.
Where ill men were, and was the beſt of all
Among'ft the rarſ of good ones) ſitting ſadly,
Hearing us praife our Loves of Italy
For beauty, that made barren the ſwell'd beaſt
Of him that beſt could ſpeake : for Feature, laming
The Shrine of Venus, or ſtraight-pight Minerva,
Poſtures, beyond briefe Nature. For Condition,
A ſhop of all the qualities, that man
Loves woman for, befides that hooe of Wiving,
Faireneſſe, which ſtrikes the eye.

Cym. I ſtand on fire. Come to the matter.

Iach. All too ſoone I ſhall,
Vneſſe thou wouldſt greeve quickly. This Poſtbumus,
Moſt like a Noble Lord, in love, and one
That had a Royall Lover, tooke his hint,
And (not diſpraſing whom we prais'd, therein
He was as calme as vertue) he began
His Miſtris picture, which by his tongue, being made,
And then a mind put int, either our bragges
Were crak'd of Kitchin-Trulles, or his deſcription
Prov'd us unſpeaking ſottes.

Cym. Nay, nay, to th' purpose.

Iach. Your daughters Chaſtity, (there it begins)
He ſpake of her, as Dian had hot dreames,
And ſhe alone were cold : Whereat, I wretch
Made a cruple of his praife, and wag'd with him
Peeceſs of gold, gainſt this, which then he wore
Vpon his honor'd ſinger ) to attaine
In ſuite the place of ſed bed, and winne this Ring
By hers, and mine Adultery : he (true Knight)
No leſer of her honor confident
Then I did truly finde her, ſtakes this Ring,
And would ſo, had it beene a Carbuncle
Of Pheebus Wheele ; and might ſo safely, had it
Bin all the worth of Carre. Away to Britaine
Poſte I in this defigne : Well may you (Sir)
Remember me at Court, where I was taught
Of your chafte Daughters, the wide difference
Twixt Amorous, and Villanous. Being thus quench'd
Of hope, not longing ; mine Italian braine,
Gan in your duller Britaine operate
Moſt vildly : for my vantage excellent.
And to be briefe, my practice ſo prevayl'd
That I returnd with ſimular proofe enough,
To make the Noble Leonatus mad,
By wounding his belcife in her Renowne,
With Tokens thus, and thus; averring notes
Of Chamber hanging, Pictures this her Bracelet
(Oh cunning how I got it) nay ſome markes
Of ſecret on her perſon, that he could not
But thinke her bond of Chaſtity quite cracked,
I having tane the forſeyt. Whereupon,
Me thinkes I ſee him now.

Poſt. I, so thou doſt.'
Italian fiend. Aye me, moſt credulous ſoole,
Egregious murtherer, Theeſe, any thing
Thats due to all the Villaines paſt, in being
To come. Oh give me Cord, or knife, or poyſon,

Some

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

417

Some upright Ilusticer. Thou King, lend out
For Torturers ingenious : it is I
That all th'abhorred things oth' earth amend
By being worfe then they. I am Pos'thume',
That kill'd thy Daughter : Villaine-like, I lye.
That cau s'd a leffer villaine then my felfe,
A facrilegious. Thefe to doot. The Temple
Of Vertue was the : yea, and the her felfe.
Spet, and throw ftones, caft myre upon me, fet
The dogges oth' street to bay me : every villaine
Be calld Pos'thume', Leonatus, and

Be villany leſſe then twas. Oh Imogen !
My Queene, my life, my wife : oh Imogen,

Imogen, Imogen.

Imo. Peace my Lord, heare, heare,

Poſt. Shalls have a play of this ?

Thou cornfull Page, there lye thy parts,

Pis. Oh Gentleman, helpe,

Mine and your Miftris : Oh my Lord Pos'thume',

You ne're kill Imogen till now : helpe, helpe,;
Mine honor'd Lady.

Cym. Does the world goe round ?

Poſt. How comes thele flaggers on me ?

Pis. Wake my Miftris.

Cym. If this be ſo, the gods doe meane to ſtrike me
To death, with mortall joy.

Pis. How fares my Miftris.

Imo. Oh get thee from my fight,
Thou gav't me poyfon : dangerous Fellow hence,
Breath not where Princes are.

Cym. The tune of Imogen.

Pis. Lady, the gods throw ftones of Sulphure on me, if
That box I gave you, was not thought by me

A precious thing, I had it from the Queene.

Cym. New matter ſtill.

Imo. It poyſon'd me.

Corn. Oh gods !

I left out one thing which the Queene conſeft,
Which muſt approve thee honet. If Pisanio
Have (faid the) given his Miftris that Confection
Which I gave him for Cordially, ſhe is ſerv'd,
As I would ſerve a Rat.

Cym. What's this, Cornelius ?

Corn. The Queene (Sir) very oft importun'd me
To temper poyſons for her, fill pretending
The ſatisfaction of her knowledge, onely
In killing Creatures vilde, as Cats and Dogges
Of no elſteme, I dreading, that her purpofe
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certaine ſtuffe, which being tane, would ſeize
The prefent power of life, but in ſhort time,
All Offices of Nature, should againe

Doe their due Functions. Have you tane of it ?

Imo. Moſt like I did, for I was dead.

Bel. My Boyes, there was our error.

Gni. This is ſure Fidele.

Imo. Why did you throw your wedded Lady fro you?
Thinke that you are upon a Rocke, and now

Throw me againe.

Poſt. Hang there like fruite, my foule,

Till the Tree dye.

Cym. How now, my fleſh ? My child ?

What, mak't thou me a dullard in this Act ?

Wilt thou not ſpeak to me ?

Imo. Your bleſſing Sir.

Bel. Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not,

You had a motive fort.

Cym. My teares that fall

Prove holy-water on thee; Imogen,
Thy Mothers dead.

Imo. I am forry for't my Lord.

Cym. Oh, ſhe was naught; and long of her it was
That we meet heere fo' strangely : but her Sonne
Is gone, we know not how, nor where.

Pis. My Lord,

Now feare is from me, Ile ſpeake troth. Lord Clotten
Vpon my Ladies miling, came to me
With his Sword drawne, foam'd at the mouth, and Iwore
If I diſcover'd not which way ſhe was gone,
It was my ſ instant death. By accident,
I had a feigned Letter of my Maſters
Then in my pocket, which directed him
To feeke her on the Mountaines neere to Milford,
Where in a frenzy, in my Maſters Garments
(Which he inſore'd from me) away he poſtes
With unchafte purpofe, and with oath to violate
My Ladies honor, what became of him,
I further know not.

Gni. Let me end the Story : I flew him there.

Cym. Marry, the gods forefend.
I would not thy good deeds, should from my lips,
Plucke a hard ſentence: Prethee valiant youth
Deny't againe.

Guil. I have ſpoke it, and I did it.

Cym. He was a Prince.

Gni. A moſt incivill one. The wrongs he did me
Were nothing Prince-like; for he did provoke me
With Language that would make me ſpurne the Sea,
If it could to roare to me. I cut off's head,
And am right glad he is not ſtanding here
Totell this tale of mine,

Cym. I am ſory for thee :

By thine owne tongue thou art condemn'd, and muſt
Endure our Law : Thou'rt dead.

Imo. That headleſſe man I thought it had bin my Lord

Cym. Bind the Offender,

And take him from our preference,

Bel. Stay, Sir King.

This man is better then the man he flew,
As well deſcended as thy ſelfe, and hath
More of thee merited, then a Band of Clotens
Had ever ſcarre for. Let his Armes alone,
They were not borne for bondage.

Cym. Why old Souldier :

Wilt thou undoe the worth thou art unpay'd for
By taſting of onr wrath ? how of deſcent

As good as we ?

Arvi. In that he ſpake too farre.

Cym. And thou haf't dye for't.

Bel. We will dye all three,

But I will prove that two on's are as good

As I have given out him. My Sonnes, I muſt

For mine owne part, unfold a dangerous ſpeech,
Though haply well for you.

Arvi. Your dangers ours.

Guid. And our good his.

Bel. Have at it then, by leave

Thou hadſt (great King) a Subject, who
Was calld Belarius.

Cym. What of him ? he is a banifh'd Traitor.

Bel. He it is, that hath

Aflum'd this age: indeed a banifh'd man,

I

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

418

I know not 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 Sonnes,
And let it be conficate all, to foone
As I have receiv'd it.

Cym. Nursing of my Sonnes?

Bel. I am too blunt, and fawcy : heeres my knee :
Ere I arife, I will preferre my Sonnes,
Then spare not the old Father. Mighty Sir,
Thefe two young Gentlemen that call me father,
And thinke they are my Sonnes, are none of mine,
They are the yflue of your Loynes, my Liege,
And blood of your begetting.

Cym. How ? my iflue.

Bel. So fure as you, your fathers : I (old Morgan)
Am that Belarius, whom you sometime banifh'd :

Your pleasure was my neere offence, my punifhment
It felfe, and all my Treafon that I suffer'd,
Was all the harme I did. Thefe gentle Princes
(For fuch, and fo they are) thefe twenty yeeres
Have I train'd up; thofe Arts they have, as I
Could put into them. My breeding was (Sir)

As your Highneſſe knowes, Their Nurſe Euriphile
(Whom for the Theft I wedded) ſtole theſe Children
Vpon my 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 Treafon. Their deere Ioffe,
The more of you twas felt, the more it ſhap'd
Vnto my end of fealing them. But gracious Sir,
Heere are your Sonnes againe; and I muſt Ioffe
Two of the ſweetſt Companions in the World.
The bendification of theſe covering heavens
Fall on their heads like dew, for they are worthy
To in-lay heaven with Starres.

Cym. Thou weepſt, and ſpeakſt :

The ſervice that you three have done, is more
Vnlike, then this thou tellſt. I loft my children,
If theſe be they, I know not how to wifh
A payre of worthier Sonnes.

Bel. Be pleas'd a while :
This Gentleman, whom I call Polidore,
Moſt worthy Prince, as yours, is true Guderius :
This Gentleman, my Cadwall, Arviragus,
Your yonger Princely Son, he Sir, was lapt
In a moſt curious Mantle, wrought by th'hand
Of his Queene Mother, which for more probation
I can with eafe produce,

Cym. Guderius had
Vpon his necke a Mole, a fanguine Starre,
It was a marke of wonder.

Bel. This is he,
Who hath upon him full that naturall ſtampe :
It was wite Natures end, in the donation
To be his evidence now.

Cym. Oh, what am I
A Mother to the byrth of three ? Nere Mother
Rejoy'd deliverance more; Bleſt, pray you be,
That after this ſtrange ſtarting from your Orbes,
You may reigne in them now: Oh Imogen,
Thou haſt lolt 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 fay heereafter

But I am trueſt ſpeaker. You calld me Brother
When I was but your Sifter : I you Brother,
When we were ſo indeed.

Cym. Did you ere meete ?

Arvi. I my good Lord.

Guí. And at firſt meeting lov'd,

Continu'd ſo, untill we thought he dyed.

Corn. By the Queens Dramme ſhe ſwallow'd.

Cym. Orare inſtinct!

When ſhall I heare all through? This ſterſe abridgement,
Hath to it Circumflantall branches, which
Dſtinfenſion ſhould be rich in. Where ? how liv'd you ?
And when came you to ſerve our Romane Captive ?
How parted with your Brother ? How firſt met them ?
Why ſled you from the Court ? And whether theſe ?
And your three motives to the Battaile ? with
I know not how much more ſhould be demanded,
And all the other by-dependances
From chance to chance ? But nor the time, nor place
Will ſerve our long Interrogatories. See,

Poſthummi Anchors upon Imogen :
And ſhe (like harmeleſſe Lightning) throwes her eye
On him : her brothers, Me : her Maſter hitting
Each objeſt with a Ioy : the Counter-change
Is feverally in all. Lets quite this grond,
And moake the Temple with our Sacrifices.
Thou art my Brother, ſo we'll hold thee ever.

Imo. You are my Mother too, and did releeve 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 doe you ſervice.

Luc. Happy be you.

Cym. The forlorne Souldier, that ſo Nobly fought
He would have well becom'd this place, and grac'd
The thankings of a King.

Poſt. I am Sir
The ſouldier that did company theſe three
In poore befeeming : twas a fitment for
The purpofe I then follow'd. That I was he,
Speake Iachimo, I had you downe, and might
Have made your finiſh.

Iach. I am downe againe :
But now my heavy Conſciencie ſinkes my knee,
As then your force did. Take that life, beſeech you,
Which I ſo often owe; but your Ring firſt,
And heere the Bracelet of the trueſt Princeſſe
That ever ſwore her faith.

Poſt. Kneeſt not to me :
The powre that I have on you, is to ſpare you :
The malice towards you, to forgive you. Live
And deale with others better.

Cym. Nobly doom'd :
We'll leane our Freenefſe of a Sonne-in-Law :
Pardons the word to all.

Arvi. You holpe us Sir,
As you did meane indeed to be our Brother,
Ioy'd are we, that you are.

Poſt. Your Servant, Princes. Good my Lord of Reme
Call forth your Sooth-layer : As I flept, methought
Great Jupiter upon his Eagle back'd
Appear'd to me, with other ſprightely ſhewes
Of mine owwe Kindred. When I wak'd, I found
This Labell on my boſome ; whoſe containing
Is ſo from ſenſe in hardneſſe, that I can

Make

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.

419

Make no Collection of it. Let him shew
His skill in the construction.

Luc. Philémonus.

Sooth. Heere, my good Lord.

Luc. Read, and declare the meaning.

Reades.

VV
Hen as a Lyons whelpe, shall to himselfe unknown
without seeking find, and be embrac'd by a peccie
of tender Ayre: and when from a lately Cedar shall be
lopt branches, which being dead many yeares, shall after re-
vive, be joyn'ted to the old Stocke, and freshely grow, then
shall Poſtumum end his miseries, Britaine be fortunate,
and flourish in Peace and Plenty.

Thou Leonatus art the Lyons Whelpe,
The fit and apt Conſtruction of thy name
Being Leonatus, doth import so much:
The peccie of tender Ayre, thy vertuous daughter,
Which we call Mollis Aer, and Mollis Aer
Weterne it Mulier : which Mulier I divine
Ithis moſt conſtant Wife, who even now
Anſwering the Letter of the Oracle,
Vnknowne to you unfought, were clipt about
With this moſt tender Aire.

Cym. This hath some ſeeming.

Sooth. The lofty Cedar, Royall Cymbeline

Perſonates thee: And thy lopt Branches, point
Thy two Sonnes forth: who by Belarius toſole
For many yeares thought dead, are now reviv'd
To the Majesticke Cedar joyn'd; whose ilſue

Promifes Britaine, Peace and Plenty.

Cym. Well,

My Peace we will begin : And Caius Lucius,
Although the Victor, we ſubmit to Caesar,
And to the Romane Empire; promifing
To pay our wonted Tribute, from the which
We were diffwaded by our wicked Queene,
Whom heavens in justice both on her, and hers,
Have laid moſt heavy hand.

Sooth. The fingers of the Powres above, doe tune
The harmony of this Peace : the Vifion
Which I made kne vne to Lucius ere the ſtroke
Of yet this ſcarfe-cold-Battaile, at this inſtant
Is full accompliſh'd. For the Romane Eagle
From South to Weſt, on wing foaring aloft
Leſſen'd her ſelfe, and in the Beames oth'Sun
So vaniſh'd; which fore ſhew'd our Princely Eagle
Th'Imperiall Caesar, ſhould againe unire
His favour, with the Radiant Cymbeline,
Which ſhines here in the Weſt.

Cym. Laud we the gods,
And let our crooked Smoakes climb to their Noſtrils
From our bleſt Altars. Publifh wethis peace
To all our Subjeets. Set we forward : let
A Roman, and a Brittiffh Enſigne wave
Friendly together ; ſo through Luds-Towne martch,
And in the Temple of great Iupiter
Our Peace we'll ratiſe : Seale it with feaſts.
Set on there : Never was a Warre did ceaſe
(Ere bloody hands were wath'd) with ſuch a Peace.

Exeunt.

FINIS.

Printed at London by Thomas Cotes, for John Smethwick, William Apthey,
Richard Hawkins, Richard Meighen, and Robert Allot, 1632.

1188

SHAKESPEARE. M[R]O. WILLIAM / SHAKESPEARES / COMEDIES, / HISTORIES, AND / TRAGEDIES. / PUBLISHED ACCORDING TO THE TRUE ORIGINALL COPIES. / *The Second Impression*. Portrait by Droeshout, with verses opposite, crushed red morocco extra, inside dentelles, g. e. by F. Bedford

* folio. Printed by Tho. Cotes, for Robert Allot, and are to be sold at the signe of the Blacke Beare in Pauls Church-yard, 1632.*

[Colophon] Printed at London by Thomas Cotes, for John Smethwick, William Aspley, Richard Hawkins, Richard Meighen, and Robert Allot, 1632

\*\*\* SECOND EDITION. 13¼ by 8¾ in.

A REMARKABLY LARGE AND FINE COPY, measuring

In folio. The Fourth Edition. portrait by Droeshout, with verses
beneath, modern russia, with blind stamped ornaments, g. e.
folio. Printed for H. Herringman, E. Brewster, and R. Bentley......1685

\*\*\* A FINE, LARGE, CLEAN AND SOUND COPY, measuring 14 by 9 in.
The "Address to the Great Variety of Readers," and the "Com-
mendatory Verses," are inserted before "King John."

1192 SHAKESPEARE. RICHARD III. 1597. THE TRAGEDY OF KING RICHARD THE THIRD. Containing, His treacherous Plots against his brother Clarence: the pittiefull murther of his innocent nephewes: his tyranicall vsurpation: with the whole course of his detested life, and most deserued death. As it hath beene lately