Could not find death, where I did hear him groan; Nor feel him, where he struck.—

Well, I will find him :

No more a Briton, I have resum'd again
The part I came in: Fight I will no more,
But yield me to the veriest hind, that shall
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is
On either side. For me, my ransom's death;
On either side I come to spend my breath;
Which neither here I'll keep, nor bear again,
But end it by some means for Imogen.

[Exit.

SCENE VI.

CYMBELINE'S Tent.

A Retreat sounded.

CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAgus, PISANIO, and BRITISH SOLDIERS, discovered.

Cym. Stand by my side, you, whom the gods have made

Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart,

That the poor soldier, that so richly fought,
Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast
Stepp'd before targe of proof, cannot be found:
He shall be happy, that can find him, if

Our grace can make him so.

Bel. I never saw

Such noble fury in so poor a thing.

Cym. No tidings of him?

Pisanio. He hath been search'd among the dead and

living,

But no trace of him.

Cym. To my grief, I am

The heir of his reward; which I will add
Το you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain,

[To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. By whom, I grant, she lives: 'Tis now the time To ask of whence you are :-report it.

Bel. Sir,

In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen:
Further to boast, were neither true nor modest,
Unless I add, we are honest.

Cym. Bow your knees:

Arise my knights o' the battle; I create you
Companions to our person, and will fit you
With dignities becoming your estates.

[Drums and Trumpets.

Enter Two LORDS; IACHIMO, CAIUS LUCIUS, IMO-
GEN, ROMAN PRISONERS, in Chains; and POSTHU-
MUS behind, guarded by BRITISH SOLDIERS.

Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that
Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit,
That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted:
So, think of your estate.

Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war; the day
Was yours by accident; had it gone with us,

We should not, when the blood was cool, have threaten'd

Our prisoners with the sword. But, since the gods

Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives

May be call'd ransom, let it come: sufficeth,

A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer :
Augustus lives to think on't: And so much
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will entreat; my boy, a Briton born,
Let him be ransom'd: never master had
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent:
He hath done no Briton harm,

Though he hath serv'd a Roman: Save him, sir,
And spare no blood beside.

Cym. I have surely seen him;

His favour is familiar to me.

Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
And art mine own. I know not why, nor where-
fore,

To say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master; live:
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I'll give it;
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
The noblest ta'en.

[IMOGEN looks at IACHIMO.

Know'st him thou look'st on? speak,

Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?
Imog. He is a Roman; no more kin to me,

Than I to your highness; who, being born your vassal,

Am something nearer.

Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so?

Imog I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please

To give me hearing.

Cym. Ay, with all my heart:

Walk with me; speak freely.

[CYMBELINE and IMOGEN walk aside.

Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death?
Arv. One sand another

Not more resembles :-That sweet rosy lad,
Who died, and was Fidele:-What think you?
Guid. The same dead thing alive.

Bel. Peace, peace! see further.

Pisanio. [Aside.] It is my mistress: Since she is living, let the time run on, To good, or bad.

CYMBELINE and IMOGEN come forward. Cym. Come, stand thou by our side;

Make thy demand aloud.-Sir, step you forth;

[To IACHIMO.

Give answer to this boy, and do it freely;

Or, by our greatness,

Bitter torture shall

Winnow the truth from falsehood.-On, speak to him. Imog. My boon is, that this gentleman may render Of whom he had this ring.

Post. [Aside.] What's that to him?

Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say, How came it yours?

Iach. Thoul't torture me to leave unspoken that Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.

Cym. How! me?

Iach. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter tha which

Torments me to conceal. By villany

I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel,

Whom thou didst banish; and (which more may grieve thee,

As it doth me,) a nobler sir ne'er liv'd

Twixt sky and ground. Will you hear more, my

lord?

Cym. All that belongs to this.

Tach. That paragon, thy daughter,—

For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits Quail to remember,-Give me leave; I faint.

Cym. My daughter! what of her? Renew thy.
strength:

I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will,
Than die ere I hear more.

Iach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock That struck the hour!) it was in Rome, (accurs'd The mansion where !) 'twas at a feast, (Oh, 'would Our viands had been poison'd! or, at least,

Those which I heav'd to head !) the good Posthu

mus

Cym. Come to the matter.

Iach. Your daughter's chastity-there it begins. He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams,

And she alone were cold: whereat, I,-wretch !—
Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him
Pieces of gold, 'gainst this which then he wore
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain

In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring
By hers and mine adultery.

Away to Britain

Post I in this design: well may you, sir,
Remember me at court, where I was taught,
Of your chaste daughter, the wide difference
'Twixt amorous and villanous :-
:-

To be brief, my practice so prevail'd,
That I return'd, with simular proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad,

By wounding his belief in her renown
With tokens thus, and thus;

That he could not

But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,

I having ta'en the forfeit.

Methinks, I see him now,-
Post. Ay, so thou dost,

Whereupon,—

[Coming forward.

Italian fiend!—Ah me, most credulous fool,

Egregious murderer, thief, any thing

That's due to all the villains past, in being,

To come!-Oh, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out
For torturers ingenious:

I am Posthumus,

That kill'd thy daughter :—the temple