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much * ; purfe and brain both empty, the brain the heavier for being too light; the parie too light, being drawn of heaviness. Oh, of this contradiction you fhall now be quit: oh, the charity of a penny cord, it fums up thousands in a trice; you have no true debtor and creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come, the discharge; your neck, Sir, is pen, book, and counters; fo the ac quittance follows.

Poft. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live. Goal. Indeed, Sir, he that fleeps, feels not the tooth-ache: but a man that were to fleep your fleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think, he would change, places with his officer; for look you, Sir, you know not which way you fhall go. Poft. Yes, indeed, do I, fellow.

Goal. Your death has eyes in 's head then; I have not feen him fo pictur'd. You muft either be directed by fome that take upon them to know, or take upon yourself that, which, I am fure, you do not know; or jump the after-inquiry on your own peril and how you fhall tpeed in your journey'send, I think, you'll never return to tell one.

Poft. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them the way I am going, but fuch as wink, and will not ufe them.

Goal. What an infmite mock is this, that a man fhould have the beft ufe of eyes, to fee the way of blindness! I am fure hanging is the way of winking.

Enter a MeJenger.

Meff. Knock off his manacles. Bring your pri foner to the King.

Poft. Thou bring'ft good news; I am called to be made free.

Goal. I'll be hang'd hen.

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I read, And merry that you are paid fo much. I take the fecond paid to be paid, for appaid, filled, fatiated.

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Poft. Thou shalt be then freer than a goaler; no bolts for the dead.

[Exeunt Pofthumus and Messenger. Goal. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and beget young gibbets, I never faw one fo prone. Yet, on my confcience, there are verier knaves defire to live, for all he be a Roman: and there be fome of them too that die against their wills; so fhould I, if I were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good; O there were defolation of goalers and gallowfes; I speak against my prefent profit, but my wifh hath a preferment in't. [Exit.

SCENE IV.
Cymbeline's Tent.

Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pifanio, and Lords.

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

Prefervers of my throne. Woe is my heart,

That the poor foldier, that fo richly fought,
Whofe rags fham'd gilded arms, whofe naked breast
Step'd before targes of proof, cannot be found;
He fhall be happy that can find him, if

Our grace can make him fo.

Bel. I never faw

Such noble fury in fo poor a thing;

Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought But begg'ry and poor looks *.

Cym. No tidings of him?

Pif. He hath been fearch'd among the dead and But no trace of him.

Cym. To my grief, I am

The heir of his reward; which I will add

[livings

To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain;

[To Relarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus

• And poor luck. Warburton,

By whom, I grant, fhe lives.
To afk of whence you are.
Bel. Sir,

'Tis now the time

Report it.

In Cambria were we born, and gentlemen;
Farther to boaft, were neither true nor modeft,
Unless I add, we're honeft.

Cym. Bow your knees.

[They kneel

Arife my knights o' th' battle; I create you
Companions to our perfon, and will fit you
With dignities becoming your estates.

Enter Cornelius, and Ladies.

There's business in these faces. Why fo fadly
Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,
And not o' th' court of Britain.

Cor. Hail, great King!

To four your happiness, I must report
The Queen is dead.

Cym. Whom worfe than a phyfician
Would this report become? But I confider,
By med'cine life may be prolong'd, yet death
Will feize the doctor too. How ended the ?

Cor. With horror, madly dying, like herself,
Who, being cruel to the world, concluded
Moft cruel to herself. What the confefs'd,
I will report, fo please you: these her women
Can trip me, if I err; who, with wet cheeks,
Were prefent when the finifh'd.

Cym. Pr'ythee, fay.

Cor. First, the confefs'd fhe never lov'd you; only Affected greatnefs got by you, not you;

Married your royalty, was wife to your place,
Abhorr'd your perfon."

Cym. She alone knew this;

And, but the spoke it dying, I would not

Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.

Cor. Your daughter, whom he bore in hand to

With fuch integrity, the did confess

Was as a fcorpion to her fight, whofe life,

But that her flight prevented it, he had

Ta'en off by poifon.

Cym. O molt delicate fiend!

[love

Who is 't can read a woman? is there more?

Cor More, Sir, and worse. She did confess, she had

For you a mortal mineral, which, being took,
Should by the minute feed on life, and ling'ring
By inches wafte you. In which time the purpos'd
By watching, weeping, tendance, killing, to
O'ercome you with her fhew; yes, and in time,
When the had fitted you with her craft, to work
Her fon into th' adoption of the crown;

But failing of her end by his ftrange abfence,
Grew fhameless, defperate, open'd, in defpight
Of heav'n and men, her purposes, repented
The ills the hatch'd were not effected; so,
Despairing, dy'd.

Cym. Heard you all this, her women?
Lady. We did, fo please your Highness.
Gym. Mine eyes

Were not in fault, for he was beautiful:

Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, That thought her like her feeming. It had been

vicious

To have mistrusted her. Yet, oh my daughter!
That it was folly in me, thou may'st say,
And prove it in thy feeling. Heav'n mend all!

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Enter Lucius, Jachimo, and other Roman prifoners; Leonatus behind, and Imogen,

Thou com'ft not, Caius, now for tribute; that The Britons have raz'd out, though with the lofs Of many a bold one, whose kinfmen have made fuit, That their good fouls may be appeas'd with flaughter Of you their captives, which ourself have granted. So think of your estate.

Luc. Confider, Sir, the chance of war; the day Was yours by accident; had it gone with us, We thould not, when the blood was cold, have threatned

Our prifoners with the fword. But fince the gods Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives.

May be call'd ranfom, let it come. Sufficeth,
A Roman with a Roman's heart can fuffer.
Auguftus lives to think on't. And fo much
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will intreat: my boy, a Briton born,
Let him be ranfoin'd; never mafter had
A page fo kind, fo duteous, diligent,
So tender over his occafions, true,

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So feat, so nurle-like. Let his virtue join With my requett, which, I'll make bold, your . Highnets

Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm, Though he hath ferv'd a Roman. Save him, Sit, And fpare no blood befide.

Cym. I've furely feen him;

His favour is familiar to me.

Boy, thou hast look'd thyfelf into my grace,
And art mine own, I know not why, nor wherefore,
To fay," Live, boy:" ne'er thank thy mafter; live;
And ak of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Fitting my bounty, and thy ftate, I'll give it :
Yea, though thou do demand a prifoner,
The nobleft ta'en.

Imo. I humbly thank your Highness.

Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad; And yet I know thou wilt.

Imo. No, no, alack,

There's other work in hand; I fee a thing
Bitter to me as death; your life, good master,
Muft fhuffle for itself.

Luc. The boy difdains me,

He leaves me, fcorns me; briefly die their joys, That place them on the truth of girls and boys! Why ftands he fo perplex'd?!

Gym. What wouldst thou, boy?

I love thee more and more: think more and more' What's beft to ask. Know'ft him thou look'fl on?

fpeak,

Wilt have him live? is he thy kin? thy friend?" Imo. He is a Roman; no more kin to me, Than I to your Highness; who, being born your Am fomething nearer.

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