When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
I'll follow those that even now fled hence,
And on the gates of Lud's town set your heads :
Yield, rustic mountaineer. [Exeunt, fighting.
Enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS.
Bel. No company's abroad.

Art. None in the world: You did mistake him,

sure.

Bel. I cannot tell: Long is it since I saw him, But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favor' Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice, And burst of speaking, were as his: I am absolute, "Twas very Cloten.

Arv.

In this place we left them; I wish my brother make good time with him, You say he is so fell.

Bel.
Being scarce made up,
I mean, to man, he had not apprehension
Of roaring terrors; for the effect of judgment
Is oft the cause of fear: But see, thy brother.

Re-enter GUIDERIUS with CLOTEN'S Head.
Gui. This Cloten was a fool; an empty purse,
There was no money in't: not Hercules
Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none:
Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne
My head, as I do his.

And set them on Lud's town.
Bel.
We are all undone.
Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose,
But, that he swore to take, our lives! The law
Protects not us: Then why should we be tender,
To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us;
Play judge, and executioner, all himself;
For we do fear the law? What company
Discover you abroad?

No single soul

Bel.
Can we set eye on, but, in all safe reason,
He must have some attendants. Though his humor
Was nothing but mutation; ay, and that
From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not
Absolute madness could so far have raved,
To bring him here alone: Although, perhaps,
It may be heard at court, that such as we
Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time

May make some stronger head: the which he hearing,
(As it is like him,) might break out and swear
He'd fetch us in; yet is't not probable
To come alone, either he so undertaking,

'Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't! though

valor Becomes thee well enough.

Arv. 'Would I had done't, So the revenge alone pursued me!-Polydore, I love thee brotherly; but envy much, Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would, revenges, That possible strength might meet, would seek us through,

And put us to our answer.

Bel. Well, 'tis done :Where there's no profit. I pr'ythee, to our rock; We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him To dinner presently.

Arv.

Poor sick Fidele! I'll willingly to him: To gain his color, I'd let a parish of such Clotens' blood, And praise myself for charity.

[Exit.

Bel. O thou goddess, Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st In these two princely boys! They are as gentle As zephyrs, blowing below the violet, Not wagging his sweet head: and yet as rough, Their royal blood enchafed, as the rud'st wind, That by the top doth take the mountain pine, And make him stoop to the vale. "Tis wonderful That an invisible instinct should frame them To royalty unlearned; honor untaught; Civility not seen from other; valor, That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop As if it had been sow'd! Yet still it's strange What Cloten's being here to us portends; Or what his death will bring us. Re-enter GUIDERIUS.

his arms. Look, here he comes,

Of what we blame him for!

Arv.

Come as the gods foresay it: My brother hath done well. Bel.

Let ordinance

howsoe'er,

I had no mind

Arv. The bird is dead, That we have made so much on. I had rather Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age, to sixty, To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch, Than have seen this.

Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily; My brother wears not thee one-half so well, As when thou grew'st thyself. Bel. O, melancholy! Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare Might easiliest harbor in -Thou blessed thing! Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,

3 Care.

His arms thus leagu'd: I thought, he slept; and put My clouted brogues' from off my feet, whose rude

ness

Answer'd my steps too loud.

Why, he but sleeps: Gui. If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed; With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, And worms will not come to thee.

With fairest flowers, Arv. Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the rudduck would, With charitable bill, (O bill, sore-shaming Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie Without a monument!) bring thee all this; Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are

none,

To winter-ground" thy corse.
Pr'ythee, have done,
Gui.
And do not play in wench-like words, with that
Which so serious. Let us bury him,
And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt.-To the grave.
Arv.

SONG.

Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe, and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.
Gui. Fear no more the lightning flash,
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Gui. Fear not slander, censure' rash;
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must

Consign' to thee, and come to dust.
Gui. No exorciser harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have;

And renowned be thy grave!

Re-enter BELARIUS, with the Body of CLOTEN. Gui. We have done our obsequies: Come, lay him down.

Bel. Here's a few flowers, but about midnight,

more:

The herbs, that have on them cold dew o' the night, Are strewings fitt'st for graves.-Upon their faces:

And let us, Polydore, though now our voices

ground,

As once our mother; use like note, and words, Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

Gui. Cadwal,

I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee: For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse Than priests and fanes that lie.

Arv.

Arv.

east;

My father hath a reason for't.

Arv.

"Tis true.

Gui. Come on then, and remove him.

Arv.

Shoes plated with iron.

[Exeunt BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and
ARVIRAGUS.

Imo. [Awaking.] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; which is the way?—

I thank you. By yon bush?-Pray, how far thither?

'Ods pittikins!'-can it be six miles yet

I have gone all night:-'Faith, I'll lie down and sleep.

But, soft, no bedfellow:-O, gods and goddesses! [Seeing the Body.

These flowers are like the pleasures of the world; This bloody man, the care on't.—I hope, I dream; For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper,

And cook to honest-creatures; But 'tis not so;
'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
Which the brain makes of fumes: Our very eyes
Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good
faith,

I tremble still with fear: But if there be
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!
The dream's here still: even when I wake, it is
Without me, as within me: not imagin'd, felt.
A headless man!-The garments of Posthúmus!
I know the shape of his leg: this is his hand;
His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh:

The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial' faceMurder in heaven?-How?-Tis gone.-Pisanio,

All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
Hast here cut off my lord.-To write, and read,
Be henceforth treacherous. Damn'd Pisanio,
Hath with his forged letters,-damn'd Pisanio-
From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the main-top!-O, Posthumus! alas,
Where is thy head? where's that? Ah me! where'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 here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!"

The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it
Murd'rous to the senses? That confirms it home:
This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O!-
Give color to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may seem to those
Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord!
Enter Lucius, a Captain, and other Officers, and
a Soothsayer.

Cap. To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia, After your will, have cross'd the sea: attending You here at Milford-Haven, with your ships: They are here in readiness.

Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same:
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 less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters,
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
Than thine own worth, prefer thee: Go with me.
Imo. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the
gods,

I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep
As these poor pickaxes' can dig: and when
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I have strew'd
his grave,

And on it said a century of prayers,
Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep, and sigh;
And, leaving so his service, follow you,
So please you entertain me.

Luc.
Ay, good youth;
And rather father thee, than master thee.-
My friends,
The boy hath taught us manly duties: Let us
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,
And make him with our pikes and partizans
A grave: Come, arm him.—Boy, he is preferr'd
By thee to us; and he shall be interr'd,

As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes: Some falls are means the happier to arise. [Exeunt. SCENE III.—A Room in Cymbeline's Palace. Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, and PISANIO. Cym. Again; and bring me word how 'tis with

her.

A fever with the absence of her son;
A madness, of which her life's in danger:-
Heavens,

How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,
The great part of my comfort, gone: my queen
Upon a desperate bed; and in a time
When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,
So needful for this present: It strikes me, past
The hope of comfort.-But for thee, fellow,
Who needs must know of her departure, and
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
By a sharp torture.

Pis.

Sir, my life is yours:

I humbly set it at your will: But, for my mistress,
I nothing know where she remains, why gone,
Nor when she purposes return. 'Beseech your
highness,

Hold me your loyal servant.
Lord.
Good my liege,
The day that she was missing, he was here:
I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform
All parts of his subjection loyally.
For Cloten,-

There wants no diligence in seeking him,
And will, no doubt, be found.

• Her fingers.

That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace!
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,
Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me
Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself
As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight
Against the part I come with; so I'll die
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
Is, every breath, a death: and thus, unknown,
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril
Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valor in me, than my habits show
Gods put the strength o' the Leonati in me!
To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin
The fashion, less without, and more within! [Exit.

SCENE II-The same.

Enter, at one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman Army; at the other side, the British Army; LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following it, like a poor Soldier. They march over, and go out. Alarums. Then enter again in skirmish, IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS; he vanquisheth and disarmeth IACHIMO, and then leaves him.

Iach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady, The princess of this country, and the air on't Revengingly enfeebles me; Or could this carl,' A very drudge of nature's, have subdued me, In my profession? Knighthoods and honors, borne As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn. If that thy gentry, Britain, go before This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gods. [Exit. The Battle continues, the Britons fly; CYMBELINE is taken: then enter to his rescue, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.

Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground;

The lane is guarded: nothing routs us, but
The villany of our fears.

Gui. Arv.
Stand, stand, and fight!
Enter POSTHUMUS, and seconds the Britons. They
rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then, enter
LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and IMOGEN.

Lord. Where was this lane?
Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd and wall'd ¦
with turf;

Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,-
An honest one, I warrant; who deserv'd
So long a breeding, as his white beard came to,
In doing this for his country;-athwart the lane,
He, with two striplings, (lads more like to run
The country base, than to commit such slaughter;
With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
Than those for preservation cased, or shame.)
Made good the passage; cry'd to those that fled,
Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men:
To darkness fleet, souls that fly backwards! Stand;
Or we are Romans, and will give you that
Like beasts, which you shun beastly; and may save,
But to look back in frown: stand, stand.—These

three,

Three thousand confident, in act as many,
(For three performers are the file, when all
The rest do nothing,) with this word, Stand, stand,
Accommodated by the place, more charming,
With their own nobleness, (which could have turn'd
A distaff to a lance,) gilded pale looks,
Part, shame, part, spirit renew'd; that some, turn'd
coward

But by example, (0, a sin in war
Damn'd in the first beginners!) 'gan to look
The way that they did, and to grin like lions
Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began
A stop i' the chaser, a retire; anon,

A rout, confusion thick: Forthwith they fly
Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves,
The strides they victors made: and now our cowards
(Like fragments in hard voyages) became
The life o' the need; having found the back-door open
Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!
Some, slain before; some, dying; some, their friends
O'erborne i' the former wave: ten, chased by one,
Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:
Those, that would die or ere resist, are grown
The mortal bugs' o' the field.

Lord.

Post. No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost, But that the heavens fought: The king himself Of his wings destitute, the army broken, And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying Through a strait lane; the enemy full-hearted, Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling Merely through fear; that the strait path was damm'd'

With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living To die with lengthen'd shame.

Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't,
And vent it for a mockery? Here is one:
Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,
Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane.
Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir.
Post.
'Lack, to what end!
Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend:
For if he'll do, as he is made to do,

I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too.
You have put me into rhyme.
Lord.

Farewell, you are angry.
[Exit.

Post. Still going?-This is a lord! O noble mi

sery!

To be i' the field, and ask, what news of me!
To-day, how many would have given their honors
To have sav'd their carcasses? took heel to do't,
And yet died too? I, in mine own woe charm'd,
Could not find death, where I did hear him groan;
Nor feel him where he struck: Being an ugly
monster,

'Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we That draw his knives i' the war.-Well, I will find him;