CYMBELINE Act 5

Scene I Britain. The Roman camp

	[Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody handkerchief]
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee, for I wish'd Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones, If each of you should take this course, how many Must murder wives much better than themselves For wrying but a little! O Pisanio! Every good servant does not all commands: No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never Had lived to put on this: so had you saved The noble Imogen to repent, and struck Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But, alack, You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love, To have them fall no more: you some permit To second ills with ills, each elder worse, And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift. But Imogen is your own: do your best wills, And make me blest to obey! I am brought hither Among the Italian gentry, and to fight Against my lady's kingdom: 'tis enough 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 valour 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 Field of battle between the British and Roman camps

	[Enter, from one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman Army: from the other side, the British Army; POSTHUMUS LEONATUS following, like a poor soldier. They march over and go out. Then enter again, in skirmish, IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS LEONATUS he vanquisheth and disarmeth IACHIMO, and then leaves him]
IACHIMO	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 honours, 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]
BELARIUS	Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground; The lane is guarded: nothing routs us but The villany of our fears.
GUIDERIUS ARVIRAGUS	\| \| Stand, stand, and fight! \|
	[Re-enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and seconds the Britons: they rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then re-enter LUCIUS, and IACHIMO, with IMOGEN]
CAIUS LUCIUS	Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself; For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such As war were hoodwink'd.
IACHIMO	'Tis their fresh supplies.
CAIUS LUCIUS	It is a day turn'd strangely: or betimes Let's reinforce, or fly.
	[Exeunt]

Scene III Another part of the field

	[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and a British Lord]
Lord	Camest thou from where they made the stand?
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I did. Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.
Lord	I did.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	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 straight 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 straight pass was damm'd With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living To die with lengthen'd shame.
Lord	Where was this lane?
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf; Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, An honest one, I warrant; who deserved So long a breeding as his white beard came to, In doing this for's 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; cried 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--O, 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 backdoor open Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound! Some slain before; some dying; some their friends O'er borne 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	This was strange chance A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Nay, do not wonder at it: you are made Rather to wonder at the things you hear 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, Preserved the Britons, was the Romans' bane.'
Lord	Nay, be not angry, sir.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	'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're angry.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Still going?
	[Exit Lord]
	This is a lord! O noble misery, To be i' the field, and ask 'what news?' of me! To-day how many would have given their honours To have saved 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 For being now a favourer to the Briton, No more a Briton, I have resumed 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 Here made by the Roman; great the answer be Britons must take. 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.
	[Enter two British Captains and Soldiers]
First Captain	Great Jupiter be praised! Lucius is taken. 'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.
Second Captain	There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, That gave the affront with them.
First Captain	So 'tis reported: But none of 'em can be found. Stand! who's there?
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	A Roman, Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds Had answer'd him.
Second Captain	Lay hands on him; a dog! A leg of Rome shall not return to tell What crows have peck'd them here. He brags his service As if he were of note: bring him to the king.
	[Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, Soldiers, Attendants, and Roman Captives. The Captains present POSTHUMUS LEONATUS to CYMBELINE, who delivers him over to a Gaoler: then exeunt omnes]

Scene IV A British prison

	[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and two Gaolers]
First Gaoler	You shall not now be stol'n, you have locks upon you; So graze as you find pasture.
Second Gaoler	Ay, or a stomach.
	[Exeunt Gaolers]
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Most welcome, bondage! for thou art away, think, to liberty: yet am I better Than one that's sick o' the gout; since he had rather Groan so in perpetuity than be cured By the sure physician, death, who is the key To unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter'd More than my shanks and wrists: you good gods, give me The penitent instrument to pick that bolt, Then, free for ever! Is't enough I am sorry? So children temporal fathers do appease; Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent? I cannot do it better than in gyves, Desired more than constrain'd: to satisfy, If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take No stricter render of me than my all. I know you are more clement than vile men, Who of their broken debtors take a third, A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again On their abatement: that's not my desire: For Imogen's dear life take mine; and though 'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd it: 'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp; Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake: You rather mine, being yours: and so, great powers, If you will take this audit, take this life, And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen! I'll speak to thee in silence.
	[Sleeps]
	[Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, SICILIUS LEONATUS, father to Posthumus Leonatus, an old man, attired like a warrior; leading in his hand an ancient matron, his wife, and mother to Posthumus Leonatus, with music before them: then, after other music, follow the two young Leonati, brothers to Posthumus Leonatus, with wounds as they died in the wars. They circle Posthumus Leonatus round, as he lies sleeping]
Sicilius Leonatus	No more, thou thunder-master, show Thy spite on mortal flies: With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, That thy adulteries Rates and revenges. Hath my poor boy done aught but well, Whose face I never saw? I died whilst in the womb he stay'd Attending nature's law: Whose father then, as men report Thou orphans' father art, Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him From this earth-vexing smart.
Mother	Lucina lent not me her aid, But took me in my throes; That from me was Posthumus ript, Came crying 'mongst his foes, A thing of pity!
Sicilius Leonatus	Great nature, like his ancestry, Moulded the stuff so fair, That he deserved the praise o' the world, As great Sicilius' heir.
First Brother	When once he was mature for man, In Britain where was he That could stand up his parallel; Or fruitful object be In eye of Imogen, that best Could deem his dignity?
Mother	With marriage wherefore was he mock'd, To be exiled, and thrown From Leonati seat, and cast From her his dearest one, Sweet Imogen?
Sicilius Leonatus	Why did you suffer Iachimo, Slight thing of Italy, To taint his nobler heart and brain With needless jealosy; And to become the geck and scorn O' th' other's villany?
Second Brother	For this from stiller seats we came, Our parents and us twain, That striking in our country's cause Fell bravely and were slain, Our fealty and Tenantius' right With honour to maintain.
First Brother	Like hardiment Posthumus hath To Cymbeline perform'd: Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods, Why hast thou thus adjourn'd The graces for his merits due, Being all to dolours turn'd?
Sicilius Leonatus	Thy crystal window ope; look out; No longer exercise Upon a valiant race thy harsh And potent injuries.
Mother	Since, Jupiter, our son is good, Take off his miseries.
Sicilius Leonatus	Peep through thy marble mansion; help; Or we poor ghosts will cry To the shining synod of the rest Against thy deity.
First Brother Second Brother	\| Help, Jupiter; or we appeal, \| And from thy justice fly. \|
	[Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. The Apparitions fall on their knees]
Jupiter	No more, you petty spirits of region low, Offend our hearing; hush! How dare you ghosts Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know, Sky-planted batters all rebelling coasts? Poor shadows of Elysium, hence, and rest Upon your never-withering banks of flowers: Be not with mortal accidents opprest; No care of yours it is; you know 'tis ours. Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift, The more delay'd, delighted. Be content; Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift: His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade. He shall be lord of lady Imogen, And happier much by his affliction made. This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine: and so, away: no further with your din Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.
	[Ascends]
Sicilius Leonatus	He came in thunder; his celestial breath Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle Stoop'd as to foot us: his ascension is More sweet than our blest fields: his royal bird Prunes the immortal wing and cloys his beak, As when his god is pleased.
All	Thanks, Jupiter!
Sicilius Leonatus	The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd His radiant root. Away! and, to be blest, Let us with care perform his great behest.
	[The Apparitions vanish]
Posthumus Leonatus	[Waking] Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot A father to me; and thou hast created A mother and two brothers: but, O scorn! Gone! they went hence so soon as they were born: And so I am awake. Poor wretches that depend On greatness' favour dream as I have done, Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve: Many dream not to find, neither deserve, And yet are steep'd in favours: so am I, That have this golden chance and know not why. What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one! Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment Nobler than that it covers: let thy effects So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers, As good as promise.
	[Reads]
	'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.' 'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen Tongue and brain not; either both or nothing; Or senseless speaking or a speaking such As sense cannot untie. Be what it is, The action of my life is like it, which I'll keep, if but for sympathy.
	[Re-enter First Gaoler]
First Gaoler	Come, sir, are you ready for death?
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.
First Gaoler	Hanging is the word, sir: if you be ready for that, you are well cooked.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish pays the shot.
First Gaoler	A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments, fear no more tavern-bills; which are often the sadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth: you come in flint for want of meat, depart reeling with too much drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain both empty; the brain the heavier for being too light, the purse too light, being drawn of heaviness: of this contradiction you shall now be quit. O, the charity of a penny cord! It sums up thousands in a trice: you have no true debitor and creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come, the discharge: your neck, sir, is pen, book and counters; so the acquittance follows.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I am merrier to die than thou art to live.
First Gaoler	Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the tooth-ache: but a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would change places with his officer; for, look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Yes, indeed do I, fellow.
First Gaoler	Your death has eyes in 's head then; I have not seen him so pictured: you must either be directed by some that take upon them to know, or do take upon yourself that which I am sure you do not know, or jump the after inquiry on your own peril: and how you shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll never return to tell one.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them the way I am going, but such as wink and will not use them.
First Gaoler	What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the best use of eyes to see the way of blindness! I am sure hanging's the way of winking.
	[Enter a Messenger]
Messenger	Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the king.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Thou bring'st good news; I am called to be made free.
First Gaoler	I'll be hang'd then.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead.
	[Exeunt POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and Messenger]
First Gaoler	Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to live, for all he be a Roman: and there be some of them too that die against their wills; so should I, if I were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good; O, there were desolation of gaolers and gallowses! I speak against my present profit, but my wish hath a preferment in 't.
	[Exeunt]

Scene V Cymbeline's tent

	[Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, Lords, Officers, and Attendants]
CYMBELINE	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 shamed gilded arms, whose naked breast Stepp'd before larges of proof, cannot be found: He shall be happy that can find him, if Our grace can make him so.
BELARIUS	I never saw Such noble fury in so poor a thing; Such precious deeds in one that promises nought But beggary and poor looks.
CYMBELINE	No tidings of him?
PISANIO	He hath been search'd among the dead and living, But no trace of him.
CYMBELINE	To my grief, I am The heir of his reward;
	[To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]
	which I will add To you, the liver, heart and brain of Britain, By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the time To ask of whence you are. Report it.
BELARIUS	Sir, In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen: Further to boast were neither true nor modest, Unless I add, we are honest.
CYMBELINE	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.
	[Enter CORNELIUS and Ladies]
	There's business in these faces. Why so sadly Greet you our victory? you look like Romans, And not o' the court of Britain.
CORNELIUS	Hail, great king! To sour your happiness, I must report The queen is dead.
CYMBELINE	Who worse than a physician Would this report become? But I consider, By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?
CORNELIUS	With horror, madly dying, like her life, Which, being cruel to the world, concluded Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd I will report, so please you: these her women Can trip me, if I err; who with wet cheeks Were present when she finish'd.
CYMBELINE	Prithee, say.
CORNELIUS	First, she confess'd she never loved you, only Affected greatness got by you, not you: Married your royalty, was wife to your place; Abhorr'd your person.
CYMBELINE	She alone knew this; And, but she spoke it dying, I would not Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.
CORNELIUS	Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love With such integrity, she did confess Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life, But that her flight prevented it, she had Ta'en off by poison.
CYMBELINE	O most delicate fiend! Who is 't can read a woman? Is there more?
CORNELIUS	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 lingering By inches waste you: in which time she purposed, By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to O'ercome you with her show, and in time, When she had fitted you with her craft, to work Her son into the adoption of the crown: But, failing of her end by his strange absence, Grew shameless-desperate; open'd, in despite Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so Despairing died.
CYMBELINE	Heard you all this, her women?
First Lady	We did, so please your highness.
CYMBELINE	Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming; it had been vicious To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter! That it was folly in me, thou mayst say, And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!
	[Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the Soothsayer, and other Roman Prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS LEONATUS behind, and IMOGEN]
	Thou comest not, Caius, now for tribute that The Britons have razed out, though with the loss Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit That their good souls may be appeased with slaughter Of you their captives, which ourself have granted: So think of your estate.
CAIUS LUCIUS	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, So tender over his occasions, true, So feat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join With my request, which I make bold your highness Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm, Though he have served a Roman: save him, sir, And spare no blood beside.
CYMBELINE	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, wherefore, 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	I humbly thank your highness.
CAIUS LUCIUS	I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad; And yet I know thou wilt.
IMOGEN	No, no: alack, There's other work in hand: I see a thing Bitter to me as death: your life, good master, Must shuffle for itself.
CAIUS LUCIUS	The boy disdains me, He leaves me, scorns me: briefly die their joys That place them on the truth of girls and boys. Why stands he so perplex'd?
CYMBELINE	What wouldst thou, boy? I love thee more and more: think more and more What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? speak, Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?
IMOGEN	He is a Roman; no more kin to me Than I to your highness; who, being born your vassal, Am something nearer.
CYMBELINE	Wherefore eyest him so?
IMOGEN	I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing.
CYMBELINE	Ay, with all my heart, And lend my best attention. What's thy name?
IMOGEN	Fidele, sir.
CYMBELINE	Thou'rt my good youth, my page; I'll be thy master: walk with me; speak freely.
	[CYMBELINE and IMOGEN converse apart]
BELARIUS	Is not this boy revived from death?
ARVIRAGUS	One sand another Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad Who died, and was Fidele. What think you?
GUIDERIUS	The same dead thing alive.
BELARIUS	Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; forbear; Creatures may be alike: were 't he, I am sure He would have spoke to us.
GUIDERIUS	But we saw him dead.
BELARIUS	Be silent; let's 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]
CYMBELINE	Come, stand thou by our side; Make thy demand aloud.
	[To IACHIMO] Sir, step you forth; Give answer to this boy, and do it freely; Or, by our greatness and the grace of it, Which is our honour, bitter torture shall Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him.
IMOGEN	My boon is, that this gentleman may render Of whom he had this ring.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	[Aside] What's that to him?
CYMBELINE	That diamond upon your finger, say How came it yours?
IACHIMO	Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.
CYMBELINE	How! me?
IACHIMO	I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that 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 lived 'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord?
CYMBELINE	All that belongs to this.
IACHIMO	That paragon, thy daughter,-- For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits Quail to remember--Give me leave; I faint.
CYMBELINE	My daughter! what of her? Renew thy strength: I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will Than die ere I hear more: strive, man, and speak.
IACHIMO	Upon a time,--unhappy was the clock That struck the hour!--it was in Rome,--accursed The mansion where!--'twas at a feast,--O, would Our viands had been poison'd, or at least Those which I heaved to head!--the good Posthumus-- What should I say? he was too good to be Where ill men were; and was the best of all Amongst the rarest of good ones,--sitting sadly, Hearing us praise our loves of Italy For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast Of him that best could speak, for feature, laming The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva. Postures beyond brief nature, for condition, A shop of all the qualities that man Loves woman for, besides that hook of wiving, Fairness which strikes the eye--
CYMBELINE	I stand on fire: Come to the matter.
IACHIMO	All too soon I shall, Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus, Most like a noble lord in love and one That had a royal lover, took his hint; And, not dispraising whom we praised,--therein He was as calm as virtue--he began His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being made, And then a mind put in't, either our brags Were crack'd of kitchen-trolls, or his description Proved us unspeaking sots.
CYMBELINE	Nay, nay, to the purpose.
IACHIMO	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's bed and win this ring By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight, No lesser of her honour confident Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; And would so, had it been a carbuncle Of Phoebus' wheel, and might so safely, had it Been all the worth of's car. 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. Being thus quench'd Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain 'Gan in your duller Britain operate Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent: And, to be brief, my practise 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; averting notes Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet,-- O cunning, how I got it!--nay, some marks Of secret on her person, that he could not But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon-- Methinks, I see him now--
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	[Advancing] Ay, so thou dost, Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool, Egregious murderer, thief, any thing That's due to all the villains past, in being, To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison, Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out For torturers ingenious: it is I That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend By being worse than they. I am Posthumus, That kill'd thy daughter:--villain-like, I lie-- That caused a lesser villain than myself, A sacrilegious thief, to do't: the temple Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself. Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set The dogs o' the street to bay me: every villain Be call'd Posthumus Leonitus; and Be villany less than 'twas! O Imogen! My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen, Imogen, Imogen!
IMOGEN	Peace, my lord; hear, hear--
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page, There lie thy part.
	[Striking her: she falls]
PISANIO	O, gentlemen, help! Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus! You ne'er kill'd Imogen til now. Help, help! Mine honour'd lady!
CYMBELINE	Does the world go round?
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	How come these staggers on me?
PISANIO	Wake, my mistress!
CYMBELINE	If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me To death with mortal joy.
PISANIO	How fares thy mistress?
IMOGEN	O, get thee from my sight; Thou gavest me poison: dangerous fellow, hence! Breathe not where princes are.
CYMBELINE	The tune of Imogen!
PISANIO	Lady, The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if That box I gave you was not thought by me A precious thing: I had it from the queen.
CYMBELINE	New matter still?
IMOGEN	It poison'd me.
CORNELIUS	O gods! I left out one thing which the queen confess'd. Which must approve thee honest: 'If Pisanio Have,' said she, 'given his mistress that confection Which I gave him for cordial, she is served As I would serve a rat.'
CYMBELINE	What's this, Comelius?
CORNELIUS	The queen, sir, very oft importuned me To temper poisons for her, still pretending The satisfaction of her knowledge only In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs, Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose Was of more danger, did compound for her A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease The present power of life, but in short time All offices of nature should again Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?
IMOGEN	Most like I did, for I was dead.
BELARIUS	My boys, There was our error.
GUIDERIUS	This is, sure, Fidele.
IMOGEN	Why did you throw your wedded lady from you? Think that you are upon a rock; and now Throw me again.
	[Embracing him]
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Hang there like a fruit, my soul, Till the tree die!
CYMBELINE	How now, my flesh, my child! What, makest thou me a dullard in this act? Wilt thou not speak to me?
IMOGEN	[Kneeling] Your blessing, sir.
BELARIUS	[To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS] Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not: You had a motive for't.
CYMBELINE	My tears that fall Prove holy water on thee! Imogen, Thy mother's dead.
IMOGEN	I am sorry for't, my lord.
CYMBELINE	O, she was nought; and long of her it was That we meet here so strangely: but her son Is gone, we know not how nor where.
PISANIO	My lord, Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten, Upon my lady's missing, came to me With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and swore, If I discover'd not which way she was gone, It was my instant death. By accident, had a feigned letter of my master's Then in my pocket; which directed him To seek her on the mountains near to Milford; Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments, Which he enforced from me, away he posts With unchaste purpose and with oath to violate My lady's honour: what became of him I further know not.
GUIDERIUS	Let me end the story: I slew him there.
CYMBELINE	Marry, the gods forfend! I would not thy good deeds should from my lips Pluck a bard sentence: prithee, valiant youth, Deny't again.
GUIDERIUS	I have spoke it, and I did it.
CYMBELINE	He was a prince.
GUIDERIUS	A most incivil one: the wrongs he did me Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me With language that would make me spurn the sea, If it could so roar to me: I cut off's head; And am right glad he is not standing here To tell this tale of mine.
CYMBELINE	I am sorry for thee: By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must Endure our law: thou'rt dead.
IMOGEN	That headless man I thought had been my lord.
CYMBELINE	Bind the offender, And take him from our presence.
BELARIUS	Stay, sir king: This man is better than the man he slew, As well descended as thyself; and hath More of thee merited than a band of Clotens Had ever scar for.
	[To the Guard]
	Let his arms alone; They were not born for bondage.
CYMBELINE	Why, old soldier, Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for, By tasting of our wrath? How of descent As good as we?
ARVIRAGUS	In that he spake too far.
CYMBELINE	And thou shalt die for't.
BELARIUS	We will die all three: But I will prove that two on's are as good As I have given out him. My sons, I must, For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech, Though, haply, well for you.
ARVIRAGUS	Your danger's ours.
GUIDERIUS	And our good his.
BELARIUS	Have at it then, by leave. Thou hadst, great king, a subject who Was call'd Belarius.
CYMBELINE	What of him? he is A banish'd traitor.
BELARIUS	He it is that hath Assumed this age; indeed a banish'd man; I know not how a traitor.
CYMBELINE	Take him hence: The whole world shall not save him.
BELARIUS	Not too hot: First pay me for the nursing of thy sons; And let it be confiscate all, so soon As I have received it.
CYMBELINE	Nursing of my sons!
BELARIUS	I am too blunt and saucy: here's my knee: Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons; Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir, These two young gentlemen, that call me father And think they are my sons, are none of mine; They are the issue of your loins, my liege, And blood of your begetting.
CYMBELINE	How! my issue!
BELARIUS	So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan, Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd: Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes-- For such and so they are--these twenty years Have I train'd up: those arts they have as I Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile, Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children Upon my banishment: I moved her to't, Having received the punishment before, For that which I did then: beaten for loyalty Excited me to treason: their dear loss, The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shaped Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir, Here are your sons again; and I must lose Two of the sweet'st companions in the world. The benediction of these covering heavens Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy To inlay heaven with stars.
CYMBELINE	Thou weep'st, and speak'st. The service that you three have done is more Unlike than this thou tell'st. I lost my children: If these be they, I know not how to wish A pair of worthier sons.
BELARIUS	Be pleased awhile. This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius: This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus, Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand Of his queen mother, which for more probation I can with ease produce.
CYMBELINE	Guiderius had Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star; It was a mark of wonder.
BELARIUS	This is he; Who hath upon him still that natural stamp: It was wise nature's end in the donation, To be his evidence now.
CYMBELINE	O, what, am I A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother Rejoiced deliverance more. Blest pray you be, That, after this strange starting from your orbs, may reign in them now! O Imogen, Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.
IMOGEN	No, my lord; I have got two worlds by 't. O my gentle brothers, Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter But I am truest speaker you call'd me brother, When I was but your sister; I you brothers, When ye were so indeed.
CYMBELINE	Did you e'er meet?
ARVIRAGUS	Ay, my good lord.
GUIDERIUS	And at first meeting loved; Continued so, until we thought he died.
CORNELIUS	By the queen's dram she swallow'd.
CYMBELINE	O rare instinct! When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgement Hath to it circumstantial branches, which Distinction should be rich in. Where? how lived You? And when came you to serve our Roman captive? How parted with your brothers? how first met them? Why fled you from the court? and whither? These, And your three motives to the battle, with I know not how much more, should be demanded; And all the other by-dependencies, From chance to chance: but nor the time nor place Will serve our long inter'gatories. See, Posthumus anchors upon Imogen, And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye On him, her brother, me, her master, hitting Each object with a joy: the counterchange Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground, And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.
	[To BELARIUS]
	Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever.
IMOGEN	You are my father too, and did relieve me, To see this gracious season.
CYMBELINE	All o'erjoy'd, Save these in bonds: let them be joyful too, For they shall taste our comfort.
IMOGEN	My good master, I will yet do you service.
CAIUS LUCIUS	Happy be you!
CYMBELINE	The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, He would have well becomed this place, and graced The thankings of a king.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	I am, sir, The soldier that did company these three In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he, Speak, Iachimo: I had you down and might Have made you finish.
IACHIMO	[Kneeling] I am down again: But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you, Which I so often owe: but your ring first; And here the bracelet of the truest princess That ever swore her faith.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Kneel not to me: The power that I have on you is, to spare you; The malice towards you to forgive you: live, And deal with others better.
CYMBELINE	Nobly doom'd! We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law; Pardon's the word to all.
ARVIRAGUS	You holp us, sir, As you did mean indeed to be our brother; Joy'd are we that you are.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS	Your servant, princes. Good my lord of Rome, Call forth your soothsayer: as I slept, methought Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd, Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows Of mine own kindred: when I waked, I found This label on my bosom; whose containing Is so from sense in hardness, that I can Make no collection of it: let him show His skill in the construction.
CAIUS LUCIUS	Philarmonus!
Soothsayer	Here, my good lord.
CAIUS LUCIUS	Read, and declare the meaning.
Soothsayer	[Reads] 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.' Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp; The fit and apt construction of thy name, Being Leonatus, doth import so much.
	[To CYMBELINE]
	The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, Which we call 'mollis aer;' and 'mollis aer' We term it 'mulier:' which 'mulier' I divine Is this most constant wife; who, even now, Answering the letter of the oracle, Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about With this most tender air.
CYMBELINE	This hath some seeming.
Soothsayer	The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stol'n, For many years thought dead, are now revived, To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue Promises Britain peace and plenty.
CYMBELINE	Well My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius, Although the victor, we submit to Caesar, And to the Roman empire; promising To pay our wonted tribute, from the which We were dissuaded by our wicked queen; Whom heavens, in justice, both on her and hers, Have laid most heavy hand.
Soothsayer	The fingers of the powers above do tune The harmony of this peace. The vision Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant Is full accomplish'd; for the Roman eagle, From south to west on wing soaring aloft, Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle, The imperial Caesar, should again unite His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, Which shines here in the west.
CYMBELINE	Laud we the gods; And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils From our blest altars. Publish we this peace To all our subjects. Set we forward: let A Roman and a British ensign wave Friendly together: so through Lud's-town march: And in the temple of great Jupiter Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts. Set on there! Never was a war did cease, Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.
	[Exeunt]

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