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.

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.

Cor. Hail, great king!
To sour your happiness, I must report
The queen is dead.

Cym. Whom 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?

Cor. 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.

Cym. Pr'ythee, say.
Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd

you; only

Affected greatness got by you, not you:
Married your royalty, was wife to your place;
Abhorr'd your person.

Cym. She alone knew this:
And, but she spoke it dying, I would not
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.

Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand

to love

Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit, [slaughter That their good souls may be appeas'd with Of you their captives, which ourself have So, think of your estate. [granted;

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
[gods
Our prisoners with the sword. But since the
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'll make bold, your

highness

Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,
Though he have serv'd a Roman: save him,
And spare no blood beside.
[Sir,

Cym. I have surely seen him:
His favourt is familiar to me.-

Boy, thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
And art mine own. I know not why, nor
wherefore,
[live:
To say, live, boy: ne'er thank thy master;
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.

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 see a thing Bitter to me as death: your life, good master, Must shuffle for itself.

Luc. The boy disdains me, [joys, He leaves me, scorns me: Briefly die their That place them on the truth of girls and Why stands he so perplex'd? [boys.

Cym. What would'st thou, boy? [more I love thee more and more; think more and What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? speak, 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 something nearer. [vassal,

Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so?

Imo. I'll tell you, Sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing.

Cym. Ay, with all my heart,

And lend my best attention. What's thy name?
Imo. Fidele, Sir.
Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page;
I'll be thy master: Walk with me; speak freely.
[CYMBELINE and IMOGEN converse apart.

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?
Gui. The same dead thing alive.
Bel. 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.
Gui. But we saw him dead.
Bel. Be silent; let's see further.

Pis. It is my mistress:

* Ready, dextrou

[Aside

+ Countenance

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, [To IACH.] 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.

Пто. My boon is, that this gentleman may

Of whom he had this ring.

Post. What's that to him?

[render

[Aside.

Cym. That diamond upon your finger, say,

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

How came it yours?

Iach. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken Which, to be spoke, would torture thee. [that Cym. How! me?

that which

Torments me to conceal. By villany

Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
'Gan in your duller Britain operate
Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent;
And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd,
That I return'd with simular proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad,

may grieve thee,

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

With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her brace

let,

I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel:

'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord?

Cym. All that belongs to this.

Iach. 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:

[will,

I had rather thou should'st live while nature Than die ere I hear more: strive man, and speak. lach. Upon a time, (unhappy was the clock That struck the hour!) it was in Rome, (ac

curs'd

'would

The mansion where!) 'twas at a feast, (O Our viands had been poison'd! or at least, Those which I heav'd 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 rar'st 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

[erva,

The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight MinPostures 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:

Cym. I stand on fire:

Come to the matter.

Iach. All too soon I shall,

(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,

Post. Ay, so thou dost, [Coming forward.
Italian fiend!-Ah me, most credulous fool,
Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
That's due to all the villains past, in being,
Το 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 caus'd 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 Leonatus; and
Be villany less than 'twas! O Imogen!
moge
My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
Imogen, Imogen!

Imo. Peace, my lord; hear, hear-
Post. Shall's have a play of this? Thou

scornful page,

Pis. My lord,

[Cloten,

Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord 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,
I 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 inforc'd from me, away he posts
With unchaste purpose, and with oath to vio-

late

[To the Guard.

They were not born for bondage.

Cym. Why, old soldier,

Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
As good as we?

Arv. In that he spake too far.

Cym. And thou shalt die for't.

Bel. We will die all three:

But I will prove, that two of us 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.

Arv. Your danger is

Ours.

First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;
And let it be confiscate all, so soon
As I have receiv'd it.

Cym. Nursing of my sons?

Bel. I am too blunt, and saucy: Here's my Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons; [knee; 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.

Cym. How! my issue?

Bel. 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 mov'd her to't;
Having receiv'd 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 shap'd
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious,
Sir,

Whom heavens, in justice, (both on her and hers,)

Have laid most heavy hand.

Sooth. 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 Cesar, should again unite
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
Which shines here in the west.

Cym. Laud we the gods;

And let our crooked smokes climb* to their nostrils

From our bless'd 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 [Exeunt.

A SONG,

Sung by Gulderius and Arviragus over Fidele, supposed to be dead.

BY WILLIAM COLLINS,

To fair Fidele's grassy tomb,

Soft maids and village hinds shall bring
Each opening sweet, of earliest bloom,
And rifle all the breathing spring.
No wailing ghost shall dare appear
To vex with shrieks his quiet grove;
But shepherd lads assemble here,

And melting virgins own their love.
No wither'd witch shall here be seen,
No goblins lead their nightly crew:
The female fays shall haunt the green,
And dress thy grave with pearly dew.

The red-breast oft at evening hours
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers,
To deck the ground where thou art laid,
When howling winds and beating rain,
In tempests shake the sylvan cell;
Or midst the chase on every plain,
The tender thought on thee shall dwell.

Each lonely scene shall thee restore;
For thee the tear be duly shed:
Belov'd, till life could charm no more;
And mourn'd, till pity's self be dead.