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Of many

of the army; many years,

Though Cloten then but young, (you fee) notvore

him

From my remembrance. And befides, the King
Hath not deferved my service, nor your loves,
Who finds in my exile the want of breeding;
The certainty of this hard life, ay, hopeless
To have the courtefy your cradle promifed;
But to be ftill hot fummer's tanlings, and
The fhrinking flaves of winter.

Guid. Than be fo,

Better to cease to be. Pray, Sir, to th' army;
I and my brother are not known; yourself
So out of thought, and thereto fo o'ergrown,
Cannot be queftioned..

Arv. By this fun that fhines,

I'll thither; what thing is it that I never
Did fee man die, fcarce ever looked on blood
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venifon?
Never beftrid a horse fave one, that had

A rider like myself who ne'er wore rowel,
Nor iron on his heel? I am ashamed
To look upon the holy fun, to have
The benefit of his belt beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.

Guid. By heavens I'll go.

If you will blefs me, Sir, and give me leave,
I'll take the better care; but if you will not,
The hazard therefore due fall on me, by
The hands of Romans!

Arv. So fay I, Amen.

Bel. No reafon I (fince of your lives you fet So flight a valuation) fhould referve

My cracked one to more care. Have with you, boys; If in your country wars you chance to die,

That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll ly.

Lead, lead, the time feems long: their blood thinks

fcorn

Till it fly out, and fhew them princes born. [Exe.

ACT V.

SCENE, a Field between the British and Roman

Y

Camps.

Enter POSTHUMUs, with a bloody Handkerchief.

POSTHUMUS.

E A, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wifh'd Thou fhouldft be coloured thus. You marriedones,

If each of you would take this courfe, how man
Mut murder wives much better than themfelves,
For wrying but a little! Oh, Pifanio!

Every good fervant does not all commands;
No bond but to do just ones.
Gods! if you

Should have talen vengeance on my faults, I ne'er
Had lived to put on this; fo had you faved
The noble Imogen to repent, and struck

Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But alack,
You fnatch fome hence for little faults; that's love,
To have them fall no more :-you fome permit (48)

(48) -you fome permit

To fecond ills with ilis, each worse than other,

And make them dread it, to the doer's thrift.] The divinity-fchools have not furnithed jufter obfervations on the conduct of Providence, than Pofthumus gives us here in his private reflectionsTM You gods (fays he) act in a different manner with your different creatures;

You fnatch fome hence for little faults; that's love,
To have them fali no more.

This feems a fine thort comment on what St Paul fays to the Hebrews, Ον ἀγαπᾶ Κύριος, παιδεύει. "The Lord cha

To fecond ills with ills,, each worse than other,
And make them dreaded to the doers' thrift-
But Imogen's your own: do your best wills,
And make me bleft t' obey! I am brought hither
Among th' Italian gentry, and to fight
Against my lady's kingdom; 'tis enough,
That, Britain, I have killed thy miftrefs: Peace!
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good
Heavens,

Hear patiently my purpofe. I'll difrobe me
Of thefe Italian weeds, and fuit myself
As does a Briton peafant; fo I'll fight
Against the part I come with; fo I'll die
For thee, O Imogen, for whom my life
Is every breath a death; and thus unknown,
Pitied, nor hated, to the face of peril

Myfelf I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me than my habits fhew;
Gods! put the ftrength o' th' Leonati in me!

fteneth whom he loveth." The philofopher Seneca is more ample upon the fame fubjcct; Hos deus, quos probat quos amat, indurat, recognofcit, exercet -Others (fays our Poet) you permit to live on, to multiply and increafe in crimes;

And make them dread it, to the doer's thrift.

Here's a relative without an antecedent subftantive, and a genitive cafe fingular, when all the other members of the fentence run into the plural. Both which are a breach of grammar. We must certainly read;

And make them dreaded, to the doers' thrift.

i. . others you permit to aggravate one crime with more; which enormities not only make them revered and dreaded, but run into other kinds to their advantage. Dignity, refpect, and profit, accrue to them from crimes committed with impunity.

-multi

Committunt eadem diverfo crimina fato;

Ille crucem precium fceleris tulit, hic diadema.

Juven. Sat. 13.

Criminibus debent hortos, prætoria, menfas,
Argentum vetus, et flantem extrà pocula caprum.

Idem. Sat. 1,

To fhame the guife o' th' world, I will begin The fashion, lefs without, and more within. [Exit. Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman Army at one door; and the British Army at another; LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following like a poor foldier. They march over, and go out. Then enter again in fkirmish ACHIMO and POSTHUMUS; he vanquifheth and difarmeth 1ACHIMO, and then leaves bim.

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Iach. The heavinefs and guilt within my bofom,
Takes off my manhood; I've belyed a lady,
The Princefs of this country; and the air on't
Revengingly enfeebles me: or could this carle,
A very drudge of nature, have fubdued me
In my profeffion? Knighthoods, and honours borne,
As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn;
If that thy gentry, Britain, go before

This lowt, as he exceeds our Lords, the odds
Is that we fearce are men, and you are gods. [Exit.
The battle continues; the Britons fy, CYMBELINE is
taken; then enter to his refcue, BELARIUS, GUI-
DERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.

Bel. Stand, ftand; we have the advantage of the ground;

That lane is guarded; nothing routs us, but
The villainy of our fears.

Guid. Arv. Stand, ftand, and fight.

Enter POSTHUMUS and feconds the Britons. refcue Cymbeline, and exeunt.

They

Then enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO and IMOGEN.

Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and fave thyfelf;

For friends kill friends, and the diforder's fuch

As war were hood-winked.

Iach. 'Tis their fresh fupplies.

Luc. It is a day turned ftrangely. Or betimes Let's re-enforce, or fly.

[Exeunt. SCENE, another part of the Field of Battle.

Enter POSTHUMUS, and a British Lord.

Lord. Cameft thou from where they made the Poft. I did. [ftand? Though you, it seems, came from the fliers.

Lord. I did.

Poft. No blame be to you, Sir, for all was lot, But that the Heavens fought; the King himself Of his wings deftitute, the army broken, And but the backs of Britons feen; all flying Through a strait lane; the enemy full-hearted, Lolling the tongue with flaughtering, having work More plentiful than tools to do't, ftruck down Some mortally, fome flightly touched, fome falling Merely through fear, that the ftraight pafs was damm'd

With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living To die with lengthened thame.

Lord. Where was this lane?

Poft. Clofe by the battle, ditched, and walled with turf,

Which gave advantage to an ancient foldier,
(An honeft one, I warrant) who deferved
So long a breeding as his white beard came to
In doing this for's country. 'Thwart the lane,
He, with two ftriplings, (lads more like to run
The country bafe, than to commit fuch flaughter;
With faces fit for mafks, or rather fairer,
Than thofe for prefervation cas'd for fhame)
Made good the paffage, cried to those that fled;

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