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 Roman, No more a Briton, I have re-sum'd 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 ransome'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. i Cap. Great Jupiter be prais'd! Lucius is taken: 'Tis thought, the old man and his sons were angels.

2 Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, That gave the affront? with them. 1 Cap.

So 'tis reported: But none of them can be found.-Stand! who is there?

Post. A Roman; Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds Had answer'd him. 2 Cap.

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

3 Encounter.

As if he were of note: bring him to the king. Enter CYMBELINE, attended; BELARIUS, GUIDE

RIUŞ, ARVIRAGUS, Pisanio, and Roman Captives. The Captains present PosTHUMUS to CymBELINE, who delivers him over to a Gaoler : after which, all go out,

SCENE IV.

A Prison.

Enter POSTHUMUS, and Two Gaolers. 1 Gaol, You shall not now be stolen, you have

locks upon you; So, graze, as you

find pasture. 2 Gaol.

Ay, or a stomach.

[Exeunt Gaolers. Post. Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a way, I 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 cur'd
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! Ist 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, 4

4 Fetters.

Desir'd, more than constraind : 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 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.

[He sleeps. Solemn Musick. Enter, as an Apparition, SICILIUS

LEONATUS, Father to POSTHUMUS, an old Man,
attired like a Warrior; leading in his Hand an
ancient Matron, his Wife, and Mother to Post-
HUMUS, with Musick before them. Then, after
other Musick, follow the Two Young Leonati, Bro-
thers to POSTHUMUS, with Wounds, as they died.
in the Wars. They circle POSTHUMUS round, as he
lies sleeping.
Sici. No more, thou thunder master, show

Thy spite on mortal flies :
With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,
That thy adulteries

Rates and revenges. 5 This Scene is supposed not to be Shakspeare's, but foisted

in by the Players for mere show,

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 should'st have been, and shielded him

From this earth-vexing smart.
Moth. 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!
Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry,

Moulded the stuff so fair,
That he desery'd the praise o'the world,

As great Sicilius' heir.
i Bro. 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 ?
Moth. With marriage wherefore was he mock'd,

To be exil'd and thrown
From Leonati' seat, and cast
From her his dearest one,

Sweet Imogen?
Sici. Why did you suffer Iachimo,

Slight thing of Italy,
To taint his nobler heart and brain

With needless jealousy i

And to become the geck and scorn

O'the other's villainy ?
2 Bro. 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. i Bro. 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?
Sici. Thy crystal window ope; look out;

No longer exercise,
Upon a valiant race, thy harsh

And potent injuries:
Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good,

Take off his miseries.
Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion; help!

Or we poor ghosts will cry To the shining synod of the rest,

Against thy deity. 2 Bro. Help, Jupiter; or we appeal,

And from thy justice fly.

6 The fool.