And rather father thee than master thee.
395
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 partisans
A grave: come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr’d
400
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.
4.3 Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, PISANIO and attendants.
CYMBELINE
Again: and bring me word how ’tis with her.
Exit an attendant.
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
5
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
10
Dost seem so ignorant, we’ll enforce it from thee
By a sharp torture.
PISANIO 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,
15
Hold me your loyal servant.
1 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,
20
And will no doubt be found.
CYMBELINE The time is troublesome:
[to Pisanio] We’ll slip you for a season, but our
jealousy
Does yet depend.
1 LORD So please your majesty,
The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your coast, with a supply
25
Of Roman gentlemen, by the Senate sent.
CYMBELINE Now for the counsel of my son and queen,
I am amaz’d with matter.
1 LORD Good my liege,
Your preparation can affront no less
Than what you hear of. Come more, for more you’re
ready:
30
The want is but to put those powers in motion
That long to move.
CYMBELINE I thank you: let’s withdraw
And meet the time, as it seeks us. We fear not
What can from Italy annoy us, but
We grieve at chances here. Away!
35
Exeunt Cymbeline, Lords and attendants.
PISANIO I heard no letter from my master since
I wrote him Imogen was slain. ’Tis strange:
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise
To yield me often tidings. Neither know I
What is betid to Cloten, but remain
40
Perplex’d in all. The heavens still must work.
Wherein I am false, I am honest; not true, to be true.
These present wars shall find I love my country,
Even to the note o’th’ king, or I’ll fall in them:
All other doubts, by time let them be clear’d,
45
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer’d.
Exit.
4.4 Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS.
GUIDERIUS The noise is round about us.
BELARIUS Let us from it.
ARVIRAGUS What pleasure, sir, we find in life, to lock it
From action and adventure.
GUIDERIUS Nay, what hope
Have we in hiding us? This way, the Romans
Must or for Britons slay us or receive us
5
For barbarous and unnatural revolts
During their use, and slay us after.
BELARIUS Sons,
We’ll higher to the mountains, there secure us.
To the king’s party there’s no going: newness
Of Cloten’s death (we being not known, not muster’d
10
Among the bands) may drive us to a render
Where we have liv’d, and so extort from’s that
Which we have done, whose answer would be death
Drawn on with torture.
GUIDERIUS This is, sir, a doubt
In such a time nothing becoming you,
15
Nor satisfying us.
ARVIRAGUS It is not likely
That when they hear their Roman horses neigh,
Behold their quarter’d fires; have both their eyes
And ears so cloy’d importantly as now,
That they will waste their time upon our note,
20
To know from whence we are.
BELARIUS O, I am known
Of many in the army: many years
(Though Cloten then but young) you see, not wore
him
From my remembrance. And besides, the king
Hath not deserv’d my service nor your loves,
25
Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
The certainty of this hard life, aye hopeless
To have the courtesy your cradle promis’d,
But to be still hot Summer’s tanlings, and
The shrinking slaves of Winter.
GUIDERIUS Than be so,
30
Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to th’army:
I and my brother are not known; yourself
So out of thought, and thereto so o’ergrown,
Cannot be question’d.
ARVIRAGUS By this sun that shines
I’ll thither: what thing is’t that I never
35
Did see man die, scarce ever look’d on blood,
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison!
Never bestrid a horse, save one that had
A rider like myself, who ne’er wore rowel,
Nor iron on his heel! I am ashamed
40
To look upon the holy sun, to have
The benefit of his blest beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.
GUIDERIUS By heavens, I’ll go,
If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,
I’ll take the better care: but if you will not,
45
The hazard therefore due fall on me by
The hands of Romans!
ARVIRAGUS So say I, amen.
BELARIUS No reason I (since of your lives you set
So slight a valuation) should reserve
My crack’d one to more care. Have with you, boys!
50
If in your country wars you chance to die,
That is my bed too, lads, and there I’ll lie.
Lead, lead. The time seems long, their blood thinks
scorn
Till it fly out and show them princes born. Exeunt.
5.1 Enter POSTHUMUS alone.
POSTHUMUS
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,
5
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 liv’d to put on this: so had you saved
The n
oble Imogen, to repent, and struck
10
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.
15
But Imogen is your own, do your best wills,
And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither
Among th’Italian gentry, and to fight
Against my lady’s kingdom: ’tis enough
That, Britain, I have kill’d thy mistress: peace,
20
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
25
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.
30
Gods, put the strength o’th’ Leonati in me!
To shame the guise o’th’ world, I will begin,
The fashion less without, and more within. Exit.
5.2 Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO and the Roman army at one door: and the Briton Army at another: LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following, like a poor soldier. They march over, and go out. Then enter again, in skirmish, IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS: 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
5
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.
10
The battle continues, the Britons fly, Cymbeline is taken: then enter to his rescue, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS.
BELARIUS
Stand, stand, We have th’advantage of the ground;
The lane is guarded: nothing routs us but
The villainy of our fears.
GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS Stand, stand, and fight!
Re-enter POSTHUMUS, and seconds the Britons. They rescue Cymbeline and exeunt. Then re-enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO and IMOGEN.
LUCIUS Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself:
For friends kill friends, and the disorder’s such
15
As war were hoodwink’d.
IACHIMO ’Tis their fresh supplies.
LUCIUS It is a day turn’d strangely: or betimes
Let’s re-inforce, or fly. Exeunt.
5.3 Enter POSTHUMUS and a Briton Lord.
LORD Cam’st thou from where they made the stand?
POSTHUMUS I did,
Though you it seems come from the fliers.
LORD I did.
POSTHUMUS 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,
5
And but the backs of Britons seen; all flying
Through a strait lane; the enemy full-hearted,
Lolling the tongue with slaught’ring, having work
More plentiful than tools to do’t, struck down
Some mortally, some slightly touch’d, some falling
10
Merely through fear, that the strait pass was damm’d
With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living
To die with length’ned shame.
LORD Where was this lane?
POSTHUMUS
Close by the battle, ditch’d, and wall’d with turf –
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,
15
(An honest one, I warrant) who deserv’d
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,
20
With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
Than those for preservation cas’d, 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,
The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works Page 116
