25
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
30
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
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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’th’ hunters. Then began
A stop i’th’ chaser; a retire: anon
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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’th’ need: having found the back-door
open
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Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!
Some slain before, some dying, some their friends
O’er-borne i’th’ former wave, ten chas’d by one,
Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:
Those that would die, or ere resist, are grown
50
The mortal bugs o’th’ field.
LORD This was strange chance:
A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.
POSTHUMUS 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,
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And vent it for a mock’ry? Here is one:
Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,
Preserv’d the Britons, was the Romans’ bane.
LORD
Nay, be not angry, sir.
POSTHUMUS ’Lack, to what end?
Who dares not stand his foe, I’ll be his friend:
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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.
Exit.
POSTHUMUS
Still going? This is a lord! O noble misery,
To be i’th’ field, and ask ‘what news?’ of me!
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To-day how many would have given their honours
To have sav’d 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,
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’Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,
Sweet words; or hath moe ministers than we
That draw his knives i’th’ war. Well, I will find him:
For being now a favourer to the Briton,
No more a Briton, I have resumed again
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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 th’ Roman; great the answer be
Britons must take. For me, my ransom’s death:
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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.
1 CAPTAIN Great Jupiter be prais’d, Lucius is taken:
’Tis thought the old man, and his sons, were angels.
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2 CAPTAIN There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,
That gave th’affront with them.
1 CAPTAIN So ’tis reported:
But none of ’em can be found. Stand! who’s there?
POSTHUMUS A Roman,
Who had not now been drooping here if seconds
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Had answer’d him.
2 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 th’ king.
Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO and Roman captives. The captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers him over to a Gaoler.
Exeunt.
5.4 Enter POSTHUMUS and two Gaolers.
1 GAOLER
You shall not now be stol’n, you have locks upon you:
So graze, as you find pasture.
2 GAOLER Ay, or a stomach.
Exeunt Gaolers.
POSTHUMUS
Most welcome bondage; for thou art a way,
I think to liberty: yet am I better
Than one that’s sick o’th’ gout, since he had rather
5
Groan so in perpetuity than be cur’d
By th’ sure physician, Death; who is the key
T’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,
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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,
Desir’d more than constrain’d: to satisfy,
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If of my freedom ’tis the mainport, 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
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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:
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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, an old man, attired like a warrior, leading in his hand an ancient matron, his wife, and Mother to Posthumus, with music before them. Then, after other music, follow the two young Leonati, Brothers to Posthumus, with wounds as they died in the wars. They circle Posthumus round as he lies sleeping.
SICILIUS No more thou thunder-master show
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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,
35
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)
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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,
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came crying ’mongst his foes,
A thing of pi
ty!
SICILIUS Great nature, like his ancestry,
moulded the stuff so fair,
That he deserved the praise o’th’ world,
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as great Sicilius’ heir.
1 BROTHER
When once he was mature for man,
in Britain where was he
That could stand up his parallel,
or fruitful object be
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In eye of Imogen, that best
could deem his dignity?
MOTHER With marriage wherefore was he mock’d
to be exil’d, and thrown
From Leonati seat, and cast
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from her his dearest one,
Sweet Imogen?
SICILIUS Why did you suffer Iachimo,
slight thing of Italy,
To taint his nobler heart and brain
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with needless jealousy;
And to become the geck and scorn
o’th’ other’s villainy?
2 BROTHER
For this, from stiller seats we came,
our parents and us twain,
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That striking in our country’s cause
fell bravely and were slain,
Our fealty, and Tenantius’ right,
with honour to maintain.
1 BROTHER
Like hardiment Posthumus hath
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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?
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SICILIUS 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,
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take off his miseries.
SICILIUS Peep through thy marble mansion, help,
or we poor ghosts will cry
To th’ shining synod of the rest
against thy deity.
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BROTHERS
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 Ghosts 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)
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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.
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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
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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,
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And so away: no farther with your din
Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.
Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. Ascends.
SICILIUS
He came in thunder; his celestial breath
Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle
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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
The marble pavement closes, he is enter’d
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His radiant roof. Away! and to be blest
Let us with care perform his great behest.
The Ghosts vanish.
POSTHUMUS [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!
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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:
The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works Page 117
