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Poft. Most welcome bondage! for thou art a way,
**** Here follows a Vision, a Masque, and a Prophecy, which interrupt the Fa
ble without the least necessity, and unmeasurably lengthen this act. I think it plainly foisted in afterwards for meer mow, and apparently not of Shakcípear.
+ + + Salemn musick: Enter as in an apparition, Sicilius Leonatus, father to Posthumus,
an old man, attired like a warrior, leading in his hand an ancient matron, bis wife, and mother to Posthumus, with musick before them. Then after other mu
S CE N E IV.
Pisanio, and lords.
throne. Wo is my heart, That the poor soldier that so richly fought, (Whose rags Tham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast
fick, follow the two young Leonati, brothers to Posthumus, with wounds as they died in the wars. They circle Posthumus round as he lyes sleeping.
Sici. No more thou thunder-master
Shew thy spite, on mortal Alies:
Rates and revenges.
Whose face I never saw ?
Attending nature's law.
Thou orphans father art)
From his earth-vexing smart.
But took me in my throes,
Came crying 'mongt his foes,
Moulded the stuff so fair;
As great Sicilius' heir.
In Britain where was he
Or rival object be,
Could deem his dignity?
To be exild, and thrown
From her his dearest one: Sweet Imogen!
Stept before shields of proof,) cannot be found:
Bel. I never saw
Cym. No tidings of him?
Pif. He hath been search'd among the dead and living, But no trace of him.
Sici. Why did you suffer Iachimo,
Slight thing of Italy,
With needless jealousie,
O'th' other's villany?
Our parents, and us twain,
Fell bravely and were Nain,
With honour to maintain.
To Cymbeline perform’d;
Why hast thou thus adjourn'd
Being all to dolours turn'd?
No longer exercise,
And potent injuries.
Take off his miseries.
Or we poor ghosts will cry
Againgst thy deity.
And from thy justice Alie.
thunder-bolt. The ghosts fall on their knees, Jupit. No more you petty spirits of region low
Offend our hearing; húsh! how dare you ghosts
Cym. To my grief, I am
[To Bell. Guid. and Arvirag.
[Jup. drops a tablet.
Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know,
Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts. Poor shadows of Eliziun, 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. Whom best I love, I cross; to make my gift,
The more delay'd, delighted. Be content, Your low-laid fon our godhead will uplift:
His comforts thrive, his tryals well are spent; Our Jovial star reign’d at his birth, and in
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 breaft, wherein
Our pleasure, his full forture, doth confine, And so away, no farther with
din Express impatience, lest
up mine; Mount eagle, to my palace crystalline.
Sici. He came in thunder, his cæleftical breath
All. Thanks, Jupiter.
Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd
Poft. Sleep, thou hast been a grandfire, and begot
Cym. Bow your knees,
Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
HEN as the lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find,
and be embrac'd by a piece of tender air ; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopt brancbes, which being dead many years, hall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow, then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty. 'Tis still a dream; or else such stuff as mad-men Tongue, and brain not: do either both, or nothing; Or lenseless speaking, or a speaking such As sense cannot untie. But what it is, The action of my life is like it, which I'll keep If bur for sympathy.
Goal. A heavy reckoning for you, Sir, but the comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments, fear no more tavern bills, which are often the sadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth; you came in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with too much drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain, both empty; the brain the heavier, for being too light; the purse too light, being drawn of heaviness. Oh, of this contradiction you shall now be quit: oh the charity of a penny cord, it sums up thousands in a trice; you have no true debtor, and creditor, but it; of what's past, is, and to come, the discharge; your neck, Sir, is pen, book, and counters; so the acquittance follows.
Poft. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live.
Goal. Indeed, Sir, he that sleeps, feels not the tooth-ache: but a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would change places with his officer: for look you, Sir, you know not which way you ihall go:
Goal. Your death has eyes in's head then; I have not seen himn so pictur’d: you inust either be directed by some that take upon them to know; or to