Imatges de pÓgina

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
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my

Is, every breath, a death and thus, unknown,
Pity'd nor hated, to the face of peril
Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me than my habits show.

Gods, put the strength o'the Leonati in me!
To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin
The fashion, less without, and more within. [Exit,


Enter Lucius, IACHIMO, and the Roman Army at one

Door; and the British Army at another ; LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following it like a poor Soldier. They march over, and go out. Then enter again in Skirmish IACHIMO and PosthumUS: he vanguishes and disa armeth IACHIMO, and then leaves him. lach. The heaviness, and guilt, within my

bosom Takes off my manhood: I have bely'd a lady, The princess of this country, and the air on't Revengingly enfeebles me; Or could this carle, A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me, In my profession ? Knighthoods and honours, borne As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.

40 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.
The Battle continues; the Britons fly; CYMBELINE is

taken: iken enter to his rescue, BELARIŲS, Gui-
Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the

ground; The lane is guarded : nothing routs us, but The villany of our fears.

Guid. Arv. Stand, stand, and fight!

Enter PostHUMUS, and seconds the Britons. They

rescue CYMBELINE, and Exeunt. Then, enter Lu. CIUS, IACHIMO, and IMOGEN. Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thy:

self: For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such As war were hood-wiuk'd.

lach. 'Tis their fresh supplies.

Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely : Or betimes Let's re-inforce, or fly.




Another Part of the Field. Enter POSTHUMUS, and a

British Lord.

Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the stand?


Post. I did:
Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.

Lord. I did.

Post. 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,

60 And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying Tbrough a strait lane; the enemy full-hearted, Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down Some mortally; some slightly touch'd, some falling Merely through fear; that the strait pass was damm'd With dead men,

hurt behind, and cowards living To die with lengthen'd shanve.

Lord. Where was this lane?
Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wallid with

Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier-
An honest one, I warrant; who deserv'd
So long a breeding, as his white beard came to,
In doing this for his country ;-athwart the lane,
He, with two striplings (lads more like to run
The country base, than to commit such slaughter;
With facés fit for masks, or rather fairer :
Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame),
Made good the passage; cry'd to those that fied,
Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men:

80 To darkness fleet, souls that fly backwards ! Stand ; 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
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,

90 Part, shame, part, spirit renew'd; that some, turn'd

coward But by example (0, 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' the hunters. Then began A stop i' the chaser, a retire; anon, A rout, confusion thick: Forthwith they Ay 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' the need), having found the back-door

open Of the unguarded hearts, Heavens, how they wound! Some, slain before ; some, dying ; some, their

O'er-borne i' the former wave: ten, chac'd by one,
Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:
Those, that would die or ere resist, are grown
The mortal bugs o'the field.

Lord. This was strange chance :
A narrow lane! an old man, and two boys !
Post. Nay, do not wonder at it: You are made




1 20


Rather to wonder at the things you hear,
Than to work any. Will you rhime upon’t,
And vent it for a mockery? Here is one :
Two boys, an old man twite a boy, a lane,
Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane.

Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir.
: Post, 'Lack, to what end?
Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend :
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 rhime.
i Lord. Farewel; you are angry.

Post. Still going ?- This is a lord ! O noble misery! To be i' the field, and ask, what news, of me! 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 charmid, 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 131 That draw his knives i' the war.-Well, I will find

him :
For, being now a favourer to the Roman,
No inore a Briton, I have resum'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


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