Imatges de pÓgina

Bel. Sir,
In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen :
Further to boast, were neither true nor modest,
Unless I add, we are honest.

Cym. Bow your knees:
Arise my knight's o' the battle ; I create you
Companions to our person, and will fit you 390
With dignities becoming your estates.

Enter CORNELIUS, and Ladies.
There's business in these faces :- Why so sadly
Greet you our victory ? you look like Romans,
And not o' the court of Britain.

Cor. Hail, great king!
To sour your happiness; I must report

is dead.
Cym. Whom worse than a physician
Would this report become ? But I consider,
By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death 400
Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?

Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life;
Which being cruel to the world, concluded
Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd,
I will report, so please you : These her women
Can irip me, if I err; who, with wet cheeks,
Were present when she finishid,

Cym. Pr'ythee, say.
. Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you; only
Aifected greatness got by you, not you :
Married your royalty, was wife to your place ;



410 Abhorr’d your person.

Cym. She alone knew this :
And, but she spoke it dying, I would not
Believe her lips in opening it. · Proceed.

Cor. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love
With such integrity, she did confess
Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life,
But that her flight prevented it, she had
Ta'en off by poison.

429 Cym. O most delicate fiend ! Who is't can read a woman?-Is there more ? Cor. More, sir, and worse. She did confess, she

had For you a mortal mineral | which, being took, Should by the minute feed on life, and, ling’ring, By inches waste you : In which time she purpos'd, By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to O’ercome you with her shew : yes, and in time (When she had fitted you with her craft), to work Her son into the adoption of the crown.

But failing of her end by his strange absence,
Grew shameless-desperate; open'd, in despight
Of heaven and men, her purposes ; repented
The ills she hatch'd were not effected; so,
Despairing, dy'd.

Cym. Heard you all this, her wonen?
Lady. We did, so please your highness.

Cym. Mine eyes
Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;
Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, 445


That thought her like her seeming ; it had been

To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter !
That it was folly in me, thou may'st say,
And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all I

Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and other Ronan Prisoners ;

POSTHUMUS behind, and I MOGEN.

Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit,
That their good souls may be appeas’d with slaughter
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted :
So, think of your estate,

450 Luc. Consider, şir, the chance of war; the day Was your's by accident; had it gone


UIS, We should not, when the blood was cold, have

threaten'd Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives May be callid ransom, let it come: sufficeth, A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer : Augustus lives to think on't : And so much For my peculiar care. This one thing only I will entreat; My boy, a Briton born,

46 Let him be rạnsom'd: never master had A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, So tender over his occasions, true, So feat, so nurse-like : let his virtuę join

With my request, which, I'll make bold, your high


Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,
Though he have serv'd a Roman : save him, sir,
And spare no blood beside.

Cym. I have surely seen him;
His favour is familiar to me :- - Boy,

Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,' and art
Mine own. I know not why, wherefore, I say,
Live, boy: ne'er thank thy master; live:
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Fitting my bounty, and thy state, I'll give it ;
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
The noblest ta'en.

Imo. I humbly thank your highness.

Luc. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad;
And yet, I know, thou wilt.

Imo. No, no; alack,
There's other work in hand; I see a thing
Bitter to me as death : your life, good master,
Must shuffle for itself.

Luc. The boy disdains me,
He leaves me, scorns me : Briefly die their joys,
That place them on the truth of girls and boys.-
Why stands he so perplex'd ?
Cym. What wouldst thou, boy?

489 I love thee more and more; think more and more What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on?

speak, Wilt have him live? Is he thy kind thy friend?

486 Imo. He is a' Romam; no more kin' to me, Than I to your highness; who, being born your

vassal, Am something nearer.

Cym. Wherefore ey‘st him so?

Imo. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing

Cym. Ay, with all my heart, And lend my best attention. What's thy name? 500

Imo. Fidele, sir.

Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page;
I'll be thy master : Walk with me; speak freely.

(Cymbeline and I MOGEN walk aside. Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death .

Aru. One sand another
Not more resembles : That sweet rosy lad,
Who dy'd, and was Fidele-What think you?

Guid. The same dead thing alive.
Bel. Peace, peace! 'see further; he eyes us not;

forbear; Creatures may be alike: were't he, I am sure 510 He would have spoke to us. »

Guid. But we saw him dead.
Bel. Be silent; let's see further.
Pis. It is my mistress :

[ Aside. Since she is living, let the time run on, : To good, or bad. (Cym. and Imo. come forward. : Cym. Come, stand thou by our side; Make thy demand aloud. --Sir, step you forth;


« AnteriorContinua »