1 Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath 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?

Sici. Thy crystal window ope; look out;
No longer exercise,

Upon a valiant race, thy harsh

And potent injuries:

Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good,
Take off his miseries.

Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion; help!
Or we poor ghosts will cry

To the shining synod of the rest,
Against thy deity.

2 Bro. Help, Jupiter; or we appeal,
And from thy justice fly.

JUPITER descends in Thunder and Lightning, sitting upon an Eagle; he throws a Thunder-bolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees.

Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region low, Offend our hearing; hush! - How dare you ghosts, Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt you know,

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. 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 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; And so, away: no further with your din

Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. [Ascends. Sici. He came in thunder; his celestial breath Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle Stoop'd, as to foot us: 7) his ascension is More sweet than our bless'd fields: his royal bird Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, As when his god is pleas'd. All. Thanks, Jupiter! Sici. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd His radiant roof: Away! and, to be blest, Let us with care perform his great behest.

[Ghosts vanish. Post. [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!)
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:
Many dream not to find, neither deserve,
And yet are steep'd in favours: so am I,
That have this golden chance, and know not why.
What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O, rare
one!

Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment Nobler than that it covers: let thy effects So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers, As good as promise.

[Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many years, shall 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 madmen Tongue, and brain not: either both, or nothing: Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such As sense cannot untie. Be what it is, The action of my life is like it, which I'll keep, if but for sympathy.

Re-enter Gaolers.

Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for death? Post. Over-roasted rather: ready long ago. Gaol. Hanging is the word, sir; if you be ready for that, you are well cooked.

Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish pays the shot.

Gaol. 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 come 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; 1) purse and brain both empty: the brain the heavier for being too light, the purse too light, being drawn of heaviness: 19) O! of this contradiction you shall now be quit. O, the charity of a penny cord! it sums up thousands in a trice: you have no true debitor 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. Post. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live. Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache: 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 shall go. Post. Yes, indeed, do I, fellow.

Gaol. Your death has eyes in's head then; I have not seen him so pictured: you must either be directed by some that take upon them to know; or take upon yourself that, which I am sure you do not know; or jump the after-enquiry 20) on your own peril: and how you shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll never return to tell one. Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them the way I am going, but such as wink, and will not use them.

Gaol. What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the best use of eyes, to see the way of blindness! I am sure, hanging's the way of winking.

[Striking her: she falls. O, gentlemen, help, help

Mine, and your mistress:

O, my lord Posthúmus! You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now: - Help, help! — Mine honour'd lady! Cym.

Does the world go round? Post. How come these staggers 32) on me? Pis.

Wake, my mistress! Cym. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me To death with mortal joy. Pis.

How fares my mistress! Imo. O, get thee from my sight; Thou gav'st me poison: dangerous fellow, hence! Breathe not where princes are. Cym. Pis. Lady,

The tune of Imogen!

It was my instant death: By accident,
I had a feigned letter of my master's
Then in my pocket; which directed him
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments,
Which he inforc'd from me, away he posts
With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate
My lady's honour: what became of him,
I further know not.
Gui.

I slew him there. Cym.

Let me end the story:

Marry, the gods forefend!
I would not thy good deeds should from my lips.
Pluck a hard sentence: 'pr'ythee, valiant youth,
Deny't again.

Gui.
I have spoke it, and I did it.
Cym. He was a prince.

Gui. A most uncivil one: The wrongs he did me
Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
With language that would make me spurn the sea,
If it could so roar to me: I cut off's head;
And am right glad, he is not standing here
To tell this tale of mine.
Cym.

I am sorry for thee:
By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must
Endure our law: Thou art dead.
Imo.

I thought had been my lord.
Cym.

That headless man

Bind the offender,

And take him from our presence. Bel.

Stay, sir king:

This man is better than the man he slew,
As well descended as thyself; and hath
More of thee merited, than a band of Clotens
Had ever scar for. Let his arms alone;

[To the Guard.

They were not born for bondage.
Cym.
Why, old soldier,
Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
As good as we?
Aro.
In that he spake too far.
Cym. And thou shalt die for't.
Bel.
We will die all three:
But I will prove, that two of us are as good
As I have given out him. My sons, I must,
For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech,
Though, haply, well for you.
Arv.

Ours.

Have at it then. Thou hadst, great king, a subject, who

By leave;
Was call'd Belarius.
Cym.

A banish'd traitor.
Bel.

What of him? he is

He it is, that hath

Assum'd this age: indeed, a banish'd man;
I know not how, a traitor.
Cym.

Take him hence;

Not too hot:

The whole world shall not save him.

Bel.

First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;
And let it be confiscate all, so soon
As I have receiv'd it.
Cym.
Nursing of my sons?
Bel. I am too blunt, and saucy: Here's my knee;
Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons;
Then, spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
These two young gentlemen, that call me father,
And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
And blood of your begetting.

Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd,
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes
(For such, and so they are,) these twenty years
Have I train'd up: those arts they have, as I
Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
Upon my banishment: I mov'd her to't;
Having receiv'd the punishment before,
For that which I did then: Beaten for loyalty,
Excited me to treason: Their dear loss,
The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
Here are your sons again; and I must lose
Two of the sweet'st companions in the world:
The benediction of these covering heavens
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
To inlay heaven with stars.
Cym.
Thou weep'st, and speak'st. 36)
The service, that you three have done, is more
Unlike than this thou tell'st: I lost my children;
If these be they, I know not how to wish

A pair of worthier sons.
Bel.
Be pleas'd a while.
This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius:
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arvirágus,
Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd
In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand
Of his queen mother, which, for more probation,
I can with ease produce.
Guiderius had

Cym.

Arv. Ay, my good lord.

Gui.

Did you e'er meet?

And at first meeting lov'd; Continued so, until we thought he died. Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd. Cym. O rare instinct! When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgement, 37)

Hath to it circumstantial branches, which Distinction should be rich in.—38) Where? how lived you?

And when came you to serve our Roman captive? How parted with your brothers? how first met them?

Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
And your three motives to the battle, 39) with
I know not how much more, should be demanded;

Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, He would have well becom❜d this place, and grac'd The thankings of a king.

Post.

I am, sir, The soldier that did company these three In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for The purpose I then follow'd; That I was he, Speak, Iachimo: I had you down, and might Have made you finish. Iach. I am down again: [Kneeling. But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, As then your force did. Take that life, 'beseech you, Which I so often owe: but, your ring first; And here the bracelet of the truest princess, That ever swore her faith.

The power that I have on you, is to spare you; The malice towards you, to forgive you: Live, And deal with others better.

Cym.

We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law; Pardon's the word to all.

Arv.

Nobly doom'd;

You holp us, sir,

Good my lord of

As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
Joy'd are we, that you are.
Post. Your servant, princes.

Rome,

Call forth your soothsayer: As I slept, methought,
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back,

Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows 40)
Of mine own kindred: when I wak'd, I found
This label on my bosom; whose containing
Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
Make no collection of it; 41) let him show
His skill in the construction.
Luc.

Philarmonus,

Sooth. Here, my good lord. Luc. Read, and declare the meaning. Sooth. [Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to || himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many years, shall 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. Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp; The fit and apt construction of thy name, Being Leo-natus, doth import so much: The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, [To CYMBELINE,

Which we call mollis aer; and mollis aer
We term it mulier: which mulier I divine,
Is this most constant wife; who, even now,