« AnteriorContinua »
A C T V.
SCE N E I.
A Field between the British and Roman Camps,
Post HU M U S.
Gods! if you Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never Had liv'd to put on this ; fo had you sayed The noble Imogen to repent, and struck Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance." But alack, You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love To have them fall no more; you some permis To second ills with ills, each worse than other And make them 3 dreaded, to the doers thrift. But imogen's your own: do your best wills, And make me blest t’obey! I am brought hither Among th' Italian gentry, and to fight Against my Lady's Kingdom ; 'tis enough That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress : Peace, I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heav'ns, Hear patiently my purpose. I'll disrobe me Of these Italian weeds, and fuit my felf As do's a Briton peasant.; so I'll fight Against the part I come with ; so l'il die For thee, O Imogen, for whom my life
3 dread it.; i old edit, Theob. emend,
Is every breath a death ; and thus 4'not known,'
door; and the British army at another: Leonatus Posthumus following like a poor Soldier. They march over, and go out. Then enter again in skirmish Tachimo, and Posthumus; be vanquisbeth and disarmeth Iachimo, and then leaves him.
Iach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom Takes off my manhood ; I've bely'd a Lady, The Princess of this country; and the air on ́c Revengingly enfeebles me: or could this carle, A very drudge of nature, have subdu'd me In my profession? knighthoods, honours born, As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn; If that thy gentry, Britain, go before This lowt, as he exceeds our Lords, the odds Is, that we scarce are men, and you are Gods. [Exit. The battel continues; the Britons fly, Cymbeline is taken ; then enter to bis rescue, Bellarius, Guiderius, and
Arviragus. Bel. Stand, stand; we have th’ advantage of the ground, That lane is guarded : nothing routs us, but The villainy of our fears,
Guid. Arv. Stand, stand and fight. Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons. They rescue
Cymbeline, and exeunt. Then enter Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen. Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thy felf; N 4
For 4 unknown
For friends kill friends, and the disorders such
lach. 'Tis their freth supplies.
Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely. Or betimes Let's re-inforce, or fly.
S CE N E II.
Another part of the field of Battle,
Enter Posthumus, and a British Lord.
, Am`st thou from where they made the stand ?
Post. I did.
Lord. I did.
Pojt. 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, And but the backs of Britons seen; all flying Through a straight lane, the enemy full-hearted, Lolling the tongue with Naught’ring, having work More plentiful, than tools to do'r, struck down Some mortally, some Nightly touch'd, fome falling Meerly through fear, that the strait pass was damm'd With dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living To die with lengthen'd shame.
Lord. Where was this lane?
Poft. Close by the battel, ditch'd, and walled with turf, 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’s country : 'thwart the lane, He, with two ftriplings, (lads more like to run The country Bafe, than to commit such Naughter, With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
Than those 6/for preservation cas'd) For Mame
found the back door open
Lord. This was strange chance ;
Pot. Nay, do not wonder at it; s'tho you are made Rather to wonder at the things you hear,
Than 6 for preservation casid, or shame)
Made, c. 7 hearts , , , old edit. Theob. emend. 8 you are made
Than to work any. a
Enter two Captains, and Soldiers. 1 Cap. Great Jupiter be prais'd, Lucius is taken. 'Tis thought the old man, and his sons, were angels.
2 Cap. (a) Than to work any. Will you thyme upon't, And vent it for a mockery ? here is one : Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane, Prejerv'd the Britons, was the Romans bane,
Lord. Nay, ,be not angry, Sir.
Poft. 'Lack, to what end :
Lord. Farewel, &c.
(b) Meaning that his woe seem'd as a charm which protected bin. Warburton.