Goal. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and beget young gibbets, I never faw one fo prone. Yet, on my confcience, there are verier knaves defire to live, for all he be a Roman: and there be fome of them too, that die against their wills; 'fo fhould I, if I were one. I would, we were all of one mind, and one mind good; O, there were defolation of goalers and gallowfes; I fpeak against my prefent profit, but my with hath a preferment in't. [Exit. £TG ́R 35

SCENE, Cymbeline's Tent.

Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pifanio, and Lords. 1.2. Qulay

Cym. Sp

Tand by my fide, you, whom the Gods have made Prefervers of my throne. Woe is my heart, That the poor foldier, that fo richly fought,

(Whofe rags fham'd gilded arms; whofe naked breaft Stept before fhields of proof,) cannot be found:

He fhall be happy that can find him, if

Our grace can make him fo.

Bel. I never faw (28)'.'

Such noble fury in fo poor a thing :

Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought,
But begg'ry and poor luck."

Cym. No tydings of him?

(28)

I never faw

Such noble Fury in fo poor a Thing.;

Such precious Deeds in one that promis'd Nought

But Begg ry and poor

Looks.

But pray, how can it be faid, that one, whole poor Looks promife Beggary, fhould promise poor Looks too? No; it was not the poc Look that was promifed: That was vifible. We muft read with Certainty;

But Begg'ry and poor Luck,

This fets the Matter entirely right, and makes Belarius fpeak Sense and to the purpofe. For there was the extraordinary Thing; he promis'd Nothing but poor Luck, and yet perform'd fuch Wonders.

Mr. WarburtON.

"

Pif. He hath been fearch'd among the dead and living, But no trace of him.

Cym. To my grief, I am

The heir of his reward; which I will add

To you, (the liver, heart, and brain of Britaine ;)
[To Bel. Guid. and Arvirag.
By whom, I grant, fhe lives. 'Tis now the time
To afk of whence you are. Report it.

Bel. Sir,

In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen:
Farther to boast, were neither true nor modeft,
Unless I add, we're honest.

Cym. Bow your knees;

Arife my knights o'th' battle; I create you
Companions to our perfon, and will fit you
With dignities becoming your estates.

Enter Cornelius, and Ladies.

There's bufinefs in thefe faces: why fo fadly
Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,
And not o'th' court of Britaine.

Cor. Hail, great King:

To four your happiness, I muft report
The Queen is dead,

Cym. Whom worfe than a phyfician
Would this report become? but I confider,
By med'cine life may be prolong'd, yet death
Will feize the doctor too. How ended the ?

Cor. With horror, madly dying, like herself;
Who, being cruel to the world, concluded
Moft cruel to herself. What the confeft,
I will report, fo please you: Thefe her women
Can trip me, if I err; who, with wet cheeks,,
Were prefent when the finish'd.

Cym. Pr'ythee, fay.

Cor. First, fhe confefs'd, he never lov'd you: only Affected greatnefs got by you, not you:

Married your royalty, was wife to your place;

Abhorr'd your perfon.

Cym. She alone knew this;

And,

And, but he spoke it dying, I would not
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.

Cor. Your daughter, whom the bore in hand to love With fuch integrity, he did confefs,

Was as a fcorpion to her fight; whofe life,
But that her flight prevented it, fhe had
Ta'en off by poison.

Cym. O most delicate fiend!

Who is't can read a woman is there more?

Cor. More, Sir, and worfe. She did confefs, she had.
For you a mortal mineral; which, being took,
Should by the minute feed on life, and ling'ring
By inches wafte you. In which time the purpos'd,
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
O'ercome you with her fhew: yes, and in time,
(When fhe had fitted you with her craft,) to work
Her fon into th' adoption of the crown:
But failing of her end by his ftrange abfence,
Grew fhameless, defperate; open'd, in defpight
Of heav'n and men, her purpofes: repented,
The ills fhe hatch'd were not effected: fo,
Defpairing, dy'd.

Cym, Heard you all this, her women?
Lady. We did, fo please your Highness.
Cym. Mine eyes

Were not in fault, for fhe was beautiful:

1

Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart,

That thought her like her feeming. It had been vicious
To have mistrusted her. Yet, oh, my daughter!
That it was folly in me, thou may'st say,
And prove it in thy feeling. Heav'n mend all!
Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and other Roman prifoners ;
Leonatus behind, and Imogen.

Thou com'ft not, Caius, now for tribute; that
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the lofs
Of many a bold one; whofe kinfmen have made fuit, r
That their good fouls may be appeas'd with flaughter
Of you their captives, which ourfelf have granted.
So, think of your eftate.

Lus.

Luc. Confider, Sir, the chance of war; the day Was yours by accident: had it gone with us,

We should not, when the blood was cold, have threaten'd
Our prifoners with the fword. But fince the Gods
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
May be call'd ranfom, let it come.

Sufficeth,
A Roman with a Roman's heart can fuffer..
Auguftus lives to think on't-And fo much
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will entreat: my boy, a Briton born,
Let him be ranfom'd; never mafter had
A page fo kind, fo duteous, diligent,
So tender over his occafions, true,

So feat, fo nurfe-like; let his virtue join

With my request, which, I'll make bold, your Highness
Cannot deny he hath done no Briton harm,
Though he hath ferv'd a Roman. Save him, Sir,
And fpare no blood befide.

Cym. I'ye furely feen him;

His favour is familiar to me. Boy,

Thou haft look'd thyself into my grace,

And art mine own. I know not why, nor wherefore,

To say,

"live, boy:" ne'er thank thy mafter, live;

And ak of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,

Fitting my bounty, and thy ftate, I'll give it :
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
The nobleft 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,
Muft fhuffle for itself.

Luc. The boy difdains me,

He leaves me, fcorns me: briefly die their joys,
That place them on the truth of girls and boys!
Why tands he fo perplext?

Cym. What wouldst thou, boy?

I love thee more and more: think more and more,

What's

What's best to alk. Know'ft him thou look'ft on? speak,
Wilt have him live? is he thy kin? thy friend?
Imo. He is a Roman; no more kin to me,

Than I to your Highnefs: who, being born your vaffal,
Am fomething nearer.

Cym. Wherefore eye'ft him fo?

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?
Imo, Fidele, Sir

Cym. Thou art my good youth, my page; Fil be thy mafter: walk with me, fpeak freely. daw [Cymbel, and Imo. walk afide.

t Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death, ?

Ar. One fand another (29)

Not more refembles, than he th' fweet rofy lad,
Who dy'd and was Fidele, What think you?
Guid. The fame dead thing alive,

Bel. Peace, peace, fee more, he eyes us not; forbear, Creatures may be alike were't he, I'm sure,

He would have spoke t'as

Guid. But we faw him dead.or

Bel. Be filent: let's fee further.

Pif. "Tis my mistress

Since he is living, let the time run on,

Afide,

To good, or bad. [Cymb. and Inog. come forward. Cym. Come, ftand thou by our side.

Make thy demand aloud,

C

Sir, ftep you forth,

Give answer to this boy, and do it freely;
Or, by our greatnefs and the grace of it,

1429) ------ --One fand another

2.

Not more refembles that fweet rofy Youth,

Who dy'd and vas Fidele.]*

[To Iachimo.

A flight Corruption has made fark Nonfenfe of this Paffage. One Grain of Sand certainly might refemble another; but it could never refemble a human F rm. I beheve, I have restored the Poet's Meaning; The Vorfe is none of the fimootheft ; but rejembles, infuft be pronounced as a disfyilable.