Imatges de pàgina

Our grace can make him so,

Bel. I never saw
Such noble fury in so poor a thing :
Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought
But begg’ry and poor 3 luck.'


that you



have paid too much, and sorry that you are paid too much ; purse and brain, both empty; the brain the heavier, for being too light; the purse too light, being drawn of heaviness. Oh, of this contradiction you shall now be quit: oh the charity of a penny cord, it sums up thousands in a trice ; you have no true debtor, 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.

Poft. I am merrier to die, than thou art to live.

Goal. Indeed, Sir, he that sleeps, feels not the tooth-ache: 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


go. Poft. Yes indeed do I, fellow.

Goal. Your death has eyes in's head then ; I have not seen him so pictur’d: you must either be directed by some that take upon them to know; or to take upon your self that which I am sure you do not know; or lump the after-enquiry on your own peril; and how you "Thall speed in your journey's-end, I think you'll never return to tell Poft. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes, to direct them

I am going, but such as wink, and will not use them. Goal. What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the beft use of eyes, to seek the way of blindness : I am sure such hanging's the way of winking

Enter a Messenger. Mef. Knock off his manacles, bring your prisoner to the King. Poft. Thou bring'it good news, I am called to be made free. Goal. I'll be hang'd then. Poft. Thou shalt be then freer than a goaler: no bolts for the dead.

[Exeunt. Goal. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to live, for all he be a Roman: and there be some of them too that die against their wills ; so should I, if I were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good; Othere were desolation of goalers, and gallowses; I speak against my present profit, but my with hath a preferment in't.

[Exit. SCENE IV. c. 3 looks ... old edit. Warb. emerd.


the way

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Cym. No tidings of him?

Pis. He hath been search'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 Britain,

[To Bellarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. By whom, I grant, she lives. 'Tis now the time To ask of whence you are. Report it.

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

Cym. Bow your knees,
Arise my knights o'ch' battel ; I create you
Companions to our person, and will fit you
With dignities becoming your estates.

Enter Cornelius and Ladies.
There's business in these faces : why so fadly
Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,
And not o'th' Court of Britain.

Cor. Hail, great King !
To four your happiness, I must report
The Queen is dead.

Cym. Whom worse than a physician
Would this report become? but I consider,
By med’cine life may be prolong’d, yet death
Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?

Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her self,
Who being cruel to the world, concluded
Most cruel to her felf. What she confest,
I will report, so please you. These her women
Can trip me, if I err; who with wet cheeks
Were present when she finishid.

Cym. Průythee say.

Cor. First, the confefs'd she never lov'd you, only
Affected greatness got by you, not you:
Married your royalty, wife to your place



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 fight prevented it, she had
Ta'en off by poison.

Cym. O moit 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 lingring
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 th' adoption of the crown:
But failing of her end by his strange absence,
Grew shameless, desperate ; opend in despight
Of heav'n and men, her purposes : repented
The ills she hatch'd were not effected: so
Despairing, dy'd.

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

Cym. + 'Yet mine eyes
Were not in fault, for she was beautiful:
Mine ears, that heard her fattery, nor, my heart,
That thought her like her seeming.' It had been vicious
To have miftrufted 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!

4 Mine eyes



V. Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and other Roman Prisoners,

Posthumus bebind, and Imogen. Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute ; that The Britons have ras'd out, though with the loss Of many a bold one ; whose kinsmen have made fuit That their good souls may be appeas'd with Naughter Of you their captives, which our self have granted. So think of your estate.

Luc. Consider, Sir, the chance of war; the day Was yours by accident: had it gone with us, We should not, when the blood was cool, have threatned Our prisʼners with the sword. But since the Gods Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives May be call'd ransom, let it come. Sufficeth, A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer.. Auguftus lives to think on't. And so much For my peculiar care. This one thing only I will intreat; my boy, a Briton born, Let him be ransom'd; never master had A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, So tender over his occasions, true, So feat, so nurse-like ; let his virtue join With my request, which I'll make bold your Highnell Cannot deny: he hath done no Briton harm, Though he hath serv'd a Roman. Save him, Sir, And spare no blood beside.

Cym. I've furely seen him ;
His favour is familiar to me.
Boy, thou hast look'd thy self into my grace,
And art mine own. I know not why, nor wherefore

To 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,

O 2


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 it felf.

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 fo perplext?

Cym. What wouldst thou, boy?
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 kin? thy friend?

Imo. He is a Roman, no more kin to me,
Than I to your Highness, who being born your vasfal
Am fomething nearer.

Cym. Wherefore eye'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?

Imo. Fidele, Sir.

Cym. Thou’rt my good youth, my page,
I'll be thy master : walk with me, speak freely.

[Cymbeline and Imogen go afide. Bel. Is not this boy reviv'd from death?

Arv. One fand
Another sidoth not more resemble,' o 'than
He the sweet rosie lad who died, and was
7 Fidele.'

Guid. & 'Ev'n the same dead thing alive.

Bel. Peace, peace, see more ; he eyes us not, forbear,
Creatures may be alike: were't he, I'm sure
He would have spoke t'us.

$ not more resembles
6 that sweet rosie youth ... old edit. Theob. emend.
7 Fidele. What think you ! 8 The same



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