< Shakespeare -- CYMBELINE >
< from Online Library of Liberty (http://oll.libertyfund.org) >
< Unicode .txt version by Mike Scott (http://www.lexically.net) >
< from "The Complete Works of William Shakespeare" >
< ed. with a glossary by W.J. Craig M.A. >
< (London: Oxford University Press, 1916) >
<STAGE DIR>
<Scene.—Sometimes in Britain, sometimes in Italy.>
</STAGE DIR>


<ACT 1>


<SCENE 1>
<Britain. The Garden of Cymbeline's Palace.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter two Gentlemen.>
</STAGE DIR>
<GENTLEMAN 1>	<0%>
	You do not meet a man but frowns; our bloods
	No more obey the heavens than our courtiers
	Still seem as does the king.
</GENTLEMAN 1>

<GENTLEMAN 2>	<0%>
	But what's the matter?
</GENTLEMAN 2>

<GENTLEMAN 1>	<0%>
	His daughter, and the heir of 's kingdom, whom
	He purpos'd to his wife's sole son,—a widow
	That late he married,—hath referr'd herself
	Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. She's wedded;
	Her husband banish'd, she imprison'd: all
	Is outward sorrow, though I think the king
	Be touch'd at very heart.
</GENTLEMAN 1>

<GENTLEMAN 2>	<1%>
	None but the king?
</GENTLEMAN 2>

<GENTLEMAN 1>	<1%>
	He that hath lost her too; so is the queen,
	That most desir'd the match; but not a courtier,
	Although they wear their faces to the bent
	Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not
	Glad at the thing they scowl at.
</GENTLEMAN 1>

<GENTLEMAN 2>	<1%>
	And why so?
</GENTLEMAN 2>

<GENTLEMAN 1>	<1%>
	He that hath miss'd the princess is a thing
	Too bad for bad report; and he that hath her,—
	I mean that married her, alack! good man!
	And therefore banish'd—is a creature such
	As, to seek through the regions of the earth
	For one his like, there would be something failing
	In him that should compare. I do not think
	So fair an outward and such stuff within
	Endows a man but he.
</GENTLEMAN 1>

<GENTLEMAN 2>	<1%>
	You speak him far.
</GENTLEMAN 2>

<GENTLEMAN 1>	<1%>
	I do extend him, sir, within himself,
	Crush him together rather than unfold
	His measure duly.
</GENTLEMAN 1>

<GENTLEMAN 2>	<1%>
	What's his name and birth?
</GENTLEMAN 2>

<GENTLEMAN 1>	<1%>
	I cannot delve him to the root: his father
	Was called Sicilius, who did join his honour
	Against the Romans with Cassibelan,
	But had his titles by Tenantius whom
	He serv'd with glory and admir'd success,
	So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus;
	And had, besides this gentleman in question,
	Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time
	Died with their swords in hand; for which their father—
	Then old and fond of issue—took such sorrow
	That he quit being, and his gentle lady,
	Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas'd
	As he was born. The king, he takes the babe
	To his protection; calls him Posthumus Leonatus;
	Breeds him and makes him of his bedchamber,
	Puts to him all the learnings that his time
	Could make him the receiver of; which he took,
	As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd,
	And in's spring became a harvest; liv'd in court,—
	Which rare it is to do—most prais'd, most lov'd;
	A sample to the youngest, to the more mature
	A glass that feated them, and to the graver
	A child that guided dotards; to his mistress,
	For whom he now is banish'd, her own price
	Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;
	By her election may be truly read
	What kind of man he is.
</GENTLEMAN 1>

<GENTLEMAN 2>	<2%>
	I honour him,
	Even out of your report. But pray you, tell me,
	Is she sole child to the king?
</GENTLEMAN 2>

<GENTLEMAN 1>	<2%>
	His only child.
	He had twosons,—if this be worth your hearing,
	Mark it,—the eldest of them at three years old,
	I' the swathing clothes the other, from their nursery
	Were stol'n; and to this hour no guess in knowledge
	Which way they went.
</GENTLEMAN 1>

<GENTLEMAN 2>	<2%>
	How long is this ago?
</GENTLEMAN 2>

<GENTLEMAN 1>	<2%>
	Some twenty years.
</GENTLEMAN 1>

<GENTLEMAN 2>	<2%>
	That a king's children should be so convey'd,
	So slackly guarded, and the search so slow,
	That could not trace them!
</GENTLEMAN 2>

<GENTLEMAN 1>	<2%>
	Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
	Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
	Yet is it true, sir.
</GENTLEMAN 1>

<GENTLEMAN 2>	<2%>
	I do well believe you.
</GENTLEMAN 2>

<GENTLEMAN 1>	<2%>
	We must forbear. Here comes the gentleman,
	The queen, and princess.
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt.>
</STAGE DIR>

</GENTLEMAN 1>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen.>
</STAGE DIR>
<QUEEN>	<2%>
	No, be assur'd you shall not find me, daughter,
	After the slander of most step-mothers,
	Evil-ey'd unto you; you're my prisoner, but
	Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
	That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
	So soon as I can win the offended king,
	I will be known your advocate; marry, yet
	The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good
	You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience
	Your wisdom may inform you.
</QUEEN>

<POSTHUMUS>	<3%>
	Please your highness,
	I will from hence to-day.
</POSTHUMUS>

<QUEEN>	<3%>
	You know the peril:
	I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
	The pangs of barr'd affections, though the king
	Hath charg'd you should not speak together.
</QUEEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

<IMOGEN>	<3%>
	O!
	Dissembling courtesy. How fine this tyrant
	Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,
	I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing,—
	Always reserv'd my holy duty,—what
	His rage can do on me. You must be gone;
	And I shall here abide the hourly shot
	Of angry eyes, not comforted to live,
	But that there is this jewel in the world
	That I may see again.
</IMOGEN>

<POSTHUMUS>	<3%>
	My queen! my mistress!
	O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause
	To be suspected of more tenderness
	Than doth become a man. I will remain
	The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth.
	My residence in Rome at one Philario's,
	Who to my father was a friend, to me
	Known but by letter; thither write, my queen,
	And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,
	Though ink be made of gall.

</POSTHUMUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Re-enter Queen.>
</STAGE DIR>
<QUEEN>	<3%>
	Be brief, I pray you;
	If the king come, I shall incur I know not
	How much of his displeasure. <STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> Yet I'll move him
	To walk this way. I never do him wrong,
	But he does buy my injuries to be friends,
	Pays dear for my offences.
</QUEEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

<POSTHUMUS>	<3%>
	Should we be taking leave
	As long a term as yet we have to live,
	The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!
</POSTHUMUS>

<IMOGEN>	<4%>
	Nay, stay a little:
	Were you but riding forth to air yourself
	Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;
	This diamond was my mother's; take it, heart;
	But keep it till you woo another wife,
	When Imogen is dead.
</IMOGEN>

<POSTHUMUS>	<4%>
	How! how! another?
	You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
	And sear up my embracements from a next
	With bonds of death!—Remain, remain thou here
<STAGE DIR>
<Putting on the ring.>
</STAGE DIR>
	While sense can keep it on! And, sweetest, fairest,
	As I my poor self did exchange for you,
	To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles
	I still win of you; for my sake wear this;
	It is a manacle of love; I'll place it
	Upon this fairest prisoner.
</POSTHUMUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Putting a bracelet on her arm.>
</STAGE DIR>

<IMOGEN>	<4%>
	O the gods!
	When shall we see again?

</IMOGEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Cymbeline and Lords.>
</STAGE DIR>
<POSTHUMUS>	<4%>
	Alack! the king!
</POSTHUMUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<4%>
	Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight!
	If after this command thou fraught the court
	With thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away!
	Thou'rt poison to my blood.
</CYMBELINE>

<POSTHUMUS>	<4%>
	The gods protect you
	And bless the good remainders of the court!
	I am gone.
</POSTHUMUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

<IMOGEN>	<4%>
	There cannot be a pinch in death
	More sharp than this is.
</IMOGEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<4%>
	O disloyal thing,
	That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st instead
	A year's age on me.
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<4%>
	I beseech you, sir,
	Harm not yourself with your vexation;
	I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare
	Subdues all pangs, all fears.
</IMOGEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<4%>
	Past grace? obedience?
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<4%>
	Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.
</IMOGEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<5%>
	That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<5%>
	O bless'd, that I might not! I chose an eagle
	And did avoid a puttock.
</IMOGEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<5%>
	Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne
	A seat for baseness.
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<5%>
	No; I rather added
	A lustre to it.
</IMOGEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<5%>
	O thou vile one!
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<5%>
	Sir,
	It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus;
	You bred him as my playfellow, and he is
	A man worth any woman, overbuys me
	Almost the sum he pays.
</IMOGEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<5%>
	What! art thou mad?
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<5%>
	Almost, sir; heaven restore me! Would I were
	A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus
	Our neighbour shepherd's son!
</IMOGEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<5%>
	Thou foolish thing!

<STAGE DIR>
<Re-enter Queen.>
</STAGE DIR>
	They were again together; you have done
	Not after our command. Away with her,
</CYMBELINE>
	And pen her up.
<QUEEN>	<5%>
	Beseech your patience. Peace!
	Dear lady daughter, peace! Sweet sovereign,
	Leave us to ourselves, and make yourself some comfort
	Out of your best advice.
</QUEEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<5%>
	Nay, let her languish
	A drop of blood a day; and, being aged,
	Die of this folly!
</CYMBELINE>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt Cymbeline and Lords.>
</STAGE DIR>

<QUEEN>	<5%>
	Fie! you must give way:

</QUEEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Pisanio.>
</STAGE DIR>
	Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news?
<PISANIO>	<5%>
	My lord your son drew on my master.
</PISANIO>

<QUEEN>	<5%>
	Ha!
	No harm, I trust, is done?
</QUEEN>

<PISANIO>	<5%>
	There might have been,
	But that my master rather play'd than fought,
	And had no help of anger; they were parted
	By gentlemen at hand.
</PISANIO>

<QUEEN>	<5%>
	I am very glad on 't.
</QUEEN>

<IMOGEN>	<5%>
	Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part.
	To draw upon an exile! O brave sir!
	I would they were in Afric both together,
	Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
	The goer-back. Why came you from your master?
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<6%>
	On his command: he would not suffer me
	To bring him to the haven; left these notes
	Of what commands I should be subject to,
	When 't pleas'd you to employ me.
</PISANIO>

<QUEEN>	<6%>
	This hath been
	Your faithful servant; I dare lay mine honour
	He will remain so.
</QUEEN>

<PISANIO>	<6%>
	I humbly thank your highness.
</PISANIO>

<QUEEN>	<6%>
	Pray, walk awhile.
</QUEEN>

<IMOGEN>	<6%>
<STAGE DIR>
<To Pisanio.>
</STAGE DIR> About some half-hour hence,
	I pray you, speak with me. You shall at least
	Go see my lord aboard; for this time leave me.
</IMOGEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 1>


<SCENE 2>
<The Same. A Public Place.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Cloten and two Lords.>
</STAGE DIR>
<LORD 1>	<6%>
	Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the violence of action hath made you reek as a sacrifice. Where air comes out, air comes in; there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.
</LORD 1>

<CLOTEN>	<6%>
	If my shirt were bloody, them to shift it. Have I hurt him?
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 2>	<6%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> No faith; not so much as his patience.
</LORD 2>

<LORD 1>	<6%>
	Hurt him! his body's a passable carcass if he be not hurt; it is a throughfare for steel if it be not hurt.
</LORD 1>

<LORD 2>	<6%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> His steel was in debt; it went o' the backside the town.
</LORD 2>

<CLOTEN>	<6%>
	The villain would not stand me.
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 2>	<6%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> No; but he fled forward still, toward your face.
</LORD 2>

<LORD 1>	<6%>
	Stand you! You have land enough of your own; but he added to your having, gave you some ground.
</LORD 1>

<LORD 2>	<6%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> As many inches as you have oceans. Puppies!
</LORD 2>

<CLOTEN>	<7%>
	I would they had not come between us.
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 2>	<7%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> So would I till you had measured how long a fool you were upon the ground.
</LORD 2>

<CLOTEN>	<7%>
	And that she should love this fellow and refuse me!
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 2>	<7%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damned.
</LORD 2>

<LORD 1>	<7%>
	Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go not together; she's a good sign, but I have seen small reflection of her wit.
</LORD 1>

<LORD 2>	<7%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> She shines not upon fools, lest the reflection should hurt her.
</LORD 2>

<CLOTEN>	<7%>
	Come, I'll to my chamber. Would there had been some hurt done!
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 2>	<7%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> I wish not so; unless it had been the fall of an ass, which is no great hurt.
</LORD 2>

<CLOTEN>	<7%>
	You'll go with us?
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 1>	<7%>
	I'll attend your lordship.
</LORD 1>

<CLOTEN>	<7%>
	Nay, come, let's go together.
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 2>	<7%>
	Well, my lord.
</LORD 2>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 2>


<SCENE 3>
<A Room in Cymbeline's Palace.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Imogen and Pisanio.>
</STAGE DIR>
<IMOGEN>	<7%>
	I would thou grew'st unto the shores of the haven,
	And question'dst every sail: if he should write,
	And I not have it, 'twere a paper lost,
	As offer'd mercy is. What was the last
	That he spake to thee?
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<7%>
	It was his queen, his queen!
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<7%>
	Then wav'd his handkerchief?
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<7%>
	And kiss'd it, madam.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<7%>
	Senseless linen, happier therein than I!
	And that was all?
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<7%>
	No, madam; for so long
	As he could make me with this eye or ear
	Distinguish him from others, he did keep
	The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,
	Still waving, as the fits and stirs of 's mind
	Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on,
	How swift his ship.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<8%>
	Thou shouldst have made him
	As little as a crow, or less, ere left
	To after-eye him.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<8%>
	Madam, so I did.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<8%>
	I would have broke mine eye-strings, crack'd them, but
	To look upon him, till the diminution
	Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle,
	Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from
	The smallness of a gnat to air, and then
	Have turn'd mine eye, and wept. But, good Pisanio,
	When shall we hear from him?
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<8%>
	Be assur'd, madam,
	With his next vantage.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<8%>
	I did not take my leave of him, but had
	Most pretty things to say; ere I could tell him
	How I would think on him at certain hours
	Such thoughts and such, or I could make him swear
	The shes of Italy should not betray
	Mine interest and his honour, or have charg'd him,
	At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at mid-night,
	To encounter me with orisons, for then
	I am in heaven for him; or ere I could
	Give him that parting kiss which I had set
	Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father,
	And like the tyrannous breathing of the north
	Shakes all our buds from growing.

</IMOGEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter a Lady.>
</STAGE DIR>
<LADY>	<8%>
	The queen, madam,
	Desires your highness' company.
</LADY>

<IMOGEN>	<8%>
	Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd.
	I will attend the queen.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<8%>
	Madam, I shall.
</PISANIO>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 3>


<SCENE 4>
<Rome. A Room in Philario's House.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Philario, Iachimo, a Frenchman, a Dutchman, and a Spaniard.>
</STAGE DIR>
<IACHIMO>	<8%>
	Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain; he was then of a crescent note, expected to prove so worthy as since he hath been allowed the name of; but I could then have looked on him without the help of admiration, though the catalogue of his endowments had been tabled by his side and I to peruse him by items.
</IACHIMO>

<PHILARIO>	<9%>
	You speak of him when he was less furnished than now he is with that which makes him both without and within.
</PHILARIO>

<FRENCHMAN>	<9%>
	I have seen him in France: we had very many there could behold the sun with as firm eyes as he.
</FRENCHMAN>

<IACHIMO>	<9%>
	This matter of marrying his king's daughter,—wherein he must be weighed rather by her value than his own,—words him, I doubt not, a great deal from the matter.
</IACHIMO>

<FRENCHMAN>	<9%>
	And then, his banishment.
</FRENCHMAN>

<IACHIMO>	<9%>
	Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this lamentable divorce under her colours are wonderfully to extend him; be it but to fortify her judgment, which else an easy battery might lay flat, for taking a beggar without less quality. But how comes it, he is to sojourn with you? How creeps acquaintance?
</IACHIMO>

<PHILARIO>	<9%>
	His father and I were soldiers together; to whom I have been often bound for no less than my life. Here comes the Briton: let him be so entertained amongst you as suits, with gentlemen of your knowing, to a stranger of his quality.

</PHILARIO>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Posthumus.>
</STAGE DIR>
	I beseech you all, be better known to this gentleman, whom I commend to you, as a noble friend of mine; how worthy he is I will leave to appear hereafter, rather than story him in his own hearing.
<FRENCHMAN>	<9%>
	Sir, we have known together in Orleans.
</FRENCHMAN>

<POSTHUMUS>	<9%>
	Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies, which I will be ever to pay and yet pay still.
</POSTHUMUS>

<FRENCHMAN>	<10%>
	Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness. I was glad I did atone my countryman and you; it had been pity you should have been put together with so mortal a purpose as then each bore, upon importance of so slight and trivial a nature.
</FRENCHMAN>

<POSTHUMUS>	<10%>
	By your pardon, sir, I was then a young traveller; rather shunned to go even with what I heard than in my every action to be guided by others' experiences; but, upon my mended judgment,—if I offend not to say it is mended,—my quarrel was not altogether slight.
</POSTHUMUS>

<FRENCHMAN>	<10%>
	Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords, and by such two that would by all likelihood have confounded one the other, or have fallen both.
</FRENCHMAN>

<IACHIMO>	<10%>
	Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference?
</IACHIMO>

<FRENCHMAN>	<10%>
	Safely, I think. 'Twas a contention in public, which may, without contradiction, suffer the report. It was much like an argument that fell out last night, where each of us fell in praise of our country mistresses; this gentleman at that time vouching—and upon warrant of bloody affirmation—his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant, qualified, and less attemptable, than any the rarest of our ladies in France.
</FRENCHMAN>

<IACHIMO>	<10%>
	That lady is not now living, or this gentleman's opinion by this worn out.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<10%>
	She holds her virtue still and I my mind.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<10%>
	You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours of Italy.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<10%>
	Being so far provoked as I was in France, I would abate her nothing, though I profess myself her adorer, not her friend.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<10%>
	As fair and as good—a kind of hand-in-hand comparison—had been something too fair and too good for any lady in Britain. If she went before others I have seen, as that diamond of yours outlustres many I have beheld, I could not but believe she excelled many; but I have not seen the most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<11%>
	I praised her as I rated her; so do I my stone.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<11%>
	What do you esteem it at?
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<11%>
	More than the world enjoys.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<11%>
	Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, or she's outprized by a trifle.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<11%>
	You are mistaken; the one may be sold, or given; or if there were wealth enough for the purchase, or merit for the gift; the other is not a thing for sale, and only the gift of the gods.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<11%>
	Which the gods have given you?
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<11%>
	Which, by their graces, I will keep.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<11%>
	You may wear her in little yours, but, you know, strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. Your ring may be stolen, too; so your brace of unprizeable estimations, the one is but frail and the other causal; a cunning thief, or a that way accomplished courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<11%>
	Your Italy contains none so accomplished a courtier to convince the honour of my mistress, if, in the holding or loss of that, you term her frail. I do nothing doubt you have store of thieves; notwithstanding I fear not my ring.
</POSTHUMUS>

<PHILARIO>	<11%>
	Let us leave here, gentlemen.
</PHILARIO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<11%>
	Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I thank him, makes no stranger of me; we are familiar at first.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<11%>
	With five times so much conversation I should get ground of your fair mistress, make her go back, even to the yielding, had I admittance and opportunity to friend.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<11%>
	No, no.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<11%>
	I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to your ring, which, in my opinion, o'ervalues it something; but I make my wager rather against your confidence than her reputation; and, to bar your offence herein too, I durst attempt it against any lady in the world.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<12%>
	You are a great deal abused in too bold a persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain what you're worthy of by your attempt.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<12%>
	What's that?
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<12%>
	A repulse; though your attempt, as you call it, deserves more,—a punishment too.
</POSTHUMUS>

<PHILARIO>	<12%>
	Gentlemen, enough of this; it came in too suddenly; let it die as it was born, and, I pray you, be better acquainted.
</PHILARIO>

<IACHIMO>	<12%>
	Would I had put my estate and my neighbour's on the approbation of what I have spoke!
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<12%>
	What lady would you choose to assail?
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<12%>
	Yours; whom in constancy you think stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousand ducats to your ring, that, commend me to the court where your lady is, with no more advantage than the opportunity of a second conference, and I will bring from thence that honour of hers which you imagine so reserved.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<12%>
	I will wage against your gold, gold to it: my ring I hold dear as my finger; 'tis part of it.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<12%>
	You are afraid, and therein the wiser. If you buy ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you cannot preserve it from tainting. But I see you have some religion in you, that you fear.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<12%>
	This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a graver purpose, I hope.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<12%>
	I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo what's spoken, I swear.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<12%>
	Will you? I shall but lend my diamond till your return. Let there be covenants drawn between 's: my mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness of your unworthy thinking; I dare you to this match. Here's my ring.
</POSTHUMUS>

<PHILARIO>	<13%>
	I will have it no lay.
</PHILARIO>

<IACHIMO>	<13%>
	By the gods, it is one. If I bring you no sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats are yours; so is your diamond too: if I come off, and leave her in such honour as you have trust in, she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are yours; provided I have your commendation for my more free entertainment.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<13%>
	I embrace these conditions; let us have articles betwixt us. Only, thus far you shall answer: if you make your voyage upon her and give me directly to understand that you have prevailed, I am no further your enemy; she is not worth our debate: if she remain unseduced,—you not making it appear otherwise,—for your ill opinion, and the assault you have made to her chastity, you shall answer me with your sword.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<13%>
	Your hand; a covenant. We will have these things set down by lawful counsel, and straight away for Britain, lest the bargain should catch cold and starve. I will fetch my gold and have our two wagers recorded.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<13%>
	Agreed.
</POSTHUMUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt Posthumus and Iachimo.>
</STAGE DIR>

<FRENCHMAN>	<13%>
	Will this hold, think you?
</FRENCHMAN>

<PHILARIO>	<13%>
	Signior Iachimo will not from it. Pray, let us follow 'em.
</PHILARIO>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 4>


<SCENE 5>
<Britain. A Room in Cymbeline's Palace.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius.>
</STAGE DIR>
<QUEEN>	<13%>
	Whiles yet the dew 's on ground, gather those flowers:
	Make haste; who has the note of them?
</QUEEN>

<LADY 1>	<13%>
	I, madam.
</LADY 1>

<QUEEN>	<13%>
	Dispatch.
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt Ladies.>
</STAGE DIR>
	Now, Master doctor, have you brought those drugs?
</QUEEN>

<CORNELIUS>	<14%>
	Pleaseth your highness, ay; here they are, madam:
<STAGE DIR>
<Presenting a small box.>
</STAGE DIR>
	But I beseech your Grace, without offence,—
	My conscience bids me ask,—wherefore you have
	Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds,
	Which are the movers of a languishing death,
	But though slow, deadly?
</CORNELIUS>

<QUEEN>	<14%>
	I wonder, doctor,
	Thou ask'st me such a question: have I not been
	Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how
	To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so
	That our great king himself doth woo me oft
	For my confections? Having thus far proceeded,—
	Unless thou think'st me devilish,—is 't not meet
	That I did amplify my judgment in
	Other conclusions? I will try the forces
	Of these thy compounds on such creatures as
	We count not worth the hanging,—but none human,—
	To try the vigour of them and apply
	Allayments to their act, and by them gather
	Their several virtues and effects.
</QUEEN>

<CORNELIUS>	<14%>
	Your highness
	Shall from this practice but make hard your heart;
	Besides, the seeing these effects will be
	Both noisome and infectious.
</CORNELIUS>

<QUEEN>	<14%>
	O! content thee.

<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Pisanio.>
</STAGE DIR>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him
	Will I first work: he's for his master,
	And enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio:
	Doctor, your service for this time is ended;
</QUEEN>
	Take your own way.
<CORNELIUS>	<14%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> I do suspect you, madam;
	But you shall do no harm.
</CORNELIUS>

<QUEEN>	<14%>
<STAGE DIR>
<To Pisanio.>
</STAGE DIR> Hark thee, a word.
</QUEEN>

<CORNELIUS>	<14%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> I do not like her. She doth think she has
	Strange lingering poisons; I do know her spirit,
	And will not trust one of her malice with
	A drug of such damn'd nature. Those she has
	Will stupify and dull the sense awhile;
	Which first, perchance, she'll prove on cats and dogs,
	Then afterward up higher; but there is
	No danger in what show of death it makes,
	More than the locking-up the spirits a time,
	To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd
	With a most false effect; and I the truer,
	So to be false with her.
</CORNELIUS>

<QUEEN>	<15%>
	No further service, doctor,
	Until I send for thee.
</QUEEN>

<CORNELIUS>	<15%>
	I humbly take my leave.
</CORNELIUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

<QUEEN>	<15%>
	Weeps she still, sayst thou? Dost thou think in time
	She will not quench, and let instructions enter
	Where folly now possesses? Do thou work:
	When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son,
	I'll tell thee on the instant thou art then
	As great as is thy master; greater, for
	His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name
	Is at last gasp; return he cannot, nor
	Continue where he is; to shift his being
	Is to exchange one misery with another,
	And every day that comes comes to decay
	A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect,
	To be depender on a thing that leans,
	Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends,
	So much as but to prop him?
<STAGE DIR>
<The Queen drops the box; Pisanio takes it up.>
</STAGE DIR>
	Thou tak'st up
	Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour:
	It is a thing I made, which hath the king
	Five times redeem'd from death; I do not know
	What is more cordial: nay, I prithee, take it;
	It is an earnest of a further good
	That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how
	The case stands with her; do 't as from thyself.
	Think what a chance thou changest on, but think
	Thou hast thy mistress still, to boot, my son,
	Who shall take notice of thee. I'll move the king
	To any shape of thy preferment such
	As thou'lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly,
	That set thee on to this desert, am bound
	To load thy merit richly. Call my women;
	Think on my words.
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit Pisanio.>
</STAGE DIR>
	A sly and constant knave,
	Not to be shak'd; the agent for his master,
	And the remembrancer of her to hold
	The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that
	Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her
	Of leigers for her sweet, and which she after,
	Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd
	To taste of too.

<STAGE DIR>
<Re-enter Pisanio and Ladies.>
</STAGE DIR>
	So, so;—well done, well done.
	The violets, cowslips, and the prime-roses
	Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio:
	Think on my words.
</QUEEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt Queen and Ladies.>
</STAGE DIR>
<PISANIO>	<16%>
	And shall do:
	But when to my good lord I prove untrue,
	I'll choke myself; there's all I'll do for you.
</PISANIO>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 5>


<SCENE 6>
<The Same. Another Room in the Palace.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Imogen.>
</STAGE DIR>
<IMOGEN>	<16%>
	A father cruel, and a step-dame false;
	A foolish suitor to a wedded lady,
	That hath her husband banish'd: O! that husband,
	My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated
	Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol'n,
	As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable
	Is the desire that's glorious: bless'd be those,
	How mean so'er, that have their honest wills,
	Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie!

</IMOGEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Pisanio and Iachimo.>
</STAGE DIR>
<PISANIO>	<16%>
	Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome,
	Comes from my lord with letters.
</PISANIO>

<IACHIMO>	<17%>
	Change you, madam?
	The worthy Leonatus is in safety,
	And greets your highness dearly.
</IACHIMO>
<STAGE DIR>
<Presents a letter.>
</STAGE DIR>

<IMOGEN>	<17%>
	Thanks, good sir:
	You are kindly welcome.
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<17%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> All of her that is out of door most rich!
	If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare,
	She is alone the Arabian bird, and I
	Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
	Arm me, audacity, from head to foot!
	Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;
	Rather, directly fly.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<17%>
	He is one of the noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your truest
 LEONATUS.
 So far I read aloud;
	But even the very middle of my heart
	Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully.
	You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I
	Have words to bid you; and shall find it so
	In all that I can do.
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<17%>
	Thanks, fairest lady.
	What! are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes
	To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
	Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
	The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones
	Upon the number'd beach? and can we not
	Partition make with spectacles so precious
	'Twixt fair and foul?
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<17%>
	What makes your admiration?
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<17%>
	It cannot be i' the eye; for apes and monkeys
	'Twixt two such shes would chatter this way and
	Contemn with mows the other; nor i' the judgment,
	For idiots in this case of favour would
	Be wisely definite; nor i' the appetite;
	Sluttery to such neat excellence oppos'd
	Should make desire vomit emptiness,
	Not so allur'd to feed.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<17%>
	What is the matter, trow?
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<18%>
	The cloyed will,—
	That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub
	Both fill'd and running,—ravening first the lamb,
	Longs after for the garbage.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<18%>
	What, dear sir,
	Thus raps you? are you well?
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<18%>
	Thanks, madam, well.
<STAGE DIR>
<To Pisanio.>
</STAGE DIR> Beseech you, sir,
	Desire my man's abode where I did leave him;
	He's strange and peevish.
</IACHIMO>

<PISANIO>	<18%>
	I was going, sir,
	To give him welcome.
</PISANIO>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

<IMOGEN>	<18%>
	Continues well my lord his health, beseech you?
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<18%>
	Well, madam.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<18%>
	Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope he is.
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<18%>
	Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there
	So merry and so gamesome: he is call'd
	The Briton reveller.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<18%>
	When he was here
	He did incline to sadness, and oft-times
	Not knowing why.
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<18%>
	I never saw him sad.
	There is a Frenchman his companion, one,
	An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves
	A Gallian girl at home; he furnaces
	The thick sighs from him, whiles the jolly Briton—
	Your lord, I mean—laughs from 's free lungs, cries, 'O!
	Can my sides hold, to think that man, who knows
	By history, report, or his own proof,
	What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
	But must be, will his free hours languish for
	Assured bondage?'
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<18%>
	Will my lord say so?
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<18%>
	Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter:
	It is a recreation to be by
	And hear him mock the Frenchman; but, heavens know,
	Some men are much to blame.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<18%>
	Not he, I hope.
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<18%>
	Not he; but yet heaven's bounty towards him might
	Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
	In you,—which I account his beyond all talents,—
	Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
	To pity too.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<19%>
	What do you pity, sir?
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<19%>
	Two creatures, heartily.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<19%>
	Am I one, sir?
	You look on me: what wrack discern you in me
	Deserves your pity?
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<19%>
	Lamentable! What!
	To hide me from the radiant sun and solace
	I' the dungeon by a snuff!
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<19%>
	I pray you, sir,
	Deliver with more openness your answers
	To my demands. Why do you pity me?
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<19%>
	That others do,
	I was about to say, enjoy your—But
	It is an office of the gods to venge it,
	Not mine to speak on 't.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<19%>
	You do seem to know
	Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you,—
	Since doubting things go ill often hurts more
	Than to be sure they do; for certainties
	Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing,
	The remedy then born,—discover to me
	What both you spur and stop.
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<19%>
	Had I this cheek
	To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
	Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
	To the oath of loyalty; this object, which
	Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
	Firing it only here; should I—damn'd then—
	Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
	That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
	Made hard with hourly falsehood,—falsehood, as
	With labour;—then by-peeping in an eye,
	Base and illustrous as the smoky light
	That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit
	That all the plagues of hell should at one time
	Encounter such revolt.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<19%>
	My lord, I fear,
	Has forgot Britain.
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<19%>
	And himself. Not I,
	Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce
	The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces
	That from my mutest conscience to my tongue
	Charms this report out.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<19%>
	Let me hear no more.
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<20%>
	O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart
	With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady
	So fair,—and fasten'd to an empery
	Would make the great'st king double,—to be partner'd
	With tom-boys hir'd with that self-exhibition
	Which your own coffers yield! with diseas'd ventures
	That play with all infirmities for gold
	Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff
	As well might poison poison! Be reveng'd;
	Or she that bore you was no queen, and you
	Recoil from your great stock.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<20%>
	Reveng'd!
	How should I be reveng'd? If this be true,—
	As I have such a heart, that both mine ears
	Must not in haste abuse,—if it be true,
	How should I be reveng'd?
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<20%>
	Should be make me
	Live like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets,
	Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps,
	In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.
	I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,
	More noble than that runagate to your bed,
	And will continue fast to your affection,
	Still close as sure.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<20%>
	What ho, Pisanio!
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<20%>
	Let me my service tender on your lips.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<20%>
	Away! I do condemn mine ears that have
	So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,
	Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not
	For such an end thou seek'st; as base as strange.
	Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far
	From thy report as thou from honour, and
	Solicit'st here a lady that disdains
	Thee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio!
	The king my father shall be made acquainted
	Of thy assault; if he shall think it fit,
	A saucy stranger in his court to mart
	As in a Romish stew and to expound
	His beastly mind to us, he hath a court
	He little cares for and a daughter who
	He not respects at all. What ho, Pisanio!
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<21%>
	O happy Leonatus! I may say:
	The credit that thy lady hath of thee
	Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness
	Her assur'd credit. Blessed live you long!
	A lady to the worthiest sir that ever
	Country call'd his; and you his mistress, only
	For the most worthiest fit. Give me your pardon.
	I have spoken this, to know if your affiance
	Were deeply rooted, and shall make your lord
	That which he is, new o'er; and he is one
	The truest manner'd; such a holy witch
	That he enchants societies into him;
	Half all men's hearts are his.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<21%>
	You make amends.
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<21%>
	He sits 'mongst men like a descended god:
	He hath a kind of honour sets him off,
	More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,
	Most mighty princess, that I have adventur'd
	To try your taking of a false report; which hath
	Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment
	In the election of a sir so rare,
	Which you know cannot err. The love I bear him
	Made me to fan you thus; but the gods made you,
	Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<21%>
	All's well, sir. Take my power i' the court for yours.
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<21%>
	My humble thanks. I had almost forget
	To entreat your Grace but in a small request,
	And yet of moment too, for it concerns
	Your lord, myself, and other noble friends,
	Are partners in the business.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<21%>
	Pray, what is 't?
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<21%>
	Some dozen Romans of us and your lord,
	The best feather of our wing, have mingled sums
	To buy a present for the emperor;
	Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
	In France; 'tis plate of rare device, and jewels
	Of rich and exquisite form; their values great;
	And I am something curious, being strange,
	To have them in safe stowage. May it please you
	To take them in protection?
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<22%>
	Willingly;
	And pawn mine honour for their safety: since
	My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them
	In my bedchamber.
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<22%>
	They are in a trunk,
	Attended by my men; I will make bold
	To send them to you, only for this night;
	I must aboard to-morrow.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<22%>
	O! no, no.
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<22%>
	Yes, I beseech, or I shall short my word
	By lengthening my return. From Gallia
	I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise
	To see your Grace.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<22%>
	I thank you for your pains;
	But not away to-morrow!
</IMOGEN>

<IACHIMO>	<22%>
	O! I must, madam:
	Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please
	To greet your lord with writing, do 't to-night:
	I have outstood my time, which is material
	To the tender of our present.
</IACHIMO>

<IMOGEN>	<22%>
	I will write.
	Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept,
	And truly yielded you. You're very welcome.
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt.>
</STAGE DIR>

</IMOGEN>

</SCENE 6>

</ACT 1>

<ACT 2>


<SCENE 1>
<Britain. Before Cymbeline's Palace.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Cloten and two Lords.>
</STAGE DIR>
<CLOTEN>	<22%>
	Was there ever man had such luck! when I kissed the jack, upon an up-cast to be hit away! I had a hundred pound on 't; and then a whoreson jackanapes must take me up for swearing, as if I borrowed mine oaths of him and might not spend them at my pleasure.
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 1>	<22%>
	What got he by that? You have broke his pate with your bowl.
</LORD 1>

<LORD 2>	<22%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have run all out.
</LORD 2>

<CLOTEN>	<22%>
	When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths, ha?
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 2>	<23%>
	No, my lord; <STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> nor crop the ears of them.
</LORD 2>

<CLOTEN>	<23%>
	Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction!
	Would he had been one of my rank!
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 2>	<23%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> To have smelt like a fool.
</LORD 2>

<CLOTEN>	<23%>
	I am not vexed more at any thing in the earth. A pox on 't! I had rather not be so noble as I am. They dare not fight with me because of the queen my mother. Every Jack-slave hath his bellyful of fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that nobody can match.
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 2>	<23%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> You are cock and capon too; and you crow, cock, with your comb on.
</LORD 2>

<CLOTEN>	<23%>
	Sayest thou?
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 2>	<23%>
	It is not fit your lordship should undertake every companion that you give offence to.
</LORD 2>

<CLOTEN>	<23%>
	No, I know that; but it is fit I should commit offence to my inferiors.
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 2>	<23%>
	Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.
</LORD 2>

<CLOTEN>	<23%>
	Why, so I say.
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 1>	<23%>
	Did you hear of a stranger that's come to court to-night?
</LORD 1>

<CLOTEN>	<23%>
	A stranger, and I not know on 't!
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 2>	<23%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it not.
</LORD 2>

<LORD 1>	<23%>
	There's an Italian come; and 'tis thought, one of Leonatus' friends.
</LORD 1>

<CLOTEN>	<23%>
	Leonatus! a banished rascal; and he's another, whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 1>	<23%>
	One of your lordship's pages.
</LORD 1>

<CLOTEN>	<23%>
	Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation in 't?
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 1>	<23%>
	You cannot derogate, my lord.
</LORD 1>

<CLOTEN>	<23%>
	Not easily, I think.
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 2>	<23%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> You are a fool, granted; therefore your issues, being foolish, do not derogate.
</LORD 2>

<CLOTEN>	<24%>
	Come, I'll go see this Italian. What I have lost to-day at bowls I'll win to-night of him. Come, go.
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 2>	<24%>
	I'll attend your lordship.
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt Cloten and First Lord.>
</STAGE DIR>
	That such a crafty devil as is his mother
	Should yield the world this ass! a woman that
	Bears all down with her brain, and this her son
	Cannot take two from twenty for his heart
	And leave eighteen. Alas! poor princess,
	Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'st
	Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd,
	A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer
	More hateful than the foul expulsion is
	Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act
	Of the divorce he'd make. The heavens hold firm
	The walls of thy dear honour; keep unshak'd
	That temple, thy fair mind; that thou mayst stand,
	To enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land!
</LORD 2>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 1>


<SCENE 2>
<A Bedchamber; in one part of it a Trunk.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Imogen reading in her bed; a Lady attending.>
</STAGE DIR>
<IMOGEN>	<24%>
	Who's there? my woman Helen?
</IMOGEN>

<LADY>	<24%>
	Please you, madam.
</LADY>

<IMOGEN>	<24%>
	What hour is it?
</IMOGEN>

<LADY>	<24%>
	Almost midnight, madam.
</LADY>

<IMOGEN>	<24%>
	I have read three hours then; mine eyes are weak;
	Fold down the leaf where I have left; to bed:
	Take not away the taper, leave it burning,
	And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock,
	I prithee, call me. Sleep has seized me wholly.
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit Lady.>
</STAGE DIR>
	To your protection I commend me, gods!
	From fairies and the tempters of the night
	Guard me, beseech ye!
</IMOGEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Sleeps. Iachimo comes from the trunk.>
</STAGE DIR>

<IACHIMO>	<24%>
	The crickets sing, and man's o'erlabour'd sense
	Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
	Did softly press the rushes ere he waken'd
	The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,
	How bravely thou becom'st thy bed! freshlily,
	And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
	But kiss: one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd,
	How dearly they do 't! 'Tis her breathing that
	Perfumes the chamber thus; the flame of the taper
	Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids,
	To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
	Under these windows, white and azure lac'd
	With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my design,
	To note the chamber: I will write all down:
	Such and such pictures; there the window; such
	Th' adornment of her bed; the arras, figures,
	Why, such and such; and the contents o' the story.
	Ah! but some natural notes about her body,
	Above ten thousand meaner moveables
	Would testify, to enrich mine inventory.
	O sleep! thou ape of death, lie dull upon her;
	And be her senses but as a monument
	Thus in a chapel lying. Come off, come off;—
<STAGE DIR>
<Taking off her bracelet.>
</STAGE DIR>
	As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!
	'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
	As strongly as the conscience does within,
	To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
	A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
	I' the bottom of a cowslip: here's a voucher;
	Stronger than ever law could make: this secret
	Will force him think I have pick'd the lock and ta'en
	The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?
	Why should I write this down, that's riveted,
	Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late
	The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down
	Where Philomel gave up. I have enough:
	To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
	Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning
	May bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear;
	Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.
<STAGE DIR>
<Clock strikes.>
</STAGE DIR>
	One, two, three: time, time!
</IACHIMO>
<STAGE DIR>
<Goes into the trunk. The scene closes.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 2>


<SCENE 3>
<An Ante-chamber adjoining Imogen's Apartments.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Cloten and Lords.>
</STAGE DIR>
<LORD 1>	<26%>
	Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that ever turned up ace.
</LORD 1>

<CLOTEN>	<26%>
	It would make any man cold to lose.
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 1>	<26%>
	But not every man patient after the noble temper of your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win.
</LORD 1>

<CLOTEN>	<26%>
	Winning will put any man into courage.
	If I could get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough. It's almost morning, is 't not?
</CLOTEN>

<LORD 1>	<26%>
	Day, my lord.
</LORD 1>

<CLOTEN>	<26%>
	I would this music would come. I am advised to give her music o' mornings; they say it will penetrate.

<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Musicians.>
</STAGE DIR>
	Come on; tune. If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: if none will do, let her remain; but I'll never give o'er. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it: and then let her consider.


<SONG>

	Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
	And Phœbus 'gins arise,
	His steeds to water at those springs
	On chalic'd flowers that lies,
	And winking Mary-buds begin
	To ope their golden eyes:
	With every thing that pretty is,
	My lady sweet, arise.
	Arise, arise!
</SONG>


	So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider your music the better; if it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs and calves'-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend.
</CLOTEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt Musicians.>
</STAGE DIR>
<LORD 2>	<27%>
	Here comes the king.
</LORD 2>

<CLOTEN>	<27%>
	I am glad I was up so late, for that's the reason I was up so early; he cannot choose but take this service I have done fatherly.

</CLOTEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Cymbeline and Queen.>
</STAGE DIR>
	Good morrow to your majesty and to my gracious mother.
<CYMBELINE>	<27%>
	Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?
	Will she not forth?
</CYMBELINE>

<CLOTEN>	<27%>
	I have assail'd her with musics, but she vouchsafes no notice.
</CLOTEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<27%>
	The exile of her minion is too new,
	She hath not yet forgot him; some more time
	Must wear the print of his remembrance out,
	And then she's yours.
</CYMBELINE>

<QUEEN>	<27%>
	You are most bound to the king,
	Who lets go by no vantages that may
	Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
	To orderly soliciting, and be friended
	With aptness of the season; make denials
	Increase your services; so seem as if
	You were inspir'd to do those duties which
	You tender to her; that you in all obey her
	Save when command to your dismission tends,
	And therein you are senseless.
</QUEEN>

<CLOTEN>	<27%>
	Senseless! not so.

</CLOTEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter a Messenger.>
</STAGE DIR>
<MESENGER>	<27%>
	So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
	The one is Caius Lucius.
</MESENGER>

<CYMBELINE>	<27%>
	A worthy fellow,
	Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
	But that's no fault of his: we must receive him
	According to the honour of his sender;
	And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,
	We must extend our notice. Our dear son,
	When you have given good morning to your mistress,
	Attend the queen and us; we shall have need
	To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.
</CYMBELINE>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt all but Cloten.>
</STAGE DIR>

<CLOTEN>	<28%>
	If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
	Let her lie still, and dream. By your leave, ho!
<STAGE DIR>
<Knocks.>
</STAGE DIR>
	I know her women are about her. What
	If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold
	Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes
	Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up
	Their deer to the stand o' the stealer; and 'tis gold
	Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief;
	Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man. What
	Can it not do and undo? I will make
	One of her women lawyer to me, for
	I yet not understand the case myself.
	By your leave.
<STAGE DIR>
<Knocks.>
</STAGE DIR>

</CLOTEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter a Lady.>
</STAGE DIR>
<LADY>	<28%>
	Who's there, that knocks?
</LADY>

<CLOTEN>	<28%>
	A gentleman.
</CLOTEN>

<LADY>	<28%>
	No more?
</LADY>

<CLOTEN>	<28%>
	Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.
</CLOTEN>

<LADY>	<28%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> That's more
	Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours
	Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's pleasure?
</LADY>

<CLOTEN>	<28%>
	Your lady's person: is she ready?
</CLOTEN>

<LADY>	<28%>
	Ay,
	To keep her chamber.
</LADY>

<CLOTEN>	<28%>
	There's gold for you; sell me your good report.
</CLOTEN>

<LADY>	<28%>
	How! my good name? or to report of you
	What I shall think is good?—The princess!

</LADY>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Imogen.>
</STAGE DIR>
<CLOTEN>	<28%>
	Good morrow, fairest; sister, your sweet hand.
</CLOTEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit Lady.>
</STAGE DIR>

<IMOGEN>	<28%>
	Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains
	For purchasing but trouble; the thanks I give
	Is telling you that I am poor of thanks
	And scarce can spare them.
</IMOGEN>

<CLOTEN>	<29%>
	Still, I swear I love you.
</CLOTEN>

<IMOGEN>	<29%>
	If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me:
	If you swear still, your recompense is still
	That I regard it not.
</IMOGEN>

<CLOTEN>	<29%>
	This is no answer.
</CLOTEN>

<IMOGEN>	<29%>
	But that you shall not say I yield being silent
	I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: faith,
	I shall unfold equal discourtesy
	To your best kindness. One of your great knowing
	Should learn, being taught, forbearance.
</IMOGEN>

<CLOTEN>	<29%>
	To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin:
	I will not.
</CLOTEN>

<IMOGEN>	<29%>
	Fools cure not mad folks.
</IMOGEN>

<CLOTEN>	<29%>
	Do you call me fool?
</CLOTEN>

<IMOGEN>	<29%>
	As I am mad, I do:
	If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
	That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
	You put me to forget a lady's manners,
	By being so verbal; and learn now, for all,
	That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce
	By the very truth of it, I care not for you;
	And am so near the lack of charity,—
	To accuse myself,—I hate you; which I had rather
	You felt than make 't my boast.
</IMOGEN>

<CLOTEN>	<29%>
	You sin against
	Obedience, which you owe your father. For
	The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
	One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes,
	With scraps o' the court, it is no contract, none;
	And though it be allow'd in meaner parties—
	Yet who than he more mean?—to knit their souls—
	On whom there is no more dependancy
	But brats and beggary—in self-figur'd knot;
	Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
	The consequence o' the crown, and must not soil
	The precious note of it with a base slave,
	A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth,
	A pantler, not so eminent.
</CLOTEN>

<IMOGEN>	<29%>
	Profane fellow!
	Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more
	But what thou art besides, thou wert too base
	To be his groom; thou wert dignified enough,
	Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
	Comparative for your virtues, to be styl'd
	The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
	For being preferr'd so well.
</IMOGEN>

<CLOTEN>	<30%>
	The south-fog rot him!
</CLOTEN>

<IMOGEN>	<30%>
	He never can meet more mischance than come
	To be but nam'd of thee. His meanest garment
	That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer
	In my respect than all the hairs above thee,
	Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!

</IMOGEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Pisanio.>
</STAGE DIR>
<CLOTEN>	<30%>
	'His garment!' Now, the devil—
</CLOTEN>

<IMOGEN>	<30%>
	To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently,—
</IMOGEN>

<CLOTEN>	<30%>
	'His garment!'
</CLOTEN>

<IMOGEN>	<30%>
	I am sprighted with a fool,
	Frighted, and anger'd worse. Go, bid my woman
	Search for a jewel that too casually
	Hath left mine arm; it was thy master's, 'shrew me
	If I would lose it for a revenue
	Of any king's in Europe. I do think
	I saw 't this morning; confident I am
	Last night 'twas on mine arm, I kiss'd it;
	I hope it be not gone to tell my lord
	That I kiss aught but he.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<30%>
	'Twill not be lost.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<30%>
	I hope so; go, and search.
</IMOGEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit Pisanio.>
</STAGE DIR>

<CLOTEN>	<30%>
	You have abus'd me:
	'His meanest garment!'
</CLOTEN>

<IMOGEN>	<30%>
	Ay, I said so, sir:
	If you will make 't an action, call witness to 't.
</IMOGEN>

<CLOTEN>	<30%>
	I will inform your father.
</CLOTEN>

<IMOGEN>	<30%>
	Your mother too:
	She's my good lady, and will conceive, I hope,
	But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,
	To the worst of discontent.
</IMOGEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

<CLOTEN>	<30%>
	I'll be reveng'd.
	'His meanest garment!' Well.
</CLOTEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 3>


<SCENE 4>
<Rome. A Room in Philario's House.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Posthumus and Philario.>
</STAGE DIR>
<POSTHUMUS>	<31%>
	Fear it not, sir; I would I were so sure
	To win the king as I am bold her honour
	Will remain hers.
</POSTHUMUS>

<PHILARIO>	<31%>
	What means do you make to him?
</PHILARIO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<31%>
	Not any, but abide the change of time,
	Quake in the present winter's state and wish
	That warmer days would come; in these sear'd hopes,
	I barely gratify your love; they failing,
	I must die much your debtor.
</POSTHUMUS>

<PHILARIO>	<31%>
	Your very goodness and your company
	O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king
	Hath heard of great Augustus; Caius Lucius
	Will do 's commission throughly, and I think
	He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages,
	Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
	Is yet fresh in their grief.
</PHILARIO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<31%>
	I do believe—
	Statist though I am none, nor like to be—
	That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
	The legions now in Gallia sooner landed
	In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings
	Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
	Are men more order'd than when Julius Cæsar
	Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage
	Worthy his frowning at: their discipline,—
	Now winged,—with their courage will make known
	To their approvers they are people such
	That mend upon the world.
</POSTHUMUS>

<PHILARIO>	<31%>
	See! Iachimo!

</PHILARIO>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Iachimo.>
</STAGE DIR>
<POSTHUMUS>	<31%>
	The swiftest harts have posted you by land,
	And winds of all the corners kiss'd your sails,
	To make your vessel nimble.
</POSTHUMUS>

<PHILARIO>	<31%>
	Welcome, sir.
</PHILARIO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<31%>
	I hope the briefness of your answer made
	The speediness of your return.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<31%>
	Your lady
	Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<31%>
	And therewithal the best; or let her beauty
	Look through a casement to allure false hearts
	And be false with them.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<32%>
	Here are letters for you.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<32%>
	Their tenour good, I trust.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<32%>
	'Tis very like.
</IACHIMO>

<PHILARIO>	<32%>
	Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court
	When you were there?
</PHILARIO>

<IACHIMO>	<32%>
	He was expected then,
	But not approach'd.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<32%>
	All is well yet.
	Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't not
	Too dull for your good wearing?
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<32%>
	If I have lost it,
	I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
	I'll make a journey twice as far to enjoy
	A second night of such sweet shortness which
	Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<32%>
	The stone's too hard to come by.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<32%>
	Not a whit,
	Your lady being so easy.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<32%>
	Make not, sir,
	Your loss your sport: I hope you know that we
	Must not continue friends.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<32%>
	Good sir, we must,
	If you keep covenant. Had I not brought
	The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant
	We were to question further, but I now
	Profess myself the winner of her honour,
	Together with your ring; and not the wronger
	Of her or you, having proceeded but
	By both your wills.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<32%>
	If you can make 't apparent
	That you have tasted her in bed, my hand
	And ring is yours; if not, the foul opinion
	You had of her pure honour gains or loses
	Your sword or mine or masterless leaves both
	To who shall find them.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<32%>
	Sir, my circumstances
	Being so near the truth as I will make them,
	Must first induce you to believe: whose strength
	I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not,
	You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find
	You need it not.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<32%>
	Proceed.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<32%>
	First, her bedchamber,—
	Where I confess I slept not, but profess
	Had that was well worth watching,—it was hang'd
	With tapestry of silk and silver; the story
	Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
	And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for
	The press of boats or pride; a piece of work
	So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
	In workmanship and value; which I wonder'd
	Could be rarely and exactly wrought,
	Since the true life on 't was—
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<33%>
	This is true;
	And this you might have heard of here, by me,
	Or by some other.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<33%>
	More particulars
	Must justify my knowledge.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<33%>
	So they must,
	Or do your honour injury.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<33%>
	The chimney
	Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece
	Chaste Dian bathing; never saw I figures
	So likely to report themselves; the cutter
	Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her,
	Motion and breath left out.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<33%>
	This is a thing
	Which you might from relation likewise reap,
	Being, as it is, much spoke of.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<33%>
	The roof o' the chamber
	With golden cherubins is fretted; her andirons—
	I had forgot them—were two winking Cupids
	Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
	Depending on their brands.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<33%>
	This is her honour!
	Let it be granted you have seen all this,—and praise
	Be given to your remembrance,—the description
	Of what is in her chamber nothing saves
	The wager you have laid.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<33%>
	Then, if you can,
	Be pale: I beg but leave to air this jewel; see!
<STAGE DIR>
<Showing the bracelet.>
</STAGE DIR>
	And now 'tis up again; it must be married
	To that your diamond; I'll keep them.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<33%>
	Jove!
	Once more let me behold it. Is it that
	Which I left with her?
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<33%>
	Sir,—I thank her,—that:
	She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet;
	Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
	And yet enrich'd it too. She gave it me, and said
	She priz'd it once.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<34%>
	May be she pluck'd it off
	To send it me.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<34%>
	She writes so to you, doth she?
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<34%>
	O! no, no, no, 'tis true. Here, take this too;
<STAGE DIR>
<Gives the ring.>
</STAGE DIR>
	It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
	Kills me to look on 't. Let there be no honour
	Where there is beauty; truth where semblance; love
	Where there's another man; the vows of women
	Of no more bondage be to where they are made
	Than they are to their virtues, which is nothing.
	O! above measure false.
</POSTHUMUS>

<PHILARIO>	<34%>
	Have patience, sir,
	And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won:
	It may be probable she lost it; or
	Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted,
	Hath stol'n it from her?
</PHILARIO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<34%>
	Very true;
	And so I hope he came by 't. Back my ring.
	Render to me some corporal sign about her,
	More evident than this; for this was stol'n.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<34%>
	By Jupiter, I had it from her arm.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<34%>
	Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.
	'Tis true; nay, keep the ring; 'tis true: I am sure
	She would not lose it; her attendants are
	All sworn and honourable; they induc'd to steal it!
	And by a stranger! No, he hath enjoy'd her;
	The cognizance of her incontinency
	Is this; she hath bought the name of whore thus dearly.
	There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell
	Divide themselves between you!
</POSTHUMUS>

<PHILARIO>	<34%>
	Sir, be patient:
	This is not strong enough to be believ'd
	Of one persuaded well of—
</PHILARIO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<34%>
	Never talk on 't;
	She hath been colted by him.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<34%>
	If you seek
	For further satisfying, under her breast,
	Worthy the pressing, lies a mole, right proud
	Of that most delicate lodging: by my life,
	I kiss'd it, and it gave me present hunger
	To feed again, though full. You do remember
	This stain upon her?
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<35%>
	Ay, and it doth confirm
	Another stain, as big as hell can hold,
	Were there no more but it.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<35%>
	Will you hear more?
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<35%>
	Spare your arithmetic; never count the turns;
	Once, and a million!
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<35%>
	I'll be sworn,—
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<35%>
	No swearing.
	If you will swear you have not done 't, you lie;
	And I will kill thee if thou dost deny
	Thou'st made me cuckold.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<35%>
	I'll deny nothing.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<35%>
	O! that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal.
	I will go there and do 't, i' the court, before
	Her father. I'll do something—
</POSTHUMUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

<PHILARIO>	<35%>
	Quite besides
	The government of patience! You have won:
	Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath
	He hath against himself.
</PHILARIO>

<IACHIMO>	<35%>
	With all my heart.
</IACHIMO>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 4>


<SCENE 5>
<The Same. Another Room in the Same.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Posthumus.>
</STAGE DIR>
<POSTHUMUS>	<35%>
	Is there no way for men to be, but women
	Must be half-workers? We are all bastards; all,
	And that most venerable man which I
	Did call my father was I know not where
	When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his tools
	Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seem'd
	The Dian of that time; so doth my wife
	The nonpareil of this. O! vengeance, vengeance;
	Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd
	And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with
	A pudency so rosy the sweet view on 't
	Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her
	As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O! all the devils!
	This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,—was 't not?
	Or less—at first?—perchance he spoke not, but
	Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,
	Cried 'O!' and mounted; found no opposition
	But what he look'd for should oppose and she
	Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
	The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
	That tends to vice in man but I affirm
	It is the woman's part; be it lying, note it,
	The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
	Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
	Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
	Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
	All faults that man may name, nay, that hell knows,
	Why, hers, in part, or all; but rather, all;
	For even to vice
	They are not constant, but are changing still
	One vice but of a minute old for one
	Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
	Detest them, curse them. Yet 'tis greater skill
	In a true hate to pray they have their will:
	The very devils cannot plague them better.
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

</POSTHUMUS>

</SCENE 5>

</ACT 2>

<ACT 3>


<SCENE 1>
<Britain. A Hall in Cymbeline's Palace.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter at one door Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, and Lords; and at another Caius Lucius and Attendants.>
</STAGE DIR>
<CYMBELINE>	<36%>
	Now say what would Augustus Cæsar with us?
</CYMBELINE>

<LUCIUS>	<36%>
	When Julius Cæsar—whose remembrance yet
	Lives in men's eyes, and will to ears and tongues
	Be theme and hearing ever—was in this Britain,
	And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,—
	Famous in Cæsar's praises, no whit less
	Than in his feats deserving it,—for him
	And his succession, granted Rome a tribute,
	Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately
	Is left untender'd.
</LUCIUS>

<QUEEN>	<37%>
	And, to kill the marvel,
	Shall be so ever.
</QUEEN>

<CLOTEN>	<37%>
	There be many Cæsars
	Ere such another Julius. Britain is
	A world by itself, and we will nothing pay
	For wearing our own noses.
</CLOTEN>

<QUEEN>	<37%>
	That opportunity,
	Which then they had to take from 's, to resume,
	We have again. Remember, sir, my liege,
	The kings your ancestors, together with
	The natural bravery of your isle, which stands
	As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in
	With rocks unscaleable and roaring waters,
	With sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats,
	But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquest
	Cæsar made here, but made not here his brag
	Of 'came, and saw, and overcame:' with shame—
	The first that ever touch'd him—he was carried
	From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping—
	Poor ignorant baubles!—on our terrible seas,
	Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd
	As easily 'gainst our rocks: for joy whereof
	The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point—
	O giglot fortune!—to master Cæsar's sword,
	Made Lud's town with rejoicing-fires bright,
	And Britons stiut with courage.
</QUEEN>

<CLOTEN>	<37%>
	Come, there's no more tribute to be paid. Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no moe such Cæsars; other of them may have crooked noses, but to owe such straight arms, none.
</CLOTEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<37%>
	Son, let your mother end.
</CYMBELINE>

<CLOTEN>	<37%>
	We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan; I do not say I am one, but I have a hand. Why tribute? why should we pay tribute? If Cæsar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now.
</CLOTEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<38%>
	You must know,
	Till the injurious Romans did extort
	This tribute from us, we were free; Cæsar's ambition—
	Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch
	The sides o' the world—against all colour here
	Did put the yoke upon 's; which to shake off
	Becomes a war-like people, whom we reckon
	Ourselves to be. We do say then to Cæsar
	Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which
	Ordain'd our laws, whose use the sword of Cæsar
	Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise
	Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
	Though Rome be therefore angry. Mulmutius made our laws,
	Who was the first of Britain which did put
	His brows within a golden crown, and call'd
	Himself a king.
</CYMBELINE>

<LUCIUS>	<38%>
	I am sorry, Cymbeline,
	That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar—
	Cæsar, that hath more kings his servants than
	Thyself domestic officers—thine enemy.
	Receive it from me, then: war and confusion
	In Cæsar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
	For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,
	I thank thee for myself.
</LUCIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<38%>
	Thou art welcome, Caius.
	Thy Cæsar knighted me; my youth I spent
	Much under him; of him I gather'd honour;
	Which he, to seek of me again, perforce,
	Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect
	That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for
	Their liberties are now in arms; a precedent
	Which not to read would show the Britons cold:
	So Cæsar shall not find them.
</CYMBELINE>

<LUCIUS>	<38%>
	Let proof speak.
</LUCIUS>

<CLOTEN>	<38%>
	His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day or two, or longer; if you seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in our salt-water girdle; if you beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the better for you; and there's an end.
</CLOTEN>

<LUCIUS>	<39%>
	So, sir.
</LUCIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<39%>
	I know your master's pleasure and he mine:
	All the remain is 'Welcome!'
</CYMBELINE>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 1>


<SCENE 2>
<Another Room in the Same.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Pisanio, reading a letter.>
</STAGE DIR>
<PISANIO>	<39%>
	How! of adultery! Wherefore write you not
	What monster's her accuser? Leonatus!
	O master! what a strange infection
	Is fall'n into thy ear! What false Italian—
	As poisonous-tongu'd as handed—hath prevail'd
	On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal! No:
	She's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes,
	More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
	As would take in some virtue. O my master!
	Thy mind to her is now as low as were
	Thy fortunes. How! that I should murder her?
	Upon the love and truth and vows which I
	Have made to thy command? I, her? her blood?
	If it be so to do good service, never
	Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
	That I should seem to lack humanity
	So much as this fact comes to?—Do't: the letter
	That I have sent her by her own command
	Shall give thee opportunity:—O damn'd paper!
	Black as the ink that's on thee. Senseless bauble,
	Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st
	So virgin-like without? Lo! here she comes.
	I am ignorant in what I am commanded.

</PISANIO>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Imogen.>
</STAGE DIR>
<IMOGEN>	<39%>
	How now, Pisanio!
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<39%>
	Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<39%>
	Who? thy lord? that is my lord, Leonatus.
	O! learn'd indeed were that astronomer
	That knew the stars as I his characters;
	He'd lay the future open. You good gods,
	Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
	Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not
	That we two are asunder; let that grieve him,—
	Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them,
	For it doth physic love,—of his content,
	All but in that! Good wax, thy leave. Bless'd be
	You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers
	And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike;
	Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
	You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods!
	Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as you, O the dearest of creatures, would not even renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria, at Milford-Haven; what your own love will out of this advise you, follow. So, he wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your, increasing in love,
 LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.
 O! for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
	He is at Milford-Haven; read, and tell me
	How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
	May plod it in a week, why may not I
	Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio,—
	Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who long'st,—
	O! let me 'bate,—but not like me; yet long'st,
	But in a fainter kind:—O! not like me,
	For mine's beyond beyond; say, and speak thick;—
	Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,
	To the smothering of the sense,—how far it is
	To this same blessed Milford; and, by the way,
	Tell me how Wales was made so happy as
	T' inherit such a haven; but, first of all,
	How we may steal from hence, and, for the gap
	That we shall make in time, from our hencegoing
	And our return, to excuse; but first, how get hence.
	Why should excuse be born or ere begot?
	We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee, speak,
	How many score of miles may we well ride
	'Twixt hour and hour?
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<41%>
	One score 'twixt sun and sun,
	Madam, 's enough for you, and too much too.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<41%>
	Why, one that rode to 's execution, man,
	Could never go so slow: I have heard of riding wagers,
	Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
	That run i' the clock's behalf. But this is foolery;
	Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say
	She'll home to her father; and provide me presently
	A riding-suit, no costlier than would fit
	A franklin's housewife.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<41%>
	Madam, you're best consider.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<41%>
	I see before me, man; nor here, nor here,
	Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them,
	That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee;
	Do as I bid thee. There's no more to say;
	Accessible is none but Milford way.
</IMOGEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 2>


<SCENE 3>
<Wales. A mountainous Country with a Cave.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter from the Cave, Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.>
</STAGE DIR>
<BELARIUS>	<41%>
	A goodly day not to keep house, with such
	Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate
	Instructs you how to adore the heavens, and bows you
	To a morning's holy office; the gates of monarchs
	Are arch'd so high that giants may jet through
	And keep their impious turbans on, without
	Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!
	We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly
	As prouder livers do.
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<41%>
	Hail, heaven!
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<41%>
	Hail, heaven!
</ARVIRAGUS>

<BELARIUS>	<41%>
	Now for our mountain sport. Up to yond hill;
	Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider,
	When you above perceive me like a crow,
	That it is place which lessens and sets off;
	And you may then revolve what tales I have told you
	Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war;
	This service is not service, so being done,
	But being so allow'd; to apprehend thus
	Draws us a profit from all things we see,
	And often, to our comfort, shall we find
	The sharded beetle in a safer hold
	Than is the full wing'd eagle. O! this life
	Is nobler than attending for a check,
	Richer than doing nothing for a bribe,
	Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk;
	Such gain the cap of him that makes 'em fine,
	Yet keeps his book uncross'd; no life to ours.
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<42%>
	Out of your proof you speak; we, poor unfledg'd,
	Have never wing'd from view o' the nest, nor know not
	What air's from home. Haply this life is best,
	If quiet life be best; sweeter to you
	That have a sharper known, well corresponding
	With your stiff age; but unto us it is
	A cell of ignorance, travelling a-bed,
	A prison for a debtor, that not dares
	To stride a limit.
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<42%>
	What should we speak of
	When we are old as you? when we shall hear
	The rain and wind beat dark December, how
	In this our pinching cave shall we discourse
	The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing;
	We are beastly, subtle as the fox for prey,
	Like war-like as the wolf for what we eat;
	Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage
	We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,
	And sing our bondage freely.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<BELARIUS>	<42%>
	How you speak!
	Did you but know the city's usuries
	And felt them knowingly; the art o' the court,
	As hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb
	Is certain falling, or so slippery that
	The fear's as bad as falling; the toil of the war,
	A pain that only seems to seek out danger
	I' the name of fame and honour; which dies i' the search,
	And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph
	As record of fair act; nay, many times,
	Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
	Must curtsy at the censure: O boys! this story
	The world may read in me; my body's mark'd
	With Roman swords, and my report was once
	First with the best of note; Cymbeline lov'd me,
	And when a soldier was the theme, my name
	Was not far off; then was I as a tree
	Whose boughs did bend with fruit, but, in one night,
	A storm or robbery, call it what you will,
	Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
	And left me bare to weather.
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<43%>
	Uncertain favour!
</GUIDERIUS>

<BELARIUS>	<43%>
	My fault being nothing,—as I have told you oft,—
	But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd
	Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline
	I was confederate with the Romans; so
	Follow'd my banishment, and this twenty years
	This rock and these demesnes have been my world,
	Where I have liv'd at honest freedom, paid
	More pious debts to heaven than in all
	The fore-end of my time. But, up to the mountains!
	This is not hunter's language. He that strikes
	The venison first shall be the lord o' the feast;
	To him the other two shall minister;
	And we will fear no poison which attends
	In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys.
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt Guiderius and Arviragus.>
</STAGE DIR>
	How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
	These boys know little they are sons to the king;
	Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
	They think they are mine; and, though train'd up thus meanly
	I' the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
	The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them
	In simple and low things to prince it much
	Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,
	The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who
	The king his father call'd Guiderius,—Jove!
	When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell
	The war-like feats I have done, his spirits fly out
	Into my story: say, 'Thus mine enemy fell,
	And thus I set my foot on 's neck;' even then
	The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
	Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture
	That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,—
	Once Arviragus,—in as like a figure,
	Strikes life into my speech and shows much more
	His own conceiving. Hark! the game is rous'd.
	O Cymbeline! heaven and my conscience knows
	Thou didst unjustly banish me; whereon,
	At three and two years old, I stole these babes,
	Thinking to bar thee of succession, as
	Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,
	Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their mother,
	And every day do honour to her grave:
	Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
	They take for natural father. The game is up.
</BELARIUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 3>


<SCENE 4>
<Near Milford-Haven.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Pisanio and Imogen.>
</STAGE DIR>
<IMOGEN>	<44%>
	Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place
	Was near at hand: ne'er long'd my mother so
	To see me first, as I have now. Pisanio! man!
	Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind,
	That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh
	From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus,
	Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
	Beyond self-explication; put thyself
	Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness
	Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter?
	Why tender'st thou that paper to me with
	A look untender? If 't be summer news,
	Smile to 't before; if winterly, thou need'st
	But keep that count'nance still. My husband's hand!
	That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
	And he's at some hard point. Speak, man; thy tongue
	May take off some extremity, which to read
	Would be even mortal to me.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<45%>
	Please you, read;
	And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
	The most disdain'd of fortune.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<45%>
	Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises, but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away her life; I shall give thee opportunity at Milford-Haven; she hath my letter for the purpose; where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour and equally to me disloyal.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<45%>
	What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper
	Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander,
	Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
	Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath
	Rides on the posting winds and doth belie
	All corners of the world; kings, queens, and states,
	Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
	This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam?
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<45%>
	False to his bed! What is it to be false?
	To lie in watch there and to think on him?
	To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge nature,
	To break it with a fearful dream of him,
	And cry myself awake? that's false to 's bed, is it?
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<45%>
	Alas! good lady.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<45%>
	I false! Thy conscience witness! Iachimo,
	Thou didst accuse him of incontinency;
	Thou then look'dst like a villain; now methinks
	Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy,
	Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him:
	Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion,
	And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls,
	I must be ripp'd; to pieces with me! O!
	Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming,
	By thy revolt, O husband! shall be thought
	Put on for villany; not born where 't grows,
	But worn a bait for ladies.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<46%>
	Good madam, hear me.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<46%>
	True honest men being heard, like false Æneas,
	Were in his time thought false, and Sinon's weeping
	Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity
	From most true wretchedness; so thou, Posthumus,
	Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men;
	Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjur'd
	From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest;
	Do thou thy master's bidding. When thou seest him,
	A little witness my obedience; look!
	I draw the sword myself; take it, and hit
	The innocent mansion of my love, my heart.
	Fear not, 'tis empty of all things but grief;
	Thy master is not there, who was indeed
	The riches of it: do his bidding; strike.
	Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause,
	But now thou seem'st a coward.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<46%>
	Hence, vile instrument!
	Thou shalt not damn my hand.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<46%>
	Why, I must die;
	And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
	No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter
	There is a prohibition so divine
	That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart.
	Something's afore 't; soft, soft! we'll no defence;
	Obedient as the scabbard. What is here?
	The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus
	All turn'd to heresy! Away, away!
	Corrupters of my faith; you shall no more
	Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools
	Believe false teachers; though those that are betray'd
	Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
	Stands in worse case of woe.
	And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up
	My disobedience 'gainst the king my father,
	And make me put into contempt the suits
	Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
	It is no act of common passage, but
	A strain of rareness; and I grieve myself
	To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her
	That now thou tir'st on, how thy memory
	Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee, dispatch;
	The lamb entreats the butcher; where's thy knife?
	Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
	When I desire it too.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<47%>
	O, gracious lady!
	Since I receiv'd command to do this business
	I have not slept one wink.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<47%>
	Do 't, and to bed then.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<47%>
	I'll wake mine eyeballs blind first.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<47%>
	Wherefore then
	Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd
	So many miles with a pretence? this place?
	Mine action and thine own? our horses' labour?
	The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court,
	For my being absent?—whereunto I never
	Purpose return.—Why hast thou gone so far,
	To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
	The elected deer before thee?
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<47%>
	But to win time
	To lose so bad employment, in the which
	I have consider'd of a course. Good lady,
	Hear me with patience.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<47%>
	Talk thy tongue weary; speak:
	I have heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear,
	Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
	Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<47%>
	Then, madam,
	I thought you would not back again.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<47%>
	Most like,
	Bringing me here to kill me.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<47%>
	Not so, neither;
	But if I were as wise as honest, then
	My purpose would prove well. It cannot be
	But that my master is abus'd; some villain,
	Some villain, ay, and singular in his art,
	Hath done you both this cursed injury.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<48%>
	Some Roman courtezan.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<48%>
	No, on my life.
	I'll give but notice you are dead and send him
	Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded
	I should do so: you shall be miss'd at court,
	And that will well confirm it.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<48%>
	Why, good fellow,
	What shall I do the while? where bide? how live?
	Or in my life what comfort, when I am
	Dead to my husband?
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<48%>
	If you'll back to the court,—
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<48%>
	No court, no father; nor no more ado
	With that harsh, noble, simple nothing Cloten!
	That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
	As fearful as a siege.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<48%>
	If not at court,
	Then not in Britain must you bide.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<48%>
	Where then?
	Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,
	Are they not but in Britain? I' the world's volume
	Our Britain seems as of it, but not in 't;
	In a great pool a swan's nest: prithee, think
	There's livers out of Britain.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<48%>
	I am most glad
	You think of other place. The ambassador,
	Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
	To-morrow; now, if you could wear a mind
	Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise
	That which, t' appear itself, must not yet be
	But by self-danger, you should tread a course
	Pretty, and full of view; yea, haply, near
	The residence of Posthumus; so nigh at least
	That though his actions were not visible, yet
	Report should render him hourly to your ear
	As truly as he moves.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<48%>
	O! for such means:
	Though peril to my modesty, not death on 't,
	I would adventure.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<49%>
	Well, then, here's the point:
	You must forget to be a woman; change
	Command into obedience; fear and niceness—
	The handmaids of all women, or more truly
	Woman it pretty self—into a waggish courage;
	Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and
	As quarrelous as the weasel; nay, you must
	Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
	Exposing it—but, O! the harder heart,
	Alack! no remedy—to the greedy touch
	Of common-kissing Titan, and forget
	Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
	You made great Juno angry.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<49%>
	Nay, be brief:
	I see into thy end, and am almost
	A man already.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<49%>
	First, make yourself but like one.
	Forethinking this, I have already fit—
	'Tis in my cloak-bag—doublet, hat, hose, all
	That answer to them; would you in their serving,
	And with what imitation you can borrow
	From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius
	Present yourself, desire his service, tell him
	Wherein you are happy,—which you'll make him know,
	If that his head have ear in music,—doubtless
	With joy he will embrace you, for he's honourable,
	And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad,
	You have me, rich; and I will never fail
	Beginning nor supplyment.
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<49%>
	Thou art all the comfort
	The gods will diet me with. Prithee, away;
	There's more to be consider'd, but we'll even
	All that good time will give us; this attempt
	I'm soldier to, and will abide it with
	A prince's courage. Away, I prithee.
</IMOGEN>

<PISANIO>	<49%>
	Well, madam, we must take a short farewell,
	Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of
	Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress,
	Here is a box, I had it from the queen,
	What's in 't is precious; if you are sick at sea,
	Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
	Will drive away distemper. To some shade,
	And fit you to your manhood. May the gods
	Direct you to the best!
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<50%>
	Amen. I thank thee
</IMOGEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 4>


<SCENE 5>
<A Room in Cymbeline's Palace.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, Lords, and Attendants.>
</STAGE DIR>
<CYMBELINE>	<50%>
	Thus far; and so farewell.
</CYMBELINE>

<LUCIUS>	<50%>
	Thanks, royal sir.
	My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence;
	And am right sorry that I must report ye
	My master's enemy.
</LUCIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<50%>
	Our subjects, sir,
	Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
	To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
	Appear unking-like.
</CYMBELINE>

<LUCIUS>	<50%>
	So, sir: I desire of you
	A conduct over land to Milford-Haven.
	Madam, all joy befall your Grace.
</LUCIUS>

<QUEEN>	<50%>
	And you!
</QUEEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<50%>
	My lords, you are appointed for that office;
	The due of honour in no point omit.
	So, farewell, noble Lucius.
</CYMBELINE>

<LUCIUS>	<50%>
	Your hand, my lord.
</LUCIUS>

<CLOTEN>	<50%>
	Receive it friendly; but from this time forth
	I wear it as your enemy.
</CLOTEN>

<LUCIUS>	<50%>
	Sir, the event
	Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.
</LUCIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<50%>
	Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,
	Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness!
</CYMBELINE>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt Lucius and Lords.>
</STAGE DIR>

<QUEEN>	<50%>
	He goes hence frowning; but it honours us
	That we have given him cause.
</QUEEN>

<CLOTEN>	<50%>
	'Tis all the better;
	Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.
</CLOTEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<50%>
	Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
	How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely
	Our chariots and horsemen be in readiness;
	The powers that he already hath in Gallia
	Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
	His war for Britain.
</CYMBELINE>

<QUEEN>	<51%>
	'Tis not sleepy business;
	But must be look'd to speedily and strongly.
</QUEEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<51%>
	Our expectation that it would be thus
	Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,
	Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd
	Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
	The duty of the day; she looks us like
	A thing more made of malice than of duty:
	We have noted it. Call her before us, for
	We have been too slight in sufferance.
</CYMBELINE>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit an Attendant.>
</STAGE DIR>

<QUEEN>	<51%>
	Royal sir.
	Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd
	Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
	'Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty,
	Forbear sharp speeches to her; she's a lady
	So tender of rebukes that words are strokes,
	And strokes death to her.

</QUEEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Re-enter Attendant.>
</STAGE DIR>
<CYMBELINE>	<51%>
	Where is she, sir? How
	Can her contempt be answer'd?
</CYMBELINE>

<ATTENDANT>	<51%>
	Please you, sir,
	Her chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer
	That will be given to the loudest noise we make.
</ATTENDANT>

<QUEEN>	<51%>
	My lord, when last I went to visit her,
	She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close,
	Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity,
	She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
	Which daily she was bound to proffer; this
	She wish'd me to make known, but our great court
	Made me to blame in memory.
</QUEEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<51%>
	Her doors lock'd!
	Not seen of late! Grant, heavens, that which I fear
	Prove false!
</CYMBELINE>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

<QUEEN>	<51%>
	Son, I say, follow the king.
</QUEEN>

<CLOTEN>	<51%>
	That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
	I have not seen these two days.
</CLOTEN>

<QUEEN>	<51%>
	Go, look after.
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit Cloten.>
</STAGE DIR>
	Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus!
	He hath a drug of mine; I pray his absence
	Proceed by swallowing that, for he believes
	It is a thing most precious. But for her,
	Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath sciz'd her,
	Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown
	To her desir'd Posthumus. Gone she is
	To death or to dishonour, and my end
	Can make good use of either; she being down,
	I have the placing of the British crown.

</QUEEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Re-enter Cloten.>
</STAGE DIR>
	How now, my son!
<CLOTEN>	<52%>
	'Tis certain she is fled.
	Go in and cheer the king; he rages, none
	Dare come about him.
</CLOTEN>

<QUEEN>	<52%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> All the better; may
	This night forestall him of the coming day!
</QUEEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

<CLOTEN>	<52%>
	I love and hate her; for she's fair and royal,
	And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
	Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one
	The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
	Outsells them all. I love her therefore; but
	Disdaining me and throwing favours on
	The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment
	That what's else rare is chok'd, and in that point
	I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
	To be reveng'd upon her. For, when fools
	Shall—

<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Pisanio.>
</STAGE DIR>
	Who is here? What! are you packing, sirrah?
	Come hither. Ah! you precious pandar. Villain,
	Where is thy lady? In a word; or else
</CLOTEN>
	Thou art straightway with the fiends.
<PISANIO>	<52%>
	O! good my lord.
</PISANIO>

<CLOTEN>	<52%>
	Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter
	I will not ask again. Close villain,
	I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
	Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?
	From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
	A dram of worth be drawn.
</CLOTEN>

<PISANIO>	<53%>
	Alas! my lord,
	How can she be with him? When was she miss'd?
	He is in Rome.
</PISANIO>

<CLOTEN>	<53%>
	Where is she, sir? Come nearer,
	No further halting; satisfy me home
	What is become of her?
</CLOTEN>

<PISANIO>	<53%>
	O! my all-worthy lord.
</PISANIO>

<CLOTEN>	<53%>
	All-worthy villain!
	Discover where thy mistress is at once.
	At the next word; no more of 'worthy lord!'
	Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
	Thy condemnation and thy death.
</CLOTEN>

<PISANIO>	<53%>
	Then, sir,
	This paper is the history of my knowledge
	Touching her flight.
</PISANIO>
<STAGE DIR>
<Presenting a letter.>
</STAGE DIR>

<CLOTEN>	<53%>
	Let's see 't. I will pursue her
	Even to Augustus' throne.
</CLOTEN>

<PISANIO>	<53%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> Or this, or perish.
	She's far enough; and what he learns by this
	May prove his travel, not her danger.
</PISANIO>

<CLOTEN>	<53%>
	Hum!
</CLOTEN>

<PISANIO>	<53%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen!
	Safe mayst thou wander, safe return agen!
</PISANIO>

<CLOTEN>	<53%>
	Sirrah, is this letter true?
</CLOTEN>

<PISANIO>	<53%>
	Sir, as I think.
</PISANIO>

<CLOTEN>	<53%>
	It is Posthumus' hand; I know 't. Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service, undergo those employments wherein I should have cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is, what villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it directly and truly, I would think thee an honest man; thou shouldst neither want my means for thy relief nor my voice for thy preferment.
</CLOTEN>

<PISANIO>	<53%>
	Well, my good lord.
</PISANIO>

<CLOTEN>	<53%>
	Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serve me?
</CLOTEN>

<PISANIO>	<53%>
	Sir, I will.
</PISANIO>

<CLOTEN>	<53%>
	Give me thy hand; here's my purse. Hast any of thy late master's garments in thy possession?
</CLOTEN>

<PISANIO>	<54%>
	I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.
</PISANIO>

<CLOTEN>	<54%>
	The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither: let it be thy first service; go.
</CLOTEN>

<PISANIO>	<54%>
	I shall, my lord.
</PISANIO>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

<CLOTEN>	<54%>
	Meet thee at Milford-Haven!—I forgot to ask him one thing; I'll remember 't anon,—even there, thou villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these garments were come. She said upon a time,—the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart,—that she held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect than my noble and natural person, together with the adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my back will I ravish her: first kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and when my lust hath dined,—which, as I say, to vex her, I will execute in the clothes that she so praised,—to the court I'll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge.

</CLOTEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Re-enter Pisanio, with the clothes.>
</STAGE DIR>
	Be those the garments?
<PISANIO>	<54%>
	Ay, my noble lord.
</PISANIO>

<CLOTEN>	<54%>
	How long is 't since she went to Milford-Haven?
</CLOTEN>

<PISANIO>	<54%>
	She can scarce be there yet.
</PISANIO>

<CLOTEN>	<54%>
	Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second thing that I have commanded thee: the third is, that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself to thee. My revenge is now at Milford; would I had wings to follow it!
	Come, and be true.
</CLOTEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

<PISANIO>	<55%>
	Thou bidd'st me to my loss; for true to thee
	Were to prove false, which I will never be,
	To him that is most true. To Milford go,
	And find not her whom thou pursu'st. Flow, flow,
	You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed
	Be cross'd with slowness; labour be his meed!
</PISANIO>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 5>


<SCENE 6>
<Wales. Before the Cave of Belarius.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Imogen, in boy's clothes.>
</STAGE DIR>
<IMOGEN>	<55%>
	I see a man's life is a tedious one;
	I have tir'd myself, and for two nights together
	Have made the ground my bed; I should be sick
	But that my resolution helps me. Milford,
	When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,
	Thou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think
	Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean,
	Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me
	I could not miss my way; will poor folks lie,
	That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
	A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder,
	When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness
	Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood
	Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord!
	Thou art one o' the false ones. Now I think on thee,
	My hunger's gone, but even before I was
	At point to sink for food. But what is this?
	Here is a path to 't; 'tis some savage hold;
	I were best not call, I dare not call, yet famine,
	Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant.
	Plenty and peace breeds cowards, hardness ever
	Of hardiness is mother. Ho! Who's here?
	If any thing that's civil, speak; if savage,
	Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I'll enter.
	Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy
	But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on 't.
	Such a foe, good heavens!
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit to the cave.>
</STAGE DIR>

</IMOGEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.>
</STAGE DIR>
<BELARIUS>	<56%>
	You, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman, and
	Are master of the feast; Cadwal and I
	Will play the cook and servant, 'tis our match;
	The sweat of industry would dry and die
	But for the end it works to. Come; our stomachs
	Will make what's homely savoury; weariness
	Can snore upon the flint when resty sloth
	Finds the down pillow hard. Now, peace be here,
	Poor house, that keep'st thyself!
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<56%>
	I am throughly weary.
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<56%>
	I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<56%>
	There is cold meat i' the cave; we'll browse on that,
	Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd.
</GUIDERIUS>

<BELARIUS>	<56%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Looking into the cave.>
</STAGE DIR> Stay; come not in;
	But that it eats our victuals, I should think
	Here were a fairy.
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<56%>
	What's the matter, sir?
</GUIDERIUS>

<BELARIUS>	<56%>
	By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not,
	An earthly paragon! Behold divineness
	No elder than a boy!

</BELARIUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Re-enter Imogen.>
</STAGE DIR>
<IMOGEN>	<56%>
	Good masters, harm me not:
	Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought
	To have begg'd or bought what I have took. Good troth,
	I have stol'n nought, nor would not, though I had found
	Gold strew'd i' the floor. Here's money for my meat;
	I would have left it on the board so soon
	As I had made my meal, and parted
	With prayers for the provider.
</IMOGEN>

<GUIDERIUS>	<56%>
	Money, youth?
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<56%>
	All gold and silver rather turn to dirt!
	As 'tis no better reckon'd but of those
	Who worship dirty gods.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<IMOGEN>	<56%>
	I see you're angry.
	Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
	Have died had I not made it.
</IMOGEN>

<BELARIUS>	<57%>
	Whither bound?
</BELARIUS>

<IMOGEN>	<57%>
	To Milford-Haven.
</IMOGEN>

<BELARIUS>	<57%>
	What's your name?
</BELARIUS>

<IMOGEN>	<57%>
	Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who
	Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford:
	To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
	I am fall'n in this offence.
</IMOGEN>

<BELARIUS>	<57%>
	Prithee, fair youth,
	Think us no churis, nor measure our good minds
	By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd!
	'Tis almost night; you shall have better cheer
	Ere you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it.
	Boys, bid him welcome.
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<57%>
	Were you a woman, youth,
	I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty,
	I bid for you, as I do buy.
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<57%>
	I'll make 't my comfort
	He is a man; I'll love him as my brother;
	And such a welcome as I'd give to him
	After a long absence, such is yours: most welcome!
	Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<IMOGEN>	<57%>
	'Mongst friends,
	If brothers. <STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> Would it had been so, that they
	Had been my father's sons; then had my prize
	Been less, and so more equal ballasting
	To thee, Posthumus.
</IMOGEN>

<BELARIUS>	<57%>
	He wrings at some distress.
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<57%>
	Would I could free 't!
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<57%>
	Or I, whate'er it be,
	What pain it cost, what danger. Gods!
</ARVIRAGUS>

<BELARIUS>	<57%>
	Hark, boys
</BELARIUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Whispering.>
</STAGE DIR>

<IMOGEN>	<57%>
	Great men,
	That had a court no bigger than this cave,
	That did attend themselves and had the virtue
	Which their own conscience seal'd them,—laying by
	That nothing-gift of differing multitudes,—
	Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods!
	I'd change my sex to be companion with them,
	Since Leonatus' false.
</IMOGEN>

<BELARIUS>	<57%>
	It shall be so.
	Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in:
	Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd,
	We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story,
	So far as thou wilt speak it.
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<58%>
	Pray, draw near.
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<58%>
	The night to the owl and morn to the lark less welcome.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<IMOGEN>	<58%>
	Thanks, sir.
</IMOGEN>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<58%>
	I pray, draw near.
</ARVIRAGUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 6>


<SCENE 7>
<Rome. A Public Place.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter two Senators and Tribunes.>
</STAGE DIR>
<SENATOR 1>	<58%>
	This is the tenour of the emperor's writ:
	That since the common men are now in action
	'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians,
	And that the legions now in Gallia are
	Full weak to undertake our wars against
	The fall'n-off Britons, that we do incite
	The gentry to this business. He creates
	Lucius pro-consul; and to you the tribunes,
	For this immediate levy, he commends
	His absolute commission. Long live Cæsar!
</SENATOR 1>

<TRIBUNE 1>	<58%>
	Is Lucius general of the forces?
</TRIBUNE 1>

<SENATOR 2>	<58%>
	Ay.
</SENATOR 2>

<TRIBUNE 1>	<58%>
	Remaining now in Gallia?
</TRIBUNE 1>

<SENATOR 1>	<58%>
	With those legions
	Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy
	Must be supplyant; the words of your commission
	Will tie you to the numbers and the time
	Of their dispatch.
</SENATOR 1>

<TRIBUNE 1>	<58%>
	We will discharge our duty.
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt.>
</STAGE DIR>

</TRIBUNE 1>

</SCENE 7>

</ACT 3>

<ACT 4>


<SCENE 1>
<Wales. The Forest, near the Cave of Belarius.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Cloten.>
</STAGE DIR>
<CLOTEN>	<58%>
	I am near to the place where they should meet, if Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his garments serve me! Why should his mistress, who was made by him that made the tailor, not be fit too? the rather,—saving reverence of the word,—for 'tis said a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must play the workman. I dare speak it to myself,—for it is not vain-glory, for a man and his glass to confer in his own chamber,—I mean, the lines of my body are as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong, not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike conversant in general services, and more remarkable in single oppositions; yet this imperceiverant thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is! Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, shall within this hour be off, thy mistress enforced, thy garments cut to pieces before thy face; and all this done, spurn her home to her father, who may haply be a little angry for my so rough usage, but my mother, having power of his testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. My horse is tied up safe; out, sword, and to a sore purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand! This is the very description of their meeting-place; and the fellow dares not deceive me.
</CLOTEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 1>


<SCENE 2>
<Before the Cave of Belarius.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter, from the Cave, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, and Imogen.>
</STAGE DIR>
<BELARIUS>	<59%>
<STAGE DIR>
<To Imogen.>
</STAGE DIR> You are not well; remain here in the cave;
	We'll come to you after hunting.
</BELARIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<59%>
<STAGE DIR>
<To Imogen.>
</STAGE DIR> Brother, stay here;
	Are we not brothers?
</ARVIRAGUS>

<IMOGEN>	<59%>
	So man and man should be,
	But clay and clay differs in dignity,
	Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.
</IMOGEN>

<GUIDERIUS>	<59%>
	Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him.
</GUIDERIUS>

<IMOGEN>	<59%>
	So sick I am not, yet I am not well;
	But not so citizen a wanton as
	To seem to die ere sick. So please you, leave me;
	Stick to your journal course; the breach of custom
	Is breach of all. I am ill; but your being by me
	Cannot amend me; society is no comfort
	To one not sociable. I am not very sick,
	Since I can reason of it; pray you, trust me here,
	I'll rob none but myself, and let me die,
	Stealing so poorly.
</IMOGEN>

<GUIDERIUS>	<60%>
	I love thee; I have spoke it;
	How much the quantity, the weight as much,
	As I do love my father.
</GUIDERIUS>

<BELARIUS>	<60%>
	What! how! how!
</BELARIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<60%>
	If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me
	In my good brother's fault: I know not why
	I love this youth; and I have heard you say,
	Love's reason's without reason: the bier at door,
	And a demand who is 't shall die, I'd say
	'My father, not this youth.'
</ARVIRAGUS>

<BELARIUS>	<60%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> O noble strain!
	O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness!
	Cowards father cowards, and base things sire base:
	Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace.
	I'm not their father; yet who this should be,
	Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me.
	'Tis the ninth hour o' the morn.
</BELARIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<60%>
	Brother, farewell.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<IMOGEN>	<60%>
	I wish ye sport.
</IMOGEN>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<60%>
	You health. So please you, sir.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<IMOGEN>	<60%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I have heard!
	Our courtiers say all's savage but at court:
	Experience, O! thou disprov'st report.
	The imperious seas breed monsters, for the dish
	Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish.
	I am sick still, heart-sick. Pisanio,
	I'll now taste of thy drug.
</IMOGEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Swallows some.>
</STAGE DIR>

<GUIDERIUS>	<60%>
	I could not stir him;
	He said he was gentle, but unfortunate;
	Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<60%>
	Thus did he answer me; yet said hereafter
	I might know more.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<BELARIUS>	<61%>
	To the field, to the field!
<STAGE DIR>
<To Imogen.>
</STAGE DIR> We'll leave you for this time; go in and rest.
</BELARIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<61%>
	We'll not be long away.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<BELARIUS>	<61%>
	Pray, be not sick,
	For you must be our housewife.
</BELARIUS>

<IMOGEN>	<61%>
	Well or ill,
	I am bound to you.
</IMOGEN>

<BELARIUS>	<61%>
	And shalt be ever.
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit Imogen.>
</STAGE DIR>
	This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears he hath had
	Good ancestors.
</BELARIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<61%>
	How angel-like he sings!
</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<61%>
	But his neat cookery! he cut our roots
	In characters,
	And sauc'd our broths as Juno had been sick
	And he her dieter.
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<61%>
	Nobly he yokes
	A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh
	Was that it was, for not being such a smile;
	The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly
	From so divine a temple, to commix
	With winds that sailors rail at.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<61%>
	I do note
	That grief and patience rooted in him, both
	Mingle their spurs together.
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<61%>
	Grow, patience!
	And let the stinking-elder, grief, untwine
	His perishing root with the increasing vine!
</ARVIRAGUS>

<BELARIUS>	<61%>
	It is great morning. Come, away!—Who's there?

</BELARIUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Cloten.>
</STAGE DIR>
<CLOTEN>	<61%>
	I cannot find those runagates; that villain
	Hath mock'd me. I am faint.
</CLOTEN>

<BELARIUS>	<61%>
	'Those runagates!'
	Means he not us? I partly know him; 'tis
	Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some ambush.
	I saw him not these many years, and yet
	I know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws: hence!
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<61%>
	He is but one. You and my brother search
	What companies are near; pray you, away;
	Let me alone with him.
</GUIDERIUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt Belarius and Arviragus.>
</STAGE DIR>

<CLOTEN>	<61%>
	Soft! What are you
	That fly me thus? some villain mountainers?
	I have heard of such. What slave art thou?
</CLOTEN>

<GUIDERIUS>	<62%>
	A thing
	More slavish did I ne'er than answering
	A 'slave' without a knock.
</GUIDERIUS>

<CLOTEN>	<62%>
	Thou art a robber,
	A law-breaker, a villain. Yield thee, thief.
</CLOTEN>

<GUIDERIUS>	<62%>
	To who? to thee? What art thou? Have not I
	An arm as big as thine? a heart as big?
	Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not
	My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art,
	Why I should yield to thee?
</GUIDERIUS>

<CLOTEN>	<62%>
	Thou villain base,
	Know'st me not by my clothes?
</CLOTEN>

<GUIDERIUS>	<62%>
	No, nor thy tailor, rascal,
	Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes,
	Which, as it seems, make thee.
</GUIDERIUS>

<CLOTEN>	<62%>
	Thou precious varlet,
	My tailor made them not.
</CLOTEN>

<GUIDERIUS>	<62%>
	Hence then, and thank
	The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool;
	I am loath to beat thee.
</GUIDERIUS>

<CLOTEN>	<62%>
	Thou injurious thief,
	Hear but my name, and tremble.
</CLOTEN>

<GUIDERIUS>	<62%>
	What's thy name?
</GUIDERIUS>

<CLOTEN>	<62%>
	Cloten, thou villain.
</CLOTEN>

<GUIDERIUS>	<62%>
	Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name,
	I cannot tremble at it; were it Toad, or Adder, Spider,
	'Twould move me sooner.
</GUIDERIUS>

<CLOTEN>	<62%>
	To thy further fear,
	Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
	I am son to the queen.
</CLOTEN>

<GUIDERIUS>	<62%>
	I'm sorry for 't, not seeming
	So worthy as thy birth.
</GUIDERIUS>

<CLOTEN>	<62%>
	Art not afeard?
</CLOTEN>

<GUIDERIUS>	<62%>
	Those that I reverence those I fear, the wise;
	At fools I laugh, not fear them.
</GUIDERIUS>

<CLOTEN>	<62%>
	Die the death:
	When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
	I'll follow those that even now fled hence,
	And on the gates of Lud's town set your heads:
	Yield, rustic mountaineer.
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt fighting.>
</STAGE DIR>

</CLOTEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Re-enter Belarius and Arviragus.>
</STAGE DIR>
<BELARIUS>	<62%>
	No companies abroad.
</BELARIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<63%>
	None in the world. You did mistake him, sure.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<BELARIUS>	<63%>
	I cannot tell; long is it since I saw him,
	But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour
	Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice,
	And burst of speaking, were as his. I am absolute
	'Twas very Cloten.
</BELARIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<63%>
	In this place we left them:
	I wish my brother make good time with him,
	You say he is so fell.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<BELARIUS>	<63%>
	Being scarce made up,
	I mean, to man, he had not apprehension
	Of roaring terrors; for defect of judgment
	Is oft the cease of fear. But see, thy brother.

</BELARIUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Re-enter Guiderius, with Cloten's head.>
</STAGE DIR>
<GUIDERIUS>	<63%>
	This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse,
	There was no money in 't. Not Hercules
	Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none;
	Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne
	My head as I do his.
</GUIDERIUS>

<BELARIUS>	<63%>
	What hast thou done?
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<63%>
	I am perfect what: cut off one Cloten's head,
	Son to the queen, after his own report;
	Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore,
	With his own single hand he'd take us in,
	Displace our heads where—thank the gods!—they grow,
	And set them on Lud's town.
</GUIDERIUS>

<BELARIUS>	<63%>
	We are all undone.
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<63%>
	Why, worthy father, what have we to lose,
	But that he swore to take, our lives? The law
	Protects not us; then why should we be tender
	To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us,
	Play judge and executioner all himself,
	For we do fear the law? What company
	Discover you abroad?
</GUIDERIUS>

<BELARIUS>	<63%>
	No single soul
	Can we set eye on; but in all safe reason
	He must have some attendants. Though his humour
	Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that
	From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not
	Absolute madness could so far have rav'd
	To bring him here alone. Although, perhaps,
	It may be heard at court that such as we
	Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time
	May make some stronger head; the which he hearing,—
	As it is like him,—might break out, and swear
	He'd fetch us in; yet is 't not probable
	To come alone, either he so undertaking,
	Or they so suffering; then, on good ground we fear,
	If we do fear this body hath a tail
	More perilous than the head.
</BELARIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<64%>
	Let ordinance
	Come as the gods foresay it; howsoe'er,
	My brother hath done well.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<BELARIUS>	<64%>
	I had no mind
	To hunt this day; the boy Fidele's sickness
	Did make my way long forth.
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<64%>
	With his own sword,
	Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en
	His head from him; I'll throw 't into the creek
	Behind our rock, and let it to the sea,
	And tell the fishes he's the queen's son, Cloten:
	That's all I reck.
</GUIDERIUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

<BELARIUS>	<64%>
	I fear 'twill be reveng'd.
	Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done 't! though valour
	Becomes thee well enough.
</BELARIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<64%>
	Would I had done 't
	So the revenge alone pursu'd me! Polydore,
	I love thee brotherly, but envy much
	Thou hast robb'd me of this deed; I would revenges,
	That possible strength might meet, would seek us through
	And put us to our answer.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<BELARIUS>	<64%>
	Well, 'tis done.—
	We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger
	Where there's no profit. I prithee, to our rock;
	You and Fidele play the cooks; I'll stay
	Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him
	To dinner presently.
</BELARIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<64%>
	Poor sick Fidele!
	I'll willingly to him; to gain his colour
	I'd let a parish of such Clotens blood,
	And praise myself for charity.
</ARVIRAGUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

<BELARIUS>	<65%>
	O thou goddess!
	Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
	In these two princely boys. They are as gentle
	As zephyrs, blowing below the violet,
	Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
	Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind,
	That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
	And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonder
	That an invisible instinct should frame them
	To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,
	Civility not seen from other, valour
	That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
	As if it had been sow'd! Yet still it's strange
	What Cloten's being here to us portends,
	Or what his death will bring us.

</BELARIUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Re-enter Guiderius.>
</STAGE DIR>
<GUIDERIUS>	<65%>
	Where's my brother?
	I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,
	In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage
	For his return.
</GUIDERIUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Solemn music.>
</STAGE DIR>

<BELARIUS>	<65%>
	My ingenious instrument!
	Hark! Polydore, it sounds; but what occasion
	Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<65%>
	Is he at home?
</GUIDERIUS>

<BELARIUS>	<65%>
	He went hence even now.
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<65%>
	What does he mean? since death of my dear'st mother
	It did not speak before. All solemn things
	Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?
	Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys
	Is jollity for apes and grief for boys.
	Is Cadwal mad?

</GUIDERIUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Re-enter Arviragus, with Imogen, as dead, bearing her in his arms.>
</STAGE DIR>
<BELARIUS>	<65%>
	Look! here he comes,
	And brings the dire occasion in his arms
	Of what we blame him for.
</BELARIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<65%>
	The bird is dead
	That we have made so much on. I had rather
	Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
	To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch,
	Than have seen this.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<66%>
	O, sweetest, fairest lily!
	My brother wears thee not the one half so well
	As when thou grew'st thyself.
</GUIDERIUS>

<BELARIUS>	<66%>
	O melancholy!
	Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
	The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare
	Might easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing!
	Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,
	Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy.
	How found you him?
</BELARIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<66%>
	Stark, as you see:
	Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,
	Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at; his right cheek
	Reposing on a cushion.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<66%>
	Where?
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<66%>
	O' the floor,
	His arms thus leagu'd; I thought he slept, and put
	My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
	Answer'd my steps too loud.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<66%>
	Why, he but sleeps:
	If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed;
	With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
	And worms will not come to thee.
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<66%>
	With fairest flowers
	While summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,
	I'll sweeten thy sad grave; thou shalt not lack
	The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor
	The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins, no, nor
	The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
	Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would,
	With charitable bill,—O bill! sore-shaming
	Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
	Without a monument,—bring thee all this;
	Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
	To winter-ground thy corse.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<66%>
	Prithee, have done,
	And do not play in wench-like words with that
	Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
	And not protract with admiration what
	Is now due debt. To the grave!
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<66%>
	Say, where shall 's lay him?
</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<67%>
	By good Euriphile, our mother.
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<67%>
	Be 't so:
	And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
	Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground,
	As once our mother; use like note and words,
	Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<67%>
	Cadwal,
	I cannot sing; I'll weep, and word it with thee;
	For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse
	Than priests and fanes that lie.
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<67%>
	We'll speak it then.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<BELARIUS>	<67%>
	Great griefs, I see, medicine the less, for Cloten
	Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys,
	And though he came our enemy, remember
	He was paid for that; though mean and mighty rotting
	Together, have one dust, yet reverence—
	That angel of the world—doth make distinction
	Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely,
	And though you took his life, as being our foe,
	Yet bury him as a prince.
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<67%>
	Pray you, fetch him hither.
	Thersites' body is as good as Ajax'
	When neither are alive.
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<67%>
	If you'll go fetch him,
	We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.
</ARVIRAGUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit Belarius.>
</STAGE DIR>

<GUIDERIUS>	<67%>
	Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east;
	My father hath a reason for 't.
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<67%>
	'Tis true.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<67%>
	Come on then, and remove him.
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<67%>
	So, begin.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<67%>

	Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
	Nor the furious winter's rages;
	Thou thy worldly task hast done,
	Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages;
	Golden lads and girls all must,
	As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<67%>

	Fear no more the frown o' the great,
	Thou art past the tyrant's stroke:
	Care no more to clothe and eat;
	To thee the reed is as the oak:
	The sceptre, learning, physic, must
	All follow this, and come to dust.

</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<68%>

	Fear no more the lightning-flash,

</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<68%>

	Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;

</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<68%>

	Fear not slander, censure rash;

</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<68%>

	Thou hast finish'd joy and moan

</ARVIRAGUS>

<BOTH>	<68%>

	All lovers young, all lovers must
	Consign to thee, and come to dust.

</BOTH>

<GUIDERIUS>	<68%>

	No exorciser harm thee!

</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<68%>

	Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<68%>

	Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<68%>

	Nothing ill come near thee!

</ARVIRAGUS>

<BOTH>	<68%>

	Quiet consummation have;
	And renowned be thy grave!


</BOTH>
<STAGE DIR>
<Re-enter Belarius, with the body of Cloten.>
</STAGE DIR>
<GUIDERIUS>	<68%>
	We have done our obsequies. Come, lay him down.
</GUIDERIUS>

<BELARIUS>	<68%>
	Here's a few flowers, but 'bout mid-night, more;
	The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night
	Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their faces
	You were as flowers, now wither'd; even so
	These herblets shall, which we upon you strew.
	Come on, away; apart upon our knees.
	The ground that gave them first has them again;
	Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.
</BELARIUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.>
</STAGE DIR>

<IMOGEN>	<68%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Awaking.>
</STAGE DIR> Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; which is the way?
	I thank you. By yond bush? Pray, how far thither?
	'Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet?
	I have gone all night: Faith, I'll lie down and sleep.
<STAGE DIR>
<Seeing the body of Cloten.>
</STAGE DIR> But, soft! no bed-fellow! O gods and goddesses!
	These flowers are like the pleasures of the world;
	This bloody man, the care on 't. I hope I dream;
	For so I thought I was a cave-keeper,
	And cook to honest creatures; but 'tis not so,
	'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
	Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes
	Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
	I tremble still with fear; but if there be
	Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
	As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!
	The dream's here still; even when I wake, it is
	Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
	A headless man! The garments of Posthumus!
	I know the shape of 's leg, this is his hand,
	His foot Mercurial, his Martial thigh,
	The brawns of Hercules, but his Jovial face—
	Murder in heaven? How! 'Tis gone. Pisanio,
	All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
	And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
	Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
	Hast here cut off my lord. To write and read
	Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio
	Hath with his forged letters, damn'd Pisanio,
	From this most bravest vessel of the world
	Struck the main-top! O Posthumus! alas!
	Where is thy head? where's that? Ay me! where's that?
	Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
	And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio?
	'Tis he and Cloten; malice and lucre in them
	Have laid this woe here. O! 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
	The drug he gave me, which he said was precious
	And cordial to me, have I not found it
	Murderous to the senses? That confirms it home;
	This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O!
	Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
	That we the horrider may seem to those
	Which chance to find us. O! my lord, my lord.
<STAGE DIR>
<Falls on the body.>
</STAGE DIR>

</IMOGEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Lucius, a Captain, other Officers, and a Soothsayer.>
</STAGE DIR>
<CAPTAIN>	<69%>
	To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia,
	After your will, have cross'd the sea, attending
	You here at Milford-Haven with your ships:
	They are in readiness.
</CAPTAIN>

<LUCIUS>	<70%>
	But what from Rome?
</LUCIUS>

<CAPTAIN>	<70%>
	The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners
	And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits,
	That promise noble service; and they come
	Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
	Sienna's brother.
</CAPTAIN>

<LUCIUS>	<70%>
	When expect you them?
</LUCIUS>

<CAPTAIN>	<70%>
	With the next benefit o' the wind.
</CAPTAIN>

<LUCIUS>	<70%>
	This forwardness
	Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers
	Be muster'd; bid the captains look to 't. Now, sir,
	What have you dream'd of late of this war's purpose?
</LUCIUS>

<SOOTHSAYER>	<70%>
	Last night the very gods show'd me a vision,—
	I fast and pray'd for their intelligence,—thus:
	I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
	From the spongy south to this part of the west,
	There vanish'd in the sunbeams; which portends,
	Unless my sins abuse my divination,
	Success to the Roman host.
</SOOTHSAYER>

<LUCIUS>	<70%>
	Dream often so,
	And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here
	Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime
	It was a worthy building. How! a page!
	Or dead or sleeping on him? But dead rather,
	For nature doth abhor to make his bed
	With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.
	Let's see the boy's face.
</LUCIUS>

<CAPTAIN>	<70%>
	He's alive, my lord.
</CAPTAIN>

<LUCIUS>	<70%>
	He'll, then, instruct us of this body. Young one,
	Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems
	They crave to be demanded. Who is this
	Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he
	That, otherwise than noble nature did,
	Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest
	In this sad wrack? How came it? Who is it?
	What art thou?
</LUCIUS>

<IMOGEN>	<70%>
	I am nothing; or if not,
	Nothing to be were better. This was my master,
	A very valiant Briton and a good,
	That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas!
	There are no more such masters; I may wander
	From east to occident, cry out for service,
	Try many, all good, serve truly, never
	Find such another master.
</IMOGEN>

<LUCIUS>	<71%>
	'Lack, good youth!
	Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining than
	Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend.
</LUCIUS>

<IMOGEN>	<71%>
	Richard du Champ.—<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> If I do lie and do
	No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope
	They'll pardon it.—Say you, sir?
</IMOGEN>

<LUCIUS>	<71%>
	Thy name?
</LUCIUS>

<IMOGEN>	<71%>
	Fidele, sir.
</IMOGEN>

<LUCIUS>	<71%>
	Thou dost approve thyself the very same;
	Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name.
	Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say
	Thou shalt be so well master'd, but be sure
	No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters,
	Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
	Than thine own worth prefer thee. Go with me.
</LUCIUS>

<IMOGEN>	<71%>
	I'll follow, sir. But first, an 't please the gods,
	I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep
	As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when
	With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd his grave,
	And on it said a century of prayers,
	Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh;
	And, leaving so his service, follow you,
	So please you entertain me.
</IMOGEN>

<LUCIUS>	<71%>
	Ay, good youth,
	And rather father thee than master thee.
	My friends,
	The boy hath taught us manly duties; let us
	Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,
	And make him with our pikes and partisans
	A grave; come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr'd
	By thee to us, and he shall be interr'd
	As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes:
	Some falls are means the happier to arise.
</LUCIUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 2>


<SCENE 3>
<A Room in Cymbeline's Palace.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Cymbeline, Lords, Pisanio, and Attendants.>
</STAGE DIR>
<CYMBELINE>	<72%>
	Again; and bring me word how 'tis with her.
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit an Attendant.>
</STAGE DIR>
	A fever with the absence of her son,
	A madness, of which her life's in danger. Heavens!
	How deeply you at once do touch me. Imogen,
	The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen
	Upon a desperate bed, and in a time
	When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,
	So needful for this present: it strikes me, past
	The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,
	Who needs must know of her departure and
	Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
	By a sharp torture.
</CYMBELINE>

<PISANIO>	<72%>
	Sir, my life is yours,
	I humbly set it at your will; but, for my mistress,
	I nothing know where she remains, why gone,
	Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your highness,
	Hold me your loyal servant.
</PISANIO>

<LORD 1>	<72%>
	Good my liege,
	The day that she was missing he was here;
	I dare be bound he's true and shall perform
	All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,
	There wants no diligence in seeking him,
	And will, no doubt, be found.
</LORD 1>

<CYMBELINE>	<72%>
	The time is troublesome.
<STAGE DIR>
<To Pisanio.>
</STAGE DIR> We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy
	Does yet depend.
</CYMBELINE>

<LORD 1>	<72%>
	So please-your majesty,
	The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
	Are landed on your coast, with a supply
	Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent.
</LORD 1>

<CYMBELINE>	<72%>
	Now for the counsel of my son and queen!
	I am amaz'd with matter.
</CYMBELINE>

<LORD 1>	<72%>
	Good my liege,
	Your preparation can affront no less
	Than what you hear of; come more, for more you're ready:
	The want is, but to put those powers in motion
	That long to move.
</LORD 1>

<CYMBELINE>	<73%>
	I thank you. Let's withdraw;
	And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not
	What can from Italy annoy us, but
	We grieve at chances here. Away!
</CYMBELINE>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt all but Pisanio.>
</STAGE DIR>

<PISANIO>	<73%>
	I heard no letter from my master since
	I wrote him Imogen was slain; 'tis strange;
	Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise
	To yield me often tidings; neither know I
	What is betid to Cloten; but remain
	Perplex'd in all: the heavens still must work.
	Wherein I am false I am honest; not true to be true:
	These present wars shall find I love my country,
	Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in them.
	All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd;
	Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd.
</PISANIO>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 3>


<SCENE 4>
<Wales. Before the Cave of Belarius.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.>
</STAGE DIR>
<GUIDERIUS>	<73%>
	The noise is round about us.
</GUIDERIUS>

<BELARIUS>	<73%>
	Let us from it.
</BELARIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<73%>
	What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it
	From action and adventure?
</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<73%>
	Nay, what hope
	Have we in hiding us? this way, the Romans
	Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us
	For barbarous and unnatural revolts
	During their use, and slay us after.
</GUIDERIUS>

<BELARIUS>	<73%>
	Sons,
	We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us.
	To the king's party there's no going; newness
	Of Cloten's death,—we being not known, not muster'd
	Among the bands,—may drive us to a render
	Where we have liv'd, and so extort from 's that
	Which we have done, whose answer would be death
	Drawn on with torture.
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<73%>
	This is, sir, a doubt
	In such a time nothing becoming you,
	Nor satisfying us.
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<74%>
	It is not likely
	That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,
	Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes
	And ears so cloy'd importantly as now,
	That they will waste their time upon our note,
	To know from whence we are.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<BELARIUS>	<74%>
	O! I am known
	Of many in the army; many years,
	Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him
	From my remembrance. And, besides, the king
	Hath not deserv'd my service nor your loves
	Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
	The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless
	To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd,
	But to be still hot summer's tanlings and
	The shrinking slaves of winter.
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<74%>
	Than be so
	Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army:
	I and my brother are not known; yourself,
	So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown,
	Cannot be question'd.
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<74%>
	By this sun that shines,
	I'll thither: what thing is it that I never
	Did see man die! scarce ever look'd on blood
	But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison!
	Never bestrid a horse, save one that had
	A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel
	Nor iron on his heel! I am asham'd
	To look upon the holy sun, to have
	The benefit of his bless'd beams, remaining
	So long a poor unknown.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<74%>
	By heavens! I'll go:
	If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,
	I'll take the better care; but if you will not,
	The hazard therefore due fall on me by
	The hands of Romans.
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<74%>
	So say I; amen.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<BELARIUS>	<74%>
	No reason I, since of your lives you set
	So slight a valuation, should reserve
	My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys!
	If in your country wars you chance to die,
	That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie:
	Lead, lead.—<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn,
	Till it fly out and show them princes born.
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt.>
</STAGE DIR>

</BELARIUS>

</SCENE 4>

</ACT 4>

<ACT 5>


<SCENE 1>
<Britain. The Roman Camp.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Posthumus, with a bloody handkerchief.>
</STAGE DIR>
<POSTHUMUS>	<75%>
	Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee, for I wish'd
	Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones,
	If each of you should take this course, how many
	Must murder wives much better than themselves
	For wrying but a little! O Pisanio!
	Every good servant does not all commands;
	No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you
	Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never
	Had liv'd to put on this; so had you sav'd
	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 permit
	To second ills with ills, each elder worse,
	And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift.
	But Imogen is your own; do your best wills,
	And make me bless'd to obey. I am brought hither
	Among the Italian gentry, and to fight
	Against my lady's kingdom; 'tis enough
	That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress-piece!
	I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore good heavens,
	Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me
	Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself
	As does a Briton peasant; so I'll fight
	Against the part I come with, so I'll die
	For thee, O Imogen! even for whom my life
	Is, every breath, a death: and thus, unknown,
	Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril
	Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
	More valour in me than my habits show.
	Gods! put the strength o' the Leonati in me.
	To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin
	The fashion, less without and more within.
</POSTHUMUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 1>


<SCENE 2>
<Field of Battle between the British and Roman Camps.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter, from one door, Lucius, Iachimo, and the Roman...>
<... Army; the British at another; Leonatus Posthumus...>
<... following like a poor soldier. They march over...>
<... and go out. Alarums. Then enter again in skirmish,...>
<... Iachimo and Posthumus; he vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo, and then leaves him.>
</STAGE DIR>
<IACHIMO>	<76%>
	The heaviness and guilt within my bosom
	Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady,
	The princess of this country, and the air on 't
	Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl,
	A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me
	In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, borne
	As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.
	If that thy gentry, Britain, go before
	This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds
	Is that we scarce are men and you are gods.
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

</IACHIMO>
<STAGE DIR>
<The battle continues; the Britons fly; Cymbeline is...>
<... taken; then enter, to his rescue, Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.>
</STAGE DIR>
<BELARIUS>	<76%>
	Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground.
	The lane is guarded; nothing routs us but
	The villany of our fears.
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<76%>
	Stand, stand, and fight!
</GUIDERIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<76%>
	Stand, stand, and fight!

</ARVIRAGUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Re-enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons; they...>
<... rescue Cymbeline, and exeunt. Then, re-enter Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen.>
</STAGE DIR>
<LUCIUS>	<77%>
	Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;
	For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such
	As war were hoodwink'd.
</LUCIUS>

<IACHIMO>	<77%>
	'Tis their fresh supplies.
</IACHIMO>

<LUCIUS>	<77%>
	It is a day turn'd strangely: or betimes
	Let's re-inforce, or fly.
</LUCIUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 2>


<SCENE 3>
<Another Part of the Field.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Posthumus and a British Lord.>
</STAGE DIR>
<LORD>	<77%>
	Cam'st thou from where they made the stand?
</LORD>

<POSTHUMUS>	<77%>
	I did:
	Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.
</POSTHUMUS>

<LORD>	<77%>
	I did.
</LORD>

<POSTHUMUS>	<77%>
	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 strait lane; the enemy full-hearted,
	Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work
	More plentiful than tools to do 't, struck down
	Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
	Merely through fear; that the strait pass was damm'd
	With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living
	To die with lengthen'd shame.
</POSTHUMUS>

<LORD>	<77%>
	Where was this lane?
</LORD>

<POSTHUMUS>	<77%>
	Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd 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 his country; athwart the lane,
	He, with two striplings,—lads more like to run
	The country base than to commit such slaughter,—
	With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
	Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame,
	Made good the passage; cried to those that fled,
	'Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men:
	To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards. Stand!
	Or we are Romans, and will give you that
	Like beasts which you shun beastly, and may save,
	But to look back in frown: stand, stand!' These three,
	Three thousand confident, in act as many,—
	For three performers are the file when all
	The rest do nothing,—with this word, 'Stand, stand!'
	Accommodated by the place, more charming
	With their own nobleness,—which could have turn'd
	A distaff to a lance,—gilded pale looks,
	Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some, turn'd coward
	But by example,—O! a sin of war,
	Damn'd in the first beginners,—'gan to look
	The way that they did, and to grin like lions
	Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began
	A stop i' the chaser, a retire, anon,
	A rout, confusion thick; forthwith they fly
	Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves,
	The strides they victors made. And now our cowards—
	Like fragments in hard voyages—became
	The life o' the need; having found the back door open
	Of the unguarded hearts, Heavens! how they wound;
	Some slain before; some dying; some their friends
	O'er-borne i' the former wave; ten, chas'd by one,
	Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty;
	Those that would die or ere resist are grown
	The mortal bugs o' the field.
</POSTHUMUS>

<LORD>	<78%>
	This was strange chance:
	A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys!
</LORD>

<POSTHUMUS>	<78%>
	Nay, do not wonder at it; you are made
	Rather to wonder at the things you hear
	Than to work any. Will you rime upon 't,
	And vent it for a mockery? Here is one:
	'Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,
	Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane.'
</POSTHUMUS>

<LORD>	<78%>
	Nay, be not angry, sir.
</LORD>

<POSTHUMUS>	<78%>
	'Lack! to what end?
	Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend;
	For if he'll do, as he is made to do,
	I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too.
	You have put me into rime.
</POSTHUMUS>

<LORD>	<79%>
	Farewell; you're angry.
</LORD>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

<POSTHUMUS>	<79%>
	Still going?—This is a lord! O noble misery!
	To be i' the field, and ask, 'what news?' of me!
	To-day how many would have given their honours
	To have sav'd their carcases! took heel to do 't,
	And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm'd,
	Could not find death where I did hear him groan,
	Nor feel him where he struck: being an ugly monster,
	'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,
	Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we
	That draw his knives i' the war. Well, I will find him;
	For being now a favourer to the Briton,
	No more a Briton, I have resum'd again
	The part I came in; fight I will no more,
	But yield me to the veriest hind that shall
	Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is
	Here made by the Roman; great the answer be
	Britons must take. For me, my ransom's death;
	On either side I come to spend my breath,
	Which neither here I'll keep nor bear agen,
	But end it by some means for Imogen.

</POSTHUMUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter two British Captains, and Soldiers.>
</STAGE DIR>
<CAPTAIN 1>	<79%>
	Great Jupiter be prais'd! Lucius is taken.
	'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.
</CAPTAIN 1>

<CAPTAIN 2>	<79%>
	There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,
	That gave th' affront with them.
</CAPTAIN 2>

<CAPTAIN 1>	<79%>
	So 'tis reported;
	But none of 'em can be found. Stand! who is there?
</CAPTAIN 1>

<POSTHUMUS>	<79%>
	A Roman,
	Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds
	Had answer'd him.
</POSTHUMUS>

<CAPTAIN 2>	<79%>
	Lay hands on him; a dog!
	A lag of Rome shall not return to tell
	What crows have peck'd them here. He brags his service
	As if he were of note: bring him to the king.

<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Cymbeline, attended: Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus,...>
<... Pisanio, and Roman Captives. The Captains present...>
<... Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers him over to a Gaoler; then exeunt omnes.>
</STAGE DIR>

</CAPTAIN 2>

</SCENE 3>


<SCENE 4>
<Britain. A Prison.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Posthumus and two Gaolers.>
</STAGE DIR>
<GAOLER 1>	<80%>
	You shall not now be stol'n, you have locks upon you:
	So graze as you find pasture.
</GAOLER 1>

<GAOLER 2>	<80%>
	Ay, or a stomach.
</GAOLER 2>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt Gaolers.>
</STAGE DIR>

<POSTHUMUS>	<80%>
	Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a way,
	I think, to liberty. Yet am I better
	Than one that's sick o' the gout, since he had rather
	Groan so in perpetuity than be cur'd
	By the sure physician death; who is the key
	To unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter'd
	More than my shanks and wrists: you good gods, give me
	The penitent instrument to pick that bolt;
	Then, free for ever! Is 't enough I am sorry?
	So children temporal fathers do appease;
	Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent?
	I cannot do it better than in gyves,
	Desir'd more than constrain'd; to satisfy,
	If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take
	No stricter render of me than my all.
	I know you are more clement than vile men,
	Who of their broken debtors take a third,
	A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again
	On their abatement: that's not my desire;
	For Imogen's dear life take mine; and though
	'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd it;
	'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp;
	Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake:
	You rather mine, being yours; and so great powers,
	If you will take this audit, take this life,
	And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!
	I'll speak to thee in silence.
<STAGE DIR>
<Sleeps.>
</STAGE DIR>

</POSTHUMUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Solemn music. Enter as in an apparition Sicilius Leonatus,...>
<... father to Posthumus, an old man, attired like...>
<... a warrior; leading in his hand an ancient matron,...>
<... his wife, and mother to Posthumus, with music...>
<... before them. Then, after other music, follow the...>
<... two young Leonati, brothers to Posthumus, with...>
<... wounds, as they died in the wars. They circle Posthumus round, as he lies sleeping.>
</STAGE DIR>
<SICILIUS>	<81%>

	No more, thou thunder-master, show
	Thy spite on mortal flies:
	With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,
	That thy adulteries
	Rates and revenges.
	Hath my poor boy done aught but well,
	Whose face I never saw?
	I died whilst in the womb he stay'd
	Attending nature's law:
	Whose father then—as men report,
	Thou orphans' father art—
	Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him
	From this earth-vexing smart.

</SICILIUS>

<MOTHER>	<81%>

	Lucina lent not me her aid,
	But took me in my throes;
	That from me was Posthumus ript,
	Came crying 'mongst his foes,
	A thing of pity!

</MOTHER>

<SICILIUS>	<81%>

	Great nature, like his ancestry,
	Moulded the stuff so fair,
	That he deserv'd the praise o' the world,
	As great Sicilius' heir.

</SICILIUS>

<BROTHER 1>	<81%>

	When once he was mature for man,
	In Britain where was he
	That could stand up his parallel,
	Or fruitful object be
	In eye of Imogen, that best
	Could deem his dignity?

</BROTHER 1>

<MOTHER>	<81%>

	With marriage wherefore was he mock'd,
	To be exil'd, and thrown
	From Leonati's seat, and cast
	From her his dearest one,
	Sweet Imogen?

</MOTHER>

<SICILIUS>	<82%>

	Why did you suffer Iachimo,
	Slight thing of Italy,
	To taint his nobler heart and brain
	With needless jealousy;
	And to become the geck and scorn
	O' the other's villany?

</SICILIUS>

<BROTHER 2>	<82%>

	For this from stiller seats we came,
	Our parents and us twain,
	That striking in our country's cause
	Fell bravely and were slain;
	Our fealty and Tenantius' right
	With honour to maintain.

</BROTHER 2>

<BROTHER 1>	<82%>

	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?

</BROTHER 1>

<SICILIUS>	<82%>

	Thy crystal window ope; look out;
	No longer exercise
	Upon a valiant race thy harsh
	And potent injuries.

</SICILIUS>

<MOTHER>	<82%>

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

</MOTHER>

<SICILIUS>	<82%>

	Peep through thy marble mansion; help!
	Or we poor ghosts will cry
	To the shining synod of the rest
	Against thy deity.

</SICILIUS>

<BOTH BROTHERS>	<82%>

	Help, Jupiter! or we appeal,
	And from thy justice fly.


</BOTH BROTHERS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting...>
<... upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees.>
</STAGE DIR>
<JUPITER>	<82%>
	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.
</JUPITER>
<STAGE DIR>
<Ascends.>
</STAGE DIR>

<SICILIUS>	<83%>
	He came in thunder; his celestial breath
	Was sulphurous to smell; the holy eagle
	Stoop'd, as to foot us; 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.
</SICILIUS>

<ALL>	<83%>
	Thanks, Jupiter!
</ALL>

<SICILIUS>	<83%>
	The marble pavement closes; he is enter'd
	His radiant roof. Away! and, to be blest,
	Let us with care perform his great behest.
</SICILIUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<The Ghosts vanish.>
</STAGE DIR>

<POSTHUMUS>	<83%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Awaking.>
</STAGE DIR> 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.
	Whenas 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.

</POSTHUMUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Re-enter Gaolers.>
</STAGE DIR>
<GAOLER 1>	<84%>
	Come, sir, are you ready for death?
</GAOLER 1>

<POSTHUMUS>	<84%>
	Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.
</POSTHUMUS>

<GAOLER 1>	<84%>
	Hanging is the word, sir: if you be ready for that, you are well cooked.
</GAOLER 1>

<POSTHUMUS>	<84%>
	So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish pays the shot.
</POSTHUMUS>

<GAOLER 1>	<84%>
	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; purse and brain both empty; the brain the heavier for being too light, the purse too light, being drawn of heaviness 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.
</GAOLER 1>

<POSTHUMUS>	<84%>
	I am merrier to die than thou art to live.
</POSTHUMUS>

<GAOLER 1>	<85%>
	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.
</GAOLER 1>

<POSTHUMUS>	<85%>
	Yes, indeed do I, fellow.
</POSTHUMUS>

<GAOLER 1>	<85%>
	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 inquiry on your own peril: and how you shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll never return to tell one.
</GAOLER 1>

<POSTHUMUS>	<85%>
	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.
</POSTHUMUS>

<GAOLER 1>	<85%>
	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.

</GAOLER 1>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter a Messenger.>
</STAGE DIR>
<MESENGER>	<85%>
	Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the king.
</MESENGER>

<POSTHUMUS>	<85%>
	Thou bring'st good news; I am called to be made free.
</POSTHUMUS>

<GAOLER 1>	<85%>
	I'll be hang'd, then.
</GAOLER 1>

<POSTHUMUS>	<85%>
	Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead.
</POSTHUMUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt all but first Gaoler.>
</STAGE DIR>

<GAOLER 1>	<85%>
	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; O! there were desolation of gaolers and gallowses. I speak against my present profit, but my wish hath a preferment in 't.
</GAOLER 1>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exit.>
</STAGE DIR>

</SCENE 4>


<SCENE 5>
<Cymbeline's Tent.>
<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio, Lords, Officers, and Attendants.>
</STAGE DIR>
<CYMBELINE>	<86%>
	Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made
	Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart
	That the poor soldier that so richly fought,
	Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast
	Stepp'd before targes of proof, cannot be found:
	He shall be happy that can find him, if
	Our grace can make him so.
</CYMBELINE>

<BELARIUS>	<86%>
	I never saw
	Such noble fury in so poor a thing;
	Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought
	But beggary and poor looks.
</BELARIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<86%>
	No tidings of him?
</CYMBELINE>

<PISANIO>	<86%>
	He hath been search'd among the dead and living,
	But no trace of him.
</PISANIO>

<CYMBELINE>	<86%>
	To my grief, I am
	The heir of his reward; which I will add
<STAGE DIR>
<To Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.>
</STAGE DIR>
	To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain,
	By whom, I grant, she lives. 'Tis now the time
	To ask of whence you are: report it.
</CYMBELINE>

<BELARIUS>	<86%>
	Sir,
	In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen:
	Further to boast were neither true nor modest,
	Unless I add, we are honest.
</BELARIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<86%>
	Bow your knees.
	Arise, my knights o' the battle: I create you
	Companions to our person, and will fit you
	With dignities becoming your estates.

<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Cornelius and Ladies.>
</STAGE DIR>
	There's business in these faces. Why so sadly
	Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,
</CYMBELINE>
	And not o' the court of Britain.
<CORNELIUS>	<86%>
	Hail, great king!
	To sour your happiness, I must report
	The queen is dead.
</CORNELIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<86%>
	Whom worse than a physician
	Would this report become? But I consider,
	By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death
	Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?
</CYMBELINE>

<CORNELIUS>	<87%>
	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 trip me if I err; who with wet cheeks
	Were present when she finish'd.
</CORNELIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<87%>
	Prithee, say.
</CYMBELINE>

<CORNELIUS>	<87%>
	First, she confess'd she never lov'd you, only
	Affected greatness got by you, not you;
	Married your royalty, was wife to your place;
	Abhorr'd your person.
</CORNELIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<87%>
	She alone knew this;
	And, but she spoke it dying, I would not
	Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.
</CYMBELINE>

<CORNELIUS>	<87%>
	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.
</CORNELIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<87%>
	O most delicate fiend!
	Who is't can read a woman? Is there more?
</CYMBELINE>

<CORNELIUS>	<87%>
	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 show; yea, 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 despite
	Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented
	The evils she hatch'd were not effected: so,
	Despairing died.
</CORNELIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<87%>
	Heard you all this, her women?
</CYMBELINE>

<LADY 1>	<87%>
	We did, so please your highness.
</LADY 1>

<CYMBELINE>	<88%>
	Mine eyes
	Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;
	Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart,
	That thought her like her seeming: it had been vicious
	To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter!
	That it was folly in me, thou mayst say,
	And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!

<STAGE DIR>
<Enter Lucius, Iachimo, the Soothsayer, and other Roman...>
<... Prisoners, guarded: Posthumus behind, and Imogen.>
</STAGE DIR>
	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:
</CYMBELINE>
	So, think of your estate.
<LUCIUS>	<88%>
	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 threaten'd
	Our prisoners 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;
	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,
	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 highness
	Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,
	Though he have serv'd a Roman. Save him, sir,
	And spare no blood beside.
</LUCIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<88%>
	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 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.
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<89%>
	I humbly thank your highness.
</IMOGEN>

<LUCIUS>	<89%>
	I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad;
	And yet I know thou wilt.
</LUCIUS>

<IMOGEN>	<89%>
	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.
</IMOGEN>

<LUCIUS>	<89%>
	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?
</LUCIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<89%>
	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?
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<89%>
	He is a Roman; no more kin to me
	Than I to your highness; who, being born your vassal,
	Am something nearer.
</IMOGEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<89%>
	Wherefore ey'st him so?
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<89%>
	I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please
	To give me hearing.
</IMOGEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<89%>
	Ay, with all my heart,
	And lend my best attention. What's thy name?
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<89%>
	Fidele, sir.
</IMOGEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<89%>
	Thou'rt my good youth, my page;
	I'll be thy master: walk with me; speak freely.
</CYMBELINE>
<STAGE DIR>
<Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart.>
</STAGE DIR>

<BELARIUS>	<89%>
	Is not this boy reviv'd from death?
</BELARIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<89%>
	One sand another
	Not more resembles;—that sweet rosy lad
	Who died, and was Fidele. What think you?
</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<89%>
	The same dead thing alive.
</GUIDERIUS>

<BELARIUS>	<89%>
	Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; forbear;
	Creatures may be alike; were 't he, I am sure
	He would have spoke to us.
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<89%>
	But we saw him dead.
</GUIDERIUS>

<BELARIUS>	<89%>
	Be silent; let's see further.
</BELARIUS>

<PISANIO>	<90%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> It is my mistress:
	Since she is living, let the time run on
	To good, or bad.
</PISANIO>
<STAGE DIR>
<Cymbeline and Imogen come forward.>
</STAGE DIR>

<CYMBELINE>	<90%>
	Come, stand thou by our side:
	Make thy demand aloud.—<STAGE DIR>
<To Iachimo.>
</STAGE DIR> Sir, step you forth;
	Give answer to this boy, and do it freely,
	Or, by our greatness and the grace of it,
	Which is our honour, bitter torture shall
	Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him.
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<90%>
	My boon is, that this gentleman may render
	Of whom he had this ring.
</IMOGEN>

<POSTHUMUS>	<90%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Aside.>
</STAGE DIR> What's that to him?
</POSTHUMUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<90%>
	That diamond upon your finger, say
	How came it yours?
</CYMBELINE>

<IACHIMO>	<90%>
	Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that
	Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.
</IACHIMO>

<CYMBELINE>	<90%>
	How! me?
</CYMBELINE>

<IACHIMO>	<90%>
	I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that
	Which torments me to conceal. By villany
	I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel,
	Whom thou didst banish, and—which more may grieve thee,
	As it doth me—a nobler sir ne'er liv'd
	'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord?
</IACHIMO>

<CYMBELINE>	<90%>
	All that belongs to this.
</CYMBELINE>

<IACHIMO>	<90%>
	That paragon, thy daughter,—
	For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
	Quail to remember,—Give me leave; I faint.
</IACHIMO>

<CYMBELINE>	<90%>
	My daughter! what of her? Renew thy strength;
	I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will
	Than die ere I hear more. Strive, man, and speak.
</CYMBELINE>

<IACHIMO>	<90%>
	Upon a time,—unhappy was the clock
	That struck the hour!—it was in Rome,—accurs'd
	The mansion where!—'twas at a feast—O, would
	Our viands had been poison'd, or at least
	Those which I heav'd to head!—the good Posthumus,—
	What should I say? he was too good to be
	Where ill men were; and was the best of all
	Amongst the rar'st of good ones;—sitting sadly
	Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
	For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast
	Of him that best could speak; for feature laming
	The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva,
	Postures beyond brief nature; for condition,
	A shop of all the qualities that man
	Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving,
	Fairness which strikes the eye.
</IACHIMO>

<CYMBELINE>	<91%>
	I stand on fire.
	Come to the matter.
</CYMBELINE>

<IACHIMO>	<91%>
	All too soon I shall,
	Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus—
	Most like a noble lord in love, and one
	That had a royal lover—took his hint;
	And, not dispraising whom we prais'd,—therein
	He was as calm as virtue,—he began
	His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being made,
	And then a mind put in 't, either our brags
	Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description
	Prov'd us unspeaking sots.
</IACHIMO>

<CYMBELINE>	<91%>
	Nay, nay, to the purpose.
</CYMBELINE>

<IACHIMO>	<91%>
	Your daughter's chastity, there it begins.
	He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams,
	And she alone were cold; whereat I, wretch,
	Made scruple of his praise, and wager'd with him
	Pieces of gold 'gainst this, which then he wore
	Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
	In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring
	By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight,
	No lesser of her honour confident
	Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;
	And would so, had it been a carbuncle
	Of Phœbus' wheel; and might so safely, had it
	Been all the worth of 's car. Away to Britain
	Post I in this design. Well may you, sir,
	Remember me at court, where I was taught
	Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
	'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'd
	Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
	'Gan in your duller Britain operate
	Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent;
	And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd,
	That I return'd with simular proof enough
	To make the noble Leonatus mad,
	By wounding his belief in her renown
	With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes
	Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet;—
	Oh cunning! how I got it!—nay, some marks
	Of secret on her person, that he could not
	But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
	I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon,—
	Methinks I see him now,—
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<92%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Coming forward.>
</STAGE DIR> Ay, so thou dost,
	Italian fiend!—Ay me, most credulous fool,
	Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
	That's due to all the villains past, in being,
	To come. O! give me cord, or knife, or poison,
	Some upright justicer. Thou king, send out
	For torturers ingenious; it is I
	That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend
	By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
	That kill'd thy daughter; villain-like, I lie;
	That caus'd a lesser villain than myself,
	A sacrilegious thief, to do 't; the temple
	Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
	Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
	The dogs o' the street to bay me; every villain
	Be call'd Posthumus Leonatus; and
	Be villany less than 'twas! O Imogen!
	My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
	Imogen, Imogen!
</POSTHUMUS>

<IMOGEN>	<92%>
	Peace, my lord! hear, hear!
</IMOGEN>

<POSTHUMUS>	<92%>
	Shall 's have a play of this? Thou scornful page,
	There lie thy part.
</POSTHUMUS>
<STAGE DIR>
<Striking her: she falls.>
</STAGE DIR>

<PISANIO>	<92%>
	O, gentlemen, help!
	Mine, and your mistress! O! my Lord Posthumus,
	You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now. Help, help!
	Mine honour'd lady!
</PISANIO>

<CYMBELINE>	<93%>
	Does the world go round?
</CYMBELINE>

<POSTHUMUS>	<93%>
	How come these staggers on me?
</POSTHUMUS>

<PISANIO>	<93%>
	Wake, my mistress!
</PISANIO>

<CYMBELINE>	<93%>
	If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
	To death with mortal joy.
</CYMBELINE>

<PISANIO>	<93%>
	How fares my mistress?
</PISANIO>

<IMOGEN>	<93%>
	O! get thee from my sight:
	Thou gav'st me poison: dangerous fellow, hence!
	Breathe not where princes are.
</IMOGEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<93%>
	The tune of Imogen!
</CYMBELINE>

<PISANIO>	<93%>
	Lady,
	The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if
	That box I gave you was not thought by me
	A precious thing: I had it from the queen.
</PISANIO>

<CYMBELINE>	<93%>
	New matter still?
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<93%>
	It poison'd me.
</IMOGEN>

<CORNELIUS>	<93%>
	O gods!
	I left out one thing which the queen confess'd,
	Which must approve thee honest: 'If Pisanio
	Have,' said she, 'given his mistress that confection
	Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv'd
	As I would serve a rat.'
</CORNELIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<93%>
	What's this, Cornelius?
</CYMBELINE>

<CORNELIUS>	<93%>
	The queen, sir, very oft importun'd me
	To temper poisons for her, still pretending
	The satisfaction of her knowledge only
	In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs,
	Of no esteem; I, dreading that her purpose
	Was of more danger, did compound for her
	A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease
	The present power of life, but in short time
	All offices of nature should again
	Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?
</CORNELIUS>

<IMOGEN>	<93%>
	Most like I did, for I was dead.
</IMOGEN>

<BELARIUS>	<93%>
	My boys,
	There was our error.
</BELARIUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<93%>
	This is, sure, Fidele.
</GUIDERIUS>

<IMOGEN>	<93%>
	Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?
	Think that you are upon a rock; and now
	Throw me again.
</IMOGEN>
<STAGE DIR>
<Embracing him.>
</STAGE DIR>

<POSTHUMUS>	<94%>
	Hang there like fruit, my soul,
	Till the tree die!
</POSTHUMUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<94%>
	How now, my flesh, my child!
	What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act?
	Wilt thou not speak to me?
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<94%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Kneeling.>
</STAGE DIR> Your blessing, sir.
</IMOGEN>

<BELARIUS>	<94%>
<STAGE DIR>
<To Guiderius and Arviragus.>
</STAGE DIR> Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not;
	You had a motive for 't.
</BELARIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<94%>
	My tears that fall
	Prove holy water on thee! Imogen,
	Thy mother's dead.
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<94%>
	I am sorry for 't, my lord.
</IMOGEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<94%>
	O, she was naught; and long of her it was
	That we meet here so strangely; but her son
	Is gone, we know not how, nor where.
</CYMBELINE>

<PISANIO>	<94%>
	My lord,
	Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten,
	Upon my lady's missing, came to me
	With his sword drawn, foam'd at the mouth, and swore
	If I discover'd not which way she was gone,
	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 enforc'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.
</PISANIO>

<GUIDERIUS>	<94%>
	Let me end the story:
	I slew him there.
</GUIDERIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<94%>
	Marry, the gods forfend!
	I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
	Pluck a hard sentence: Prithee, valiant youth,
	Deny 't again.
</CYMBELINE>

<GUIDERIUS>	<94%>
	I have spoke it, and I did it.
</GUIDERIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<94%>
	He was a prince.
</CYMBELINE>

<GUIDERIUS>	<94%>
	A most incivil 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.
</GUIDERIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<95%>
	I am sorry for thee:
	By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must
	Endure our law. Thou'rt dead.
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<95%>
	That headless man
	I thought had been my lord.
</IMOGEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<95%>
	Bind the offender,
	And take him from our presence.
</CYMBELINE>

<BELARIUS>	<95%>
	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. <STAGE DIR>
<To the Guard.>
</STAGE DIR> Let his arms alone;
	They were not born for bondage.
</BELARIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<95%>
	Why, old soldier,
	Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
	By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
	As good as we?
</CYMBELINE>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<95%>
	In that he spake too far.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<95%>
	And thou shalt die for 't.
</CYMBELINE>

<BELARIUS>	<95%>
	We will die all three:
	But I will prove that two on 's 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.
</BELARIUS>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<95%>
	Your danger's ours.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<95%>
	And our good his.
</GUIDERIUS>

<BELARIUS>	<95%>
	Have at it, then, by leave.
	Thou hadst, great king, a subject who was call'd
	Belarius.
</BELARIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<95%>
	What of him? he is
	A banish'd traitor.
</CYMBELINE>

<BELARIUS>	<95%>
	He it is that hath
	Assum'd this age: indeed, a banish'd man;
	I know not how a traitor.
</BELARIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<95%>
	Take him hence:
	The whole world shall not save him.
</CYMBELINE>

<BELARIUS>	<95%>
	Not too hot:
	First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;
	And let it be confiscate all so soon
	As I have receiv'd it.
</BELARIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<95%>
	Nursing of my sons!
</CYMBELINE>

<BELARIUS>	<95%>
	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.
</BELARIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<96%>
	How! my issue!
</CYMBELINE>

<BELARIUS>	<96%>
	So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
	Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd:
	Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
	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.
</BELARIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<96%>
	Thou weep'st, and speak'st.
	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.
</CYMBELINE>

<BELARIUS>	<96%>
	Be pleas'd awhile.
	This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
	Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius;
	This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,
	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.
</BELARIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<96%>
	Guiderius had
	Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
	It was a mark of wonder.
</CYMBELINE>

<BELARIUS>	<97%>
	This is he,
	Who hath upon him still that natural stamp.
	It was wise nature's end in the donation,
	To be his evidence now.
</BELARIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<97%>
	O! what, am I
	A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother
	Rejoic'd deliverance more. Blest pray you be,
	That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
	You may reign in them now. O Imogen!
	Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<97%>
	No, my lord;
	I have got two worlds by 't. O my gentle brothers!
	Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter
	But I am truest speaker: you call'd me brother,
	When I was but your sister; I you brothers
	When ye were so indeed.
</IMOGEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<97%>
	Did you e'er meet?
</CYMBELINE>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<97%>
	Ay, my good lord.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<GUIDERIUS>	<97%>
	And at first meeting lov'd;
	Continu'd so, until we thought he died.
</GUIDERIUS>

<CORNELIUS>	<97%>
	By the queen's dram she swallow'd.
</CORNELIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<97%>
	O rare instinct!
	When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgment
	Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
	Distinction should be rich in. Where? how liv'd you?
	And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
	How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
	Why fied you from the court, and whither? These,
	And your three motives to the battle, with
	I know not how much more, should be demanded,
	And all the other by-dependances,
	From chance to chance, but nor the time nor place
	Will serve our long inter'gatories. See,
	Posthumus anchors upon Imogen,
	And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
	On him, her brothers, me, her master, hitting
	Each object with a joy: the counterchange
	Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground,
	And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.
<STAGE DIR>
<To Belarius.>
</STAGE DIR> Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever.
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<98%>
	You are my father too; and did relieve me,
	To see this gracious season.
</IMOGEN>

<CYMBELINE>	<98%>
	All o'erjoy'd
	Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too,
	For they shall taste our comfort.
</CYMBELINE>

<IMOGEN>	<98%>
	My good master,
	I will yet do you service.
</IMOGEN>

<LUCIUS>	<98%>
	Happy be you!
</LUCIUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<98%>
	The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought
	He would have well becom'd this place and grac'd
	The thankings of a king.
</CYMBELINE>

<POSTHUMUS>	<98%>
	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.
</POSTHUMUS>

<IACHIMO>	<98%>
<STAGE DIR>
<Kneeling.>
</STAGE DIR> I am down again;
	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.
</IACHIMO>

<POSTHUMUS>	<98%>
	Kneel not to me:
	The power that I have on you is to spare you;
	The malice towards you to forgive you. Live,
	And deal with others better.
</POSTHUMUS>

<CYMBELINE>	<98%>
	Nobly doom'd:
	We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
	Pardon's the word to all.
</CYMBELINE>

<ARVIRAGUS>	<98%>
	You holp us, sir,
	As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
	Joy'd are we that you are.
</ARVIRAGUS>

<POSTHUMUS>	<98%>
	Your servant, princes. Good my lord of Rome,
	Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought
	Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd,
	Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows
	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; let him show
	His skill in the construction.
</POSTHUMUS>

<LUCIUS>	<99%>
	Philarmonus!
</LUCIUS>

<SOOTHSAYER>	<99%>
	Here, my good lord.
</SOOTHSAYER>

<LUCIUS>	<99%>
	Read, and declare the meaning
</LUCIUS>

<SOOTHSAYER>	<99%>
	Whenas 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.
<STAGE DIR>
<To Cymbeline.>
</STAGE DIR> The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
	Which we call mollis aer; and mollis aer
	We term it mulier; which mulier, I divine,
	Is this most constant wife; who, even now,
	Answering the letter of the oracle,
	Unknown to you, <STAGE DIR>
<To Posthumus.>
</STAGE DIR> unsought, were clipp'd about
	With this most tender air.
</SOOTHSAYER>

<CYMBELINE>	<99%>
	This hath some seeming.
</CYMBELINE>

<SOOTHSAYER>	<99%>
	The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
	Personates thee, and thy lopp'd branches point
	Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stolen,
	For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd
	To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue
	Promises Britain peace and plenty.
</SOOTHSAYER>

<CYMBELINE>	<99%>
	Well;
	My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius,
	Although the victor, we submit to Cæsar,
	And to the Roman empire; promising
	To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
	We were dissuaded by our wicked queen;
	Whom heavens—in justice both on her and hers—
	Have laid most heavy hand.
</CYMBELINE>

<SOOTHSAYER>	<99%>
	The fingers of the powers above do tune
	The harmony of this peace. The vision
	Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke
	Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant
	Is full accomplish'd; for the Roman eagle,
	From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
	Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun
	So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle,
	The imperial Cæsar, should again unite
	His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
	Which shines here in the west.
</SOOTHSAYER>

<CYMBELINE>	<100%>
	Laud we the gods;
	And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
	From our bless'd altars. Publish we this peace
	To all our subjects. Set we forward: let
	A Roman and a British ensign wave
	Friendly together; so through Lud's town march:
	And in the temple of great Jupiter
	Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.
	Set on there. Never was a war did cease,
	Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.
</CYMBELINE>
<STAGE DIR>
<Exeunt.>
</STAGE DIR>
</SCENE 5>
</ACT 5>
