ACT III. SCENE I. Britain. A hall in CYMBELINE'S palace  Enter in state, CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, and LORDS at one door, and at another CAIUS LUCIUS and attendants    CYMBELINE. Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us?   LUCIUS. When Julius Caesar- 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 Caesar'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.   QUEEN. And, to kill the marvel,     Shall be so ever.   CLOTEN. There be many Caesars     Ere such another Julius. Britain is     A world by itself, and we will nothing pay     For wearing our own noses.   QUEEN. 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, ribb'd and pal'd in     With rocks unscalable and roaring waters,     With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats     But suck them up to th' top-mast. A kind of conquest     Caesar 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 Caesar's sword,     Made Lud's Town with rejoicing fires bright     And Britons strut with courage.   CLOTEN. 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 Caesars. Other of them may have crook'd noses; but to     owe such straight arms, none.   CYMBELINE. Son, let your mother end.   CLOTEN. 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 Caesar 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.   CYMBELINE. You must know,     Till the injurious Romans did extort     This tribute from us, we were free. Caesar's ambition-     Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch     The sides o' th' world- against all colour here     Did put the yoke upon's; which to shake of     Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon     Ourselves to be.   CLOTEN. We do.   CYMBELINE. Say then to Caesar,     Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which     Ordain'd our laws- whose use the sword of Caesar     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.   LUCIUS. I am sorry, Cymbeline,     That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar-     Caesar, that hath moe kings his servants than     Thyself domestic officers- thine enemy.     Receive it from me, then: war and confusion     In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee; look     For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,     I thank thee for myself.   CYMBELINE. Thou art welcome, Caius.     Thy Caesar 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 Caesar shall not find them.   LUCIUS. Let proof speak.   CLOTEN. 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.   LUCIUS. So, sir.   CYMBELINE. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine;     All the remain is, welcome.                           Exeunt     SCENE II. Britain. Another room in CYMBELINE'S palace  Enter PISANIO reading of a letter    PISANIO. How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not     What monsters her accuse? 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? [Reads] '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 fedary for this act, and look'st     So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.                        Enter IMOGEN      I am ignorant in what I am commanded.   IMOGEN. How now, Pisanio!   PISANIO. Madam, here is a letter from my lord.   IMOGEN. 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. Blest 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!                                                          [Reads]     '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 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 th' smothering of the sense- how far it is     To this same blessed Milford. And by th' 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 hence-going     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?   PISANIO. One score 'twixt sun and sun,     Madam, 's enough for you, and too much too.   IMOGEN. 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' th' clock's behalf. But this is fool'ry.     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 huswife.   PISANIO. Madam, you're best consider.   IMOGEN. 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.                   Exeunt     SCENE III. Wales. A mountainous country with a cave  Enter from the cave BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS    BELARIUS. A goodly day not to keep house with such     Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate     Instructs you how t' 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' th' rock, yet use thee not so hardly     As prouder livers do.   GUIDERIUS. Hail, heaven!   ARVIRAGUS. Hail, heaven!   BELARIUS. 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 him fine,     Yet keeps his book uncross'd. No life to ours!   GUIDERIUS. Out of your proof you speak. We, poor unfledg'd,     Have never wing'd from view o' th' 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 abed,     A prison for a debtor that not dares     To stride a limit.   ARVIRAGUS. 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 warlike as the wolf for what we eat.     Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage     We make a choir, as doth the prison'd bird,     And sing our bondage freely.   BELARIUS. How you speak!     Did you but know the city's usuries,     And felt them knowingly- the art o' th' court,     As hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb     Is certain falling, or so slipp'ry that     The fear's as bad as falling; the toil o' th' war,     A pain that only seems to seek out danger     I' th'name of fame and honour, which dies i' th'search,     And hath as oft a sland'rous 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.   GUIDERIUS. Uncertain favour!   BELARIUS. 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 th' mountains!     This is not hunters' language. He that strikes     The venison first shall be the lord o' th' 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.                                   Exeunt GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS     How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!     These boys know little they are sons to th' King,     Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.     They think they are mine; and though train'd up thus meanly     I' th' 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 warlike 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 refts 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.           Exit     SCENE IV. Wales, near Milford Haven  Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN    IMOGEN. 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 th' 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.   PISANIO. Please you read,     And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing     The most disdain'd of fortune.   IMOGEN. [Reads] 'Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play'd 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 pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal.'   PISANIO. 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?   IMOGEN. 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?   PISANIO. Alas, good lady!   IMOGEN. 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 th' 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 villainy; not born where't grows,     But worn a bait for ladies.   PISANIO. Good madam, hear me.   IMOGEN. True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas,     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.   PISANIO. Hence, vile instrument!     Thou shalt not damn my hand.   IMOGEN. 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,     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 tirest on, how thy memory     Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee dispatch.     The lamp entreats the butcher. Where's thy knife?     Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,     When I desire it too.   PISANIO. O gracious lady,     Since I receiv'd command to do this busines     I have not slept one wink.   IMOGEN. Do't, and to bed then.   PISANIO. I'll wake mine eyeballs first.   IMOGEN. 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,     Th' elected deer before thee?   PISANIO. 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.   IMOGEN. 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.   PISANIO. Then, madam,     I thought you would not back again.   IMOGEN. Most like-     Bringing me here to kill me.   PISANIO. 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,     Ay, and singular in his art, hath done you both     This cursed injury.   IMOGEN. Some Roman courtezan!   PISANIO. 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.   IMOGEN. 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?   PISANIO. If you'll back to th' court-   IMOGEN. No court, no father, nor no more ado     With that harsh, noble, simple nothing-     That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me     As fearful as a siege.   PISANIO. If not at court,     Then not in Britain must you bide.   IMOGEN. Where then?     Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,     Are they not but in Britain? I' th' 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.   PISANIO. I am most glad     You think of other place. Th' 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, happily, 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.   IMOGEN. O! for such means,     Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,     I would adventure.   PISANIO. 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.   IMOGEN. Nay, be brief;     I see into thy end, and am almost     A man already.   PISANIO. First, make yourself but like one.     Fore-thinking 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're happy- which will 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.   IMOGEN. 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 am soldier to, and will abide it with     A prince's courage. Away, I prithee.   PISANIO. 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!   IMOGEN. Amen. I thank thee.                   Exeunt severally     SCENE V. Britain. CYMBELINE'S palace  Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, and LORDS    CYMBELINE. Thus far; and so farewell.   LUCIUS. Thanks, royal sir.     My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence,     And am right sorry that I must report ye     My master's enemy.   CYMBELINE. Our subjects, sir,     Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself     To show less sovereignty than they, must needs     Appear unkinglike.   LUCIUS. So, sir. I desire of you     A conduct overland to Milford Haven.     Madam, all joy befall your Grace, and you!   CYMBELINE. My lords, you are appointed for that office;     The due of honour in no point omit.     So farewell, noble Lucius.   LUCIUS. Your hand, my lord.   CLOTEN. Receive it friendly; but from this time forth     I wear it as your enemy.   LUCIUS. Sir, the event     Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.   CYMBELINE. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,     Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness!                                          Exeunt LUCIUS and LORDS   QUEEN. He goes hence frowning; but it honours us     That we have given him cause.   CLOTEN. 'Tis all the better;     Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.   CYMBELINE. Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor     How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely     Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness.     The pow'rs that he already hath in Gallia     Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves     His war for Britain.   QUEEN. 'Tis not sleepy business,     But must be look'd to speedily and strongly.   CYMBELINE. 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.      Exit a MESSENGER   QUEEN. 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.                   Re-enter MESSENGER    CYMBELINE. Where is she, sir? How     Can her contempt be answer'd?   MESSENGER. Please you, sir,     Her chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer     That will be given to th' loud of noise we make.   QUEEN. 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.   CYMBELINE. Her doors lock'd?     Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear     Prove false!                                            Exit   QUEEN. Son, I say, follow the King.   CLOTEN. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,     I have not seen these two days.   QUEEN. Go, look after.                             Exit CLOTEN     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 seiz'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.                     Re-enter CLOTEN      How now, my son?   CLOTEN. 'Tis certain she is fled.     Go in and cheer the King. He rages; none     Dare come about him.   QUEEN. All the better. May     This night forestall him of the coming day!             Exit   CLOTEN. 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-                      Enter PISANIO      Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?     Come hither. Ah, you precious pander! Villain,     Where is thy lady? In a word, or else     Thou art straightway with the fiends.   PISANIO. O good my lord!   CLOTEN. 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.   PISANIO. Alas, my lord,     How can she be with him? When was she miss'd?     He is in Rome.   CLOTEN. Where is she, sir? Come nearer.     No farther halting! Satisfy me home     What is become of her.   PISANIO. O my all-worthy lord!   CLOTEN. 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.   PISANIO. Then, sir,     This paper is the history of my knowledge     Touching her flight.                   [Presenting a letter]   CLOTEN. Let's see't. I will pursue her     Even to Augustus' throne.   PISANIO. [Aside] Or this or perish.     She's far enough; and what he learns by this     May prove his travel, not her danger.   CLOTEN. Humh!   PISANIO. [Aside] I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen,     Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!   CLOTEN. Sirrah, is this letter true?   PISANIO. Sir, as I think.   CLOTEN. 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 villainy 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.   PISANIO. Well, my good lord.   CLOTEN. 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?   PISANIO. Sir, I will.   CLOTEN. Give me thy hand; here's my purse. Hast any of thy late     master's garments in thy possession?   PISANIO. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when     he took leave of my lady and mistress.   CLOTEN. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither. Let     it be thy first service; go.   PISANIO. I shall, my lord.                                Exit   CLOTEN. 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 prais'd- to the court I'll knock her back, foot her home     again. She hath despis'd me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my     revenge.                  Re-enter PISANIO, with the clothes      Be those the garments?   PISANIO. Ay, my noble lord.   CLOTEN. How long is't since she went to Milford Haven?   PISANIO. She can scarce be there yet.   CLOTEN. 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.            Exit   PISANIO. Thou bid'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 pursuest. Flow, flow,     You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed     Be cross'd with slowness! Labour be his meed!           Exit     SCENE VI. Wales. Before the cave of BELARIUS  Enter IMOGEN alone, in boy's clothes    IMOGEN. 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' th' 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 anything 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!                 Exit into the cave              Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS    BELARIUS. 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!   GUIDERIUS. I am thoroughly weary.   ARVIRAGUS. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.   GUIDERIUS. There is cold meat i' th' cave; we'll browse on that     Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd.   BELARIUS. [Looking into the cave] Stay, come not in.     But that it eats our victuals, I should think     Here were a fairy.   GUIDERIUS. What's the matter, sir?   BELARIUS.. By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not,     An earthly paragon! Behold divineness     No elder than a boy!                         Re-enter IMOGEN    IMOGEN. 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' th' 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 pray'rs for the provider.   GUIDERIUS. Money, youth?   ARVIRAGUS. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt,     As 'tis no better reckon'd but of those     Who worship dirty gods.   IMOGEN. I see you're angry.     Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should     Have died had I not made it.   BELARIUS. Whither bound?   IMOGEN. To Milford Haven.   BELARIUS. What's your name?   IMOGEN. 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.   BELARIUS. Prithee, fair youth,     Think us no churls, 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.   GUIDERIUS. Were you a woman, youth,     I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty     I bid for you as I'd buy.   ARVIRAGUS. 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 long absence, such is yours. Most welcome!     Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends.   IMOGEN. 'Mongst friends,     If brothers. [Aside] 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.   BELARIUS. He wrings at some distress.   GUIDERIUS. Would I could free't!   ARVIRAGUS. Or I, whate'er it be,     What pain it cost, what danger! Gods!   BELARIUS. [Whispering] Hark, boys.   IMOGEN. [Aside] 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.   BELARIUS. 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.   GUIDERIUS. Pray draw near.   ARVIRAGUS. The night to th' owl and morn to th' lark less welcome.   IMOGEN. Thanks, sir.   ARVIRAGUS. I pray draw near.                            Exeunt     SCENE VII. Rome. A public place  Enter two ROMAN SENATORS and TRIBUNES    FIRST SENATOR. 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 proconsul; and to you, the tribunes,     For this immediate levy, he commands     His absolute commission. Long live Caesar!   TRIBUNE. Is Lucius general of the forces?   SECOND SENATOR. Ay.   TRIBUNE. Remaining now in Gallia?   FIRST SENATOR. 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.   TRIBUNE. We will discharge our duty.                    Exeunt     ACT IV. SCENE I. Wales. Near the cave of BELARIUS  Enter CLOTEN alone    CLOTEN. I am near to th' place where they should meet, if Pisanio     have mapp'd 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 her 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.                                             Exit     SCENE II. Wales. Before the cave of BELARIUS  Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, and IMOGEN    BELARIUS. [To IMOGEN] You are not well. Remain here in the cave;     We'll come to you after hunting.   ARVIRAGUS. [To IMOGEN] Brother, stay here.     Are we not brothers?   IMOGEN. So man and man should be;     But clay and clay differs in dignity,     Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.   GUIDERIUS. Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him.   IMOGEN. 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.   GUIDERIUS. I love thee; I have spoke it.     How much the quantity, the weight as much     As I do love my father.   BELARIUS. What? how? how?   ARVIRAGUS. 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.'   BELARIUS. [Aside] 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' th' morn.   ARVIRAGUS. Brother, farewell.   IMOGEN. I wish ye sport.   ARVIRAGUS. Your health. [To BELARIUS] So please you, sir.   IMOGEN. [Aside] 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!     Th' 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.                  [Swallows some]   GUIDERIUS. I could not stir him.     He said he was gentle, but unfortunate;     Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.   ARVIRAGUS. Thus did he answer me; yet said hereafter     I might know more.   BELARIUS. To th' field, to th' field!     We'll leave you for this time. Go in and rest.   ARVIRAGUS. We'll not be long away.   BELARIUS. Pray be not sick,     For you must be our huswife.   IMOGEN. Well, or ill,     I am bound to you.   BELARIUS. And shalt be ever.         Exit IMOGEN into the cave     This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears he hath had     Good ancestors.   ARVIRAGUS. How angel-like he sings!   GUIDERIUS. But his neat cookery! He cut our roots in characters,     And sauc'd our broths as Juno had been sick,     And he her dieter.   ARVIRAGUS. 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.   GUIDERIUS. I do note     That grief and patience, rooted in him both,     Mingle their spurs together.   ARVIRAGUS. Grow patience!     And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine     His perishing root with the increasing vine!   BELARIUS. It is great morning. Come, away! Who's there?                        Enter CLOTEN    CLOTEN. I cannot find those runagates; that villain     Hath mock'd me. I am faint.   BELARIUS. Those runagates?     Means he not us? I partly know him; 'tis     Cloten, the son o' th' Queen. I fear some ambush.     I saw him not these many years, and yet     I know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws. Hence!   GUIDERIUS. He is but one; you and my brother search     What companies are near. Pray you away;     Let me alone with him.         Exeunt BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS   CLOTEN. Soft! What are you     That fly me thus? Some villain mountaineers?     I have heard of such. What slave art thou?   GUIDERIUS. A thing     More slavish did I ne'er than answering     'A slave' without a knock.   CLOTEN. Thou art a robber,     A law-breaker, a villain. Yield thee, thief.   GUIDERIUS. 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.   CLOTEN. Thou villain base,     Know'st me not by my clothes?   GUIDERIUS. No, nor thy tailor, rascal,     Who is thy grandfather; he made those clothes,     Which, as it seems, make thee.   CLOTEN. Thou precious varlet,     My tailor made them not.   GUIDERIUS. Hence, then, and thank     The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool;     I am loath to beat thee.   CLOTEN. Thou injurious thief,     Hear but my name, and tremble.   GUIDERIUS. What's thy name?   CLOTEN. Cloten, thou villain.   GUIDERIUS. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name,     I cannot tremble at it. Were it toad, or adder, spider,     'Twould move me sooner.   CLOTEN. To thy further fear,     Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know     I am son to th' Queen.   GUIDERIUS. I'm sorry for't; not seeming     So worthy as thy birth.   CLOTEN. Art not afeard?   GUIDERIUS. Those that I reverence, those I fear- the wise:     At fools I laugh, not fear them.   CLOTEN. 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.                  Exeunt, fighting                  Re-enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS    BELARIUS. No company's abroad.   ARVIRAGUS. None in the world; you did mistake him, sure.   BELARIUS. 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.   ARVIRAGUS. In this place we left them.     I wish my brother make good time with him,     You say he is so fell.   BELARIUS. Being scarce made up,     I mean to man, he had not apprehension     Or roaring terrors; for defect of judgment     Is oft the cease of fear.                Re-enter GUIDERIUS with CLOTEN'S head      But, see, thy brother.   GUIDERIUS. 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.   BELARIUS. What hast thou done?   GUIDERIUS. 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.   BELARIUS. We are all undone.   GUIDERIUS. 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?   BELARIUS. No single soul     Can we set eye on, but in an 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.   ARVIRAGUS. Let ordinance     Come as the gods foresay it. Howsoe'er,     My brother hath done well.   BELARIUS. I had no mind     To hunt this day; the boy Fidele's sickness     Did make my way long forth.   GUIDERIUS. 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.                                      Exit   BELARIUS. I fear'twill be reveng'd.     Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't! though valour     Becomes thee well enough.   ARVIRAGUS. 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.   BELARIUS. 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.   ARVIRAGUS. Poor sick Fidele!     I'll willingly to him; to gain his colour     I'd let a parish of such Cloten's blood,     And praise myself for charity.                          Exit   BELARIUS. O thou goddess,     Thou divine Nature, thou 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 th' 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.                      Re-enter GUIDERIUS    GUIDERIUS. 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.                               [Solemn music]   BELARIUS. My ingenious instrument!     Hark, Polydore, it sounds. But what occasion     Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!   GUIDERIUS. Is he at home?   BELARIUS. He went hence even now.   GUIDERIUS. 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?         Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, with IMOGEN as dead, bearing                          her in his arms    BELARIUS. Look, here he comes,     And brings the dire occasion in his arms     Of what we blame him for!   ARVIRAGUS. 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.   GUIDERIUS. O sweetest, fairest lily!     My brother wears thee not the one half so well     As when thou grew'st thyself.   BELARIUS. O melancholy!     Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find     The ooze to show what coast thy sluggish crare     Might'st 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?   ARVIRAGUS. 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.   GUIDERIUS. Where?   ARVIRAGUS. O' th' 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.   GUIDERIUS. 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.   ARVIRAGUS. With fairest flowers,     Whilst 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-sweet'ned 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 flow'rs are none,     To winter-ground thy corse-   GUIDERIUS. 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 th' grave.   ARVIRAGUS. Say, where shall's lay him?   GUIDERIUS. By good Euriphile, our mother.   ARVIRAGUS. Be't so;     And let us, Polydore, though now our voices     Have got the mannish crack, sing him to th' ground,     As once to our mother; use like note and words,     Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.   GUIDERIUS. 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.   ARVIRAGUS. We'll speak it, then.   BELARIUS. Great griefs, I see, med'cine 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.   GUIDERIUS. Pray you fetch him hither.     Thersites' body is as good as Ajax',     When neither are alive.   ARVIRAGUS. If you'll go fetch him,     We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.                                                    Exit BELARIUS   GUIDERIUS. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to th' East;     My father hath a reason for't.   ARVIRAGUS. 'Tis true.   GUIDERIUS. Come on, then, and remove him.   ARVIRAGUS. So. Begin.                        SONG    GUIDERIUS. Fear no more the heat o' th' 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.    ARVIRAGUS. Fear no more the frown o' th' 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.    GUIDERIUS. Fear no more the lightning flash,   ARVIRAGUS.   Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-stone;   GUIDERIUS. Fear not slander, censure rash;   ARVIRAGUS.   Thou hast finish'd joy and moan.   BOTH.      All lovers young, all lovers must              Consign to thee and come to dust.    GUIDERIUS. No exorciser harm thee!   ARVIRAGUS. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!   GUIDERIUS. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!   ARVIRAGUS. Nothing ill come near thee!   BOTH.      Quiet consummation have,              And renowned be thy grave!           Re-enter BELARIUS with the body of CLOTEN    GUIDERIUS. We have done our obsequies. Come, lay him down.   BELARIUS. Here's a few flowers; but 'bout midnight, more.     The herbs that have on them cold dew o' th' night     Are strewings fit'st for graves. Upon their faces.     You were as flow'rs, 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.                                            Exeunt all but IMOGEN   IMOGEN. [Awaking] 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.     But, soft! no bedfellow. O gods and goddesses!                                                [Seeing the body]     These flow'rs 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,     Hath 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     Murd'rous to th' senses? That confirms it home.     This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten. 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!                                     [Falls fainting on the body]             Enter LUCIUS, CAPTAINS, and a SOOTHSAYER    CAPTAIN. 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.   LUCIUS. But what from Rome?   CAPTAIN. 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.   LUCIUS. When expect you them?   CAPTAIN. With the next benefit o' th' wind.   LUCIUS. 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?   SOOTHSAYER. 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 th' Roman host.   LUCIUS. 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.   CAPTAIN. He's alive, my lord.   LUCIUS. 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 wreck? How came't? Who is't? What art thou?   IMOGEN. 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 is 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.   LUCIUS. 'Lack, good youth!     Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining than     Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend.   IMOGEN. Richard du Champ. [Aside] If I do lie, and do     No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope     They'll pardon it.- Say you, sir?   LUCIUS. Thy name?   IMOGEN. Fidele, sir.   LUCIUS. 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.   IMOGEN. 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.   LUCIUS. 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.            Exeunt     SCENE III. Britain. CYMBELINE'S palace  Enter CYMBELINE, LORDS, PISANIO, and attendants    CYMBELINE. Again! and bring me word how 'tis with her.                                                Exit an attendant     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.   PISANIO. 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.   LORD. 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.   CYMBELINE. The time is troublesome.     [To PISANIO] We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy     Does yet depend.   LORD. 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.   CYMBELINE. Now for the counsel of my son and queen!     I am amaz'd with matter.   LORD. 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 pow'rs in motion     That long to move.   CYMBELINE. 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!      Exeunt all but PISANIO   PISANIO. 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     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' th' 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.      Exit     SCENE IV. Wales. Before the cave of BELARIUS  Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS    GUIDERIUS. The noise is round about us.   BELARIUS. Let us from it.   ARVIRAGUS. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it     From action and adventure?   GUIDERIUS. 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.   BELARIUS. 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.   GUIDERIUS. This is, sir, a doubt     In such a time nothing becoming you     Nor satisfying us.   ARVIRAGUS. 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.   BELARIUS. 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.   GUIDERIUS. Than be so,     Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to th' army.     I and my brother are not known; yourself     So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown,     Cannot be questioned.   ARVIRAGUS. By this sun that shines,     I'll thither. What thing is't 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 blest beams, remaining     So long a poor unknown.   GUIDERIUS. 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!   ARVIRAGUS. So say I. Amen.   BELARIUS. 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. [Aside] The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn     Till it fly out and show them princes born.           Exeunt