Cymbeline

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Original text
Act IV, Scene I
Enter Clotten alone.

Clot
I am neere to'th'place where they should meet, if
Pisanio haue mapp'd it truely. How fit his Garments
serue me? Why should his Mistris who was made by
him that made the Taylor, not be fit too? The rather
(sauing reuerence of the Word) for 'tis saide a Womans
fitnesse comes by fits: therein I must play the Workman,
I dare speake it to my selfe, for it is not Vainglorie
for a man, and his Glasse, to confer in his owne Chamber;
I meane, the Lines of my body are as well drawne as his;
no lesse young, more strong, not beneath him in Fortunes,
beyond him in the aduantage of the time,
aboue him in Birth, alike conuersant in generall seruices,
and more remarkeable in single oppositions;
yet this imperseuerant Thing loues him in my despight.
What Mortalitie is? Posthumus, thy head (which now
is growing vppon thy shoulders) shall within this houre
be off, thy Mistris inforced, thy Garments cut to
peeces before thy face: and all this done, spurne
her home to her Father, who may (happily) be a little
angry for my so rough vsage: but my Mother hauing
power of his testinesse, shall turne all into my commendations.
My Horse is tyed vp 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 deceiue me.
Exit.
Original text
Act IV, Scene II
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, Aruiragus, and Imogen from the Caue.

Bel.
You are not well: Remaine heere in the Caue,
Wee'l come to you after Hunting.

Arui.
Brother, stay heere:
Are we not Brothers?

Imo.
So man and man should be,
But Clay and Clay, differs in dignitie,
Whose dust is both alike. I am very sicke,

Gui.
Go you to Hunting, Ile abide with him.

Imo.
So sicke I am not, yet I am not well:
But not so Citizen a wanton, as
To seeme to dye, ere sicke: So please you, leaue me,
Sticke to your Iournall course: the breach of Custome,
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 sicke,
Since I can reason of it: pray you trust me heere,
Ile rob none but my selfe, and let me dye
Stealing so poorely.

Gui.
I loue thee: I haue spoke it,
How much the quantity, the waight as much,
As I do loue my Father.

Bel.
What? How? how?

Arui.
If it be sinne to say so (Sir) I yoake mee
In my good Brothers fault: I know not why
I loue this youth, and I haue heard you say,
Loue's reason's, without reason. The Beere at doore,
And a demand who is't shall dye, I'ld say
My Father, not this youth.

Bel.
Oh noble straine!
O worthinesse of Nature, breed of Greatnesse!
"Cowards father Cowards, & Base things Syre Bace;
"Nature hath Meale, and Bran; Contempt, and Grace.
I'me not their Father, yet who this should bee,
Doth myracle it selfe, lou'd before mee.
'Tis the ninth houre o'th'Morne.

Arui.
Brother, farewell.

Imo.
I wish ye sport.

Arui.
You health.---- So please you Sir.

Imo.
These are kinde Creatures. / Gods, what lyes I haue heard:
Our Courtiers say, all's sauage, but at Court;
Experience, oh thou disproou'st Report.
Th'emperious Seas breeds Monsters; for the Dish,
Poore Tributary Riuers, as sweet Fish:
I am sicke still, heart-sicke; Pisanio,
Ile now taste of thy Drugge.

Gui.
I could not stirre him:
He said he was gentle, but vnfortunate;
Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.

Arui.
Thus did he answer me: yet said heereafter,
I might know more.

Bel.
To'th'Field, to'th'Field:
Wee'l leaue you for this time, go in, and rest.

Arui.
Wee'l not be long away.

Bel.
Pray be not sicke,
For you must be our Huswife.

Imo.
Well, or ill,
I am bound to you.

Bel.
And shal't be euer.
This youth, how ere distrest, appeares he hath had
Good Ancestors.

Arui.
How Angell-like he sings?

Gui.
But his neate Cookerie? Arui. He cut our Rootes in Charracters,
And sawc'st our Brothes, as Iuno had bin sicke,
And he her Dieter.

Arui.
Nobly he yoakes
A smiling, with a sigh; as if the sighe
Was that it was, for not being such a Smile:
The Smile, mocking the Sigh, that it would flye
From so diuine a Temple, to commix
With windes, that Saylors raile at.

Gui.
I do note,
That greefe and patience rooted in them both,
Mingle their spurres together.

Arui.
Grow patient,
And let the stinking-Elder (Greefe) vntwine
His perishing roote, with the encreasing Vine.

Bel.
It is great morning. Come away: Who's there?
Enter Cloten.

Clo.
I cannot finde those Runnagates, that Villaine
Hath mock'd me. I am faint.

Bel.
Those Runnagates?
Meanes he not vs? I partly know him, 'tis
Cloten, the Sonne o'th'Queene. I feare some Ambush:
I saw him not these many yeares, and yet
I know 'tis he: We are held as Out-Lawes: Hence.

Gui.
He is but one: you, and my Brother search
What Companies are neere: pray you away,
Let me alone with him.

Clot.
Soft, what are you
That flye me thus? Some villaine-Mountainers?
I haue heard of such. What Slaue art thou?

Gui.
A thing
More slauish did I ne're, then answering
A Slaue without a knocke.

Clot.
Thou art a Robber,
A Law-breaker, a Villaine: yeeld thee Theefe.

Gui.
To who? to thee? What art thou? Haue not I
An arme as bigge as thine? A heart, as bigge:
Thy words I grant are bigger: for I weare not
My Dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art:
Why I should yeeld to thee?

Clot.
Thou Villaine base,
Know'st me not by my Cloathes?

Gui.
No, nor thy Taylor, Rascall:
Who is thy Grandfather? He made those cloathes,
Which (as it seemes) make thee.

Clo.
Thou precious Varlet,
My Taylor made them not.

Gui.
Hence then, and thanke
The man that gaue them thee. Thou art some Foole,
I am loath to beate thee.

Clot.
Thou iniurious Theefe,
Heare but my name, and tremble.

Gui.
What's thy name?

Clo.
Cloten, thou Villaine.

Gui.
Cloten, thou double Villaine be thy name,
I cannot tremble at it, were it Toad, or Adder, Spider,
'Twould moue me sooner.

Clot.
To thy further feare,
Nay, to thy meere Confusion, thou shalt know
I am Sonne to'th'Queene.

Gui.
I am sorry for't: not seeming
So worthy as thy Birth.

Clot.
Art not afeard?

Gui.
Those that I reuerence, those I feare: the Wise:
At Fooles I laugh: not feare them.

Clot.
Dye the death:
When I haue slaine thee with my proper hand,
Ile follow those that euen now fled hence:
And on the Gates of Luds-Towne set your heads:
Yeeld Rusticke Mountaineer.
Fight and Exeunt.
Enter Belarius and Aruiragus.

Bel.
No Companie's abroad?

Arui.
None in the world: you did mistake him sure.

Bel.
I cannot tell: Long is it since I saw him,
But Time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of Fauour
Which then he wore: the snatches in his voice,
And burst of speaking were as his: I am absolute
'Twas very Cloten.

Arui.
In this place we left them;
I wish my Brother make good time with him,
You say he is so fell.

Bel.
Being scarse made vp,
I meane to man; he had not apprehension
Of roaring terrors: For defect of iudgement
Is oft the cause of Feare. / But see thy Brother.
Enter Guiderius.

Gui.
This Cloten was a Foole, an empty purse,
There was no money in't: Not Hercules
Could haue knock'd out his Braines, for he had none:
Yet I not doing this, the Foole had borne
My head, as I do his.

Bel.
What hast thou done?

Gui.
I am perfect what: cut off one Clotens head,
Sonne to the Queene (after his owne report)
Who call'd me Traitor, Mountaineer, and swore
With his owne single hand heel'd take vs in,
Displace our heads, where (thanks the Gods) they grow
And set them on Luds-Towne.

Bel.
We are all vndone.

Gui.
Why, worthy Father, what haue we to loose,
But that he swore to take our Liues? the Law
Protects not vs, then why should we be tender,
To let an arrogant peece of flesh threat vs?
Play Iudge, and Executioner, all himselfe?
For we do feare the Law. What company
Discouer you abroad?

Bel.
No single soule
Can we set eye on: but in all safe reason
He must haue some Attendants. Though his Honor
Was nothing but mutation, I, and that
From one bad thing to worse: Not Frenzie, / Not
absolute madnesse could so farre haue rau'd
To bring him heere alone: although perhaps
It may be heard at Court, that such as wee
Caue heere, hunt heere, are Out-lawes, and in time
May make some stronger head, the which he hearing,
(As it is like him) might breake out, and sweare
Heel'd fetch vs in, yet is't not probable
To come alone, either he so vndertaking,
Or they so suffering: then on good ground we feare,
If we do feare this Body hath a taile
More perillous then the head.

Arui.
Let Ord'nance
Come as the Gods fore-say it: howsoere,
My Brother hath done well.

Bel.
I had no minde
To hunt this day: The Boy Fideles sickenesse
Did make my way long forth.

Gui.
With his owne Sword,
Which he did waue against my throat, I haue tane
His head from him: Ile throw't into the Creeke
Behinde our Rocke, and let it to the Sea,
And tell the Fishes, hee's the Queenes Sonne, Cloten,
That's all I reake.
Exit.

Bel.
I feare 'twill be reueng'd:
Would (Polidore) thou had'st not done't: though valour
Becomes thee well enough.

Arui.
Would I had done't:
So the Reuenge alone pursu'de me: Polidore
I loue thee brotherly, but enuy much
Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would Reuenges
That possible strength might meet, wold seek vs through
And put vs to our answer.

Bel.
Well, 'tis done:
Wee'l hunt no more to day, nor seeke for danger
Where there's no profit. I prythee to our Rocke,
You and Fidele play the Cookes: Ile stay
Till hasty Polidore returne, and bring him
To dinner presently.

Arui.
Poore sicke Fidele.
Ile willingly to him, to gaine his colour,
Il'd let a parish of such Clotens blood,
And praise my selfe for charity.
Exit.

Bel.
Oh thou Goddesse,
Thou diuine Nature; thou thy selfe thou blazon'st
In these two Princely Boyes: they are as gentle
As Zephires blowing below the Violet,
Not wagging his sweet head; and yet, as rough
(Their Royall blood enchaf'd) as the rud'st winde,
That by the top doth take the Mountaine Pine,
And make him stoope to th'Vale. 'Tis wonder
That an inuisible instinct should frame them
To Royalty vnlearn'd, Honor vntaught,
Ciuility not seene from other: valour
That wildely growes in them, but yeelds a crop
As if it had beene sow'd: yet still it's strange
What Clotens being heere to vs portends,
Or what his death will bring vs.
Enter Guidereus.

Gui.
Where's my Brother?
I haue sent Clotens Clot-pole downe the streame,
In Embassie to his Mother; his Bodie's hostage
For his returne.
Solemn Musick.

Bel.
My ingenuous Instrument,
(Hearke Polidore) it sounds: but what occasion
Hath Cadwal now to giue it motion? Hearke.

Gui.
Is he at home?

Bel.
He went hence euen now.

Gui.
What does he meane? Since death of my deer'st Mother
It did not speake before. All solemne things
Should answer solemne Accidents. The matter?
Triumphes for nothing, and lamenting Toyes,
Is iollity for Apes, and greefe for Boyes.
Is Cadwall mad?
Enter Aruiragus, with Imogen dead, bearing her
in his Armes.

Bel.
Looke, heere he comes,
And brings the dire occasion in his Armes,
Of what we blame him for.

Arui.
The Bird is dead
That we haue made so much on. I had rather
Haue skipt from sixteene yeares of Age, to sixty:
To haue turn'd my leaping time into a Crutch,
Then haue seene this.

Gui.
Oh sweetest, fayrest Lilly:
My Brother weares thee not the one halfe so well,
As when thou grew'st thy selfe.

Bel.
Oh Melancholly,
Who euer yet could sound thy bottome? Finde
The Ooze, to shew what Coast thy sluggish care
Might'st easilest harbour in. Thou blessed thing,
Ioue knowes what man thou might'st haue made: but I,
Thou dyed'st a most rare Boy, of Melancholly.
How found you him?

Arui.
Starke, as you see:
Thus smiling, as some Fly had tickled slumber,
Not as deaths dart being laugh'd at: his right Cheeke
Reposing on a Cushion.

Gui.
Where?

Arui.
O'th'floore:
His armes thus leagu'd, I thought he slept, and put
My clowted Brogues from off my feete, whose rudenesse
Answer'd my steps too lowd.

Gui.
Why, he but sleepes:
If he be gone, hee'l make his Graue, a Bed:
With female Fayries will his Tombe be haunted,
And Wormes will not come to thee.

Arui.
With fayrest Flowers
Whil'st Sommer lasts, and I liue heere, Fidele,
Ile sweeten thy sad graue: thou shalt not lacke
The Flower that's like thy face. Pale-Primrose, nor
The azur'd Hare-Bell, like thy Veines: no, nor
The leafe of Eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweetned not thy breath: the Raddocke would
With Charitable bill (Oh bill sore shaming
Those rich-left-heyres, that let their Fathers lye
Without a Monument) bring thee all this,
Yea, and furr'd Mosse besides. When Flowres are none
To winter-ground thy Coarse----

Gui.
Prythee haue done,
And do not play in Wench-like words with that
Which is so serious. Let vs bury him,
And not protract with admiration, what
Is now due debt. To'th'graue.

Arui.
Say, where shall's lay him?

Gui.
By good Euriphile, our Mother.

Arui.
Bee't so:
And let vs (Polidore) though now our voyces
Haue got the mannish cracke, sing him to'th'ground
As once to our Mother: vse like note, and words,
Saue that Euriphile, must be Fidele.

Gui.
Cadwall,
I cannot sing: Ile weepe, and word it with thee;
For Notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse
Then Priests, and Phanes that lye.

Arui.
Wee'l speake it then.

Bel.
Great greefes I see med'cine the lesse: For Cloten
Is quite forgot. He was a Queenes Sonne, Boyes,
And though he came our Enemy, remember
He was paid for that: though meane, and mighty rotting
Together haue one dust, yet Reuerence
(That Angell of the world) doth make distinction
Of place 'tweene high, and low. Our Foe was Princely,
And though you tooke his life, as being our Foe,
Yet bury him, as a Prince.

Gui.
Pray you fetch him hither,
Thersites body is as good as Aiax,
When neyther are aliue.

Arui.
If you'l go fetch him,
Wee'l say our Song the whil'st: Brother begin.

Gui.
Nay Cadwall, we must lay his head to th'East,
My Father hath a reason for't.

Arui.
'Tis true.

Gui.
Come on then, and remoue him.

Arui.
So, begin.

Guid.
SONG.
Feare no more the heate o'th'Sun,
Nor the furious Winters rages,
Thou thy worldly task hast don,
Home art gon, and tane thy wages.
Golden Lads, and Girles all must,
As Chimney-Sweepers come to dust.

Arui.
Feare no more the frowne o'th'Great,
Thou art past the Tirants stroake,
Care no more to cloath and eate,
To thee the Reede is as the Oake:
The Scepter, Learning, Physicke must,
All follow this and come to dust.

Guid.
Feare no more the Lightning flash.

Arui.
Nor th'all-dreaded Thunderstone.

Gui.
Feare not Slander, Censure rash.

Arui.
Thou hast finish'd Ioy and mone.

Both.
All Louers young, all Louers must,
Consigne to thee and come to dust.

Guid.
No Exorcisor harme thee,

Arui.
Nor no witch-craft charme thee.

Guid.
Ghost vnlaid forbeare thee.

Arui.
Nothing ill come neere thee.

Both.
Quiet consumation haue,
And renowned be thy graue.
Enter Belarius with the body of Cloten.

Gui.
We haue done our obsequies: / Come lay him downe.

Bel.
Heere's a few Flowres, but 'bout midnight more:
The hearbes that haue on them cold dew o'th'night
Are strewings fit'st for Graues: vpon their Faces.
You were as Flowres, now wither'd: euen so
These Herbelets shall, which we vpon you strew.
Come on, away, apart vpon our knees:
The ground that gaue them first, ha's them againe:
Their pleasures here are past, so are their paine.
Exeunt.

Imogen
awakes.
Yes Sir, to Milford-Hauen, which is the way?
I thanke you: by yond bush? pray how farre thether?
'Ods pittikins: can it be sixe mile yet?
I haue gone all night: 'Faith, Ile lye downe, and sleepe.
But soft; no Bedfellow? Oh Gods, and Goddesses!
These Flowres are like the pleasures of the World;
This bloody man the care on't. I hope I dreame:
For so I thought I was a Caue-keeper,
And Cooke to honest Creatures. But 'tis not so:
'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
Which the Braine makes of Fumes. Our very eyes,
Are sometimes like our Iudgements, blinde. Good faith
I tremble still with feare: but if there be
Yet left in Heauen, as small a drop of pittie
As a Wrens eye; fear'd Gods, a part of it.
The Dreame's heere still: euen when I wake it is
Without me, as within me: not imagin'd, felt.
A headlesse man? The Garments of Posthumus?
I know the shape of's Legge: this is his Hand:
His Foote Mercuriall: his martiall Thigh
The brawnes of Hercules: but his Iouiall face---
Murther in heauen? How? 'tis gone. Pisanio,
All Curses madded Hecuba gaue the Greekes,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee: thou
Conspir'd with that Irregulous diuell Cloten,
Hath heere 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 brauest vessell of the world
Strooke the maine top! Oh Posthumus, alas,
Where is thy head? where's that? Aye me! where's that?
Pisanio might haue 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
Haue laid this Woe heere. Oh 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
The Drugge he gaue me, which hee said was precious
And Cordiall to me, haue I not found it
Murd'rous to'th'Senses? That confirmes it home:
This is Pisanio's deede, and Cloten: Oh!
Giue colour to my pale cheeke with thy blood,
That we the horrider may seeme to those
Which chance to finde vs. Oh, my Lord! my Lord!
Enter Lucius, Captaines, and a Soothsayer.

Cap.
To them, the Legions garrison'd in Gallia
After your will, haue crost the Sea, attending
You heere at Milford-Hauen, with your Shippes:
They are heere in readinesse.

Luc.
But what from Rome?

Cap,
The Senate hath stirr'd vp the Confiners,
And Gentlemen of Italy, most willing Spirits,
That promise Noble Seruice: and they come
Vnder the Conduct of bold Iachimo,
Syenna's Brother.

Luc.
When expect you them?

Cap.
With the next benefit o'th'winde.

Luc.
This forwardnesse
Makes our hopes faire. Command our present numbers
Be muster'd: bid the Captaines looke too't. Now Sir,
What haue you dream'd of late of this warres purpose.

Sooth.
Last night, the very Gods shew'd me a vision
(I fast, and pray'd for their Intelligence) thus:
I saw Ioues Bird, the Roman Eagle wing'd
From the spungy South, to this part of the West,
There vanish'd in the Sun-beames, which portends
(Vnlesse my sinnes abuse my Diuination)
Successe to th'Roman hoast.

Luc.
Dreame often so,
And neuer false. Soft hoa, what truncke is heere?
Without his top? The ruine speakes, that sometime
It was a worthy building. How? a Page?
Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather:
For Nature doth abhorre to make his bed
With the defunct, or sleepe vpon the dead.
Let's see the Boyes face.

Cap.
Hee's aliue my Lord.

Luc.
Hee'l then instruct vs of this body: Young one,
Informe vs of thy Fortunes, for it seemes
They craue to be demanded: who is this
Thou mak'st thy bloody Pillow? Or who was he
That (otherwise then noble Nature did)
Hath alter'd that good Picture? What's thy interest
In this sad wracke? How came't? Who is't?
What art thou?

Imo.
I am nothing; or if not,
Nothing to be were better: This was my Master,
A very valiant Britaine, and a good,
That heere by Mountaineers lyes slaine: Alas,
There is no more such Masters: I may wander
From East to Occident, cry out for Seruice,
Try many, all good: serue truly: neuer
Finde such another Master.

Luc.
'Lacke, good youth:
Thou mou'st no lesse with thy complaining, then
Thy Maister in bleeding: say his name, good Friend.

Imo.
Richard du Champ: If I do lye, and do
No harme by it, though the Gods heare, I hope
They'l pardon it. Say you Sir?

Luc.
Thy name?

Imo.
Fidele Sir.

Luc.
Thou doo'st approue thy selfe 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 lesse belou'd. The Romane Emperors Letters
Sent by a Consull to me, should not sooner
Then thine owne worth preferre thee: Go with me.

Imo.
Ile follow Sir. But first, and't please the Gods,
Ile hide my Master from the Flies, as deepe
As these poore Pickaxes can digge: and when
With wild wood-leaues & weeds, I ha' strew'd his graue
And on it said a Century of prayers
(Such as I can) twice o're, Ile weepe, and sighe,
And leauing so his seruice, follow you,
So please you entertaine mee.

Luc.
I good youth,
And rather Father thee, then Master thee:
My Friends,
The Boy hath taught vs manly duties: Let vs
Finde out the prettiest Dazied-Plot we can,
And make him with our Pikes and Partizans
A Graue: Come, Arme him: Boy hee's preferr'd
By thee, to vs, and he shall be interr'd
As Souldiers can. Be cheerefull; wipe thine eyes,
Some Falles are meanes the happier to arise.
Exeunt
Original text
Act IV, Scene III
Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pisanio.

Cym.
Againe: and bring me word how 'tis with her,
A Feauour with the absence of her Sonne;
A madnesse, of which her life's in danger: Heauens,
How deeply you at once do touch me. Imogen,
The great part of my comfort, gone: My Queene
Vpon a desperate bed, and in a time
When fearefull Warres point at me: Her Sonne gone,
So needfull for this present? It strikes me, past
The hope of comfort. But for thee, Fellow,
Who needs must know of her departure, and
Dost seeme so ignorant, wee'l enforce it from thee
By a sharpe Torture.

Pis.
Sir, my life is yours,
I humbly set it at your will: But for my Mistris,
I nothing know where she remaines: why gone,
Nor when she purposes returne. Beseech your Highnes,
Hold me your loyall Seruant.

Lord.
Good my Liege,
The day that she was missing, he was heere;
I dare be bound hee's true, and shall performe
All parts of his subiection loyally. For Cloten,
There wants no diligence in seeking him,
And will no doubt be found.

Cym.
The time is troublesome:
Wee'l slip you for a season, but our iealousie
Do's yet depend.

Lord.
So please your Maiesty,
The Romaine Legions, all from Gallia drawne,
Are landed on your Coast, with a supply
Of Romaine Gentlemen, by the Senate sent.

Cym.
Now for the Counsaile of my Son and Queen,
I am amaz'd with matter.

Lord.
Good my Liege,
Your preparation can affront no lesse
Then what you heare of. Come more, for more you're ready:
The want is, but to put those Powres in motion,
That long to moue.

Cym.
I thanke you: let's withdraw
And meete the Time, as it seekes vs. We feare not
What can from Italy annoy vs, but
We greeue at chances heere. Away.
Exeunt

Pisa.
I heard no Letter from my Master, since
I wrote him Imogen was slaine. 'Tis strange:
Nor heare I from my Mistris, who did promise
To yeeld me often tydings. Neither know I
What is betide to Cloten, but remaine
Perplext in all. The Heauens still must worke:
Wherein I am false, I am honest: not true, to be true.
These present warres shall finde I loue my Country,
Euen to the note o'th'King, or Ile fall in them:
All other doubts, by time let them be cleer'd,
Fortune brings in some Boats, that are not steer'd.
Exit.
Original text
Act IV, Scene IV
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, & Aruiragus.

Gui.
The noyse is round about vs.

Bel.
Let vs from it.

Arui.
What pleasure Sir, we finde in life, to locke it
From Action, and Aduenture.

Gui.
Nay, what hope
Haue we in hiding vs? This way the Romaines
Must, or for Britaines slay vs or receiue vs
For barbarous and vnnaturall Reuolts
During their vse, and slay vs after.

Bel.
Sonnes,
Wee'l higher to the Mountaines, there secure v..
To the Kings party there's no going: newnesse
Of Clotens death (we being not knowne, not muster'd
Among the Bands) may driue vs to a render
Where we haue liu'd; and so extort from's that
Which we haue done, whose answer would be death
Drawne on with Torture.

Gui.
This is (Sir) a doubt
In such a time, nothing becomming you,
Nor satisfying vs.

Arui.
It is not likely,
That when they heare their Roman horses neigh,
Behold their quarter'd Fires; haue both their eyes
And eares so cloyd importantly as now,
That they will waste their time vpon our note,
To know from whence we are.

Bel.
Oh, I am knowne
Of many in the Army: Many yeeres
(Though Cloten then but young) you see, not wore him
From my remembrance. And besides, the King
Hath not deseru'd my Seruice, nor your Loues,
Who finde in my Exile, the want of Breeding;
The certainty of this heard life, aye hopelesse
To haue the courtesie your Cradle promis'd,
But to be still hot Summers Tanlings, and
The shrinking Slaues of Winter.

Gui.
Then be so,
Better to cease to be. Pray Sir, to'th'Army:
I, and my Brother are not knowne; your selfe
So out of thought, and thereto so ore-growne,
Cannot be question'd.

Arui.
By this Sunne that shines
Ile thither: What thing is't, that I neuer
Did see man dye, scarse euer look'd on blood,
But that of Coward Hares, hot Goats, and Venison?
Neuer bestrid a Horse saue one, that had
A Rider like my selfe, who ne're wore Rowell,
Nor Iron on his heele? I am asham'd
To looke vpon the holy Sunne, to haue
The benefit of his blest Beames, remaining
So long a poore vnknowne.

Gui.
By heauens Ile go,
If you will blesse me Sir, and giue me leaue,
Ile take the better care: but if you will not,
The hazard therefore due fall on me, by
The hands of Romaines.

Arui.
So say I, Amen.

Bel.
No reason I (since of your liues you set
So slight a valewation) should reserue
My crack'd one to more care. Haue with you Boyes:
If in your Country warres you chance to dye,
That is my Bed too (Lads) and there Ile lye.
Lead, lead; the time seems long, their blood thinks scorn
Till it flye out, and shew them Princes borne.
Exeunt.
Modern text
Act IV, Scene I
Enter Cloten alone

CLOTEN
I am near to th' 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 vainglory
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 imperseverant 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.
Exit
Modern text
Act IV, Scene II
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, and Innogen from the cave

BELARIUS
(to Innogen)
You are not well: remain here in the cave,
We'll come to you after hunting.

ARVIRAGUS
(to Innogen)
Brother, stay here:
Are we not brothers?

INNOGEN
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.

INNOGEN
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'ld 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, loved before me. –
'Tis the ninth hour o'th' morn.

ARVIRAGUS
Brother, farewell.

INNOGEN
I wish ye sport.

ARVIRAGUS
You health. – So please you, sir.

INNOGEN
(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' emperious seas breed monsters; for the dish
Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish:
I am sick still, heartsick; Pisanio,
I'll now taste of thy drug.

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 housewife.

INNOGEN
Well, or ill,
I am bound to you.

BELARIUS
And shalt be ever.
Exit Innogen, to the cave
This youth, howe'er distressed, appears he hath had
Good ancestors.

ARVIRAGUS
How angel-like he sings!

GUIDERIUS
But his neat cookery! He cut our roots in characters,
And sauced 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 mocked 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 am 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
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 blurred 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
Of roaring terrors: for the defect of judgement
Is oft the cause of fear. But, see, thy brother.
Enter Guiderius, with Cloten's head

GUIDERIUS
This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse,
There was no money in't: not Hercules
Could have knocked 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 called me traitor, mountaineer, and swore,
With his own single hand he'ld 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 all safe reason
He must have some attendants. Though his honour
Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that
From one bad thing to worse, not frenzy, not
Absolute madness could so far have raved,
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'ld 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 revenged:
Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't: though valour
Becomes thee well enough.

ARVIRAGUS
Would I had done't:
So the revenge alone pursued me! Polydore,
I love thee brotherly, but envy much
Thou hast robbed 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 today, 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 Clotens 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 enchafed – 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 sowed. Yet still it's strange
What Cloten's being here to us portends,
Or what his death will bring us.
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?
Enter Arviragus with Innogen, 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 skipped from sixteen years of age to sixty:
To have turned 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 care
Might'st easil'est 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 laughed at: his right cheek
Reposing on a cushion.

GUIDERIUS
Where?

ARVIRAGUS
O'th' floor;
His arms thus leagued, I thought he slept, and put
My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
Answered 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 azured harebell, like thy veins: no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweetened 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 furred moss besides. When flowers 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, 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.

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 the east,
My father hath a reason for't.

ARVIRAGUS
'Tis true.

GUIDERIUS
Come on then, and remove him.

ARVIRAGUS
So, begin.

GUIDERIUS
SONG
Fear no more the heat o'th' sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages,
Thou thy worldly task has 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 finished 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!
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 fitt'st for graves: upon their faces.
You were as flowers, now withered: 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 Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus

INNOGEN
(awakes)
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 of Cloten
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 judgements, 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, feared gods, a part of it!
The dream's here still: even when I wake it is
Without me, as within me: not imagined, 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,
Conspired with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
Hast here cut off my lord. To write, and read
Be henceforth treacherous! Damned Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters – damned 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 killed 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 on the body)
Enter Lucius, Captains, and a Soothsayer

CAPTAIN
To them, the legions garrisoned in Gallia,
After your will have crossed the sea, attending
You here at Milford-Haven, with your ships:
They are in readiness.

LUCIUS
But what from Rome?

CAPTAIN
The senate hath stirred up the confiners
And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits,
That promise noble service: and they come
Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
Siena'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 mustered; bid the captains look to't. Now sir,
What have you dreamed of late of this war's purpose?

SOOTHSAYER
Last night the very gods showed me a vision –
I fast, and prayed for their intelligence – thus:
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, winged
From the spongy south to this part of the west,
There vanished 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 altered that good picture? What's thy interest
In this sad wreck? How came't? Who is't?
What art thou?

INNOGEN
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.

INNOGEN
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?

INNOGEN
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 mastered, but be sure
No less beloved. The Roman emperor's letters
Sent by a consul to me should not sooner
Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with me.

INNOGEN
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' strewed 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 preferred
By thee to us, and he shall be interred
As soldiers can. Be cheerful, wipe thine eyes:
Some falls are means the happier to arise.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act IV, Scene III
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! Innogen,
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.

FIRST 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.

FIRST 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 amazed with matter.

FIRST 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 powers 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 Cymbeline, Lords and Attendants

PISANIO
I heard no letter from my master since
I wrote him Innogen 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
Perplexed 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 cleared,
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered.
Exit
Modern text
Act IV, Scene IV
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus

GUIDERIUS
The noise is round about us.

BELARIUS
Let us from it.

ARVIRAGUS
What pleasure, sir, we find 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 mustered
Among the bands – may drive us to a render
Where we have lived, 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 quartered fires; have both their eyes
And ears so cloyed 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 deserved 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 promised,
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 looked 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 ashamed
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 cracked 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. The time seems long, their blood thinks scorn
Till it fly out and show them princes born.
Exeunt
SHAKESPEARE'S WORDS © 2020 DAVID CRYSTAL & BEN CRYSTAL