You married ones,

If each of you should take this course3, how many

Must murder wives much better than themselves

For wrying5 but a little? O Pisanio,

Every good servant does not6 all commands:

No bond but7 to do just ones. Gods, if you

Should have8 ta’en vengeance on my faults, I never

Had lived to put on this9: so had you saved

The noble Innogen to repent10, and struck

Me, wretch, more worth11 your vengeance. But alack,

You snatch some hence for little faults; that’s love,

To have them fall13 no more: you some permit

To second ills with ills, each elder14 worse,

And make them dread it, to the doer’s thrift.15

But Innogen is your own: do your best wills,

And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither

Among th’Italian gentry, and to fight

Against my lady’s kingdom: ’tis enough

That, Britain, I have killed thy mistress: peace,

I’ll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,

Hear patiently my purpose: I’ll disrobe me

Of these Italian weeds and suit23 myself

As does a Briton peasant: so I’ll fight

Against the part25 I come with: so I’ll die

For thee, O Innogen, even for whom my life

Is every breath a death: and thus, unknown,

Pitied28 nor hated, to the face of peril

Myself I’ll dedicate. Let me make men know

More valour in me than my habits30 show.

Gods, put the strength o’th’Leonati in me!

To shame the guise32 o’th’world, I will begin

The fashion, less without and more within.33

Exit

Act 5 Scene 2

running scene 18

Enter Lucius, Iachimo and the Roman army at one door: and the Briton army at another: Leonatus Posthumus following like a poor soldier. They march over and go out. Then enter again, in skirmish, Iachimo and Posthumus: he vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo, and then leaves him

IACHIMO    The heaviness and guilt within my bosom1

Takes off my manhood: I have belied2 a lady,

The princess of this country, and the air on’t3

Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl4,

A very drudge of nature’s5, have subdued me

In my profession?6 Knighthoods and honours, borne

As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.7

If that thy gentry, Britain, go before8

This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds9

Is that we scarce are men and you are gods.

Exit

The battle continues, the Britons fly, Cymbeline is taken: then enter, to his rescue, Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus

BELARIUS    Stand, stand, we have th’advantage of the ground.

The lane is guarded: nothing routs12 us but

The villainy of our fears.

GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS    Stand, stand and fight.

Enter Posthumus and seconds the Britons. They rescue Cymbeline, and exeunt. Then enter Lucius, Iachimo and Innogen

LUCIUS    Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself:

For friends kill friends, and the disorder’s such

As war were hoodwinked.17

IACHIMO    ’Tis their fresh supplies.

LUCIUS    It is a day turned strangely: or betimes19

Let’s reinforce, or fly.

Exeunt

Act 5 Scene 3

running scene 18 continues

Enter Posthumus and a Briton Lord

LORD    Cam’st thou from where they made the stand?

POSTHUMUS    I did.

Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.3

LORD    I did.

POSTHUMUS    No blame be to you, sir, for all was lost,

But6 that the heavens fought: the king himself

Of his wings7 destitute, the army broken,

And but8 the backs of Britons seen, all flying

Through a strait lane: the enemy full-hearted9,

Lolling the tongue10 with slaught’ring, having work

More plentiful than tools to do’t, struck down

Some mortally, some slightly touched12, some falling

Merely through fear, that the strait pass was dammed13

With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living

To die with lengthened15 shame.

LORD    Where was this lane?

POSTHUMUS    Close by the battle, ditched and walled with turf,

Which gave advantage to an ancient18 soldier,

An honest one, I warrant, who deserved19

So long a breeding as his white beard came to

In doing this for’s country. Athwart the lane,

He, with two striplings — lads more like to run22

The country base than to commit such slaughter,

With faces fit for masks24, or rather fairer

Than those for preservation cased, or shame —

Made good26 the passage, cried to those that fled,

‘Our Britain’s harts27 die flying, not our men:

To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards.28 Stand,

Or we are Romans, and will give you that29

Like beasts which you shun beastly30, and may save

But to look back in frown31: stand, stand.’ These three,

Three thousand confident, in act as many32 —

For three performers are the file33 when all

The rest do nothing — with this word ‘Stand, stand’,

Accommodated by the place, more charming35

With their own nobleness, which could have turned

A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks37;

Part38 shame, part spirit renewed, that some, turned coward

But by example39 — O, a sin in war,

Damned in the first beginners! — ’gan to look40

The way that they did, and to grin like lions41

Upon the pikes o’th’hunters. Then began

A stop i’th’chaser; a retire: anon43

A rout, confusion thick: forthwith they fly

Chickens the way which they stooped eagles: slaves45,

The strides they victors made: and now our cowards,

Like fragments in hard voyages, became47

The life o’th’need: having found the back door open48

Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!

Some slain before, some dying, some their friends50

O’erborne i’th’former wave, ten chased by one,

Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:

Those that would die or ere resist are grown53

The mortal bugs o’th’field.54

LORD    This was strange chance:

A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.

POSTHUMUS    Nay, do not wonder at it57: you are made

Rather to wonder at the things you hear

Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon’t59,

And vent it for a mock’ry?60 Here is one:

‘Two boys, an old man — twice a boy61 — a lane,

Preserved the Britons, was the Romans’ bane.62’

LORD    Nay, be not angry, sir.

POSTHUMUS    ’Lack, to what end?64

Who dares not stand65 his foe, I’ll be his friend:

For if he’ll do as he is made66 to do,

I know he’ll quickly fly my friendship67 too.

You have put me into rhyme.

LORD    Farewell, you’re angry.

Exit

POSTHUMUS    Still going? This is a lord! O noble misery70,

To be i’th’field and ask ‘What news?’ of me.

Today how many would have given their honours72

To have saved their carcasses? Took heel to do’t73,

And yet died too. I, in mine own woe charmed74,

Could not find death where I did hear him groan,

Nor feel him where he struck. Being an ugly monster,

’Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,

Sweet words, or hath more ministers78 than we

That draw his knives i’th’war. Well, I will find him:

For being now a favourer to the Briton80,

No more a Briton, I have resumed again

The part82 I came in. Fight I will no more,

But yield me to the veriest hind83 that shall

Once touch my shoulder.84 Great the slaughter is

Here made by th’Roman; great the answer be85

Britons must take. For me, my ransom’s death,

On either side I come to spend87 my breath,

Which neither here I’ll keep nor bear again88,

But end it by some means for Innogen.

Enter two Captains and Soldiers

FIRST CAPTAIN    Great Jupiter be praised, Lucius is taken.

’Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.

SECOND CAPTAIN    There was a fourth man, in a silly habit92,

That gave th’affront93 with them.

FIRST CAPTAIN    So ’tis reported:

But none of ’em can be found. Stand, who’s there?

POSTHUMUS    A Roman,

Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds97

Had answered him.98

SECOND CAPTAIN    Lay hands on him: a dog,

A leg of Rome shall not return100 to tell

What crows have pecked them here: he brags his service

As if he were of note102: bring him to th’king.

Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio and Roman Captives [with Jailers]. The Captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers him over to a Jailer

[Exeunt all but Posthumus and two Jailers]

FIRST JAILER    You shall not now be stol’n, you have locks upon you103;

So graze as you find pasture.

SECOND JAILER    Ay, or a stomach.105

[Exeunt Jailers]

POSTHUMUS    Most welcome bondage, for thou art a way,

I think, to liberty: yet am I better

Than one that’s sick o’th’gout, since he had rather

Groan so in perpetuity109 than be cured

By th’sure physician, death, who is the key

T’unbar111 these locks. My conscience, thou art fettered

More than my shanks112 and wrists: you good gods give me

The penitent instrument to pick that bolt113,

Then free for ever.114 Is’t enough I am sorry?

So children temporal115 fathers do appease;

Gods are more full of mercy. Must I116 repent,

I cannot do it better than in gyves117,

Desired more than constrained: to satisfy118,

If of my freedom ’tis the main part119, take

No stricter render120 of me than my all.

I know you are more clement than vile men121,

Who of their broken debtors122 take a third,

A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again

On their abatement124: that’s not my desire.

For Innogen’s dear life take mine, and though

’Tis not so dear, yet ’tis a life; you coined126 it.

’Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp127:

Though light, take pieces for the figure’s sake.128

You rather mine, being yours129: and so, great powers,

If you will take this audit130, take this life,

And cancel these cold bonds.131 O Innogen,

I’ll speak to thee in silence.

Sleeps

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

SICILIUS    No more, thou thunder-master133, show

Thy spite on mortal flies134:

With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,

That136 thy adulteries

Rates137 and revenges.

Hath my poor boy done aught138 but well,

Whose face I never saw?

I died whilst in the womb he stayed

Attending nature’s law141,

Whose father then — as men report

Thou orphans’ father art —

Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him

From this earth-vexing smart.145

MOTHER    Lucina146 lent not me her aid,

But took me in my throes147,

That from me was Posthumus ripped148,

Came crying ’mongst his foes,

A thing of pity.

SICILIUS    Great nature, like his ancestry,

Moulded the stuff152 so fair,

That he deserved the praise o’th’world,

As great Sicilius’ heir.

FIRST BROTHER    When once he was mature for man155,

In Britain where was he

That could stand up his parallel,

Or fruitful158 object be

In eye of Innogen, that best

Could deem his dignity?160

MOTHER    With marriage wherefore161 was he mocked,

To be exiled, and thrown

From Leonati seat163, and cast

From her his dearest one,

Sweet Innogen?

SICILIUS    Why did you suffer166 Iachimo,

Slight167 thing of Italy,

To taint168 his nobler heart and brain

With needless jealousy,

And to become the geck170 and scorn

O’th’other’s villainy?

SECOND BROTHER    For this from stiller seats172 we came,

Our parents and us twain,

That striking in our country’s cause

Fell bravely and were slain,

Our fealty and Tenantius’ right176

With honour to maintain.

FIRST BROTHER    Like hardiment178 Posthumus hath

To Cymbeline performed:

Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,

Why hast thou thus adjourned181

The graces182 for his merits due,

Being all to dolours183 turned?

SICILIUS    Thy crystal window ope184, look out,

No longer exercise

Upon a valiant race186 thy harsh

And potent injuries.

MOTHER    Since, Jupiter, our son is good,

Take off his miseries.

SICILIUS    Peep through thy marble mansion190, help,

Or we poor ghosts will cry

To th’shining synod of the rest192

Against thy deity.

BROTHERS    Help, Jupiter, or we appeal194,

And from thy justice fly.

Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees

JUPITER    No more you petty spirits of region low196

Offend our hearing: hush! How dare you ghosts

Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know,

Sky-planted199, batters all rebelling coasts?

Poor shadows of Elysium200, hence, and rest

Upon your never-withering banks of flowers.

Be not with mortal accidents202 oppressed,

No care of yours it is, you know ’tis ours.

Whom best I love, I cross, to make my gift

The more delayed, delighted.205 Be content,

Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:

His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.207

Our jovial star208 reigned at his birth, and in

Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade.

He shall be lord of Lady Innogen,

And happier much by his affliction made.

This tablet212 lay upon his breast, wherein

Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine.213

And so away: no further with your din

Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.

Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.

Ascends

SICILIUS    He came in thunder, his celestial breath

Was sulphurous218 to smell: the holy eagle

Stooped as to foot us219: his ascension is

More sweet220 than our blest fields: his royal bird

Prunes the immortal wing and claws his beak221

As when222 his god is pleased.

ALL    Thanks, Jupiter.

SICILIUS    The marble pavement224 closes, he is entered

His radiant roof. Away, and to be blest,

Let us with care perform his great behest.226

[The Ghosts] vanish

Wakes

POSTHUMUS    Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot

A father to me: and thou hast created

A mother and two brothers. But, O scorn229,

Gone! They went hence so230 soon as they were born:

And so I am awake. Poor wretches that depend

On greatness’ favour232 dream as I have done,

Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve233:

Many dream not to find, neither deserve234,

And yet are steeped in favours; so am I,

That have this golden chance and know not why.

What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare237 one,

Be not, as is our fangled238 world, a garment

Nobler than that it covers. Let thy effects239

So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers,

As good as promise.241

Reads

‘Whenas a lion’s whelp242 shall, to himself unknown, without

seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air243: and

when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which

being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed245 to the

old stock246, and freshly grow, then shall Posthumus end his

miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and

plenty.’

’Tis still a dream, or else such stuff249 as madmen

Tongue, and brain not: either both250 or nothing,

Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such

As sense cannot untie.