Solemn Music. Enter, as an apparition, SICILIUS LEONATUS, father to POSTHUMUS, an old man, attired like a warrior; leading in his hand an ancient Matron, his wife, and mother to PostHUMUS, with music before them. Then, after other music, follow the two young LEONATI, brothers to POSTHUMUS, with wounds, as they died in the wars. They circle POSTHUMUS round, as he lies sleeping. Sici. No more, thou thunder-master, shew With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, That thy adulteries Rates and revenges. Hath my poor boy done aught but well, Whose face I never saw? I died whilst in the womb he stayed, Attending Nature's law. Whose father then (as men report Thou orphans' father art) Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him From this earth-vexing smart. Moth. Lucina lent not me her aid, But took me in my throes; Sici. Great nature, like his ancestry, That he deserved the praise o' the world, 1st Bro. When once he was mature for man, In Britain where was he That could stand up his parallel ; In eye of Imogen, that best Could deem his dignity? Moth. With marriage wherefore was he mocked, To be exiled, and thrown From Leonati' seat, and cast From her his dearest one, Sici. Why did you suffer Iachimo, Slight thing of Italy, To taint his nobler heart and brain With needless jealousy ; And to become the geck and scorn 2nd Bro. For this, from stiller seats we came, Our parents, and us twain, That, striking in our country's cause, 1st Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods, Being all to dolours turned? Sici. Thy crystal window ope; look out; Upon a valiant race, thy harsh Moth. Since, Jupiter, our son is good, Sici. Peep through thy marble mansion; help! To the shining synod of the rest, 2nd Bro. Help, Jupiter; or we appeal, And from thy justice fly. JUPITER descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle; he throws a thunder-bolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees. Jup. No more, you petty spirits of region low, Offend our hearing; hush!-How dare you, ghosts, Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt you know, Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts? No care of yours it is; you know t' is ours. His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. And happier much by his affliction made. Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.— 5 And so I am awake.-Poor wretches that depend Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment "When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking, find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty." "Tis still a dream; or else such stuff as madmen The action of my life is like it, which Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for death? Post. Over-roasted rather: ready long ago. Gaol. Hanging is the word, sir; if you be ready for that, you are well cooked. Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish pays the shot. Gaol. A heavy reckoning for you, sir: but the comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments, fear no more tavern bills; which are often the sadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth: you come in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with too much drink: sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain both empty : the brain the heavier for being too light, the purse too light, being drawn of heaviness: O! Post. I am merrier to die than thou art to live. Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the tooth-ache: but a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would change places with his officer; for, look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go. Post. Yes, indeed do I, fellow. Gaol. Your death has eyes in 's head then; I have not seen him so pictured: you must either be directed by some that take upon them to know; or take upon yourself that which I am sure you do not know; or jump the after-inquiry on your own peril and how you shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll never return to tell one. Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them the way I am going, but such as wink, and will not use them. Gaol. What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the best use of eyes, to see the way of blindness! I am sure hanging's the way of winking. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the king. Post. Thou bringest good news: I am called to be made free. Gaol. I'll be hanged, then. Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead. [Exeunt POSTHUMUS and Messenger. Gaol. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to live, for all he be a Roman : and there be some of them too that die against their wills; so should I, if I were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good; O, there were desolation of gaolers and gallowses! I speak against my present profit; but my wish hath a preferment in 't. [Exeunt. SCENE V.-CYMBELINE'S Tent. Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, Lords, Officers, and Attendants. Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart That the poor soldier that so richly fought, Whose rags shamed gilded arms, whose naked breast Stepped before targe of proof, cannot be found: To sour your happiness, I must report Cym. Whom worse than a physician Would this report become? But I consider, By medicine life may be prolonged, yet death Will seize the doctor too.-How ended she? Cor. With horror, madly dying, like her life; Which, being cruel to the world, concluded Most cruel to herself. What she confessed I will report, so please you: these her women Can trip me, if I err; who, with wet cheeks, Were present when she finished. ACT V. CYMBELINE. Сут. O most delicate fiend! Who is 't can read a woman?-Is there more? Сут. Heard you all this, her women? Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter! Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the Soothsayer, and other Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that Of you their captives, which ourself have granted: Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods Cannot deny he hath done no Briton harm, Cym. I have surely seen him; Boy, thou hast looked thyself into my grace, Imo. I humbly thank your highness. Imo. No, no: alack, There's other work in hand; I see a thing Luc. The boy disdains me,- Cym. What wouldst thou, boy? I love thee more and more; think more and more on? Speak, Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend? Wherefore ey'st him so? Cym. Ay, with all my heart, Cym. Thou art, my good youth, my page; Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad Bel. Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; Iach. I am glad to be constrained to utter that which Torments me to conceal. By villany I got this ring: 'twas Leonatus' jewel; Whom thou didst banish; and (which more may grieve thee, As it doth me) a nobler sir ne'er lived Cym. All that belongs to this. That paragon, thy daughter, For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits Quail to remember,—Give me leave; I faint. Cym. My daughter! what of her? Renew thy strength: I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will, Than die ere I hear more: strive, man, and speak. Iach. Upon a time (unhappy was the clock That struck the hour!)-it was in Rome (accursed The mansion where!)—'t was at a feast (O 'would Our viands had been poisoned! or, at least, Those which I heaved to head!)—the good Posthumus (What should I say? he was too good to be For beauty that made barren the swelled boast Loves woman for; besides, that hook of wiving, Сут. Come to the matter. And then a mind put in 't, either our brags Were cracked of kitchen trulls, or his description Proved us unspeaking sots. Cym. Nay, nay, to the purpose. Iach. Your daughter's chastity-there it begins! He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams, And she alone were cold: whereat, I, wretch! Made scruple of his praise; and wagered with him Pieces of gold, 'gainst this, which then he wore Upon his honoured finger, to attain In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; Of Phoebus' wheel; and might so safely, had it quenched Being thus Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain [Coming forward. That all the abhorréd things o' the earth amend, Imo. Peace, my lord; hear, hear! |