ACT IVSCENE I. Wales. Near the cave of Belarius.EnterClotenalone.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, ArviragusandImogen.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 asTo seem to die ere sick. So please you, leave me;Stick to your journal course. The breach of customIs breach of all. I am ill, but your being by meCannot amend me; society is no comfortTo 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 muchAs I do love my father.BELARIUS.What? how? how?ARVIRAGUS.If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke meIn my good brother’s fault. I know not whyI love this youth, and I have heard you sayLove’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 beDoth 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 Ihave 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 hereafterI 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.[ExitImogeninto the cave.]This youth, howe’er distress’d, appears he hath hadGood 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 yokesA smiling with a sigh, as if the sighWas that it was for not being such a smile;The smile mocking the sigh that it would flyFrom so divine a temple to commixWith winds that sailors rail at.GUIDERIUS.I do noteThat grief and patience, rooted in him both,Mingle their spurs together.ARVIRAGUS.Grow patience!And let the stinking elder, grief, untwineHis perishing root with the increasing vine!BELARIUS.It is great morning. Come, away! Who’s there?EnterCloten.CLOTEN.I cannot find those runagates; that villainHath mock’d me. I am faint.BELARIUS.Those runagates?Means he not us? I partly know him; ’tisCloten, the son o’ th’ Queen. I fear some ambush.I saw him not these many years, and yetI know ’tis he. We are held as outlaws. Hence!GUIDERIUS.He is but one; you and my brother searchWhat companies are near. Pray you away;Let me alone with him.[ExeuntBelariusandArviragus.]CLOTEN.Soft! What are youThat fly me thus? Some villain mountaineers?I have heard of such. What slave art thou?GUIDERIUS.A thingMore slavish did I ne’er than answeringA 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 IAn arm as big as thine, a heart as big?Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear notMy 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 thankThe 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 knowI am son to th’ Queen.GUIDERIUS.I’m sorry for’t; not seemingSo 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.]EnterBelariusandArviragus.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 favourWhich 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 apprehensionOr roaring terrors; for defect of judgementIs oft the cease of fear.EnterGuideriuswithCloten’shead.But, see, thy brother.GUIDERIUS.This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse;There was no money in’t. Not HerculesCould have knock’d out his brains, for he had none;Yet I not doing this, the fool had borneMy 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 sworeWith 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 loseBut that he swore to take, our lives? The lawProtects not us; then why should we be tenderTo let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us,Play judge and executioner all himself,For we do fear the law? What companyDiscover you abroad?BELARIUS.No single soulCan we set eye on, but in all safe reasonHe must have some attendants. Though his humourWas nothing but mutation, ay, and thatFrom one bad thing to worse, not frenzy, notAbsolute madness could so far have rav’d,To bring him here alone. Although perhapsIt may be heard at court that such as weCave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in timeMay make some stronger head, the which he hearing,As it is like him, might break out and swearHe’d fetch us in; yet is’t not probableTo come alone, either he so undertakingOr they so suffering. Then on good ground we fear,If we do fear this body hath a tailMore perilous than the head.ARVIRAGUS.Let ordinanceCome as the gods foresay it. Howsoe’er,My brother hath done well.BELARIUS.I had no mindTo hunt this day; the boy Fidele’s sicknessDid make my way long forth.GUIDERIUS.With his own sword,Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta’enHis head from him. I’ll throw’t into the creekBehind our rock, and let it to the seaAnd 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 valourBecomes thee well enough.ARVIRAGUS.Would I had done’t,So the revenge alone pursu’d me! Polydore,I love thee brotherly, but envy muchThou 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 today, nor seek for dangerWhere there’s no profit. I prithee to our rock.You and Fidele play the cooks; I’ll stayTill hasty Polydore return, and bring himTo dinner presently.ARVIRAGUS.Poor sick Fidele!I’ll willingly to him; to gain his colourI’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’stIn these two princely boys! They are as gentleAs zephyrs blowing below the violet,Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,Their royal blood enchaf’d, as the rud’st windThat by the top doth take the mountain pineAnd make him stoop to th’ vale. ’Tis wonderThat an invisible instinct should frame themTo royalty unlearn’d, honour untaught,Civility not seen from other, valourThat wildly grows in them, but yields a cropAs if it had been sow’d. Yet still it’s strangeWhat Cloten’s being here to us portends,Or what his death will bring us.EnterGuiderius.GUIDERIUS.Where’s my brother?I have sent Cloten’s clotpoll down the stream,In embassy to his mother; his body’s hostageFor his return.[Solemn music.]BELARIUS.My ingenious instrument!Hark, Polydore, it sounds. But what occasionHath 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 motherIt did not speak before. All solemn thingsShould answer solemn accidents. The matter?Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toysIs jollity for apes and grief for boys.Is Cadwal mad?EnterArviraguswithImogenas dead, bearing her in his arms.BELARIUS.Look, here he comes,And brings the dire occasion in his armsOf what we blame him for!ARVIRAGUS.The bird is deadThat we have made so much on. I had ratherHave 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 wellAs when thou grew’st thyself.BELARIUS.O melancholy!Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? findThe ooze to show what coast thy sluggish crareMight’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 cheekReposing on a cushion.GUIDERIUS.Where?ARVIRAGUS.O’ th’ floor;His arms thus leagu’d. I thought he slept, and putMy clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudenessAnswer’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 lackThe flower that’s like thy face, pale primrose; norThe azur’d hare-bell, like thy veins; no, norThe leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,Out-sweet’ned not thy breath. The ruddock would,With charitable bill (O bill, sore shamingThose rich-left heirs that let their fathers lieWithout 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 thatWhich is so serious. Let us bury him,And not protract with admiration whatIs 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 voicesHave 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 worseThan priests and fanes that lie.ARVIRAGUS.We’ll speak it, then.BELARIUS.Great griefs, I see, med’cine the less, for ClotenIs quite forgot. He was a queen’s son, boys;And though he came our enemy, rememberHe was paid for that. Though mean and mighty rottingTogether have one dust, yet reverence,That angel of the world, doth make distinctionOf 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.[ExitBelarius.]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.SONGGUIDERIUS.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, mustAll 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 mustConsign 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!EnterBelariuswith the body ofCloten.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’ nightAre strewings fit’st for graves. Upon their faces.You were as flow’rs, now wither’d. Even soThese 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 butImogen.]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 eyesAre sometimes, like our judgements, blind. Good faith,I tremble still with fear; but if there beYet left in heaven as small a drop of pityAs a wren’s eye, fear’d gods, a part of it!The dream’s here still. Even when I wake it isWithout 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 readBe henceforth treacherous! Damn’d PisanioHath with his forged letters (damn’d Pisanio)From this most bravest vessel of the worldStruck 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 themHave laid this woe here. O, ’tis pregnant, pregnant!The drug he gave me, which he said was preciousAnd cordial to me, have I not found itMurd’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 thoseWhich chance to find us. O, my lord, my lord![Falls fainting on the body.]EnterLucius, Captainsand aSoothsayer.CAPTAIN.To them the legions garrison’d in Gallia,After your will, have cross’d the sea, attendingYou here at Milford Haven; with your ships,They are in readiness.LUCIUS.But what from Rome?CAPTAIN.The Senate hath stirr’d up the confinersAnd gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits,That promise noble service; and they comeUnder the conduct of bold Iachimo,Sienna’s brother.LUCIUS.When expect you them?CAPTAIN.With the next benefit o’ th’ wind.LUCIUS.This forwardnessMakes our hopes fair. Command our present numbersBe 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’dFrom 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 hereWithout his top? The ruin speaks that sometimeIt was a worthy building. How? a page?Or dead or sleeping on him? But dead, rather;For nature doth abhor to make his bedWith 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 seemsThey crave to be demanded. Who is thisThou mak’st thy bloody pillow? Or who was heThat, otherwise than noble nature did,Hath alter’d that good picture? What’s thy interestIn 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 wanderFrom east to occident; cry out for service;Try many, all good; serve truly; neverFind such another master.LUCIUS.’Lack, good youth!Thou mov’st no less with thy complaining thanThy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend.IMOGEN.Richard du Champ. [Aside.] If I do lie, and doNo harm by it, though the gods hear, I hopeThey’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 sayThou 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 soonerThan 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 deepAs these poor pickaxes can dig; and whenWith 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 usFind out the prettiest daisied plot we can,And make him with our pikes and partisansA grave. Come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr’dBy thee to us; and he shall be interr’dAs soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes.Some falls are means the happier to arise.[Exeunt.]SCENE III. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace.EnterCymbeline, Lords, Pisanioand Attendants.CYMBELINE.Again! and bring me word how ’tis with her.[Exit anAttendant.]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 queenUpon a desperate bed, and in a timeWhen fearful wars point at me; her son gone,So needful for this present. It strikes me pastThe hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,Who needs must know of her departure andDost seem so ignorant, we’ll enforce it from theeBy 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 performAll 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 jealousyDoes yet depend.LORD.So please your Majesty,The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,Are landed on your coast, with a supplyOf 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 lessThan what you hear of. Come more, for more you’re ready.The want is but to put those pow’rs in motionThat long to move.CYMBELINE.I thank you. Let’s withdraw,And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear notWhat can from Italy annoy us; butWe grieve at chances here. Away![Exeunt all butPisanio.]PISANIO.I heard no letter from my master sinceI wrote him Imogen was slain. ’Tis strange.Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promiseTo yield me often tidings. Neither know IWhat is betid to Cloten, but remainPerplex’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.EnterBelarius, GuideriusandArviragus.GUIDERIUS.The noise is round about us.BELARIUS.Let us from it.ARVIRAGUS.What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock itFrom action and adventure?GUIDERIUS.Nay, what hopeHave we in hiding us? This way the RomansMust or for Britons slay us, or receive usFor barbarous and unnatural revoltsDuring 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. NewnessOf Cloten’s death (we being not known, not muster’dAmong the bands) may drive us to a renderWhere we have liv’d, and so extort from’s thatWhich we have done, whose answer would be death,Drawn on with torture.GUIDERIUS.This is, sir, a doubtIn such a time nothing becoming youNor satisfying us.ARVIRAGUS.It is not likelyThat when they hear the Roman horses neigh,Behold their quarter’d fires, have both their eyesAnd 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 knownOf many in the army. Many years,Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore himFrom my remembrance. And, besides, the KingHath not deserv’d my service nor your loves,Who find in my exile the want of breeding,The certainty of this hard life; aye hopelessTo have the courtesy your cradle promis’d,But to be still hot summer’s tanlings andThe 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; yourselfSo 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 neverDid see man die! scarce ever look’d on bloodBut that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison!Never bestrid a horse, save one that hadA rider like myself, who ne’er wore rowelNor iron on his heel! I am asham’dTo look upon the holy sun, to haveThe benefit of his blest beams, remainingSo 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 byThe hands of Romans!ARVIRAGUS.So say I. Amen.BELARIUS.No reason I, since of your lives you setSo slight a valuation, should reserveMy 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 scornTill it fly out and show them princes born.[Exeunt.]
EnterClotenalone.
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.]
Enter from the cave,Belarius, Guiderius, ArviragusandImogen.
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 asTo seem to die ere sick. So please you, leave me;Stick to your journal course. The breach of customIs breach of all. I am ill, but your being by meCannot amend me; society is no comfortTo 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 muchAs I do love my father.
BELARIUS.What? how? how?
ARVIRAGUS.If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke meIn my good brother’s fault. I know not whyI love this youth, and I have heard you sayLove’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 beDoth 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 Ihave 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 hereafterI 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.
[ExitImogeninto the cave.]
This youth, howe’er distress’d, appears he hath hadGood 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 yokesA smiling with a sigh, as if the sighWas that it was for not being such a smile;The smile mocking the sigh that it would flyFrom so divine a temple to commixWith winds that sailors rail at.
GUIDERIUS.I do noteThat grief and patience, rooted in him both,Mingle their spurs together.
ARVIRAGUS.Grow patience!And let the stinking elder, grief, untwineHis perishing root with the increasing vine!
BELARIUS.It is great morning. Come, away! Who’s there?
EnterCloten.
CLOTEN.I cannot find those runagates; that villainHath mock’d me. I am faint.
BELARIUS.Those runagates?Means he not us? I partly know him; ’tisCloten, the son o’ th’ Queen. I fear some ambush.I saw him not these many years, and yetI know ’tis he. We are held as outlaws. Hence!
GUIDERIUS.He is but one; you and my brother searchWhat companies are near. Pray you away;Let me alone with him.
[ExeuntBelariusandArviragus.]
CLOTEN.Soft! What are youThat fly me thus? Some villain mountaineers?I have heard of such. What slave art thou?
GUIDERIUS.A thingMore slavish did I ne’er than answeringA 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 IAn arm as big as thine, a heart as big?Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear notMy 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 thankThe 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 knowI am son to th’ Queen.
GUIDERIUS.I’m sorry for’t; not seemingSo 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.]
EnterBelariusandArviragus.
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 favourWhich 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 apprehensionOr roaring terrors; for defect of judgementIs oft the cease of fear.
EnterGuideriuswithCloten’shead.
But, see, thy brother.
GUIDERIUS.This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse;There was no money in’t. Not HerculesCould have knock’d out his brains, for he had none;Yet I not doing this, the fool had borneMy 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 sworeWith 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 loseBut that he swore to take, our lives? The lawProtects not us; then why should we be tenderTo let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us,Play judge and executioner all himself,For we do fear the law? What companyDiscover you abroad?
BELARIUS.No single soulCan we set eye on, but in all safe reasonHe must have some attendants. Though his humourWas nothing but mutation, ay, and thatFrom one bad thing to worse, not frenzy, notAbsolute madness could so far have rav’d,To bring him here alone. Although perhapsIt may be heard at court that such as weCave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in timeMay make some stronger head, the which he hearing,As it is like him, might break out and swearHe’d fetch us in; yet is’t not probableTo come alone, either he so undertakingOr they so suffering. Then on good ground we fear,If we do fear this body hath a tailMore perilous than the head.
ARVIRAGUS.Let ordinanceCome as the gods foresay it. Howsoe’er,My brother hath done well.
BELARIUS.I had no mindTo hunt this day; the boy Fidele’s sicknessDid make my way long forth.
GUIDERIUS.With his own sword,Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta’enHis head from him. I’ll throw’t into the creekBehind our rock, and let it to the seaAnd 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 valourBecomes thee well enough.
ARVIRAGUS.Would I had done’t,So the revenge alone pursu’d me! Polydore,I love thee brotherly, but envy muchThou 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 today, nor seek for dangerWhere there’s no profit. I prithee to our rock.You and Fidele play the cooks; I’ll stayTill hasty Polydore return, and bring himTo dinner presently.
ARVIRAGUS.Poor sick Fidele!I’ll willingly to him; to gain his colourI’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’stIn these two princely boys! They are as gentleAs zephyrs blowing below the violet,Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,Their royal blood enchaf’d, as the rud’st windThat by the top doth take the mountain pineAnd make him stoop to th’ vale. ’Tis wonderThat an invisible instinct should frame themTo royalty unlearn’d, honour untaught,Civility not seen from other, valourThat wildly grows in them, but yields a cropAs if it had been sow’d. Yet still it’s strangeWhat Cloten’s being here to us portends,Or what his death will bring us.
EnterGuiderius.
GUIDERIUS.Where’s my brother?I have sent Cloten’s clotpoll down the stream,In embassy to his mother; his body’s hostageFor his return.
[Solemn music.]
BELARIUS.My ingenious instrument!Hark, Polydore, it sounds. But what occasionHath 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 motherIt did not speak before. All solemn thingsShould answer solemn accidents. The matter?Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toysIs jollity for apes and grief for boys.Is Cadwal mad?
EnterArviraguswithImogenas dead, bearing her in his arms.
BELARIUS.Look, here he comes,And brings the dire occasion in his armsOf what we blame him for!
ARVIRAGUS.The bird is deadThat we have made so much on. I had ratherHave 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 wellAs when thou grew’st thyself.
BELARIUS.O melancholy!Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? findThe ooze to show what coast thy sluggish crareMight’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 cheekReposing on a cushion.
GUIDERIUS.Where?
ARVIRAGUS.O’ th’ floor;His arms thus leagu’d. I thought he slept, and putMy clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudenessAnswer’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 lackThe flower that’s like thy face, pale primrose; norThe azur’d hare-bell, like thy veins; no, norThe leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,Out-sweet’ned not thy breath. The ruddock would,With charitable bill (O bill, sore shamingThose rich-left heirs that let their fathers lieWithout 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 thatWhich is so serious. Let us bury him,And not protract with admiration whatIs 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 voicesHave 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 worseThan priests and fanes that lie.
ARVIRAGUS.We’ll speak it, then.
BELARIUS.Great griefs, I see, med’cine the less, for ClotenIs quite forgot. He was a queen’s son, boys;And though he came our enemy, rememberHe was paid for that. Though mean and mighty rottingTogether have one dust, yet reverence,That angel of the world, doth make distinctionOf 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.
[ExitBelarius.]
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, mustAll 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 mustConsign 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!
EnterBelariuswith the body ofCloten.
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’ nightAre strewings fit’st for graves. Upon their faces.You were as flow’rs, now wither’d. Even soThese 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 butImogen.]
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 eyesAre sometimes, like our judgements, blind. Good faith,I tremble still with fear; but if there beYet left in heaven as small a drop of pityAs a wren’s eye, fear’d gods, a part of it!The dream’s here still. Even when I wake it isWithout 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 readBe henceforth treacherous! Damn’d PisanioHath with his forged letters (damn’d Pisanio)From this most bravest vessel of the worldStruck 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 themHave laid this woe here. O, ’tis pregnant, pregnant!The drug he gave me, which he said was preciousAnd cordial to me, have I not found itMurd’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 thoseWhich chance to find us. O, my lord, my lord!
[Falls fainting on the body.]
EnterLucius, Captainsand aSoothsayer.
CAPTAIN.To them the legions garrison’d in Gallia,After your will, have cross’d the sea, attendingYou here at Milford Haven; with your ships,They are in readiness.
LUCIUS.But what from Rome?
CAPTAIN.The Senate hath stirr’d up the confinersAnd gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits,That promise noble service; and they comeUnder the conduct of bold Iachimo,Sienna’s brother.
LUCIUS.When expect you them?
CAPTAIN.With the next benefit o’ th’ wind.
LUCIUS.This forwardnessMakes our hopes fair. Command our present numbersBe 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’dFrom 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 hereWithout his top? The ruin speaks that sometimeIt was a worthy building. How? a page?Or dead or sleeping on him? But dead, rather;For nature doth abhor to make his bedWith 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 seemsThey crave to be demanded. Who is thisThou mak’st thy bloody pillow? Or who was heThat, otherwise than noble nature did,Hath alter’d that good picture? What’s thy interestIn 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 wanderFrom east to occident; cry out for service;Try many, all good; serve truly; neverFind such another master.
LUCIUS.’Lack, good youth!Thou mov’st no less with thy complaining thanThy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend.
IMOGEN.Richard du Champ. [Aside.] If I do lie, and doNo harm by it, though the gods hear, I hopeThey’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 sayThou 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 soonerThan 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 deepAs these poor pickaxes can dig; and whenWith 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 usFind out the prettiest daisied plot we can,And make him with our pikes and partisansA grave. Come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr’dBy thee to us; and he shall be interr’dAs soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes.Some falls are means the happier to arise.
[Exeunt.]
EnterCymbeline, Lords, Pisanioand Attendants.
CYMBELINE.Again! and bring me word how ’tis with her.
[Exit anAttendant.]
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 queenUpon a desperate bed, and in a timeWhen fearful wars point at me; her son gone,So needful for this present. It strikes me pastThe hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,Who needs must know of her departure andDost seem so ignorant, we’ll enforce it from theeBy 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 performAll 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 jealousyDoes yet depend.
LORD.So please your Majesty,The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,Are landed on your coast, with a supplyOf 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 lessThan what you hear of. Come more, for more you’re ready.The want is but to put those pow’rs in motionThat long to move.
CYMBELINE.I thank you. Let’s withdraw,And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear notWhat can from Italy annoy us; butWe grieve at chances here. Away!
[Exeunt all butPisanio.]
PISANIO.I heard no letter from my master sinceI wrote him Imogen was slain. ’Tis strange.Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promiseTo yield me often tidings. Neither know IWhat is betid to Cloten, but remainPerplex’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.]
EnterBelarius, GuideriusandArviragus.
GUIDERIUS.The noise is round about us.
BELARIUS.Let us from it.
ARVIRAGUS.What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock itFrom action and adventure?
GUIDERIUS.Nay, what hopeHave we in hiding us? This way the RomansMust or for Britons slay us, or receive usFor barbarous and unnatural revoltsDuring 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. NewnessOf Cloten’s death (we being not known, not muster’dAmong the bands) may drive us to a renderWhere we have liv’d, and so extort from’s thatWhich we have done, whose answer would be death,Drawn on with torture.
GUIDERIUS.This is, sir, a doubtIn such a time nothing becoming youNor satisfying us.
ARVIRAGUS.It is not likelyThat when they hear the Roman horses neigh,Behold their quarter’d fires, have both their eyesAnd 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 knownOf many in the army. Many years,Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore himFrom my remembrance. And, besides, the KingHath not deserv’d my service nor your loves,Who find in my exile the want of breeding,The certainty of this hard life; aye hopelessTo have the courtesy your cradle promis’d,But to be still hot summer’s tanlings andThe 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; yourselfSo 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 neverDid see man die! scarce ever look’d on bloodBut that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison!Never bestrid a horse, save one that hadA rider like myself, who ne’er wore rowelNor iron on his heel! I am asham’dTo look upon the holy sun, to haveThe benefit of his blest beams, remainingSo 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 byThe hands of Romans!
ARVIRAGUS.So say I. Amen.
BELARIUS.No reason I, since of your lives you setSo slight a valuation, should reserveMy 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 scornTill it fly out and show them princes born.
[Exeunt.]