Act IV. Scene IV.


Wales. Before the Cave of BELARIUS.
   
 
Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.
   
  Gui.  The noise is round about us.   
  Bel.        Let us from it.      4
  Arv.  What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it   
From action and adventure?   
  Gui.        Nay, what hope   
Have we in hiding us? this way, the Romans      8
Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us   
For barbarous and unnatural revolts   
During their use, and slay us after.   
  Bel.        Sons,     12
We’ll higher to the mountains; there secure us.   
To the king’s party there’s no going; newness   
Of Cloten’s death,—we being not known, not muster’d   
Among the bands,—may drive us to a render     16
Where we have liv’d, and so extort from ’s that   
Which we have done, whose answer would be death   
Drawn on with torture.   
  Gui.        This is, sir, a doubt     20
In such a time nothing becoming you,   
Nor satisfying us.   
  Arv.        It is not likely   
That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,     24
Behold their quarter’d fires, have both their eyes   
And ears so cloy’d importantly as now,   
That they will waste their time upon our note,   
To know from whence we are.     28
  Bel.        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     32
Hath not deserv’d my service nor your loves   
Who find in my exile the want of breeding,   
The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless   
To have the courtesy your cradle promis’d,     36
But to be still hot summer’s tanlings and   
The shrinking slaves of winter.   
  Gui.        Than be so   
Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army:     40
I and my brother are not known; yourself,   
So out of thought, and thereto so o’ergrown,   
Cannot be question’d.   
  Arv.        By this sun that shines,     44
I’ll thither: what thing is it that I never   
Did see man die! scarce ever look’d on blood   
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison!   
Never bestrid a horse, save one that had     48
A rider like myself, who ne’er wore rowel   
Nor iron on his heel! I am asham’d   
To look upon the holy sun, to have   
The benefit of his bless’d beams, remaining     52
So long a poor unknown.   
  Gui.        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,     56
The hazard therefore due fall on me by   
The hands of Romans.   
  Arv.        So say I; amen.   
  Bel.  No reason I, since of your lives you set     60
So slight a valuation, should reserve   
My crack’d one to more care. Have with you, boys!   
If in your country wars you chance to die,   
That is my bed too, lads, and there I’ll lie:     64
Lead, lead.—[Aside.] The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn,   
Till it fly out and show them princes born.  [Exeunt.   

Act V. Scene I.


Britain. The Roman Camp.
   
 
Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody handkerchief.
   
  Post.  Yea, bloody cloth, I’ll keep thee, for I wish’d   
Thou shouldst be colour’d thus. You married ones,      4
If each of you should take this course, how many   
Must murder wives much better than themselves   
For wrying but a little! O Pisanio!   
Every good servant does not all commands;      8
No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you   
Should have ta’en vengeance on my faults, I never   
Had liv’d to put on this; so had you sav’d   
The noble Imogen to repent, and struck     12
Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But, alack!   
You snatch some hence for little faults; that’s love,   
To have them fall no more; you some permit   
To second ills with ills, each elder worse,     16
And make them dread it, to the doers’ thrift.   
But Imogen is your own; do your best wills,   
And make me bless’d to obey. I am brought hither   
Among the Italian gentry, and to fight     20
Against my lady’s kingdom; ’tis enough   
That, Britain, I have kill’d thy mistress-piece!   
I’ll give no wound to thee. Therefore good heavens,   
Hear patiently my purpose: I’ll disrobe me     24
Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself   
As does a Briton peasant; so I’ll fight   
Against the part I come with, so I’ll die   
For thee, O Imogen! even for whom my life     28
Is, every breath, a death: and thus, unknown,   
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril   
Myself I’ll dedicate. Let me make men know   
More valour in me than my habits show.     32
Gods! put the strength o’ the Leonati in me.   
To shame the guise o’ the world, I will begin   
The fashion, less without and more within.  [Exit.   

Act V. Scene II.


Field of Battle between the British and Roman Camps.
   
 
Enter, from one door, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman Army; the British at another; LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following like a poor soldier. They march over and go out. Alarums. Then enter again in skirmish, IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS; he vanquisheth and disarmeth IACHIMO, and then leaves him.
   
  Iach.  The heaviness and guilt within my bosom   
Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady,      4
The princess of this country, and the air on ’t   
Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl,   
A very drudge of nature’s, have subdu’d me   
In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, borne      8
As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.   
If that thy gentry, Britain, go before   
This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds   
Is that we scarce are men and you are gods.  [Exit.     12
 
The battle continues; the Britons fly; CYMBELINE is taken; then enter, to his rescue, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.
   
  Bel.  Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground.   
The lane is guarded; nothing routs us but   
The villany of our fears.     16
  Gui. & Arv.        Stand, stand, and fight!   
 
Re-enter POSTHUMUS, and seconds the Britons; they rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then, re-enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and IMOGEN.
   
  Luc.  Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;   
For friends kill friends, and the disorder’s such     20
As war were hoodwink’d.   
  Iach.        ’Tis their fresh supplies.   
  Luc.  It is a day turn’d strangely: or betimes   
Let’s re-inforce, or fly.  [Exeunt. 24

Act V. Scene III.


Another Part of the Field.
   
 
Enter POSTHUMUS and a British Lord.
   
  Lord.  Cam’st thou from where they made the stand?   
  Post.        I did:      4
Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.   
  Lord.        I did.   
  Post.  No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost,   
But that the heavens fought. The king himself      8
Of his wings destitute, the army broken,   
And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying   
Through a strait lane; the enemy full-hearted,   
Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work     12
More plentiful than tools to do ’t, struck down   
Some mortally, some slightly touch’d, some falling   
Merely through fear; that the strait pass was damm’d   
With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living     16
To die with lengthen’d shame.   
  Lord.        Where was this lane?   
  Post.  Close by the battle, ditch’d, and wall’d with turf;   
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,     20
An honest one, I warrant; who deserv’d   
So long a breeding as his white beard came to,   
In doing this for his country; athwart the lane,   
He, with two striplings,—lads more like to run     24
The country base than to commit such slaughter,—   
With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer   
Than those for preservation cas’d, or shame,   
Made good the passage; cried to those that fled,     28
‘Our Britain’s harts die flying, not our men:   
To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards. Stand!   
Or we are Romans, and will give you that   
Like beasts which you shun beastly, and may save,     32
But to look back in frown: stand, stand!’ These three,   
Three thousand confident, in act as many,—   
For three performers are the file when all   
The rest do nothing,—with this word, ‘Stand, stand!’     36
Accommodated by the place, more charming   
With their own nobleness,—which could have turn’d   
A distaff to a lance,—gilded pale looks,   
Part shame, part spirit renew’d; that some, turn’d coward     40
But by example,—O! a sin of war,   
Damn’d in the first beginners,—’gan to look   
The way that they did, and to grin like lions   
Upon the pikes o’ the hunters. Then began     44
A stop i’ the chaser, a retire, anon,   
A rout, confusion thick; forthwith they fly   
Chickens, the way which they stoop’d eagles; slaves,   
The strides they victors made. And now our cowards—     48
Like fragments in hard voyages—became   
The life o’ the need; having found the back door open   
Of the unguarded hearts, Heavens! how they wound;   
Some slain before; some dying; some their friends     52
O’er-borne i’ the former wave; ten, chas’d by one,   
Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty;   
Those that would die or ere resist are grown   
The mortal bugs o’ the field.     56
  Lord.        This was strange chance:   
A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys!   
  Post.  Nay, do not wonder at it; you are made   
Rather to wonder at the things you hear     60
Than to work any. Will you rime upon ’t,   
And vent it for a mockery? Here is one:   
‘Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,   
Preserv’d the Britons, was the Romans’ bane.’     64
  Lord.  Nay, be not angry, sir.   
  Post.        ’Lack! to what end?   
Who dares not stand his foe, I’ll be his friend;   
For if he’ll do, as he is made to do,     68
I know he’ll quickly fly my friendship too.   
You have put me into rime.   
  Lord.        Farewell; you’re angry.  [Exit.   
  Post.  Still going?—This is a lord! O noble misery!     72
To be i’ the field, and ask, ‘what news?’ of me!   
To-day how many would have given their honours   
To have sav’d their carcases! took heel to do ’t,   
And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm’d,     76
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 ministers than we     80
That draw his knives i’ the war. Well, I will find him;   
For being now a favourer to the Briton,   
No more a Briton, I have resum’d again   
The part I came in; fight I will no more,     84
But yield me to the veriest hind that shall   
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is   
Here made by the Roman; great the answer be   
Britons must take. For me, my ransom’s death;     88
On either side I come to spend my breath,   
Which neither here I’ll keep nor bear agen,   
But end it by some means for Imogen.   
 
Enter two British Captains, and Soldiers.
     92
  First Cap.  Great Jupiter be prais’d! Lucius is taken.   
’Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.   
  Sec. Cap.  There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,   
That gave th’ affront with them.     96
  First Cap.        So ’tis reported;   
But none of ’em can be found. Stand! who is there?   
  Post.  A Roman,   
Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds    100
Had answer’d him.   
  Sec. Cap.        Lay hands on him; a dog!   
A lag of Rome shall not return to tell   
What crows have peck’d them here. He brags his service    104
As if he were of note: bring him to the king.

Enter CYMBELINE, attended: BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, and Roman Captives. The Captains present POSTHUMUS to CYMBELINE, who delivers him over to a Gaoler; then exeunt omnes.
   

Act V. Scene IV.


Britain. A Prison.
   
 
Enter POSTHUMUS and two Gaolers.
   
  First Gaol.  You shall not now be stol’n, you have locks upon you;   
So graze as you find pasture.      4
  Sec. Gaol.        Ay, or a stomach.  [Exeunt Gaolers.   
  Post.  Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a way,   
I think, to liberty. Yet am I better   
Than one that’s sick o’ the gout, since he had rather      8
Groan so in perpetuity than be cur’d   
By the sure physician death; who is the key   
To unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter’d   
More than my shanks and wrists: you good gods, give me     12
The penitent instrument to pick that bolt;   
Then, free for ever! Is ’t enough I am sorry?   
So children temporal fathers do appease;   
Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent?     16
I cannot do it better than in gyves,   
Desir’d more than constrain’d; to satisfy,   
If of my freedom ’tis the main part, take   
No stricter render of me than my all.     20
I know you are more clement than vile men,   
Who of their broken debtors take a third,   
A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again   
On their abatement: that’s not my desire;     24
For Imogen’s dear life take mine; and though   
’Tis not so dear, yet ’tis a life; you coin’d it;   
’Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp;   
Though light, take pieces for the figure’s sake:     28
You rather mine, being yours; and so great powers,   
If you will take this audit, take this life,   
And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!   
I’ll speak to thee in silence.  [Sleeps.     32
 
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, 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, show   
  Thy spite on mortal flies:   
With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,     36
  That thy adulteries   
    Rates and revenges.   
Hath my poor boy done aught but well,   
  Whose face I never saw?     40
I died whilst in the womb he stay’d   
  Attending nature’s law:   
Whose father then—as men report,   
  Thou orphans’ father art—     44
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;     48
That from me was Posthumus ript,   
  Came crying ’mongst his foes,   
      A thing of pity!   
  Sici.  Great nature, like his ancestry,     52
  Moulded the stuff so fair,   
That he deserv’d the praise o’ the world,   
  As great Sicilius’ heir.   
  First Bro. When once he was mature for man,     56
  In Britain where was he   
That could stand up his parallel,   
  Or fruitful object be   
In eye of Imogen, that best     60
  Could deem his dignity?   
  Moth.  With marriage wherefore was he mock’d,   
  To be exil’d, and thrown   
From Leonati’s seat, and cast     64
  From her his dearest one,   
    Sweet Imogen?   
  Sici.  Why did you suffer Iachimo,   
  Slight thing of Italy,     68
To taint his nobler heart and brain   
  With needless jealousy;   
And to become the geck and scorn   
  O’ the other’s villany?     72
  Sec. Bro.  For this from stiller seats we came,   
  Our parents and us twain,   
That striking in our country’s cause   
  Fell bravely and were slain;     76
Our fealty and Tenantius’ right   
  With honour to maintain.   
  First Bro.  Like hardiment Posthumus hath   
  To Cymbeline perform’d:     80
Then Jupiter, thou king of gods,   
  Why hast thou thus adjourn’d   
The graces for his merits due,   
  Being all to dolours turn’d?     84
  Sici.  Thy crystal window ope; look out;   
  No longer exercise   
Upon a valiant race thy harsh   
  And potent injuries.     88
  Moth.  Since, Jupiter, our son is good,   
      Take off his miseries.   
  Sici.  Peep through thy marble mansion; help!   
  Or we poor ghosts will cry     92
To the shining synod of the rest   
  Against thy deity.   
  Both Bro.  Help, Jupiter! or we appeal,   
  And from thy justice fly.     96
 
Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. 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?    100
Poor shadows of Elysium, hence; and rest   
  Upon your never-withering banks of flowers:   
Be not with mortal accidents opprest;   
  No care of yours it is; you know ’tis ours.    104
Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift,   
  The more delay’d, delighted. Be content;   
Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:   
  His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.    108
Our Jovial star reign’d at his birth, and in   
  Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade!   
He shall be lord of Lady Imogen,   
  And happier much by his affliction made.    112
This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein   
  Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine;   
And so, away: no further with your din   
  Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.    116
  Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.  [Ascends.   
  Sici.  He came in thunder; his celestial breath   
Was sulphurous to smell; the holy eagle   
Stoop’d, as to foot us; his ascension is    120
More sweet than our bless’d fields; his royal bird   
Prunes the immortal wing and cloys his beak,   
As when his god is pleas’d.   
  All.        Thanks, Jupiter!    124
  Sici.  The marble pavement closes; he is enter’d   
His radiant roof. Away! and, to be blest,   
Let us with care perform his great behest.  [The Ghosts vanish.   
  Post.  [Awaking.] Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot    128
A father to me; and thou hast created   
A mother and two brothers. But—O scorn!—   
Gone! they went hence so soon as they were born:   
And so I am awake. Poor wretches, that depend    132
On greatness’ favour dream as I have done;   
Wake, and find nothing. But, alas! I swerve:   
Many dream not to find, neither deserve,   
And yet are steep’d in favours; so am I,    136
That have this golden chance and know not why.   
What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one!   
Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment   
Nobler than that it covers: let thy effects    140
So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers,   
As good as promise.   
  Whenas 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    144
Tongue and brain not; either both or nothing;   
Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such   
As sense cannot untie. Be what it is,   
The action of my life is like it, which    148
I’ll keep, if but for sympathy.   
 
Re-enter Gaolers.
   
  First Gaol.  Come, sir, are you ready for death?   
  Post.  Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.    152
  First 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.   
  First 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: of this contradiction you shall now be quit. O! the charity of a penny cord; it sums up thousands in a trice: you have no true debitor and creditor but it; of what’s past, is, and to come, the discharge. Your neck, sir, is pen, book and counters; so the acquittance follows.   
  Post.  I am merrier to die than thou art to live.    156
  First Gaol.  Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache; 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.   
  First 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.    160
  First 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 bring’st good news; I am called to be made free.    164
  First Gaol.  I’ll be hang’d, then.   
  Post.  Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead.  [Exeunt all but first Gaoler.   
  First 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.  [Exit.   

Act V. 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      4
That the poor soldier that so richly fought,   
Whose rags sham’d gilded arms, whose naked breast   
Stepp’d before targes of proof, cannot be found:   
He shall be happy that can find him, if      8
Our grace can make him so.   
  Bel.        I never saw   
Such noble fury in so poor a thing;   
Such precious deeds in one that promis’d nought     12
But beggary and poor looks.   
  Cym.        No tidings of him?   
  Pis.  He hath been search’d among the dead and living,   
But no trace of him.     16
  Cym.        To my grief, I am   
The heir of his reward; which I will add  [To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.   
To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain,   
By whom, I grant, she lives. ’Tis now the time     20
To ask of whence you are: report it.   
  Bel.        Sir,   
In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen:   
Further to boast were neither true nor modest,     24
Unless I add, we are honest.   
  Cym.        Bow your knees.   
Arise, my knights o’ the battle: I create you   
Companions to our person, and will fit you     28
With dignities becoming your estates.   
 
Enter CORNELIUS and Ladies.
   
There’s business in these faces. Why so sadly   
Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,     32
And not o’ the court of Britain.   
  Cor.        Hail, great king!   
To sour your happiness, I must report   
The queen is dead.     36
  Cym.        Whom worse than a physician   
Would this report become? But I consider,   
By medicine life may be prolong’d, yet death   
Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?     40
  Cor.  With horror, madly dying, like her life;   
Which, being cruel to the world, concluded   
Most cruel to herself. What she confess’d   
I will report, so please you: these her women     44
Can trip me if I err; who with wet cheeks   
Were present when she finish’d.   
  Cym.        Prithee, say.   
  Cor.  First, she confess’d she never lov’d you, only     48
Affected greatness got by you, not you;   
Married your royalty, was wife to your place;   
Abhorr’d your person.   
  Cym.        She alone knew this;     52
And, but she spoke it dying, I would not   
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.   
  Cor.  Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love   
With such integrity, she did confess     56
Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life,   
But that her flight prevented it, she had   
Ta’en off by poison.   
  Cym.        O most delicate fiend!     60
Who is’t can read a woman? Is there more?   
  Cor.  More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had   
For you a mortal mineral; which, being took,   
Should by the minute feed on life, and ling’ring,     64
By inches waste you; in which time she purpos’d,   
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to   
O’ercome you with her show; yea, and in time—   
When she had fitted you with her craft—to work     68
Her son into the adoption of the crown;   
But failing of her end by his strange absence,   
Grew shameless-desperate; open’d, in despite   
Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented     72
The evils she hatch’d were not effected: so,   
Despairing died.   
  Cym.        Heard you all this, her women?   
  First Lady.  We did, so please your highness.     76
  Cym.        Mine eyes   
Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;   
Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart,   
That thought her like her seeming: it had been vicious     80
To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter!   
That it was folly in me, thou mayst say,   
And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!   
 
Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the Soothsayer, and other Roman Prisoners, guarded: POSTHUMUS behind, and IMOGEN.
     84
Thou com’st not, Caius, now for tribute; that   
The Britons have raz’d out, though with the loss   
Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit   
That their good souls may be appeas’d with slaughter     88
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted:   
So, think of your estate.   
  Luc.  Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day   
Was yours by accident; had it gone with us,     92
We should not, when the blood was cool, have threaten’d   
Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods   
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives   
May be call’d ransom, let it come; sufficeth,     96
A Roman with a Roman’s heart can suffer;   
Augustus lives to think on ’t; and so much   
For my peculiar care. This one thing only   
I will entreat; my boy, a Briton born,    100
Let him be ransom’d; never master had   
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,   
So tender over his occasions, true,   
So feat, so nurse-like. Let his virtue join    104
With my request, which I’ll make bold your highness   
Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,   
Though he have serv’d a Roman. Save him, sir,   
And spare no blood beside.    108
  Cym.  I have surely seen him;   
His favour is familiar to me. Boy,   
Thou hast look’d thyself into my grace,   
And art mine own. I know not why nor wherefore,    112
To say, ‘live, boy:’ ne’er thank thy master; live:   
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,   
Fitting my bounty and thy state, I’ll give it;   
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,    116
The noblest ta’en.   
  Imo.        I humbly thank your highness.   
  Luc.  I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad;   
And yet I know thou wilt.    120
  Imo.        No, no; alack!   
There’s other work in hand. I see a thing   
Bitter to me as death; your life, good master,   
Must shuffle for itself.    124
  Luc.        The boy disdains me,   
He leaves me, scorns me; briefly die their joys   
That place them on the truth of girls and boys.   
Why stands he so perplex’d?    128
  Cym.        What wouldst thou, boy?   
I love thee more and more; think more and more   
What’s best to ask. Know’st him thou look’st on? speak;   
Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?    132
  Imo.  He is a Roman; no more kin to me   
Than I to your highness; who, being born your vassal,   
Am something nearer.   
  Cym.        Wherefore ey’st him so?    136
  Imo.  I’ll tell you, sir, in private, if you please   
To give me hearing.   
  Cym.        Ay, with all my heart,   
And lend my best attention. What’s thy name?    140
  Imo.  Fidele, sir.   
  Cym.        Thou’rt my good youth, my page;   
I’ll be thy master: walk with me; speak freely.  [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN converse apart.   
  Bel.  Is not this boy reviv’d from death?    144
  Arv.        One sand another   
Not more resembles;—that sweet rosy lad   
Who died, and was Fidele. What think you?   
  Gui.  The same dead thing alive.    148
  Bel.  Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; forbear;   
Creatures may be alike; were ’t he, I am sure   
He would have spoke to us.   
  Gui.        But we saw him dead.    152
  Bel.  Be silent; let’s see further.   
  Pis.        [Aside.] It is my mistress:   
Since she is living, let the time run on   
To good, or bad.  [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN come forward.    156
  Cym.        Come, stand thou by our side:   
Make thy demand aloud.—[To IACHIMO.] Sir, step you forth;   
Give answer to this boy, and do it freely,   
Or, by our greatness and the grace of it,    160
Which is our honour, bitter torture shall   
Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him.   
  Imo.  My boon is, that this gentleman may render   
Of whom he had this ring.    164
  Post.        [Aside.] What’s that to him?   
  Cym.  That diamond upon your finger, say   
How came it yours?   
  Iach.  Thou’lt torture me to leave unspoken that    168
Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.   
  Cym.        How! me?   
  Iach.  I am glad to be constrain’d to utter that   
Which torments me to conceal. By villany    172
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 liv’d   
’Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord?    176
  Cym.  All that belongs to this.   
  Iach.        That paragon, thy daughter,—   
For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits   
Quail to remember,—Give me leave; I faint.    180
  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    184
That struck the hour!—it was in Rome,—accurs’d   
The mansion where!—’twas at a feast—O, would   
Our viands had been poison’d, or at least   
Those which I heav’d to head!—the good Posthumus,—    188
What should I say? he was too good to be   
Where ill men were; and was the best of all   
Amongst the rar’st of good ones;—sitting sadly   
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy    192
For beauty that made barren the swell’d boast   
Of him that best could speak; for feature laming   
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva,   
Postures beyond brief nature; for condition,    196
A shop of all the qualities that man   
Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving,   
Fairness which strikes the eye.   
  Cym.        I stand on fire.    200
Come to the matter.   
  Iach.        All too soon I shall,   
Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus—   
Most like a noble lord in love, and one    204
That had a royal lover—took his hint;   
And, not dispraising whom we prais’d,—therein   
He was as calm as virtue,—he began   
His mistress’ picture; which by his tongue being made,    208
And then a mind put in’t, either our brags   
Were crack’d of kitchen trulls, or his description   
Prov’d us unspeaking sots.   
  Cym.        Nay, nay, to the purpose.    212
  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 wager’d with him    216
Pieces of gold ’gainst this, which then he wore   
Upon his honour’d finger, to attain   
In suit the place of his bed, and win this ring   
By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight,    220
No lesser of her honour confident   
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;   
And would so, had it been a carbuncle   
Of Phœbus’ wheel; and might so safely, had it    224
Been all the worth of ’s car. Away to Britain   
Post I in this design. Well may you, sir,   
Remember me at court, where I was taught   
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference    228
’Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench’d   
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain   
’Gan in your duller Britain operate   
Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent;    232
And, to be brief, my practice so prevail’d,   
That I return’d with simular proof enough   
To make the noble Leonatus mad,   
By wounding his belief in her renown    236
With tokens thus, and thus; averring notes   
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet;—   
Oh cunning! how I got it!—nay, some marks   
Of secret on her person, that he could not    240
But think her bond of chastity quite crack’d,   
I having ta’en the forfeit. Whereupon,—   
Methinks I see him now,—   
  Post.  [Coming forward.] Ay, so thou dost,    244
Italian fiend!—Ay me, most credulous fool,   
Egregious murderer, thief, any thing   
That’s due to all the villains past, in being,   
To come. O! give me cord, or knife, or poison,    248
Some upright justicer. Thou king, send out   
For torturers ingenious; it is I   
That all the abhorred things o’ the earth amend   
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,    252
That kill’d thy daughter; villain-like, I lie;   
That caus’d a lesser villain than myself,   
A sacrilegious thief, to do ’t; the temple   
Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.    256
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set   
The dogs o’ the street to bay me; every villain   
Be call’d Posthumus Leonatus; and   
Be villany less than ’twas! O Imogen!    260
My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,   
Imogen, Imogen!   
  Imo.        Peace, my lord! hear, hear!   
  Post.  Shall’s have a play of this? Thou scornful page,    264
There lie thy part.  [Striking her: she falls.   
  Pis.        O, gentlemen, help!   
Mine, and your mistress! O! my Lord Posthumus,   
You ne’er kill’d Imogen till now. Help, help!    268
Mine honour’d lady!   
  Cym.        Does the world go round?   
  Post.  How come these staggers on me?   
  Pis.        Wake, my mistress!    272
  Cym.  If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me   
To death with mortal joy.   
  Pis.        How fares my mistress?   
  Imo.  O! get thee from my sight:    276
Thou gav’st me poison: dangerous fellow, hence!   
Breathe not where princess are.   
  Cym.        The tune of Imogen!   
  Pis.  Lady,    280
The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if   
That box I gave you was not thought by me   
A precious thing: I had it from the queen.   
  Cym.  New matter still?    284
  Imo.        It poison’d me.   
  Cor.        O gods!   
I left out one thing which the queen confess’d,   
Which must approve thee honest: ‘If Pisanio    288
Have,’ said she, ‘given his mistress that confection   
Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv’d   
As I would serve a rat.’   
  Cym.        What’s this, Cornelius?    292
  Cor.  The queen, sir, very oft importun’d me   
To temper poisons for her, still pretending   
The satisfaction of her knowledge only   
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs,    296
Of no esteem; I, dreading that her purpose   
Was of more danger, did compound for her   
A certain stuff, which, being ta’en, would cease   
The present power of life, but in short time    300
All offices of nature should again   
Do their due functions. Have you ta’en of it?   
  Imo.  Most like I did, for I was dead.   
  Bel.        My boys,    304
There was our error.   
  Gui.        This is, sure, Fidele.   
  Imo.  Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?   
Think that you are upon a rock; and now    308
Throw me again.  [Embracing him.   
  Post.        Hang there like fruit, my soul,   
Till the tree die!   
  Cym.        How now, my flesh, my child!    312
What, mak’st thou me a dullard in this act?   
Wilt thou not speak to me?   
  Imo        [Kneeling.] Your blessing, sir.   
  Bel.  [To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS.] Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not;    316
You had a motive for’t.   
  Cym.        My tears that fall   
Prove holy water on thee! Imogen,   
Thy mother’s dead.    320
  Imo.        I am sorry for ’t, my lord.   
  Cym.  O, she was naught; and long of her it was   
That we meet here so strangely; but her son   
Is gone, we know not how, nor where.    324
  Pis.        My lord,   
Now fear is from me, I’ll speak troth. Lord Cloten,   
Upon my lady’s missing, came to me   
With his sword drawn, foam’d at the mouth, and swore    328
If I discover’d not which way she was gone,   
It was my instant death. By accident,   
I had a feigned letter of my master’s   
Then in my pocket, which directed him    332
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;   
Where, in a frenzy, in my master’s garments,   
Which he enforc’d from me, away he posts   
With unchaste purpose and with oath to violate    336
My lady’s honour; what became of him   
I further know not.   
  Gui.        Let me end the story:   
I slew him there.    340
  Cym.        Marry, the gods forfend!   
I would not thy good deeds should from my lips   
Pluck a hard sentence: prithee, valiant youth,   
Deny ’t again.    344
  Gui.        I have spoke it, and I did it.   
  Cym.  He was a prince.   
  Gui.  A most incivil one. The wrongs he did me   
Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me    348
With language that would make me spurn the sea   
If it could so roar to me. I cut off ’s head;   
And am right glad he is not standing here   
To tell this tale of mine.    352
  Cym.        I am sorry for thee:   
By thine own tongue thou art condemn’d, and must   
Endure our law. Thou’rt dead.   
  Imo.        That headless man    356
I thought had been my lord.   
  Cym.        Bind the offender,   
And take him from our presence.   
  Bel.        Stay, sir king:    360
This man is better than the man he slew,   
As well descended as thyself; and hath   
More of thee merited than a band of Clotens   
Had ever scar for. [To the Guard.] Let his arms alone;    364
They were not born for bondage.   
  Cym.        Why, old soldier,   
Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,   
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent    368
As good as we?   
  Arv.        In that he spake too far.   
  Cym.  And thou shalt die for ’t.   
  Bel.        We will die all three:    372
But I will prove that two on ’s are as good   
As I have given out him. My sons, I must   
For mine own part unfold a dangerous speech,   
Though, haply, well for you.    376
  Arv.        Your danger’s ours.   
  Gui.  And our good his.   
  Bel.        Have at it, then, by leave.   
Thou hadst, great king, a subject who was call’d    380
Belarius.   
  Cym.        What of him? he is   
A banish’d traitor.   
  Bel.        He it is that hath    384
Assum’d this age: indeed, a banish’d man;   
I know not how a traitor.   
  Cym.        Take him hence:   
The whole world shall not save him.    388
  Bel.        Not too hot:   
First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;   
And let it be confiscate all so soon   
As I have receiv’d it.    392
  Cym.        Nursing of my sons!   
  Bel.  I am too blunt and saucy; here’s my knee:   
Ere I arise I will prefer my sons;   
Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir,    396
These two young gentlemen, that call me father,   
And think they are my sons, are none of mine;   
They are the issue of your loins, my liege,   
And blood of your begetting.    400
  Cym.        How! my issue!   
  Bel.  So sure as you your father’s. I, old Morgan,   
Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish’d:   
Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment    404
Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer’d   
Was all the harm I did: These gentle princes—   
For such and so they are—these twenty years   
Have I train’d up; those arts they have as I    408
Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as   
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,   
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children   
Upon my banishment: I mov’d her to ’t,    412
Having receiv’d the punishment before,   
For that which I did then; beaten for loyalty   
Excited me to treason. Their dear loss,   
The more of you ’twas felt the more it shap’d    416
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,   
Here are your sons again; and I must lose   
Two of the sweet’st companions in the world.   
The benediction of these covering heavens    420
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy   
To inlay heaven with stars.   
  Cym.        Thou weep’st, and speak’st.   
The service that you three have done is more    424
Unlike than this thou tell’st. I lost my children:   
If these be they, I know not how to wish   
A pair of worthier sons.   
  Bel.        Be pleas’d awhile.    428
This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,   
Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius;   
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,   
Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp’d    432
In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand   
Of his queen mother, which, for more probation,   
I can with ease produce.   
  Cym.        Guiderius had    436
Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;   
It was a mark of wonder.   
  Bel.        This is he,   
Who hath upon him still that natural stamp.    440
It was wise nature’s end in the donation,   
To be his evidence now.   
  Cym.        O! what, am I   
A mother to the birth of three? Ne’er mother    444
Rejoic’d deliverance more. Blest pray you be,   
That, after this strange starting from your orbs,   
You may reign in them now. O Imogen!   
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.    448
  Imo.        No, my lord;   
I have got two worlds by ’t. O my gentle brothers!   
Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter   
But I am truest speaker: you call’d me brother,    452
When I was but your sister; I you brothers   
When ye were so indeed.   
  Cym.        Did you e’er meet?   
  Arv.  Ay, my good lord.    456
  Gui.        And at first meeting lov’d;   
Continu’d so, until we thought he died.   
  Cor.  By the queen’s dram she swallow’d.   
  Cym.        O rare instinct!    460
When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgment   
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which   
Distinction should be rich in. Where? how liv’d you?   
And when came you to serve our Roman captive?    464
How parted with your brothers? how first met them?   
Why fled you from the court, and whither? These,   
And your three motives to the battle, with   
I know not how much more, should be demanded,    468
And all the other by-dependances,   
From chance to chance, but nor the time nor place   
Will serve our long inter’gatories. See,   
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen,    472
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye   
On him, her brothers, me, her master, hitting   
Each object with a joy: the counterchange   
Is severally in all. Let’s quit this ground,    476
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.   
[To BELARIUS.] Thou art my brother; so we’ll hold thee ever.   
  Imo.  You are my father too; and did relieve me,   
To see this gracious season.    480
  Cym.        All o’erjoy’d   
Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too,   
For they shall taste our comfort.   
  Imo.        My good master,    484
I will yet do you service.   
  Luc.        Happy be you!   
  Cym.  The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought   
He would have well becom’d this place and grac’d    488
The thankings of a king.   
  Post.        I am, sir,   
The soldier that did company these three   
In poor beseeming; ’twas a fitment for    492
The purpose I then follow’d. That I was he,   
Speak, Iachimo; I had you down and might   
Have made you finish.   
  Iach.        [Kneeling.] I am down again;    496
But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,   
As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you,   
Which I so often owe, but your ring first,   
And here the bracelet of the truest princess    500
That ever swore her faith.   
  Post.        Kneel not to me:   
The power that I have on you is to spare you;   
The malice towards you to forgive you. Live,    504
And deal with others better.   
  Cym.        Nobly doom’d:   
We’ll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;   
Pardon’s the word to all.    508
  Arv.        You holp us, sir,   
As you did mean indeed to be our brother;   
Joy’d are we that you are.   
  Post.  Your servant, princes. Good my lord of Rome,    512
Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought   
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back’d,   
Appear’d to me, with other spritely shows   
Of mine own kindred: when I wak’d, I found    516
This label on my bosom; whose containing   
Is so from sense in hardness that I can   
Make no collection of it; let him show   
His skill in the construction.    520
  Luc.        Philarmonus!   
  Sooth.  Here, my good lord.   
  Luc.        Read, and declare the meaning.   
  Sooth.  Whenas 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.    524
Thou, Leonatus, art the lion’s whelp;   
The fit and apt construction of thy name,   
Being Leo-natus, doth import so much.   
[To CYMBELINE.] The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,    528
Which we call mollis aer; and mollis aer   
We term it mulier; which mulier, I divine,   
Is this most constant wife; who, even now,   
Answering the letter of the oracle,    532
Unknown to you, [To POSTHUMUS.] unsought, were clipp’d about   
With this most tender air.   
  Cym.        This hath some seeming.   
  Sooth.  The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,    536
Personates thee, and thy lopp’d branches point   
Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stolen,   
For many years thought dead, are now reviv’d,   
To the majestic cedar join’d, whose issue    540
Promises Britain peace and plenty.   
  Cym.        Well;   
My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius,   
Although the victor, we submit to Cæsar,    544
And to the Roman empire; promising   
To pay our wonted tribute, from the which   
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen;   
Whom heavens—in justice both on her and hers—    548
Have laid most heavy hand.   
  Sooth.  The fingers of the powers above do tune   
The harmony of this peace. The vision   
Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke    552
Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant   
Is full accomplish’d; for the Roman eagle,   
From south to west on wing soaring aloft,   
Lessen’d herself, and in the beams o’ the sun    556
So vanish’d: which foreshow’d our princely eagle,   
The imperial Cæsar, should again unite   
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,   
Which shines here in the west.    560
  Cym.        Laud we the gods;   
And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils   
From our bless’d altars. Publish we this peace   
To all our subjects. Set we forward: let    564
A Roman and a British ensign wave   
Friendly together; so through Lud’s town march:   
And in the temple of great Jupiter   
Our peace we’ll ratify; seal it with feasts.    568
Set on there. Never was a war did cease,   
Ere bloody hands were wash’d, with such a peace.  [Exeunt.   

Act I. Prologue.


Before the Palace of Antioch.
   
 
Enter GOWER.
   
To sing a song that old was sung,   
From ashes ancient Gower is come,      4
Assuming man’s infirmities,   
To glad your ear, and please your eyes.   
It hath been sung at festivals,   
On ember-eves, and holy-ales;      8
And lords and ladies in their lives   
Have read it for restoratives:   
The purchase is to make men glorious;   
Et bonum quo antiquius, eo melius.     12
If you, born in these latter times,   
When wit’s more ripe, accept my rimes,   
And that to hear an old man sing   
May to your wishes pleasure bring,     16
I life would wish, and that I might   
Waste it for you like taper-light.   
This Antioch, then, Antiochus the Great   
Built up, this city, for his chiefest seat,     20
The fairest in all Syria,   
I tell you what mine authors say:   
This king unto him took a fere,   
Who died and left a female heir,     24
So buxom, blithe, and full of face   
As heaven had lent her all his grace;   
With whom the father liking took,   
And her to incest did provoke.     28
Bad child, worse father! to entice his own   
To evil should be done by none.   
By custom what they did begin   
Was with long use account no sin.     32
The beauty of this sinful dame   
Made many princes thither frame,   
To seek her as a bed-fellow,   
In marriage-pleasures play-fellow:     36
Which to prevent, he made a law,   
To keep her still, and men in awe,   
That whoso ask’d her for his wife,   
His riddle told not, lost his life:     40
So for her many a wight did die,   
As yon grim looks do testify.   
What now ensues, to the judgment of your eye   
I give, my cause who best can justify.  [Exit.     44

Act I. Scene I.


Antioch. A Room in the Palace.
   
 
Enter ANTIOCHUS, PERICLES, and Attendants.
   
  Ant.  Young Prince of Tyre, you have at large receiv’d   
The danger of the task you undertake.      4
  Per.  I have, Antiochus, and, with a soul   
Embolden’d with the glory of her praise,   
Think death no hazard in this enterprise.   
  Ant.  Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride,      8
For the embracements even of Jove himself;   
At whose conception, till Lucina reign’d,   
Nature this dowry gave, to glad her presence,   
The senate-house of planets all did sit,     12
To knit in her their best perfections.  [Music.   
 
Enter the Daughter of ANTIOCHUS.
   
  Per.  See, where she comes apparell’d like the spring,   
Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king     16
Of every virtue gives renown to men!   
Her face the book of praises, where is read   
Nothing but curious pleasures, as from thence   
Sorrow were ever raz’d, and testy wrath     20
Could never be her mild companion.   
You gods, that made me man, and sway in love,   
That hath inflam’d desire in my breast   
To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree     24
Or die in the adventure, be my helps,   
As I am son and servant to your will,   
To compass such a boundless happiness!   
  Ant.  Prince Pericles,—     28
  Per.  That would be son to great Antiochus.   
  Ant.  Before thee stands this fair Hesperides,   
With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touch’d;   
For death-like dragons here affright thee hard:     32
Her face, like heaven, enticeth thee to view   
Her countless glory, which desert must gain;   
And which, without desert, because thine eye   
Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die.     36
Yon sometime famous princes, like thyself,   
Drawn by report, adventurous by desire,   
Tell thee with speechless tongues and semblance pale,   
That without covering, save yon field of stars,     40
They here stand martyrs, slain in Cupid’s wars;   
And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist   
For going on death’s net, whom none resist.   
  Per.  Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught     44
My frail mortality to know itself,   
And by those fearful objects to prepare   
This body, like to them, to what I must;   
For death remember’d should be like a mirror,     48
Who tells us life’s but breath, to trust it error.   
I’ll make my will then; and as sick men do,   
Who know the world, see heaven, but feeling woe,   
Gripe not at earthly joys as erst they did:     52
So I bequeath a happy peace to you   
And all good men, as every prince should do;   
My riches to the earth from whence they came,  [To the Daughter of ANTIOCHUS.   
But my unspotted fire of love to you.     56
Thus ready for the way of life or death,   
I wait the sharpest blow.   
  Ant.  Scorning advice, read the conclusion then;   
Which read and not expounded, ’tis decreed,     60
As these before thee thou thyself shalt bleed.   
  Daugh.  Of all say’d yet, mayst thou prove prosperous!   
Of all say’d yet, I wish thee happiness!   
  Per.  Like a bold champion, I assume the lists,     64
Nor ask advice of any other thought   
But faithfulness and courage.
           I am no viper, yet I feed
   On mother’s flesh which did me breed;
   I sought a husband, in which labour
   I found that kindness in a father.
   He’s father, son, and husband mild,
   I mother, wife, and yet his child.
   How they may be, and yet in two,
   As you will live, resolve it you.
   
Sharp physic is the last: but, O you powers!   
That give heaven countless eyes to view men’s acts,     68
Why cloud they not their sights perpetually,   
If this be true, which makes me pale to read it?   
Fair glass of light, I lov’d you, and could still,   
Were not this glorious casket stor’d with ill:     72
But I must tell you now my thoughts revolt;   
For he’s no man on whom perfections wait   
That, knowing sin within, will touch the gate.   
You’re a fair viol, and your sense the strings,     76
Who, finger’d to make men his lawful music,   
Would draw heaven down and all the gods to hearken;   
But being play’d upon before your time,   
Hell only danceth at so harsh a chime.     80
Good sooth, I care not for you.   
  Ant.  Prince Pericles, touch not, upon thy life,   
For that’s an article within our law,   
As dangerous as the rest. Your time’s expir’d:     84
Either expound now or receive your sentence.   
  Per.  Great king,   
Few love to hear the sins they love to act;   
’Twould braid yourself too near for me to tell it.     88
Who has a book of all that monarchs do,   
He’s more secure to keep it shut than shown;   
For vice repeated is like the wandering wind,   
Blows dust in others’ eyes, to spread itself;     92
And yet the end of all is bought thus dear,   
The breath is gone, and the sore eyes see clear   
To stop the air would hurt them. The blind mole casts   
Copp’d hills towards heaven, to tell the earth is throng’d     96
By man’s oppression; and the poor worm doth die for’t.   
Kings are earth’s gods; in vice their law’s their will;   
And if Jove stray, who dares say Jove doth ill?   
It is enough you know; and it is fit,    100
What being more known grows worse, to smother it.   
All love the womb that their first being bred,   
Then give my tongue like leave to love my head.   
  Ant.  [Aside.] Heaven! that I had thy head; he has found the meaning;    104
But I will gloze with him. Young Prince of Tyre,   
Though by the tenour of our strict edict,   
Your exposition misinterpreting,   
We might proceed to cancel of your days;    108
Yet hope, succeeding from so fair a tree   
As your fair self, doth tune us otherwise:   
Forty days longer we do respite you;   
If by which time our secret be undone,    112
This mercy shows we’ll joy in such a son:   
And until then your entertain shall be   
As doth befit our honour and your worth.  [Exeunt all but PERICLES.   
  Per.  How courtesy would seem to cover sin,    116
When what is done is like a hypocrite,   
The which is good in nothing but in sight!   
If it be true that I interpret false,   
Then were it certain you were not so bad    120
As with foul incest to abuse your soul;   
Where now you’re both a father and a son,   
By your untimely claspings with your child,—   
Which pleasure fits a husband, not a father;—    124
And she an eater of her mother’s flesh,   
By the defiling of her parent’s bed;   
And both like serpents are, who though they feed   
On sweetest flowers, yet they poison breed.    128
Antioch, farewell! for wisdom sees, those men   
Blush not in actions blacker than the night,   
Will shun no course to keep them from the light.   
One sin, I know, another doth provoke;    132
Murder’s as near to lust as flame to smoke.   
Poison and treason are the hands of sin,   
Ay, and the targets, to put off the shame:   
Then, lest my life be cropp’d to keep you clear,    136
By flight I’ll shun the danger which I fear.  [Exit.   
 
Re-enter ANTIOCHUS.
   
  Ant.  He hath found the meaning, for which we mean   
To take his head.    140
He must not live to trumpet forth my infamy,   
Nor tell the world Antiochus doth sin   
In such a loathed manner;   
And therefore instantly this prince must die,    144
For by his fall my honour must keep high.   
Who attends us there?   
 
Enter THALIARD.
   
  Thal.        Doth your highness call?    148
  Ant.  Thaliard,   
You’re of our chamber, and our mind partakes   
Her private actions to your secrecy;   
And for your faithfulness we will advance you.    152
Thaliard, behold, here’s poison, and here’s gold:   
We hate the Prince of Tyre, and thou must kill him:   
It fits thee not to ask the reason why,   
Because we bid it. Say, is it done?    156
  Thal.  My lord, ’tis done.   
  Ant.  Enough.   
 
Enter a Messenger.
   
Let your breath cool yourself, telling your haste.    160
  Mess.  My lord, Prince Pericles is fled.   [Exit.   
  Ant.        [To THALIARD.] As thou   
Wilt live, fly after; and, as an arrow shot   
From a well-experienc’d archer hits the mark    164
His eye doth level at, so thou ne’er return   
Unless thou say ‘Prince Pericles is dead.’   
  Thal.  My lord,   
If I can get him within my pistol’s length,    168
I’ll make him sure enough: so, farewell to your highness.   
  Ant.  Thaliard, adieu!  [Exit THALIARD.   
Till Pericles be dead,   
My heart can lend no succour to my head.  [Exit.    172

Act I. Scene II.


Tyre. A Room in the Palace.
   
 
Enter PERICLES.
   
  Per.  [To those without.] Let none disturb us.—   
Why should this change of thoughts,      4
The sad companion, dull-ey’d melancholy,   
Be my so us’d a guest, as not an hour   
In the day’s glorious walk or peaceful night—   
The tomb where grief should sleep—can breed me quiet?      8
Here pleasures court mine eyes, and mine eyes shun them,   
And danger, which I feared, is at Antioch,   
Whose arm seems far too short to hit me here;   
Yet neither pleasure’s art can joy my spirits,     12
Nor yet the other’s distance comfort me.   
Then it is thus: the passions of the mind,   
That have their first conception by mis-dread,   
Have after-nourishment and life by care;     16
And what was first but fear what might be done,   
Grows elder now and cares it be not done.   
And so with me: the great Antiochus,—   
’Gainst whom I am too little to contend,     20
Since he’s so great can make his will his act,—   
Will think me speaking, though I swear to silence;   
Nor boots it me to say I honour him,   
If he suspect I may dishonour him;     24
And what may make him blush in being known,   
He’ll stop the course by which it might be known.   
With hostile forces he’ll o’erspread the land,   
And with the ostent of war will look so huge,     28
Amazement shall drive courage from the state,   
Our men be vanquish’d ere they do resist,   
And subjects punish’d that ne’er thought offence:   
Which care of them, not pity of myself,—     32
Who am no more but as the tops of trees,   
Which fence the roots they grow by and defend them,—   
Make both my body pine and soul to languish,   
And punish that before that he would punish.     36
 
Enter HELICANUS and other Lords.
   
  First Lord.  Joy and all comfort in your sacred breast!   
  Sec. Lord.  And keep your mind, till you return to us,   
Peaceful and comfortable.     40
  Hel.  Peace, peace! and give experience tongue.   
They do abuse the king that flatter him;   
For flattery is the bellows blows up sin;   
The thing the which is flatter’d, but a spark,     44
To which that blast gives heat and stronger glowing;   
Whereas reproof, obedient and in order,   
Fits kings, as they are men, for they may err:   
When Signior Sooth here does proclaim a peace,     48
He flatters you, makes war upon your life.   
Prince, pardon me, or strike me, if you please;   
I cannot be much lower than my knees.   
  Per.  All leave us else; but let your cares o’erlook     52
What shipping and what lading’s in our haven,   
And then return to us.  [Exeunt Lords.   
Helicanus, thou   
Hast mov’d us; what seest thou in our looks?     56
  Hel.  An angry brow, dread lord.   
  Per.  If there be such a dart in prince’s frowns,   
How durst thy tongue move anger to our face?   
  Hel.  How dare the plants look up to heaven, from whence     60
They have their nourishment?   
  Per.        Thou know’st I have power   
To take thy life from thee.   
  Hel.  [Kneeling.] I have ground the axe myself;     64
Do you but strike the blow.   
  Per.        Rise, prithee, rise;   
Sit down; thou art no flatterer:   
I thank thee for it; and heaven forbid     68
That kings should let their ears hear their faults hid!   
Fit counsellor and servant for a prince,   
Who by thy wisdom mak’st a prince thy servant,   
What wouldst thou have me do?     72
  Hel.        To bear with patience   
Such griefs as you yourself do lay upon yourself.   
  Per.  Thou speak’st like a physician, Helicanus,   
That minister’st a potion unto me     76
That thou wouldst tremble to receive thyself,   
Attend me then: I went to Antioch,   
Where as thou know’st, against the face of death   
I sought the purchase of a glorious beauty,     80
From whence an issue I might propagate   
Are arms to princes and bring joys to subjects.   
Her face was to mine eye beyond all wonder;   
The rest, hark in thine ear, as black as incest;     84
Which by my knowledge found, the sinful father   
Seem’d not to strike, but smooth; but thou know’st this,   
’Tis time to fear when tyrants seem to kiss.   
Which fear so grew in me I hither fled,     88
Under the covering of a careful night,   
Who seem’d my good protector; and, being here,   
Bethought me what was past, what might succeed.   
I knew him tyrannous; and tyrants’ fears     92
Decrease not, but grow faster than the years.   
And should he doubt it, as no doubt he doth,   
That I should open to the listening air   
How many worthy princes’ bloods were shed,     96
To keep his bed of blackness unlaid ope,   
To lop that doubt he’ll fill this land with arms,   
And make pretence of wrong that I have done him;   
When all, for mine, if I may call’t, offence,    100
Must feel war’s blow, who spares not innocence:   
Which love to all, of which thyself art one,   
Who now reprov’st me for it,—   
  Hel.        Alas! sir.    104
  Per.  Drew sleep out of mine eyes, blood from my cheeks,   
Musings into my mind, with thousand doubts   
How I might stop this tempest, ere it came;   
And finding little comfort to relieve them,    108
I thought it princely charity to grieve them.   
  Hel.  Well, my lord, since you have given me leave to speak,   
Freely will I speak. Antiochus you fear,   
And justly too, I think, you fear the tyrant,    112
Who either by public war or private treason   
Will take away your life.   
Therefore, my lord, go travel for a while,   
Till that his rage and anger be forgot,    116
Or till the Destinies do cut his thread of life.   
Your rule direct to any; if to me,   
Day serves not light more faithful than I’ll be.   
  Per.  I do not doubt thy faith;    120
But should he wrong my liberties in my absence?   
  Hel.  We’ll mingle our bloods together in the earth,   
From whence we had our being and our birth.   
  Per.  Tyre, I now look from thee then, and to Tarsus    124
Intend my travel, where I’ll hear from thee,   
And by whose letters I’ll dispose myself.   
The care I had and have of subjects’ good   
On thee I’ll lay, whose wisdom’s strength can bear it.    128
I’ll take thy word for faith, not ask thine oath;   
Who shuns not to break one will sure crack both.   
But in our orbs we’ll live so round and safe,   
That time of both this truth shall ne’er convince,    132
Thou show’dst a subject’s shine, I a true prince.  [Exeunt.   

Act I. Scene III.


The Same. An Antechamber in the Palace.
   
 
Enter THALIARD.
   
  Thal.  So this is Tyre, and this the court. Here must I kill King Pericles; and if I do not, I am sure to be hanged at home: ’tis dangerous. Well, I perceive he was a wise fellow, and had good discretion, that, being bid to ask what he would of the king, desired he might know none of his secrets: now do I see he had some reason for it; for if a king bid a man be a villain, he is bound by the indenture of his oath to be one. Hush! here come the lords of Tyre.   
 
Enter HELICANUS, ESCANES, and other Lords.
      4
  Hel.  You shall not need, my fellow peers of Tyre,   
Further to question of your king’s departure:   
His seal’d commission, left in trust with me,   
Doth speak sufficiently he’s gone to travel.      8
  Thal.  [Aside.] How! the king gone!   
  Hel.  If further yet you will be satisfied,   
Why, as it were unlicens’d of your loves,   
He would depart, I’ll give some light unto you.     12
Being at Antioch—   
  Thal.        [Aside.] What from Antioch?   
  Hel.  Royal Antiochus—on what cause I know not—   
Took some displeasure at him, at least he judg’d so;     16
And doubting lest that he had err’d or sinn’d,   
To show his sorrow he’d correct himself;   
So puts himself unto the shipman’s toil,   
With whom each minute threatens life or death.     20
  Thal.  [Aside.] Well, I perceive   
I shall not be hang’d now, although I would;   
But since he’s gone, the king it sure must please:   
He ’scap’d the land, to perish at the sea.     24
I’ll present myself. [Aloud.] Peace to the lords of Tyre.   
  Hel.  Lord Thaliard from Antiochus is welcome.   
  Thal.  From him I come,   
With message unto princely Pericles;     28
But since my landing I have understood   
Your lord hath betook himself to unknown travels,   
My message must return from whence it came.   
  Hel.  We have no reason to desire it,     32
Commended to our master, not to us:   
Yet, ere you shall depart, this we desire,   
As friends to Antioch, we may feast in Tyre.  [Exeunt.