Wake, my mistress! Thy mother's dead.

Imogen.

But I will prove that two on's are as good

I am sorry for't, my lord. As I have given out him.-My sons, I must
For mine own part unfold a dangerous speech,
Though, haply, well for you.

Cymbeline.

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.

Pisanio.
My lord,
Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord
Upon my lady's missing, came to me [Cloten,
With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth,
and swore,

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

To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments,
Which he inforc'd from me, away he posts
With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate
My lady's honour: what became of him,
I farther know not.

I am sorry for thee:
By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and
must
Endure our law.

Thou art dead.

That headless man

Imogen.
I thought had been my lord.
Cymbeline.
And take him from our presence.
Belarius.

Arvirag.6.

Your danger's ours.

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
Could put into them: my breeding was, sir, as
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euripik,
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
Bind the offender, Upon my banishment: I mov'd her to't;
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
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
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
To inlay heaven with stars.

Stay, sir king.
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. - Let his arms alone;
[To the Guard.
They were not born for bondage.

Cymbeline.
Why, old soldier,
Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
A's good as we?

Arviragus.

In that he spake too far.
Cymbeline.

And thou shalt die for't.
Belarius.

We will die all three:

Your

Imogen.

Your younger princely son: he, sir, was lapp'd
In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand
Of his queen mother, which, for more probation, I will yet do you service.
I can with ease produce.

A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother
Rejoic'd deliverance more.-Bless'd 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.

Imogen.

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,
When I was but your sister; I you brothers,
When you were so indeed.

Cymbeline.
Arviragus.

Guiderius.

Ay, my good lord.

Lucius.

My good master,

Lachimo.

I am down again;
Kneeling,
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,
That ever swore her faith.

Posthumus.
Kneel not to me:
The power that I have on you is to spare you;
The malice towards you to forgive you. Live,
Did you e'er meet? And deal with others better.

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?
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 de-
manded,

And all the other by-dependencies,
From chance to chance; but nor the time, nor

place,

Will serve our long inter'gatories. See,
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen;

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,
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.-
Thou art my brother: so we'll hold thee ever.
[To Belarius.

Imogen.

You holp us, sir,
As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
Joy'd are we, that you are.
Posthumus.

Your servant, princes.- Good my lord of
Rome,

Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, me-
thought,

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
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.

"When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which being dead many years shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow, then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty."

Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
The fit and apt construction of thy name,
Being Leo-natus, doth import so much.
The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
[To Cymbeline.

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,
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about
With this most tender air.

Cymbeline.

The harmony of this peace. The vision,
Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke
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,
This hath some seeming. Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun
So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely
Th' imperial Caesar, should again unite [eagle,
Which shines here in the west.
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,

Soothsayer.

The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
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
Promises Britain peace and plenty.

Cymbeline.

Well,

It hath been sung at festivals,
On ember-eves, and holy ales,
And lords and ladies in their lives

Have read it for restoratives:

The purpose is to make men glorious;
Et bonum quo antiquius, eo melius.

If you, born in these latter times,

When wit's more ripe, accept my rhymes,
And that to hear an old man sing,
May to your wishes pleasure bring,

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,
The fairest in all Syria;

I tell you what my authors say:
This king unto him took a feere,
Who died and left a female heir,
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.

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.
The beauty of this sinful dame
Made many princes thither frame,
To seek her as a bed-fellow,
In marriage pleasures play-fellow:
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:
So, for her many a wight did die,
[eye
As yond' grim looks do testify.
What now ensues, to the judgment of your
I give, my cause who best can justify.
[Exit.
SCENE 1. Antioch. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Antiochus, Pericles, and Attendants.
Antiochus.

Young prince of Tyre, you have at large re-
The danger of the task you undertake.

Pericles.

I have, Antiochus, and with a soul Embolden'd with the glory of her praise, Think death no hazard, in this enterprise.

Antiochus

[ceiv'd

Music.

Bring in our daughter, clothed like a bride,
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,
To knit in her their best perfections.

Enter the Daughter of Antiochus,
Pericles.

See, where she comes, apparell'd like the
spring,

Graces her subjects, and her thoughts the king
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 ras'd, and testy wrath
Could never be her mild companion.

Ye gods, that made me man, and sway in love,
That have inflam'd desire in my breast,
To taste the fruit of yon celestial tree,
Or die in the adventure, be my helps,
As I am son and servant to your will,
To compass such a boundless happiness!

Her countless glory, which desert must gain;
And which, without desert, because thine eye
Presumes to reach, all thy whole heap must die.
Yond' sometime famous princes, like thyself,
Drawn by report, adventurous by desire, [pale,
Tell thee with speechless tongues, and semblance
That, without covering, save yond' field of stars,
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.
Pericles.

Antiochus, I thank thee, who hath taught
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,
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

THE RIDDLE.

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 physick is the last: but, O you powers!
That give heaven countless eyes to view men's

acts,

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;"
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,
Who, finger'd to make man 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.
Good sooth, I care not for you.

Antiochus.

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:
Either expound now, or receive your sentence.
Pericles.

Great king,

Few love to hear the sins they love to act;
"Twould 'braid yourself too near for me to tell it.

Who