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, The hazard therefore due fall on me, by The hands of Romans!

Arv.

So say I; Amen.

Bel. No reason I, since on your lives you set 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:
Lead, lead. The time seems long; their blood

thinks scorn,

[Aside. Till it fly out, and show them princes born. [Exe.

ACT V.

SCENE I-A field between the British and Roman camps. Enter Posthumus, with a bloody handkerchief.

Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wish'd

Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married ones,
If each of you would 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:
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 on2 this: so had you sav'd
The noble Imogen to repent; and struck
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

(1) Deviating from the right way.
(2) Incite, instigate.

To second ills with ills, each elder worse;

And make them dread it to the doer's 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
Against my lady's kingdom: 'Tis enough

That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace!
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good hea-

vens,

Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me 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 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. 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. SCENE II-The same. Enter at one side, Lucius, Iachimo, and the Roman army; at the other side, the British army; Leonatus Posthumas following it, like a poor soldier. They march over, and Alarums. Then enter again in skirmish, Iachimo and Posthumus : he vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo, and then leaves him.

go out.

Iach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady, 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 As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn. If that thy gentry, Britain, go before

(1) Clown.

This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds
Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gods.

[Exit.

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

Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground;

The lane is guarded: nothing routs us, but
The villany of our fears.

Gui. Arv.

Stand, stand, and fight!

Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons: They rescue Cymbeline, and exeunt. Then, enter Lucius, lachimo, and Imogen.

Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thy

self:

For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such
As war were hood-wink'd.

Iach.
"Tis their fresh supplies.
Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely: Or betimes
Let's re-enforce, or fly.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III-Another part of the field. Enter Posthumus and a British Lord.

Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the stand?

Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.

I did.

Lord. Post. No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost, But that the heavens fought: The king himself 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 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
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,—
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
The country base,2 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; cry'd to those that fled,
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,
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, 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

But by example (O, a sin in 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
i'the chaser, a retire; anon,

A stop

A rout, confusion thick: Forthwith, they fly

(1) Block'd up.

(2) A country-game called prison-bars, vulgarly prison-base.

Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves, The strides they victors made: and now our cowards (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 O'erborne i'the former wave: ten, chac'd by one, Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty: Those, that would die or ere resist, are grown The mortal bugs! o'the field.

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, Than to work any. Will you rhyme 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. 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,

I know, he'll quickly fly my friendship too.

You have put me into rhyme.

Lord.
Farewell, you are angry. [Exit.
Post. Still going?-This is a lord! O`noble
misery!

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 carcasses? took heel to do't,
And yet died too? I, in mine own wo charm'd,
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 That draw his knives i'the war.----Well, I will find

him:

(1) Terrors.