Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment [Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow: then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty. 'Tis still a dream; or else such stuff as madmen Re-enter Gaolers. Gaol. Come, sir, are you ready for death? Post. Over-roasted rather: ready long ago. Gaol. Hanging is the word, sir; if you be ready for that, you are well cooked. Post. So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish pays the shot. Gaol. A heavy reckoning for you, sir: But the comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments, fear no more tavern bills; which are often the sadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth: you cone 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 heavi ness: O! 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 debtor 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. Gaol. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the tooth-ach: But a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think, he would change places with his officer: for, look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go. Post. Yes, indeed, do I, fellow. Gaol. Your death has eyes in's head then; I have not seen him so pictured: you must either be directed by some that take upon them to know; or take upon yourself that, which I am sure you do not know; or jump the after-inquiry on your own peril: and how you shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll never return to tell one. Post. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them the way I am going, but such as wink, and will not use them. Gaol. What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the best use of eyes, to see the way of blindness! I am sure, hanging's the way of winking. Enter a Messenger. Mess. Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the king. Post. Thou bringest good news;--I am called to be made free. Gaol. I'll be hanged then. Post. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead. [Exeunt Posthumus and Messenger. Gaol. Unless a man would marry a gallows, and beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone.2 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 (2) Forward. (1) Hazard. one mind, and one mind good; O, there were desolation of gaolers, and gallowses! I speak against my present profit; but my wish hath a preferment in't. [Exeunt. SCENE V-Cymbeline's tent. Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio, Lords, Officers, and Attendants. Cym. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made Preservers of my throne. Wo is my heart, 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 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. Cym. To my grief, I am The heir of his reward; which I will add To [To Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. By whom, I grant, she lives; 'Tis now the time To ask of whence you are:-report it. Bel. Sir, In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen: Bow your knees: Cym. (1) Target, shield. Enter Cornelius and Ladies. There's business in these faces :-Why so sadly Greet you our victory? you look like Romans, And not o'the court of Britain. Cor. Hail, great king! To sour your happiness, I must report The queen is dead. 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? 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 Can trip me, if I err; who, with wet cheeks, Were present when she finish'd. Cym. Pr'ythee, say. Cor. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you; only Affected greatness got by you, not you: Married your royalty, was wife to your place; Cym. She alone knew this: 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 Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life, Ta'en off by poison. Cym. O most delicate fiend! Who is't can read a woman?-Is there more? had For you a mortal mineral, which, being took, Should by the minute feed on life, and, ling'ring, By inches waste you: In which time she purpos'd, By watching, wceping, tendance, kissing, to But failing of her end by his strange absence, Cym. Heard you all this, her women? Lady. We did so, please your highness. Cym. Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; Mine eyes Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, That thought her like her seeming; it had been vicious, To have mistrusted her yet, O my daughter! And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all! Enter Lucius, Iachimo, the Soothsayer, and other Roman Prisoners, guarded; Posthumus behind, and Imogen. Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that Of you their captives, which ourself have granted; Luc. Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods, |