University of Virginia Library

ACT. III.

Enter Philario from the Cave.
How restless is this thinking! welcome day!
How I shall sift her thoroughly—for what's past
Little hangs on it—were she true and artless,
Thus would she' have; if false and artful, thus—
She shall be told in words as strong and hateful,
As earnestness can make 'em, what she drank
Is deadly to all sense, as for a time
It is, to full effect.—'Tis a rare drug
That locks the spirits up in shew of death,
To be more fresh reviving—Dread of death
Shall force me out the truth; fraud will be honest
Itself thus over-reach'd—but hist, Bellarius.
Enter Bellarius.
Our courtiers say all's savage but at court—
How does this hospitable rock, Bellarius,
Give 'em the lie?

BELLARIUS.
Our minds must not be measur'd
By this rude place we live in—You are rouz'd
Before the hunter's hour—Could you not sleep
Upon your bed of moss?

PHILARIO.
Ay, sir, as soundly
As cradled infancy.

BELLARIUS.
Your chamber was
The best o'th' house—For us we often make
The star-wrought sky our tester—Weariness
Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth
Finds the down pillow hard—what think you, sir,
Of this our way of life?

PHILARIO.
It is unknown,
And therefore envied not—our courtly great ones
May blush at their high breeding; here's the place
Where virtue teaches school—are your sons up?
By Jove multipotent there's not a couple,
Whose praise fame trumpets with her loud'st O yes,
That can out-peer these twain—they seem as gentle
As Zephyrs blowing 'neath the hyacinth,
Not wagging his sweet head, and yet as rough
(Their sprightly blood by a good tale once warm'd)
As the rude wind that by the top doth take
The mountain pine, and make him stoop to th' vale.—

BELLARIUS.
Why, thou hast mark'd them well—Lo! where they come,
And with 'em your Fidele.

Enter Palador, Cadwal, and Imogen.
BELLARIUS.
So, my boys,
Are your devotions to the morning star
With solemn homage paid?

PALADOR.
They are, my father.

BELLARIUS.
What says Fidele? Can he like a court
No bigger than this cave?

IMOGEN.
Believe me, sir,
The partnership of labour here, is richer
Than golden honours there.

CADWAL.
I've said I love thee—
I cannot say how much, but sure as much
As I do love my father—

BELLARIUS.
What? How? How?

PALADOR.
If it be sin to say so, sir, I join me
In my good brother's fault—I know not why
I love this youth, and I have heard you say
Love reasons without reason. Fate at door,
And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say
My father, not this youth—

BELLARIUS.
'Tis wonderful:
Does instinct tell them I am not their father?
(Aside.)
Well—to the field—tis the fourth hour o'th' morn.
Philario, and Fidele will remain
Here in the cave—We'll come to you after hunting;
Or are you for our sport?

IMOGEN.
I am not well—
A sudden laziness creeps o'er my senses,
As if fatigue acknowledg'd no repair
By this nights' sleep—

PHILARIO.
The drug begins to work—

(Aside.)
PALADOR.
Go you to hunting—I'll abide with him.

IMOGEN.
No—to your journal course—the breach of custom
Is breach of all—My uncle will stay here—
Farewel—I wish you sport—I shall be well
By your return—

ALL.
We'll not be long away.—

[Exeunt Bellarius, Palador, and Cadwal.
PHILARIO.
These are kind creatures, lady.

IMOGEN.
On my life
I'd change my sex to be companion with 'em,
Since my dear lord is false.

PHILARIO.
I would confer
Once more upon that theme.

IMOGEN.
I'm sick already;
And would you minister fresh pain, Philario?

PHILARIO.
Come—I'll no more dissemble—you are known
False to your banish'd lord.

IMOGEN.
What hear I, Gods!

PHILARIO.
The truth, the killing truth—art not asham'd?
—But shame is masculine—Could I find out
The woman's part in me—for there's no motion
That tends to vice in man, but I affirm
It is the woman's part; be't lying, note it,
The woman's flatt'ring, yours; deceiving, yours;
Lust and rank thoughts, yours, yours; revenges, yours;
Ambition; covetings; change of prides; disdain;
Nice longings; slanders; mutability;
All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hell knows,
Why yours in part, or all; but rather all—
For ev'n to vice
You are not constant, but are changing still
One vice but of a minute old, for one
Not half so old as that.

IMOGEN.
Am I awake?
Or have you senses perfect?

PHILARIO.
'Tis enough—
I have atchieved more than er'e did Julius,
And will be chronicled 'mongst those wise few
That have out-craftied woman.

IMOGEN.
You amaze me.

PHILARIO.
Oh! no more fooling—I have proof that tells
The time, the place, the—fie upon it, lady,
It wounds my modesty to quote the deeds
That cost thee not a blush.

IMOGEN.
Blasphemer, hold!
Thou art in league with perjur'd Leonatus,
And dost traduce a lady that despises
Malice and thee like.

PHILARIO.
Go to—you're naught—

IMOGEN.
Villain, your proof? Why stand you idle thus?
If thou do'st see a speck upon my honour,
Prick at it with the sword, your just remorse
E'en now let drop.

PHILARIO.
Mistake not, lady mine,
Remorse was counterfeit, my purpose real;
I found you past all grace, and did commence
Cunning in my revenge; your punishment
Were nothing if not such; you have your death,
Yet never felt his sting.

IMOGEN.
What says Philario!

PHILARIO.
O now you tremble like a guilty soul
Beneath the furies lash—now you would pour
A deluge of salt grief to wash your crimes—
It is too late, thou hast out-liv'd repentance—
That draught was tinctured with a mortal juice,
And he that drinks an acron on't, is serv'd,
As I would serve a dog.

IMOGEN.
Sir, my surprize
Relishes not of fear.—This is a cure
Which you do call a chastisement—I feel
The death thou speak'st of curdling in my veins.—
How sweetly do they sleep whom sorrow wakes not!
Farewel—my innocence is sacrifice,
Or to the blindfold rage of jealousy,
Or to estranged love—O Leonatus,
The Gods have pity on thee.

PHILARIO.
Do I speak?
Is this my hand? are these my eyes?—All this
I will to question put, if thou art true—
O Imogen, but that I thought thee foul,
And thy confession a superfluous warrant,
I would have ta'en my sucking infant's throat,
And broach'd it with my martial scymeter,
E're touch'd thy precious life.

IMOGEN.
I do forgive thee—
Thy judgment (which how warp'd it matters not)
Condemn'd me to this death—Nay, weep not, sir,
Commend me to my lord—alas! Philario,
I grieve myself to think how much hereafter,
When the belief, or false affection, which
Holds pris'ner now his mind, shall leave him free,
His mem'ry will be pang'd by looking back
On my hard case of woe—my brain is heavy—

PHILARIO.
The mighty Gods throw stones of sulphur on
All jealous, head-sick fools—He saw it not—
And ev'ry day's experience doth disprove
The strong'st report—O the accursed fate
That damn'd me to this office—

IMOGEN.
Curb thy rage
Unprofitably loos'd—I'll in, and die—
Follow me not—my soul has that to do
Which is best done in secret—fare thee well—
Present to our good host, and my sweet brothers,
My thanks and choicest blessings.

[Exit. Imogen into the Cave.
PHILARIO.
It goes well,
Her honour I have fann'd, and found it chaffless—
Friend, thou art fool, or villain—If I prove
Thou would'st betray my love to purposes
Of hell-black colour, tho' our friendship stood
Upon a brazen base, it should dissolve,
And, like the film that dews the morning flower,
Break into unseen air. Hah Palador!—

Enter Palador hastily
Lend me thy sword, good Uncle—as I crost
The mountain's ridge, a fellow at a distance
(Whose drapery by far out-glistens thine)
Bad me with accents stern and masterly
Stop and attend his speech—I hied me hither,
And, if he follow, will responses make
By word, or blow, an he dare question me—
Belike 'tis talk'd at court that such as we
Cave here; haunt here; are outlaws; and in time
May make some stronger head; the which he hearing
Is sworn with choice attendants in his train
To fetch us in—It is a crisis that
My father sometimes drops discourses of.—

PHILARIO.
Say'st so? I will go climb the rock, and spie
What companies are near.
[Exit. Philario.

PALADOR.
Do—for this bravo,
Let me alone with him—this instrument
Fits my hand well—I grasp it fast as tho'
'Twere part of me, and grew unto my arm—
I feel I can do any thing but fear—
I will look out.—By the broad shield of Mars
He comes unto my wish—up sword, and sleep
Till I awake thee, hap'ly soon—

Enter Cloten.
CLOTEN.
My zeal
Hath far out-gone my train—hark thee—thou fellow,
Why didst thou fly me? didst not hear me call?

PALADOR.
I did, and therefore came not.

CLOTEN.
Saucy hind—
Thou art some villain mountaineer—What art thou?

PALADOR.
A man—thou look'st as if thou cam'st from court,
And yet thou art no more.

CLOTEN.
Thou know'st me not—
Answer me, wretch, on peril of thy life—
Saw'st thou two trav'lers speeding thro' the forest—
The elder somewhat 'bove my age, the younger
Few years below your own?

PALADOR.
Such if I saw.
I saw 'em not for thee—

CLOTEN.
Ha! dost thou mock me?
Where are the traitors, slave? quick, or—

PALADOR.
A thing
More slavish did I ne'er, than answering
A slave, without a blow.

CLOTEN.
Thou art a robber;
A law-breaker; a villain; yield thee, thief—

PALADOR.
To whom? to thee? what art thou? Have not I
An arm as big as thine? a heart as big?
Thy words I grant are bigger—for I wear not
My dagger in my mouth—say what thou art,
Why I should yield to thee?

CLOTEN.
Thou villian base!
Know'st me not by my garb?

PALADOR.
No, nor thy tailor—
Who is thy grandfather?—he made that garb,
Which, as it seems, makes thee—

CLOTEN.
Injurious thief!
Hear but my name, and tremble—

PALADOR.
What's thy name?

CLOTEN.
Cloten, thou villain!

PALADOR.
Cloten? then double villain be thy name;
I cannot tremble at it; were it Toad,
Adder, or Spider, it would move me sooner—

CLOTEN.
Then to thy fear, and mere confusion, know
I'm son to the late queen, and heir to th' crown.

PALADOR.
In troth I'm sorry for't; thyself not seeming
So worthy as thy birth.—Me thou hast wrong'd,
Thou' thou wert son of Juno.

CLOTEN.
Thou vile thing!
Wrong thee!—But die the death—thou wilt be honour'd
To perish by this hand—when I have slain thee,
I'll on the gate of Lud's Town set thy head
To roast i'th' sun.

(Drawing.)
PALADOR.
Are you for scratching? Come—
To-day I'll lose a soldier's maidenhead—
Hah! are you down? I see a prince is made
(fight)
Of penetrable stuff—

(Cloten falls.)
CLOTEN.
Dog! thou hast slain me.
(dies.)

PALADOR.
Ay, and the world no loser—This is sport
Hotter than hunting—I will kill no more
The tim'rous deer—such killing's cowardice—
My reeking sword sweats honourably now—
Thou poor loud-boasting fool! Hah! how I stalk
In triumph round thee! like the victor lion
Slow pacing 'bout the mangled tyger's corse,
And grimly taking solace in his slaughter—

Enter Bellarius, Cadwal, and Philario.
BELLARIUS.
I heard the clash of swords—O Palador!
What hast thou done?

PALADOR.
I'm perfect what—cut thro' one Cloten's heart,
Son to the queen, after his own report—
He came in search of thee and fair Fidele,
Or I did much misconstrue his demand—
(To Philario.
He call'd me villain, mountaneer, and swore
He would displace my head, where now it grows,
And set it on Lud's Town.

PHILARIO.
'Tis very Cloten,
The king's adopted son.

PALADOR.
Why had the king
Misus'd bold Palador, his royalty
Had lain so weltring there—What company
Discover you abroad?

PHILARIO.
No single soul
Can I set eye on—yet 'tis strange his anger
Should bring him here alone.

BELLARIUS.
I'll not believe
But quick revenge pursues us!

PALADOR.
Let it come;
Let it be such as possible strength may meet,
It shall be welcome.

CADWAL.
That's my valiant brother—
Thou hast said well, done well; O Palador!
I love thee brotherly, but envy much
Thou'st rob'd me of this deed. Where's sweet Fidele?

PHILARIO.
Asleep within the cave.—Hear me, good sirs—
This act, I trust, is dangerless, except
We're traitors to ourselves.—Boys, take the body,
And let it down the creek behind the rock
Into the sea
(Exeunt Pal. and Cad. with the body.)
Bellarius, hark a word—
Thy sons are noble ones, and pity 'tis
Their worth should waste in dull obscurity.
To day fell war unfurls his bloody flag
Between the Roman and the British host,
And confidence is goad to either side.
Upon the border of the forest here,
The Roman lies encamp'd—and two hours march
Will join our countrymen—your valiant boys
May, in such fight as this is like to prove,
Begin and end a fame.

BELLARIUS.
Why now or never
'Tis fit they launch into the world, Philario,
But fitter never.

PHILARIO.
Do not say so, sir;
Britain doth lack such hearts.

BELLARIUS.
Well, you shall rule me—
Indeed I wish'd for such a day as this,
To make them known to Cymbeline. (aside.)
They're here.

Enter Palador and Cadwal.
PALADOR.
We've sent him down the stream, and so to sea,
To tell the fishes he's the queen's son Cloten.—

BELLARIUS.
My boys, your uncle here would steal you from me,
To your bruis'd country's wars.

PALADOR.
Oh! let us go;
For this hath been our daily fervent prayer—
Uncle, intreat again—why I can fight—
You have to-day a sample—so can Cadwal—
Our opposition we will stake 'gainst two,
The stoutest of old Rome—ay, against odds,
If valour's scarce in Britain.

CADWAL.
Odds to chuse.

BELLARIUS.
The king hath wrong'd me—he deserveth not
Your service, and my love.

PALADOR.
The king's deservings
I weigh not now—this is a public cause.
I do not know my countrymen, but know
They were not born to be the slaves of Rome,
To wear the badge of foreign tyranny,
And crouch to aliens that dominion hold
By rape, not right—

PHILARIO.
O! such a spirit as this
Will drive the pestilent invasion hence,
And post it short-breath'd home.

PALADOR.
Why, my good uncle,
Why not pursue it at the heels, and pay
The foe in kind—Let the hot war return
Upon our enemies heads.—O! for the time,
When Britons bold shall throng the streets of Rome,
And breathe strange climes, that conquest makes our own.

PHILARIO.
Most like a Briton said.—To-day shall put
This courage to more proof.

PALADOR.
Sir, I will fight
For liberty, and Britain, till the blood
Be drain'd thro' all my veins; and when my arm
Has lost his office, I will to the last
Give token of resistance.

CADWAL.
So will I;
I am asham'd to look upon the sun,
To have the benefit of his blest beams
So long a poor unknown: Sure than be so
Better to cease to be.

BELLARIUS.
Have with you boys!
No reason I, since of your lives you set
So slight a valuation, shou'd reserve
My crack'd one to more care.—We'll all to the army.
Philario and Fidele shall keep house,
Till our return.

PHILARIO.
Not so Bellarius; we
Habited like yourself, to 'scape the eye
Of knowledge, will attest to day the feats
Of these brave lads.

PALADOR.
Why, let the Gods be witness,
And celebrate this birth-day of our glory—
Liberty!

CADWAL.
Britain!

BOTH.
Liberty and Britain!

BELLARIUS.
Go, see if young Fidele be awake.
[Exeunt Palador and Cadwal.
Doth not this mettle promise well, Philario?
I scarce wou'd change a son with Jupiter!
The service of these lusty boys shall do
The king more good, than this same Cloten's death
Hath done him harm.— (Solemn music within.)
Hah! wherefore sounds within
My most ingenious instrument? What cause
Should give it motion now?

Enter Palador.
PALADOR.
The bird is dead
That we have made so much on. O come in
And see what violent hands stern death has laid
Upon the sweetest lily of the land.—

(They go into the Cave.)
SCENE opens and discovers the inside of the Cave, with Bellarius, Philario, Palador, and Cadwal, round the Body of Imogen, lying upon a Couch of Moss.
PHILARIO.
Alas! my dearest nephew!

PALADOR.
I had rather
Have leap'd from twenty years of age to eighty,
And turn'd my warlike spear into a crutch,
Than have seen this.

BELLARIUS.
O poor Fidele! Jove doth know what man
Thou might'st have made—thou died'st a most rare boy.
Tell us how found you him?

PALADOR.
Stark as you see;
And smiling thus, as if the dart of death
Had gently tickl'd slumber;

CADWAL.
O sweet brother,
With female fairies will thy tomb be haunted,
And worms shall not come near thee.—

PALADOR.
With fair flow'rs
(While summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele)
I will adorn thy grave—Thou shalt not lack
The flow'r that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor
The azur'd harebell like thy veins; no nor
The leaf of eglantine, which, not to slander't,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath—The ruddock would
With charitable bill bring thee all this,
Yea and furr'd moss besides, when flow'rs were none,
To winter-gown thy corse.—

BELLARIUS.
Come, boys, have done,
And play no more in wench-like words with that
Which is so serious—Hence, and lay his corps
Near good Euriphile's, your worthy mother's—

PALADOR.
Be't so—but, Cadwal, first, albeit thy voice
Has now the mannish crack, sing o'er his body
In note and words like those which thou didst chaunt
O'er good Euriphile—e'er she was lodg'd
Within her leafy grave—Come on—begin—

The DIRGE.
Set by Mr. Arne, sung by Mr. Lowe.

BELLARIUS.
These are our rural obsequies, Philario—

PHILARIO.
Most sweet and solemn, sir.

BELLARIUS.
When you've remov'd the body, back repair
Here to the cave, and fit you for the field.
—We'll share our little armory among us—
And, sons, e'er ev'ning we'll forget this grief,
And wipe our tear-stain'd cheeks with bloody hands.
—Come, good Philario—

[Exeunt severally.