University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE A Field of Battle.
Enter Cymbeline, Lords, &c.
CYMBELINE.
Think you the Roman will not quit his ground,
And meet our battle in the open plain?

1st LORD.
So please your grace, it is my faith he will;
We are already beaten in conceit,
And pride does still forego his 'vantages.
Best then halt here, my liege.

CYMBELINE.
Halt! give the word.

(Within)
Halt! halt! halt! halt!

CYMBELINE.
Our son not yet return'd! Oh! here comes one
That was a limb o'th'party. What now, captain?

Enter an Officer.
OFFICER.
My liege, prince Cloten far outstripp'd his train,
And we're to seek the seeker—His spurr'd horse
We found upon the verge of yonder forest,
But him no tidings speak of.

CYMBELINE.
Take thou his charge,
And so bestir thee in the field, that none
May think his valour missing. Well-how now?

Enter another Officer.
OFFICER.
My liege, here are without four volunteers
That seem to promise marvels, tho' their looks
And garb be such as hermits wont to wear
In most retired sequestration;
They have bewitch'd the soldier's hearts, and crave
Instant admittance to your Majesty.

CYMBELINE.
It doth amaze us—let 'em come before us—
[Exit Lord, and returns with Bellarius, Palador, Cadwal, and Philario.
Now by the arm of Jove a comely sight,
Those silver locks are taxers of respect
Tho' kings be lookers on—All welcome, strangers—
Whence and what are you?

BELLARIUS.
Mighty Cymbeline,
Hermits we are, that have a homely dwelling
Where want keeps house—yet are we bold to boast
Our hands and hearts as good as any he's,
That dares look Roman in the face.

CYMBELINE.
Thy speech
Gives earnest of much worth—Say, who are these
The colleagues of your enterprize?

BELLARIUS.
Dread sir,
These striplings are my sons; this worthy fellow
Is kinsman of my wife's—

PALADOR.
First, let's go fight,
And then to telling tales.

CYMBELINE.
So prompt, so young!
Wast thou a soldier born? Is warlike science
By inspiration caught, which still we judg'd
By long experience learn'd?

BELLARIUS.
O royal sir,
My boys are of a gen'rous breed—Great Gods,
When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell
The val'rous feats I've done, (for I am free
Of this same trade of war) how will this youth,
My first-born Palador, let his spirits fly
Out at my story? “Thus mine enemy fell,
“And thus (say I) I set my foot on's neck—”
Ev'n then the blood flows in his cheeks, he sweats,
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture
That acts my words—His younger brother Cadwal
With ardour emulous, and as like a figure,
Strikes life into my speech; and richly shews
His great conceiving.

CYMBELINE.
In a time that look'd
More perilous than this, such early virtue
Would bode us issue fortunate to Britain—
Enter another Officer in haste.
Soldier thy speed is big with consequence—
Proclaim it with thy tongue—

OFFICER.
To arms, my liege,
The Roman legions are come down the hill,
And their loud clarions sound to present battle.

CYMBELINE.
Thanks for thy news—Return the slaves defiance;
(sound within.)
Stretch your big hearts, my countrymen, and shout
From the strong lungs of liberty, till air
Wast your incessant clamours to the thrones
Of the admiring Gods. (a great shout.)
Remember, sirs,
We go to fight for death, or victory.—
O let us only live on terms of conquest
Who dies, at least dies free-man, blessed dies
To live immortal in his country's songs—
If there's a coward here, let him post back
To his soft bed and caudle—I should weep
Worse than a love-sick girl to find to-day
Our hearts not of a piece—Come on, brave fellows,
For soldiers all are fellows—We'll yet live
(Unless my sins abuse my divination)
To see old Lud's Town bright with joyful fires,
And Britons strut in triumph—Set we on—

[Exeunt.
Alarum. Enter Leonatus in disguise.
They go to battle with a jocund spirit—
But ah! how heavy is his heart, who bears
A bosom-war within him? O Philario,
(For I well know thy friendship such, thou'st done
The letter of my will) thou should'st have paus'd—
Anger is indiscreet in his commands—
Too true, the noble Imogen did wrong me;
(And so, I doubt not, did my mother him
I call'd my father, tho' she still was held
The non-pareil of virtue) yet her fault,
The nat'ral failing of her sex, not hers,
Was ill pusu'd with vengeance capital
By me—O Britain, I have kill'd my wife,
Who was thy mistress—therefore thus array'd
Like a poor soldier, neither known, nor guess'd at,
Pitied or hated, to the face of peril
Myself I'll dedicate—Heav'n knows my life
Is ev'ry breath a death.

Alarum. Fight. Enter Cymbeline and Romans. Cymbeline is in danger of being slain, or taken. Then enter Leonatus and rescues him.
LEONATUS.
What have we here? The majesty of Britain
O'erpower'd by odds—Room for an honest sword
That loyalty gives edge to—how they fly
When resolution drives 'em.—

(the Romans fly.)
CYMBELINE.
Great, tho' mean—
Noble obscure, we thank thee—what's thy name?

LEONATUS.
I cannot stay to tell thee—hear'st thou not
How loud Mars bellows yonder?—only this—
The king has friends he knows not—fare you well,
My sword will cool else.—
[Exit Leonatus.

CYMBELINE.
What blunt fellow's this?
We have no time to wonder—How now, captain?

Enter an Officer.
OFFICER.
Advance, my liege—Our battle galls 'em sorely—
Yon sage, and his boy-hermits fight like dragons.
The Roman eagle flaps his wing for flight,
And conquest smiles upon us.

CYMBELINE.
Follow me;
And still the word be, Cymbeline, and Britain

[Exeunt.
Alarum. Fight. Enter Britons and Romans fighting. The Romans give back. Then enter, at opposite doors, Pisanio, and Palador.
PALADOR.
Is is a jovial chace—fight on, young Cadwal,
Thou shalt go halves in glory—I could swear
To go to bed no more—Well met, thou Roman,
I have been killing vermin—thou dost seem
Worthy my sword—Art thou of blood and honour?

PISANIO.
Away, and save thy life, thou swagg'ring boy,
By Romulus, my vengeance would not stoop
(Albeit a thousand souls are groaning for't)
To such a lout as thee.

PALADOR.
Hah! didst thou learn
Thy valour at a dancing school?—I'll try
Your lightsomness of foot—Fool, I will hunt thee
E'en to thy master's throne.—

PISANIO.
Come on, rash hind—
(Fight, Pisanio falls.)
Thou hast o'erpower'd me stripling—the just Gods
Unbrac'd my arm—the heaviness of guilt
Took off my manhood—I've bely'd a lady,
The princess of this country; and the air on't
Revengingly enfeebled me; brave youth,
Witness the penance of my dying hour,
And let the noble Leonatus know
I crav'd in death his pardon—

PALADOR.
How is this?
Roman, proceed.

PISANIO.
I was confederate with
Cloten (than whom a viler wretch not lives
'Twixt sky and ground)

PALADOR.
Nay, by the Gods, he lives not;
I slew him but to-day, and sure e're this
He is the food of sharks.

PISANIO.
Thou hast the arm
That heav'n does justice with—I can no more—
Take thou this note of Cloten's (gives a note)
it doth speak
In terms full relative to the device
Then hatching in his brain; and farther marks
The lowly bendings of his love to Cæsar—
This shall confirm thy by-and-by report
Strongly as living evidence—I've done
More good in my last hour, than can be pick'd
From my whole piece of life—there's hope in that,
And in that hope I die—

(dies)
PALADOR.
Nay, if thou hop'st,
I'll write despair down folly—Jupiter,
What a vile rogue was this? and yet he wore
A worthy seeming—I perceive my garb
Doth shame the guise o'th' world—I will set out
New fashion; less without, and more within.
What have we here?

(Flourish.)
Enter Leonatus.
LEONATUS.
Hermit, our wars are done;
The Romans turn their backs, and victory
To-day is wedded to great Cymbeline.
O that the joy of all should touch not me!
I am not mortal sure; for death I sought,
Yet found him not where I did hear him groan,
Nor felt him where he struck. This ugly monster,
'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, smooth beds,
Sweet words, and hath more ministers than we
That draw his knives in war.

PALADOR.
Art thou a Briton,
And dost not laugh to-day? Sad looks are treason,
And take the part of Rome; the man that feels
His own distress, hates more his pers'nal grief,
Than he doth love his country.

LEONATUS.
O you know not—
Hah! who lies there? Ye Gods, it is Pisanio—
The damn'd Italian fiend that stain'd my honour;
I would have sav'd an hundred lives in fight
To have met his.

PALADOR.
If thou art Leonatus,
(As by thy talk thou should'st be) I have matter
For your quick hearing.

LEONATUS.
I am Leonatus,
I would I were aught else!

PALADOR.
That villain there
Did much abuse you, Sir.

LEONATUS.
He did abuse me
Beyond the pow'r of all his worthless tribe
To make amends—Who robs me of my wealth,
May one day have ability, or will
To yield me, full repayment—but the villain
That doth invade a husband's right in bed,
Is murd'rer of his peace, and makes a breach
In his life's after-quiet, that the grief
Of penitence itself cannot repair.

PALADOR.
Thou dost mistake thy woe, good Leonatus,
Which yet (if the great Gods are merciful)
I have a cure for—

LEONATUS.
How! where! which way! when!

PALADOR.
Sir, your belief in your dear lady's truth
Is falsely wounded, who, be sure (for aught
This arch impostor Roman could disprove)
Has kept her bond of chastity uncrack'd,
And is as cold as Dian.

LEONATUS.
Ay, and colder;
For Dian is alive—If thou not fool'st me,
Thou curest common sickness with the plague,
And killest with relief—I could not find
The virtue of my wife untainted now,
(That once I priz'd to adoration)
For the best carbuncle of Phœbus' wheel,
Nay, all the worth of's car.

PALADOR.
Alas! I'm sorry
Your much wrong'd judgment hath proceeded thus.—
For free and full confession made this wretch
Of most refined stratagem to change
Your biass of affection: Sir, this note,
Which with his dying hand he did bequeath you,
Will more at large illustrate what my tongue
Faulters in utt'rance of.

(gives the note.)
LEONATUS.
Quick, let me see it,
Impatient misery longs to know the worst,
E'en when the worst is fatal.
(reads)

The Lord Cloten to the Roman Knight Pisanio.

Cloten! the name is ominous—it bodes
More than the raven's sullen flap that scents
Cadaverous infirmity.—But on—

If thou lov'st me, let me see thee ere night. I have
bought the fidelity of the princess's woman with my
gold; she will give thee admittance into her chamber,
when nothing will be awake but anger and policy;
where thou may'st make such note as will be sufficient
to the madding of the abhorred Leonatus. Thy service
herein will tie me closer to thyself, and to Augustus
thy lord. No more till thou dost console with thy presence,
thine and Cæsar's in affection,

Cloten.

PALADOR.
How fare you, sir? Alack! his grief is dumb.

LEONATUS.
Are there no Gods? or are they Gods that sleep,
And leave us to ourselves?—Oh! I have done it—
I've reach'd the point of shame, and villainy
Is less than 'twas.—Twice doubly curst be he
That first did graff the failings of his wife
On a fool's head's suspicion.—I've destroy'd
The temple of fair virtue, yea herself—
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
The dogs o'th' street to bait me; ev'ry fool
Be Leonatus call'd. O! Imogen,
My queen, my love my wife, oh! Imogen!

PALADOR.
Mark thou unhappy Briton, how my soul
Catches thy grief—my eyes half drown my tongue.
Wife—what is wife? what is it thou dost feel?
The pang that gripes thee seems more keen than mine was,
When my good mother, and Fidele died!
—Yet then I mourn'd heart-deep—O that thy woes
Had remedy within the reach of power,
I would pursue endeavours infinite
'Till rashness should be virtue. Pardon me
This vain, vain boast—Valour himself must weep
When he cannot redress—I'll sit down by thee,
And mourn 'till I beguile thee of thy sorrows—
We'll give our shares in this day's triumph up
To riot and hard-hearted jollity.
O Imogen, where art thou?—soft—here comes
Philario, my good uncle.

Enter Philario.
LEONATUS.
How! Philario?
O turn a thousand Romans loose upon me,
But shew me not Philario.

PHILARIO.
Palador,
Have we a madman here?

LEONATUS.
Ay, of thy making,
Thou cred'lous fool, egregious murtherer,
Thief, any thing, that's due to villains past,
In being, or to come.—

PHILARIO.
I know thee not.

LEONATUS.
Know'st thou not Leonatus?

PHILARIO.
Art thou he?
And dost thou greet me thus?

LEONATUS.
Where is my wife?
My wife, my wife, my Imogen, thou villain!

PHILARIO.
Base and ungrateful! is it come to this?
Have I then offer'd up my mind's repose,
My better judgment, and my nature's pity,
To thy injunction? Have I stain'd my sword
With blood as rich as ever yet did wash
A British heart, to be bequestion'd now
With, villain, where's my wife, my Imogen?
—But that thy will was absolute herein,
I could have wish'd the damned charge had aim'd
At universal ruin of the sex,
And her alone left out.

LEONATUS.
I'm wild—forgive me;
I've kill'd my wife, and shall my friend escape
Th' abuses of my fury?—Read, Philario,
Read this black scroll, (gives him the letter)
read it, and after tell me,
If jealousy be written in the list
Of sins that mercy reaches.

PHILARIO.
You're undone;
And so am I—come not to me for comfort,
For my own pers'nal grief out-measures all
The patience I was born with.

LEONATUS.
Patience! who
Is patient in despair? Can patience wake
The sleep of death? Can it command old time
To render back the hours he snatch'd away,
Or what is done, make undone? Give me cord,
Poison, or knife, some upright justicer,
And then prescribe me patience.

PALADOR.
O Bellarius,
Thy lectures all were true, and this world holds
Nothing but woe and villainy—where's Cadwal?
We'll homeward to the rock.—

PHILARIO.
Hold thee, young man—
The king must thank you for your services—
Anon he will be here; and, Leonatus,
Do not, I pray, with rashness over-ripe
A vi'lence on thyself—best wait we both
The royal sentence on our lives, and die
Without more folly on our heads—to me
The op'ning leave of this.

LEONATUS.
Well, let me die—
The rest you shall command—I see her now—
Bloody and pale she looks—her snow-white breast
Whose fragrance sent up incense to the Gods,
Is soil'd with clotted gore—her jetty locks,
Where Cupid and a thousand graces play'd,
Are turn'd to fury's snakes—and in her eye,
At whose kind beams glad Hymen light his torch,
Sits fiery vengeance now with direful looks
Chilling my faculties.

PHILARIO.
If thou art man,
Be like one now—die as a soldier should do,
And do not start at shadows—I've bethought me
How we may fit and full disclosure make
Of all our purposes to Cymbeline;
Yea, and of Cloten's too, (whereof the truth
Shall the king's heart sore smite) that devil Cloten
Of whom this gallant youth has well reveng'd us.

LEONATUS.
Has he? who, what art thou, thou wond'rous man!
To whom I am indebted for the scourge
Of my two deadly foes.

PHILARIO.
He is a wonder
Myself can scarce explain;—But hark, the king.—
(Flourish.)
Let us, my wretched friend, appear a while,
What our now-habits speak us.

Enter Cymbeline, Bellarius, Cadwal, Lords, and Soldiers.
CYMBELINE.
Thanks to all;
Chiefly to you, whom the great Gods have made
Best pillars of my throne. Where are the rest?
O here's your worthy kinsman, your brave son,
And the poor soldier that in rags did shame
Rich coats of war, and with his naked breast
Stept before shields of proof—we owe our life
To his true valour.

BELLARIUS.
I did never see
Such noble fury in so mean a thing;
Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought
But begg'ry and bad luck.

CYMBELINE.
All bow your knees—
(Bellarius, Philario, Palador, Cadwal and Leonatus kneel.)
Arise, my knights o'th' battle; we create you
Companions to our person, and will give you
Estates becoming your new dignities.

PALADOR.
My Lord, the honour I have won to-day
Is sustenance for me—I fought for fame,
And riches give not that—I'll carry home
The strange experience of some seven hours,
And live upon't hereafter.

CADWAL.
Most brave brother.

CYMBELINE.
We must not lose you so.

PHILARIO.
So please your grace,
I would intreat a word.

CYMBELINE.
Say on, and freely.

PHILARIO.
Then, in the name of all our brotherhood,
I do beseech your majesty to bless
With your high presence our poor hermitage;
Which (I am ready to make good the boast)
Is fit to give a mighty monarch welcome,
If cleanly wholesomeness, and simple plenty,
Be worth your appetite; and, sir, the more
I do solicit this, for that I have
Much matter for your ear, which only there
My spirit groans to utter.—May I hope
This invitation likes your majesty?

CYMBELINE.
Ay, passing well.—My sirs, return you with
A monarch in your train—we long to know
What 'tis you would impart—come thou brave fellow!
(To Leonatus.)
Some of you lords attend us, and the rest
Abide here in the camp.—Is there close guard
Upon the Roman prisoners?

1st LORD.
My gracious liege, there is.

CYMBELINE.
'Tis well—Hermit, lead on.

[Exeunt Cymbelline, Bellarius, Philario, Palador, Cadwal, Leonatus, and Lords at one door, and other Lords at another.