University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

Enter King, Queen, Cloten, Lords, Guards, Attendants.
Cymb.
Tear them asunder—quick—your office, guards!
Disarm, secure the traitor.

Imog.
At your peril—
Guards, touch him not—Sir—lords—Britons—he is,
He is my husband—my espous'd, my heart's beloved,
My Leonatus!—

Cymb.
Seize him, I say—

Imog.
Forbear, I charge ye!—What—
Your chief, the guardian of my father's throne,
Britain's first boast, the glory of your country!—

Cymb.
Guards, traitors, slaves—your lives shall answer this!
Seize, stab, dispatch him—

[Guards turn their weapons on Leonatus.
Imog.
Mark your princess, first—
Behold this poniard!—by the Power ye worship,
By your tremendous Goddess, great Andate—
On your first motion to attempt his life,
His precious life,—this passes through my bosom!

Cymb.
Villains! I see ye are confederate all,
Against your king. 'Tis well. Thus far I pardon—
I grant the traitor's life; but far removed
From Britain—By Andate too, I vow,
If his returning step shall ever dare
To press our shores, that moment is his last—
He dies, I swear—his blood shall pay the trespass,
Although the blood of this unduteous girl
Should mingle with the stream!—

Leon.
Yes, Cymbeline,
Deluded prince! your soldier will depart,
But take no traitor hence. Be well aware
Of those he leaves behind! and, O, ye gods!
Grant, that my honour'd father, and my king,
May not find speedy reason for repentance;
Look round for help in some distressful hour,
And call, but call in vain, on Leonatus.

Cymb.
Away with him—to sea, to banishment,
Distant as winds can waft!—And you, our Queen,
Take this young rebel into close restraint,
And see her chamber'd!

[Women lay hold on her.
Imog.
Sir, my king, my father!
Will you not grant your child one last adieu,
Perhaps—O Heavenly powers!—perhaps, for ever.

Cymb.
Keep them asunder—Bear them off, I say,
Far from each other!

Leon.
O, thou departing light of all my life!
Must I then lose thee, Imogen?—Night hangs
On every road from hence!—Beyond this spot,
The world alike is waste; a worthless blank,
A wild of desolation!—

Cymb.
Hence—away—
Away with them.—

Imog.
My lord!—

[Struggling with her women.
Leon.
My only life!—

Imog.
Adieu!

Leon.
Adieu!
O Imogen!—

Imog.
O Leonatus!—

[They are taken off severally.
[Exeunt Cymbeline, Lords, and Attendants.
Clot.
Now, mother, there is room for hope.

Queen.
No, Cloten!
This was beside my aim—I had him sure,
Just on the brink, from whence this foolish king
Unwillingly hath snatched him—Here is gold—
Haste—find that one-eyed ruffian, with his fellows,
Train'd and inured to blood!—If he scape thus,
'Tis still in fate to cross us.

Clot.
What if I go along?

Queen.
Disguised?

Clot.
And masqued?—

Queen.
'Tis well!—Dispatch, my son—

[Exeunt severally.