University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

The Wood and Cavern.
Leonatus and Bellarius enter.
Bell.
Where did I leave?—but age is narrative,
And tiresome to your ear.

Leon.
No, father, no—
Could griefs, like mine, admit of consolation,
'Tis in your lenient converse.

Bell.
I have told you,
Of the dark horror that involved my soul
On my return to Britain, when I heard
My Adelaide was lost—yet, how, with smiles
I veil'd my depth of woe, till, on a day,
I seiz'd the bloody hour of studied vengeance,
And left the barbarous Cymbeline for dead.
Thereon, I vainly sought a flight from sorrow,
Through regions most remote—still the barb'd grief
Stuck fast, and rankled inward. Sick, at length,
Sick of the world, and all the busy ways
Of empty anxious man, I wish'd to mix
My mortal ashes with the native dust,
From whence they first arose. Ten toilsome years
I spent in travel; and ten lonely years
Have found me here, secluded from the face
Of aught save Heaven, in wishful expectation
Of the last, painful, happy hour, that shall
Strike off the shackles of mortality,
And wing me to my love!

Leon.
But, is there not
A shorter way to peace?

Bell.
O no, my son.
The Power, who gave existence, can, alone,
Have right to take it hence—And who shall warrant
Peace to impatience?

Leon.
Father, about this time, a faithful slave
Attends me, near at hand—a little space
Returns me to you.

Bell.
May the Power I worship,
Restore your hopes, and run before your wishes!

[Exit Leonatus.

SCENE II.

Bellarius retires towards the Cavern. Cloten enters attended.
Clot.
Our scent is warm; she can't be far from hence.
Fly several ways, search well the sacred wood—
Who finds, and hales her to yon cave, I swear
Is master of my purse—Away, and prosper!
[Exeunt Attendants.
Pan, and Priapus, aid me in the hour
Of rape, and rapturous vengeance, on the charms
Of scorning, struggling beauty—Hark, old fellow!
Didst see a man and maiden this way?

Bell.
No.

Clot.
Is yon den appertinent
To thee and to thine heirs?

Bell.
It is.

Clot.
Not quite
Unfurnish'd, holy father, as we hope,
Of female consolation.

Bell.
Out upon thee!

Clot.
Canst thou not play the pandar, for a friend?

Bell.
Hence, abandon'd ruffian!

Clot.
Come—shew me to thy rushes.

Bell.
Stop—low wretch!
Take caution of thine health—thou com'st no further.

Clot.
Now, by Andate, I do much suspect
Thou holdest, in thy saintly tutelage,
The very wench I look for—Give me way.

Bell.
Beware—

[Lifts his staff.
Clot.
Nay, then, thy shrivell'd autumn, thus
Drops at my blast.

[Draws.
Bell.
An arm, that was not wont
To need the second lifting, greets thee, thus—
[Kills Cloten.
Come, to the public pass, and, there, make trial
If thou art worth the owning.—

[Exit dragging out Cloten.

SCENE III.

Leonatus enters.
Leon.
Faustus is gone—or not yet come—I met
A man, who, passing in his haste, declared
The princess missing, and the court in uproar.
'Tis so—the deed is done—or doing!—Hold,
Hold, Faustus, or I execrate thy duty,
Worse than thy breach of faith—Why should she die?—
Who could survive, if all were to be doom'd
For one defect in nature?—That she loved me,
The proofs are mighty, as the mighty proofs
Of her incontinence—Was not her heart
Sufficient, then, to mine—tho' her sweet person
Were common as the kissing air?—Yes, Imogen,
Give me thy heart, in life or death, all mine,
I ask no other Heaven—but, no intrusion,
No sooty thought, no curs'd contamination!
O that eternal robber, who hath foul'd
The vessel of my peace! Though she were purged
By fire tenfold intense, though steep'd an age
In the Lethean surge, the deed obscene
Would never from her thought—O, she must die!—
That speaks the doom of Leonatus too,
Who cannot live divided—No, I feel
A force, more strong than nature, draw me after,
Though never more to join her—Imogen,
My dearest Imogen, why, why was this?—
If passion, boundless as the clasping air,
And warm as the meridian, might suffice,
It was not well, my love!—Is there no cure,
No hope, no help for this—to right or left,
Or forward thro' the length of time, tho' stretch'd
Far as existence?—O, sole misery!—
Your pardon, Heaven!—I ask you not for bliss;
I ask but for oblivion.—

SCENE IV.

To Leonatus enter Bellarius.
Bell.
Welcome, my son!—The country's all in motion—
Some flying from, and some to arms! But, here,
Within our cavern's maze, we rest secure,
And smile at war and tumult.

Leon.
No—when life
Was prodigal of every promised bliss
That youth could look for, honourable danger
Ne'er saw my shoulder-blade—and shall I now
Turn from the death I wish to earn?—No, father!
An hour, and I am nothing, save a name—
But it may be a loud one. A short joy
Reanimates my bosom—Gods, I thank ye!—
Lost to myself, I shall be found to others,
Found in the fixing of my country's rights;
And, by my my death, affirm that liberty,
Which makes the life of Britain.

Bell.
Be it so.
Since we can't live, why, let us die together.—
Hear me, thou son of my electing soul!
Among the noble youth that graced our isle,
I, once, stood obvious to the public eye,
For thou wast not in being then; and when
Discourse ran high on soldiership, my name
Was not far off—If thou dost think me, yet,
Worthy thy fellowship in arms, then, help
To buckle on my ancient mail. O, Thou,
Whose will disposeth what thy wisdom form'd,
Make our last hour a great one!—be our day
Of glorious dissolution, here on earth,
Our natal-day in Heaven!

Leon.
My father, come!
I long to emulate your high example;
In your loved sight to have my prowess tried,
And fall, applauded, by your honour'd side.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Drums and Trumpets. Romans march over the Stage. Clodio enters, his sword drawn.
Clod.
Close—and with measured motion, as put on
By one informing spirit, march, and join
The ranging phalanx.

As the Soldiers pass off the Stage, Faustus enters.
Faust.
If the loud din of war hath reach'd his ear,
The field of honour is the likeliest place
Wherein to find him.—Clodio!—O, ye powers
Of justice and of vengeance, nerve my arm,
And ride upon my weapon!—Good, my lord,
Your ear—I bear a message to you.

Clod.
Whence?

Faust.
From my kind mistress.

Clod.
Speak—

Faust.
In thunder—thus!

[Draws.
Clod.
Presumptuous slave!—Then take this answer back,
To thy detested master.

[They fight, and Faustus falls—Exit Clodio.
Faust.
Curse on my feeble arm—that, thus, hath foil'd
The cause it fought for—O, I see, I see,
This world is not the soil where Heaven e'er meant
To plant or prosper truth: it is the field
Where the flagitious triumph!—If there be
In store for worth, or where wrong'd innocence
May look for retribution—that blest region
Is far removed from hence.

SCENE VI.

Leonatus and Bellarius enter.
Leon.
My Faustus here—
And bleeding!

Faust.
Blest gods—mine eyes, mine eyes
Have seen him, ere they close for ever!—O,
Your hand—'twill sooth me in my dying pangs—
My kindest, sweetest, dearest, noblest master!

Leon.
Alas—how happen'd this?

Faust.
I vainly hoped
To vindicate your quarrel—Clodio is
A—Oh—my time is scanty—Imogen—
Be happy, for your Imogen is—Oh—

[Dies.
Leon.
As thou art, my best Faustus,—O, my friend,
My follower thro' all fortunes!—had I time
To pay the tribute due,
I would embalm thee with my daily tears,
And tomb thee in my bosom.—Help me, father,
Help to bear this kindest of Heaven's creatures
Out of the public path, where trampling hoofs
Might spurn his loved remains.

[Exeunt bearing the Body.

SCENE VII.

Cymbeline and Britons enter.
Cymb.
Bid our scythed chariots wheel to either hand,
And flank our wings—myself will point the wedge,
With which we trust to pierce their boasted phalanx.
Be not deceived, my friends—ye are brave men,
And have brave men to cope with!—victory
Must here be sweated for, even till the drops
Do turn to crimson.

A Roman Officer enters.
Officer.
To Cymbeline I bear important greeting,
From the proconsul, Lucius.

Cymb.
Speak his purpose.

Officer.
He bade me say, that Rome disdains to conquer
By means that honour cannot warrant—Read.

[Gives a pacquet.
Cymb.
What's here?—Our consort and her son conspired
Against our state and person?—Treason, treason!
This was a bosom'd sting—Alas, my children!
Then ye were wrong'd—O, my lost Imogen!
My son, my shield, my banish'd Leonatus!—
Tell me, brave soldier, as thou art a Roman,
Does Leonatus draw his sword for Cæsar?

Officer.
No. He refused to lend his arm to Rome,
And, with averted action, thrust away
The proffer'd crown of Britain.

Cymb.
That he were here! that I might wash his truth
With tears of kind contrition—Tell your general
We would embrace his worth, on any terms,
Save of our country's freedom—but, for that,
For that we grapple, to our last of life,
With arms of rival honour—Follow friends,
I lead you to the onset.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VIII.

Drums and Trumpets. Noise of Battle without. British Soldiers and Officers pass over the Stage.
1st Offi.
The King's engaged already—up, for shame!
Up to your fellows.

2d Offi.
Forward, countrymen,
To death, or conquest, haste!—

[Exeunt.
Noise of Battle continues. Several Britons return as in flight, with Officers.
Offic.
All's lost—the King is taken—All is over,
And Britain is no more!—Shift for your lives—

SCENE IX.

Enter Leonatus and Bellarius.
Leon.
Stay, Britons, turn—Shame, shame!—By great Andate,
Who comes upon me, rushes on a death
More sure than Rome can give—Stay, stay, I charge ye.
Ye stand amazed—behold, 'tis I—your general,
Your Leonatus!—Turn—for shame—for honour—
Your wives, your infants—for posterity,
To latest times—for Liberty—for Britain!
'Tis I, your Leonatus leads you on,
Against the power and insolence of Rome—
Against the world—for Liberty, for Britain!—
Follow me, friends!—

All.
A Leonatus, a Leonatus!
Liberty, and Leonatus!—

[Exeunt shouting.

SCENE X.

Noise of Battle continues. Several Romans return, as retreating from the Britons; Clodio following.
Clod.
How the day is turn'd!
And conquest, in an instant, strangely wrung
Out of our very grasp—Stand, Romans, stand.
For honour, for your ancient name, return!
Let me prevail—

[Exit with them, endeavouring to stop them.

SCENE XI.

Leonatus enters.
Leon.
In vain I seek for death, among the thickest,
Where the field burns—the spectre flies me still,
As tho' he held me for his foe—
Clodio re-enters.
How, Clodio!
By the gods, welcome—Nay, no shrinking, Clodio—
The time of reckoning's come!—

Clod.
I sought thee not.
But since thou crossest me—altho' thou wert
The genuine son of Mars and dread Bellona,
I front thee—thus.

Leon.
And, with my weapon's wind,
Thus do I win thee.

[Clodio falls.
Clod.
Curses blast thine arm,
Triumphant savage! for it has awaked me
From a long dream of greatness—Tell me, Briton,
How hast thou dealt with Imogen?

Leon.
Dispatch'd her.

Clod.
Then I'm reveng'd!—and I will wring thy soul,
With tortures worse than death—Thy Imogen
Was guiltless.

Leon.
How?—

Clod.
The heavenly light, less chaste!
I got myself convey'd into her chamber
In a gay coffer, sent, as I pretended,
With precious ware from Cæsar; and, at midnight,
Even, while the simple, sleeping innocent,
Dreamt of her Leonatus, I did mark
The chamber; and, in stealing that same bracelet,
Spied the rich mole that stung thee into madness.
Fool, ideot, dolt—
Who had the jewel of the universe,
Yet cast it from thee!—

Leon.
O fiend, without a fellow!—damn'd, damn'd Clodio;
A depth, below all bottom, damn'd!—Hope not
That death shall snatch thee from my vengeance—No—
Even, in mid plunge, I'll seize thy shrinking soul,
And it shall be my endless Heaven, to tear,
And torture thee for ever.—Thou hell-tyger,
Thy pangs are not half strong enough!—Thus, thus,
And thus—

[Stabbing him.
Clod.
Hold, hold—Oh—Curses—curses catch
Thee, and the fiends that gave thee force—Oh—

[Dies.
Leon.
And now, to follow!—
[Turns the sword to his breast.
Soft—If death should be
To cease from thought, and, therein, from the rack
On which my soul is stretch'd; how then is Imogen
Avenged?—or how may my own wrath be wreak'd
Against myself, on whom I swear to wage
War without truce, for ever? Fool, fool, fool!
To credit even these eyes, where, against proof,
Her truth was demonstration.—O, my love,
Were my guilt greater than e'er call'd for justice,
The loss of thee were penal, beyond all
That justice could inflict!—and have I caus'd
That loss?—Avenge her, Heaven and hell!—rend, rack me!
Multiply pains on pains!—O, rose of beauty,
How art thou cropt—how faded from amidst
The garden of the world, now waste!
And shall I never, never, never more
Behold thee, Imogen!—nor hear the voice,
That spoke soft tunings to my soul—nor see
That aspect, which arose upon the morning
In a new day of comforts, shedding peace
And joy around?—

[Exit.

SCENE XII.

Drums and Trumpets. Enter Cymbeline, Bellarius, &c.
Cymb.
A Briton, art thou?

Bell.
Yes, so please my liege;
A Cambro-Briton, and my name Bellarius—
Unworthy further note.

Cymb.
Whoe'er thou art,
Henceforth, my friend and brother, share my power
And bosom confidence.

Bell.
You far o'er rate
My scantiness of merit.

Cymb.
No—thy works
Proclaim thy worth aloud—and I have found
Thy friendship in the rescue which thou brought'st me
From the strong gripe of Rome. A friend as thou art,
Is the best gift of Heaven, a second self!—
Receive me, then—I fly into thine arms
From bosom'd treasons, which I fondly cherish'd
In the curs'd venture of a second bed.
[Embrace.
Did ye not say, that my victorious son,
My Leonatus was at hand?

1st Lord.
We did.
Even now, we all beheld, when, in the instant
That conquest was assured, he vanish'd.

Cymb.
Yes—I knew, I knew,
It was some god—'twas Victory, herself,
That took his glorious likeness—I beheld him
As lightning from the east—he shot upon them—
I saw their firmest phalanx shake, throughout,
And wither at his presence.

Bell.
Some few hours
Before the battle, he became my guest.
I held him, first, for somewhat more than mortal;
And, as he spoke, I felt, I know not what
Of force and fond emotion, stir me inward,
And knit my soul to his.

Cymb.
Prepare we, then,
One hundred of the noblest Roman captives
To be, with grateful incense, offer'd up
On the triumphant altar of Andate—
So shall her force our future arms await;
And, with like favour, guard the British state.

[Exeunt.