University of Virginia Library

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.