The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works

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The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works Page 117

by William Shakespeare


  25

  Or we are Romans, and will give you that

  Like beasts which you shun beastly, and may save

  But to look back in frown: stand, stand!’ These three,

  Three thousand confident, in act as many, –

  For three performers are the file when all

  30

  The rest do nothing, – with this word ‘Stand, stand,’

  Accommodated by the place, more charming,

  With their own nobleness, which could have turn’d

  A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks;

  Part shame, part spirit renew’d, that some, turn’d

  coward

  35

  But by example (O, a sin in war,

  Damn’d in the first beginners) ’gan to look

  The way that they did, and to grin like lions

  Upon the pikes o’th’ hunters. Then began

  A stop i’th’ chaser; a retire: anon

  40

  A rout, confusion thick: forthwith they fly

  Chickens, the way which they stoop’d eagles: slaves,

  The strides they victors made: and now our cowards

  Like fragments in hard voyages became

  The life o’th’ need: having found the back-door

  open

  45

  Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!

  Some slain before, some dying, some their friends

  O’er-borne i’th’ former wave, ten chas’d by one,

  Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:

  Those that would die, or ere resist, are grown

  50

  The mortal bugs o’th’ field.

  LORD This was strange chance:

  A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.

  POSTHUMUS Nay, do not wonder at it: you are made

  Rather to wonder at the things you hear

  Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon’t,

  55

  And vent it for a mock’ry? Here is one:

  Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,

  Preserv’d the Britons, was the Romans’ bane.

  LORD

  Nay, be not angry, sir.

  POSTHUMUS ’Lack, to what end?

  Who dares not stand his foe, I’ll be his friend:

  60

  For if he’ll do as he is made to do,

  I know he’ll quickly fly my friendship too.

  You have put me into rhyme.

  LORD Farewell, you’re angry.

  Exit.

  POSTHUMUS

  Still going? This is a lord! O noble misery,

  To be i’th’ field, and ask ‘what news?’ of me!

  65

  To-day how many would have given their honours

  To have sav’d their carcasses? Took heel to do’t,

  And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm’d,

  Could not find death where I did hear him groan,

  Nor feel him where he struck. Being an ugly

  monster,

  70

  ’Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,

  Sweet words; or hath moe ministers than we

  That draw his knives i’th’ war. Well, I will find him:

  For being now a favourer to the Briton,

  No more a Briton, I have resumed again

  75

  The part I came in. Fight I will no more,

  But yield me to the veriest hind that shall

  Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is

  Here made by th’ Roman; great the answer be

  Britons must take. For me, my ransom’s death:

  80

  On either side I come to spend my breath,

  Which neither here I’ll keep nor bear again,

  But end it by some means for Imogen.

  Enter two British Captains and soldiers.

  1 CAPTAIN Great Jupiter be prais’d, Lucius is taken:

  ’Tis thought the old man, and his sons, were angels.

  85

  2 CAPTAIN There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,

  That gave th’affront with them.

  1 CAPTAIN So ’tis reported:

  But none of ’em can be found. Stand! who’s there?

  POSTHUMUS A Roman,

  Who had not now been drooping here if seconds

  90

  Had answer’d him.

  2 CAPTAIN Lay hands on him: a dog,

  A leg of Rome shall not return to tell

  What crows have peck’d them here: he brags his

  service

  As if he were of note: bring him to th’ king.

  Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO and Roman captives. The captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers him over to a Gaoler.

  Exeunt.

  5.4 Enter POSTHUMUS and two Gaolers.

  1 GAOLER

  You shall not now be stol’n, you have locks upon you:

  So graze, as you find pasture.

  2 GAOLER Ay, or a stomach.

  Exeunt Gaolers.

  POSTHUMUS

  Most welcome bondage; for thou art a way,

  I think to liberty: yet am I better

  Than one that’s sick o’th’ gout, since he had rather

  5

  Groan so in perpetuity than be cur’d

  By th’ sure physician, Death; who is the key

  T’unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter’d

  More than my shanks and wrists: you good gods, give

  me

  The penitent instrument to pick that bolt,

  10

  Then free for ever. Is’t enough I am sorry?

  So children temporal fathers do appease;

  Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent,

  I cannot do it better than in gyves,

  Desir’d more than constrain’d: to satisfy,

  15

  If of my freedom ’tis the mainport, take

  No stricter render of me than my all.

  I know you are more clement than vile men,

  Who of their broken debtors take a third,

  A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again

  20

  On their abatement; that’s not my desire.

  For Imogen’s dear life take mine, and though

  ’Tis not so dear, yet ’tis a life; you coin’d it:

  ’Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp;

  Though light, take pieces for the figure’s sake:

  25

  You rather, mine being yours: and so, great powers,

  If you will take this audit, take this life,

  And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen,

  I’ll speak to thee in silence. [Sleeps.]

  Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, SICILIUS LEONATUS, father to Posthumus, an old man, attired like a warrior, leading in his hand an ancient matron, his wife, and Mother to Posthumus, with music before them. Then, after other music, follow the two young Leonati, Brothers to Posthumus, with wounds as they died in the wars. They circle Posthumus round as he lies sleeping.

  SICILIUS No more thou thunder-master show

  30

  thy spite on mortal flies:

  With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,

  that thy adulteries

  Rates and revenges.

  Hath my poor boy done aught but well,

  35

  whose face I never saw?

  I died whilst in the womb he stay’d,

  attending Nature’s law:

  Whose father then (as men report

  thou orphans’ father art)

  40

  Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him

  from this earth-vexing smart.

  MOTHER Lucina lent not me her aid,

  but took me in my throes,

  That from me was Posthumus ript,

  45

  came crying ’mongst his foes,

  A thing of pi
ty!

  SICILIUS Great nature, like his ancestry,

  moulded the stuff so fair,

  That he deserved the praise o’th’ world,

  50

  as great Sicilius’ heir.

  1 BROTHER

  When once he was mature for man,

  in Britain where was he

  That could stand up his parallel,

  or fruitful object be

  55

  In eye of Imogen, that best

  could deem his dignity?

  MOTHER With marriage wherefore was he mock’d

  to be exil’d, and thrown

  From Leonati seat, and cast

  60

  from her his dearest one,

  Sweet Imogen?

  SICILIUS Why did you suffer Iachimo,

  slight thing of Italy,

  To taint his nobler heart and brain

  65

  with needless jealousy;

  And to become the geck and scorn

  o’th’ other’s villainy?

  2 BROTHER

  For this, from stiller seats we came,

  our parents and us twain,

  70

  That striking in our country’s cause

  fell bravely and were slain,

  Our fealty, and Tenantius’ right,

  with honour to maintain.

  1 BROTHER

  Like hardiment Posthumus hath

  75

  to Cymbeline perform’d:

  Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods

  why hast thou thus adjourn’d

  The graces for his merits due,

  being all to dolours turn’d?

  80

  SICILIUS Thy crystal window ope; look out;

  no longer exercise

  Upon a valiant race thy harsh

  and potent injuries.

  MOTHER Since, Jupiter, our son is good,

  85

  take off his miseries.

  SICILIUS Peep through thy marble mansion, help,

  or we poor ghosts will cry

  To th’ shining synod of the rest

  against thy deity.

  90

  BROTHERS

  Help, Jupiter, or we appeal,

  and from thy justice fly.

  JUPITER descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees.

  JUPITER

  No more, you petty spirits of region low,

  Offend our hearing: hush! How dare you ghosts

  Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt (you know)

  95

  Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts?

  Poor shadows of Elysium, hence, and rest

  Upon your never-withering banks of flowers:

  Be not with mortal accidents opprest,

  No care of yours it is, you know ’tis ours.

  100

  Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift,

  The more delay’d, delighted. Be content,

  Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:

  His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent:

  Our Jovial star reign’d at his birth, and in

  105

  Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade.

  He shall be lord of lady Imogen,

  And happier much by his affliction made.

  This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein

  Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine,

  110

  And so away: no farther with your din

  Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.

  Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. Ascends.

  SICILIUS

  He came in thunder; his celestial breath

  Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle

  115

  Stoop’d, as to foot us: his ascension is

  More sweet than our blest fields: his royal bird

  Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak,

  As when his god is pleased.

  ALL Thanks, Jupiter!

  SICILIUS

  The marble pavement closes, he is enter’d

  120

  His radiant roof. Away! and to be blest

  Let us with care perform his great behest.

  The Ghosts vanish.

  POSTHUMUS [waking]

  Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot

  A father to me: and thou hast created

  A mother, and two brothers: but, O scorn!

  125

  Gone! they went hence so soon as they were born:

  And so I am awake. Poor wretches, that depend

  On greatness’ favour, dream as I have done,

  Wake, and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve:

 

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