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Approach the fold, and cull the infected forth,
But kill not all together.

2 Sen. What thou wilt,

Thou rather shalt enforce it with thy smile,
Than how to't with thy sword.

1 Sen. Set but thy foot

Against our rampired gates, and they shall ope;
So thou wilt send thy gentle heart before,
To say, thou'lt enter friendly.

2 Sen. Throw thy glove;

Or any token of thine honour else,

That thou wilt use the wars as thy redress,
And not as our confusion, all thy powers
Shall make their harbour in our town, till we
Have seal'd thy full desire.

Alcib. Then there's my glove;

Descend, and open your uncharged ports ;*
Those enemies of Timon's, and mine own,
Whom you yourselves shall set out for reproof,
Fall, and no more: and,-to atone† your fears
With my more noble meaning, not a man
Shall pass his quarter, or offend the stream
Of regular justice in your city's bounds,
But shall be render'd to your public laws
At heaviest answer.

Both. 'Tis most nobly spoken.

Alcib. Descend, and keep your words.

The SENATORS descend, and open the Gates.
Enter a SOLDIER.

Sol. My noble general, Timon is dead;

Entomb'd upon the very hem o' the sea:

And on his grave-stone, this insculpture; which

With wax I brought away, whose soft impression

Interprets for my poor ignorance.

Alcib. [reads]. Here lies a wretched corse, of wretched soul


Seek not my name: A plague consume you wicked caitiffs left! Here lie I, Timon; who, alive, all living men did hate:

Pass by, and curse thy fill; but pass, and stay not here thy gait.

These well express in thee thy latter spirits:

Though thou abhorr'dst in us our human griefs,

Scorn'dst our brain's flow, ‡ and those our droplets which

From niggard nature fall, yet rich conceit

Taught thee to make vast Neptune weep for aye

On thy low grave, on faults forgiven

Is noble Timon; of whose memory


Hereafter more.-Bring me into your city

And I will use the olive with my sword:

Make war breed peace; make peace stint § war; make each

Prescribe to other, as each other's leech. ||

Let our drums strike.

* Unattacked gates.


+ Reconcile.

I. e. our tears.


¡ Physician.



CYMBELINE, King of Britain. CLOTEN, Son to the Queen by a former husband.

LEONATUS POSTHUMUS, a Gentleman, Husband to Imogen. BELARIUS, a banished Lord, disguised under the name of Morgan. Sons to Cymbeline,


PISANIO, Servant to Posthumus.
CORNELIUS, a Physician.

QUEEN, Wife to Cymbeline.

GUIDERIUS,disguised under the IMOGEN, Daughter to Cymbeline,


names of POLYDORE and CADWAL, supposed sons to Belarius.

PHILARIO, Friend to


IACHIMO, Friend to


to Philario.

CAIUS LUCIUS, General of the
Roman Forces.

by a former Queen.

HELEN, Woman to Imogen.


SCENE.-Sometimes in Britain; sometimes in Italy.


SCENE I-Britain. The Garden behind CYMBELINE'S


Enter two GENTLEMEN.

1 Gent. You do not meet a man, but frowns: our bloods No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers;

Still seem, as does the king's.*

2 Gent. But what's the matter?

1 Gent. His daughter, and the heir of his kingdom, whom He purposed to his wife's sole son (a widow,

That late he married), hath referr'd herself

Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: She's wedded;
Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd: all

Is outward sorrow; though I think, the king

Be touch'd at very heart.

2 Gent. None but the king?

1 Gent. He, that hath lost her, too: so is the queen,

That most desired the match: But not a courtier,

* This difficult passage should, I think, be construed thus: our countenances, regulated by the blood, do not obey natural impulses, but, as courtiers, imitate that of the king.

Although they wear their faces to the bent
Of the king's looks, hath a heart that is not
Glad at the thing they scowl at.

2 Gent. And why so?

1 Gent. He that hath miss'd the princess, is a thing
Too bad for bad report: and he that hath her
(I mean, that married her,-alack, good man!-
And therefore banish'd) is a creature such
As, to seek through the regions of the earth
For one his like, there would be something failing
In him that should compare. I do not think,
So fair an outward, and such stuff within,
Endows a man but he.

2 Gent. You speak him far. *

1 Gent. I do extend him, Sir, within himself; Crush him together, rather than unfold His measure duly.t

2 Gent. What's his name and birth?

1 Gent. I cannot delve him to the root: His father Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour,

Against the Romans, with Cassibelan;
But had his titles by Tenantius, whom
He served with glory and admired success:
So gain'd the sur-addition, Leonatus:
And had, besides this gentleman in question,
Two other sons, who, in the wars o' the time,

Died with their swords in hand; for which their father
(Then old and fond of issue) took such sorrow,
That he quit being; and this gentle lady,
Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceased
As he was born. The king, he takes the babe
To his protection; calls him Posthumus;
Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-chamber:
Puts him to all the learnings that his time
Could make him the receiver of; which he took,
As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd; and
In his spring became a harvest: Lived in court
(Which rare it is to do), most praised, most loved:
A sample to the youngest; to the more mature,
A glass that feated § them; and to the graver,
A child that guided dotards: to his mistress,
For whom he now is banish'd,-her own price
Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;
By her election may be truly read,

What kind of man he is.

2 Gent. I honour him

Even out of your report. But, 'pray you, tell me,
Is she sole child to the king?

1 Gent. His only child.

He had two sons (if this be worth your hearing,

* Praise him extensively.

The father of Cymbeline.

My praise is within his merit.

I. e. a model that formed their manners.

I As to.

Mark it), the eldest of them at three years old,

I' the swathing clothes the other, from their nursery
Were stolen: and to this hour, no guess in knowledge
Which way they went.

2 Gent. How long is this ago?

1 Gent. Some twenty years.

2 Gent. That a king's children should be so convey'd! So slackly guarded! And the search so slow,

That could not trace them!

1 Gent. Howsoe'er 'tis strange,

Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,

Yet is it true, Sir.

2 Gent. I do well believe you.

1 Gent. We must forbear: Here comes the gentleman, The queen and princess.

SCENE II-The same.



Queen. No, be assured, you shall not find me, daughter,

After the slander of most step-mothers,

Evil-eyed unto you: you are my prisoner, but

Your jailer shall deliver you the keys

That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthúmus,

So soon as I can win the offended king,

I will be known your advocate: marry, yet

The fire of rage is in him; and 'twere good,

You lean'd unto his sentence, with what patience
Your wisdom may inform you.

Post. Please your highness,

I will from hence to-day.

Queen. You know the peril :

I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying

The pangs of barr'd affections; though the king
Hath charged you should not speak together.

Imo. O

Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant

[Exit QUEEN.

Can tickle where she wounds!-My dearest husband,
I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing
(Always reserved my holy duty) what

His rage can do on me: You must be gone;
And I shall here abide the hourly shot
Of angry eyes; nor comforted to live,
But that there is this jewel in this world,
That I may see again.

Post. My queen! my mistress!

O, lady, weep no more; lest I give cause

To be suspected of more tenderness

Than doth become a man! I will remain

The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth.
My residence in Rome at one Philario's;
Who to my father was a friend, to me

Known but by letter: thither write, my queen,

And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,
Though ink be made of gall.

Re-enter QUEEN.

Queen. Be brief, I pray you:

How much of his displeasure:-Yet I'll move him

If the king come, I shall incur I know not

To walk this way: I never do him wrong,

But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;
Pays dear for my offences.



Post. Should we be taking leave

As long a term as yet we have to live,
The loathness to depart would grow: Adieu!
Imo. Nay, stay a little:

Were you but riding forth to air yourself,

Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;
This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart;
But keep it till you woo another wife,

When Imogen is dead.

Post. How! how! another ?—

You gentle gods, give me but this I have,

And sear up my embracements from a next

With bonds of death!-Remain thou here [Putting on the ring. While sense can keep it on! And sweetest, fairest,

As I my poor self did exchange for you,

To your so infinite loss; so, in our trifles

I still win of you: For my sake, wear this;

It is a manacle of love; I'll place it
Upon this fairest prisoner.

Imo. O, the gods!

When shall we see again?

[Putting a bracelet on her arm.


Post. Alack, the king!

Cym. Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight! If, after this command, thou fraught* the court

With thy unworthiness, thou diest: Away!

Thou art poison to my blood.

Post. The gods protect you!

And bless the good remainders of the court!

I am gone.

Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death

More sharp than this is.

Cym. O disloyal thing,

That shouldst repair my youth; thou heapest

A year's age on me!

Imo. I beseech you, Sir,

Harm not yourself with your vexation; I

Am senseless of your wrath; a touch more raret

Subdues all pangs, all fears.

Cym. Past grace? obedience ?

Imo. Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.



+ A more exquisite feeling.

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