Where, in a frenzy, in my master’s garments,
Which he enforced from me, away he posts
With unchaste purpose and with oath to violate
My lady’s honour: what became of him
I further know not.
GUIDERIUS Let me end the story:
I slew him there.
CYMBELINE Marry, the gods forfend!
I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
Pluck a bard sentence: prithee, valiant youth,
Deny’t again.
GUIDERIUS I have spoke it, and I did it.
CYMBELINE He was a prince.
GUIDERIUS A most incivil one: the wrongs he did me
Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
With language that would make me spurn the sea,
If it could so roar to me: I cut off’s head;
And am right glad he is not standing here
To tell this tale of mine.
CYMBELINE I am sorry for thee:
By thine own tongue thou art condemn’d, and must
Endure our law: thou’rt dead.
IMOGEN That headless man
I thought had been my lord.
CYMBELINE Bind the offender,
And take him from our presence.
BELARIUS Stay, sir king:
This man is better than the man he slew,
As well descended as thyself; and hath
More of thee merited than a band of Clotens
Had ever scar for.
To the Guard
Let his arms alone;
They were not born for bondage.
CYMBELINE Why, old soldier,
Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
As good as we?
ARVIRAGUS In that he spake too far.
CYMBELINE And thou shalt die for’t.
BELARIUS We will die all three:
But I will prove that two on’s are as good
As I have given out him. My sons, I must,
For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech,
Though, haply, well for you.
ARVIRAGUS Your danger’s ours.
GUIDERIUS And our good his.
BELARIUS Have at it then, by leave.
Thou hadst, great king, a subject who
Was call’d Belarius.
CYMBELINE What of him? he is
A banish’d traitor.
BELARIUS He it is that hath
Assumed this age; indeed a banish’d man;
I know not how a traitor.
CYMBELINE Take him hence:
The whole world shall not save him.
BELARIUS Not too hot:
First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;
And let it be confiscate all, so soon
As I have received it.
CYMBELINE Nursing of my sons!
BELARIUS I am too blunt and saucy: here’s my knee:
Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons;
Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
These two young gentlemen, that call me father
And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
And blood of your begetting.
CYMBELINE How! my issue!
BELARIUS So sure as you your father’s. I, old Morgan,
Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish’d:
Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer’d
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes–
For such and so they are–these twenty years
Have I train’d up: those arts they have as I
Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
Upon my banishment: I moved her to’t,
Having received the punishment before,
For that which I did then: beaten for loyalty
Excited me to treason: their dear loss,
The more of you ’twas felt, the more it shaped
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
Here are your sons again; and I must lose
Two of the sweet’st companions in the world.
The benediction of these covering heavens
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
To inlay heaven with stars.
CYMBELINE Thou weep’st, and speak’st.
The service that you three have done is more
Unlike than this thou tell’st. I lost my children:
If these be they, I know not how to wish
A pair of worthier sons.
BELARIUS Be pleased awhile.
This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius:
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,
Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp’d
In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand
Of his queen mother, which for more probation
I can with ease produce.
CYMBELINE Guiderius had
Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
It was a mark of wonder.
BELARIUS This is he;
Who hath upon him still that natural stamp:
It was wise nature’s end in the donation,
To be his evidence now.
CYMBELINE O, what, am I
A mother to the birth of three? Ne’er mother
Rejoiced deliverance more. Blest pray you be,
That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
may reign in them now! O Imogen,
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.
IMOGEN No, my lord;
I have got two worlds by ‘t. O my gentle brothers,
Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter
But I am truest speaker you call’d me brother,
When I was but your sister; I you brothers,
When ye were so indeed.
CYMBELINE Did you e’er meet?
ARVIRAGUS Ay, my good lord.
GUIDERIUS And at first meeting loved;
Continued so, until we thought he died.
CORNELIUS By the queen’s dram she swallow’d.
CYMBELINE O rare instinct!
When shall I hear all through? This fierce
abridgement
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
Distinction should be rich in. Where? how lived You?
And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
And your three motives to the battle, with
I know not how much more, should be demanded;
And all the other by-dependencies,
From chance to chance: but nor the time nor place
Will serve our long inter’gatories. See,
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen,
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
On him, her brother, me, her master, hitting
Each object with a joy: the counterchange
Is severally in all. Let’s quit this ground,
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.
To BELARIUS
Thou art my brother; so we’ll hold thee ever.
IMOGEN You are my father too, and did relieve me,
To see this gracious season.
CYMBELINE All o’erjoy’d,
Save these in bonds: let them be joyful too,
For they shall taste our comfort.
IMOGEN My good master,
I will yet do you service.
CAIUS LUCIUS Happy be you!
CYMBELINE The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought,
He would have well becomed this place, and graced
The thankings of a king.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I am, sir,
The soldier that did company these three
In poor beseeming; ’twas a fitment for
The purpose I then follow’d. That I was he,
Speak, Iachimo: I had you down and might
Have made you finish.
IACHIMO [Kneeling]
I am down again:
But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,
As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you,
Which I so often owe: but your ring first;
And here the bracelet of the truest princess
That ever swore her faith.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Kneel not to me:
The power that I have on you is, to spare you;
The malice towards you to forgive you: live,
And deal with others better.
CYMBELINE Nobly doom’d!
We’ll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
Pardon’s the word to all.
ARVIRAGUS You holp us, sir,
As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
Joy’d are we that you are.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Your servant, princes. Good my lord of Rome,
Call forth your soothsayer: as I slept, methought
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back’d,
Appear’d to me, with other spritely shows
Of mine own kindred: when I waked, I found
This label on my bosom; whose containing
Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
Make no collection of it: let him show
His skill in the construction.
CAIUS LUCIUS Philarmonus!
Soothsayer Here, my good lord.
CAIUS LUCIUS Read, and declare the meaning.
Soothsayer [Reads]
‘When as a lion’s whelp shall, to himself
unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a
piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar
shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many
years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old
stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end
his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in
peace and plenty.’
Thou, Leonatus, art the lion’s whelp;
The fit and apt construction of thy name,
Being Leonatus, doth import so much.
To CYMBELINE
The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
Which we call ‘mollis aer;’ and ‘mollis aer’
We term it ‘mulier:’ which ‘mulier’ I divine
Is this most constant wife; who, even now,
Answering the letter of the oracle,
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp’d about
With this most tender air.
CYMBELINE This hath some seeming.
Soothsayer The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
Personates thee: and thy lopp’d branches point
Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stol’n,
For many years thought dead, are now revived,
To the majestic cedar join’d, whose issue