Cymbeline Part 17

Moth. Lucina lent not me her ayde, but tooke me in my Throwes, That from me was Posthumus ript, came crying 'mong'st his Foes.

A thing of pitty

Sicil. Great Nature like his Ancestrie, moulded the stuffe so faire: That he deseru'd the praise o'th' World, as great Sicilius heyre

1.Bro. When once he was mature for man, in Britaine where was hee That could stand vp his paralell?

Or fruitfull obiect bee?

In eye of Imogen, that best could deeme his dignitie

Mo. With Marriage wherefore was he mockt to be exil'd, and throwne From Leonati Seate, and cast from her, his deerest one: Sweete Imogen?

Sic. Why did you suffer Iachimo, slight thing of Italy, To taint his n.o.bler hart & braine, with needlesse ielousy, And to become the geeke and scorne o'th' others vilany?

2 Bro. For this, from stiller Seats we came, our Parents, and vs twaine, That striking in our Countries cause, fell brauely, and were slaine, Our Fealty, & Tenantius right, with Honor to maintaine

1 Bro. Like hardiment Posthumus hath to Cymbeline perform'd: Then Iupiter, y King of G.o.ds, why hast y thus adiourn'd The Graces for his Merits due, being all to dolors turn'd?

Sicil. Thy Christall window ope; looke, looke out, no longer exercise Vpon a valiant Race, thy harsh, and potent iniuries:

Moth. Since (Iupiter) our Son is good, take off his miseries

Sicil. Peepe through thy Marble Mansion, helpe, or we poore Ghosts will cry To'th' s.h.i.+ning Synod of the rest, against thy Deity

Brothers. Helpe (Iupiter) or we appeale, and from thy iustice flye.

Iupiter descends in Thunder and Lightning, sitting vppon an Eagle: hee throwes a Thunder-bolt. The Ghostes fall on their knees.

Iupiter. No more you petty Spirits of Region low Offend our hearing: hush. How dare you Ghostes Accuse the Thunderer, whose Bolt (you know) Sky-planted, batters all rebelling Coasts.

Poore shadowes of Elizium, hence, and rest Vpon your neuer-withering bankes of Flowres.

Be not with mortall accidents opprest, No care of yours it is, you know 'tis ours.

Whom best I loue, I crosse; to make my guift The more delay'd, delighted. Be content, Your low-laide Sonne, our G.o.dhead will vplift: His Comforts thriue, his Trials well are spent: Our Iouiall Starre reign'd at his Birth, and in 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 vpon his Brest, wherein Our pleasure, his full Fortune, doth confine, And so away: no farther with your dinne Expresse Impatience, least you stirre vp mine: Mount Eagle, to my Palace Christalline.

Ascends

Sicil. He came in Thunder, his Celestiall breath Was sulphurous to smell: the holy Eagle Stoop'd, as to foote vs: his Ascension is More sweet then our blest Fields: his Royall Bird Prunes the immortall wing, and cloyes his Beake, As when his G.o.d is pleas'd

All. Thankes Iupiter

Sic. The Marble Pauement clozes, he is enter'd His radiant Roofe: Away, and to be blest Let vs with care performe his great behest.

Vanish

Post. Sleepe, thou hast bin a Grandsire, and begot A Father to me: and thou hast created A Mother, and two Brothers. But (oh scorne) Gone, they went hence so soone as they were borne: And so I am awake. Poore Wretches, that depend On Greatnesse, Fauour; Dreame as I haue done, Wake, and finde nothing. But (alas) I swerue: Many Dreame not to finde, neither deserue, And yet are steep'd in Fauours; so am I That haue this Golden chance, and know not why: What Fayeries haunt this ground? A Book? Oh rare one, Be not, as is our fangled world, a Garment n.o.bler then that it couers. Let thy effects So follow, to be most vnlike our Courtiers, As good, as promise.

Reades.

When as a Lyons whelpe, shall to himselfe vnknown, without seeking finde, and bee embrac'd by a peece of tender Ayre: And when from a stately Cedar shall be lopt branches, which being dead many yeares, shall after reuiue, bee ioynted to the old Stocke, and freshly grow, then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britaine be fortunate, and flourish in Peace and Plentie.

'Tis still a Dreame: or else such stuffe as Madmen Tongue, and braine not: either both, or nothing Or senselesse speaking, or a speaking such As sense cannot vntye. Be what it is, The Action of my life is like it, which Ile keepe If but for simpathy.

Enter Gaoler.

Gao. Come Sir, are you ready for death?

Post. Ouer-roasted rather: ready long ago

Gao. Hanging is the word, Sir, if you bee readie for that, you are well Cook'd

Post. So if I proue a good repast to the Spectators, the dish payes the shot

Gao. A heauy reckoning for you Sir: But the comfort is you shall be called to no more payments, fear no more Tauerne Bils, which are often the sadnesse of parting, as the procuring of mirth: you come in faint for want of meate, depart reeling with too much drinke: sorrie that you haue payed too much, and sorry that you are payed too much: Purse and Braine, both empty: the Brain the heauier, for being too light; the Purse too light, being drawne of heauinesse. Oh, of this contradiction you shall now be quit: Oh the charity of a penny Cord, it summes vp thousands in a trice: you haue no true Debitor, and Creditor but it: of what's past, is, and to come, the discharge: your necke (Sir) is Pen, Booke, and Counters; so the Acquittance followes

Post. I am merrier to dye, then thou art to liue

Gao. Indeed Sir, he that sleepes, feeles not the Tooth-Ache: but a man that were to sleepe your sleepe, and a Hangman to helpe him to bed, I think he would change places with his Officer: for, look you Sir, you know not which way you shall go

Post. Yes indeed do I, fellow

Gao. Your death has eyes in's head then: I haue not seene him so pictur'd: you must either bee directed by some that take vpon them to know, or to take vpon your selfe that which I am sure you do not know: or iump the after-enquiry on your owne perill: and how you shall speed in your iournies end, I thinke you'l neuer returne to tell one

Post. I tell thee, Fellow, there are none want eyes, to direct them the way I am going, but such as winke, and will not vse them

Gao. What an infinite mocke is this, that a man shold haue the best vse of eyes, to see the way of blindnesse: I am sure hanging's the way of winking.

Enter a Messenger.

Mes. Knocke off his Manacles, bring your Prisoner to the King

Post. Thou bring'st good newes, I am call'd to bee made free

Gao. Ile be hang'd then

Post. Thou shalt be then freer then a Gaoler; no bolts for the dead

Gao. Vnlesse a man would marry a Gallowes, & beget yong Gibbets, I neuer saw one so p.r.o.ne: yet on my Conscience, there are verier Knaues desire to liue, for all he be a Roman; and there be some of them too that dye against their willes; so should I, if I were one. I would we were all of one minde, and one minde good: O there were desolation of Gaolers and Galowses: I speake against my present profit, but my wish hath a preferment in't.

Exeunt.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Cymbeline, Bellarius, Guiderius, Aruiragus, Pisanio, and Lords.

Cym. Stand by my side you, whom the G.o.ds haue made Preseruers of my Throne: woe is my heart, That the poore Souldier that so richly fought, Whose ragges, sham'd gilded Armes, whose naked brest Stept before Targes of proofe, cannot be found: He shall be happy that can finde him, if Our Grace can make him so

Bel. I neuer saw Such n.o.ble fury in so poore a Thing; Such precious deeds, in one that promist nought But beggery, and poore lookes

Cym. No tydings of him?

Pisa. He hath bin search'd among the dead, & liuing; But no trace of him

Cym. To my greefe, I am The heyre of his Reward, which I will adde To you (the Liuer, Heart, and Braine of Britaine) By whom (I grant) she liues. 'Tis now the time To aske of whence you are. Report it

Bel. Sir, In Cambria are we borne, and Gentlemen: Further to boast, were neyther true, nor modest, Vnlesse I adde, we are honest

Cym. Bow your knees: Arise my Knights o'th' Battell, I create you Companions to our person, and will fit you With Dignities becomming your estates.