ACT V. SCENE I.-A Field between the British and Roman Camps. Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody Handkerchief. Post. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wished Thou shouldst be coloured thus. You married ones, If each of you would take this course, how many Must murder wives much better than themselves, For wrying but a little !-O, Pisanio! Every good servant does not all commands: No bond, but to do just ones.-Gods! if you Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never Had liv'd to put on this: so had you sav'd The noble Imogen to repent; and struck Me wretch, more worth your vengeance. But, alack, To second ills with ills, each elder worse; And make me bless'd to obey!-I am brought hither That, Britain, I have killed thy mistress; peace! I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens, Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself [Exit. SCENE II.-The same. Enter at one Side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman If that thy gentry, Britain, go before This lout, as he exceeds our lords, the odds Is, that we scarce are men, and you are gods. [Exit. The Battle continues; the Britons fly; CYMBELINE is taken; then enter, to his rescue, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. Bel. Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground; The lane is guarded: nothing routs us, but The villainy of our fears. Gui. Aro. Stand, stand, and fight! Enter POSTHUMUS, and seconds the Britons: They rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then, enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and IMOGEN. Luc. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself: For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such As war were hood-wink'd. Iach. "Tis their fresh supplies. Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely: Or betimes Let's re-enforce, or fly. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Another Part of the Field. Enter POSTHUMUS and a British Lord. Lord. Cam'st thou from where they made the stand! Post. I did: Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. Lord. I did. Post. No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost, Through a strait lane; the enemy full-hearted, Lord. Where was this lane? Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf; Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, An honest one, I warrant; who deserv'd So long a breeding, as his white beard came to, (For three performers are the file, when all The rest do nothing,) with this word, stand, stand, With their own nobleness, (which could have turned Part, shame, part, spirit renew'd; that some, turn'd coward But by example (O, a sin in war, Damn'd in the first beginners!) 'gan to look A rout, confusion thick: Forthwith, they fly The life o'the need; having found the back-door open Lord. This was strange chance: A narrow lane! an old man, and two boys! Post. Nay, do not wonder at it: You are made Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't, Post. 'Lack, to what end? Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend: 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 are angry. [Exit. Post. Still going?-This is a lord! O noble misery! |