Part 16 (1/2)

Lead, lead; the time seems long, their blood thinks scorn Till it flye out, and shew them Princes borne.

Exeunt.

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Enter Posthumus alone.

Post. Yea b.l.o.o.d.y cloth, Ile keep thee: for I am wisht Thou should'st be colour'd thus. You married ones, If each of you should take this course, how many Must murther Wiues much better then themselues For wrying but a little? Oh Pisanio, Euery good Seruant do's not all Commands: No Bond, but to do iust ones. G.o.ds, if you Should haue 'tane vengeance on my faults, I neuer Had liu'd to put on this: so had you saued The n.o.ble Imogen, to repent, and strooke Me (wretch) more worth your Vengeance. But alacke, You s.n.a.t.c.h some hence for little faults; that's loue To haue them fall no more: you some permit To second illes with illes, each elder worse, And make them dread it, to the dooers thrift.

But Imogen is your owne, do your best willes, And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither Among th' Italian Gentry, and to fight Against my Ladies Kingdome: 'Tis enough That (Britaine) I haue kill'd thy Mistris: Peace, Ile giue no wound to thee: therefore good Heauens, Heare patiently my purpose. Ile disrobe me Of these Italian weedes, and suite my selfe As do's a Britaine Pezant: so Ile fight Against the part I come with: so Ile dye For thee (O Imogen) euen for whom my life Is euery breath, a death: and thus, vnknowne, Pittied, nor hated, to the face of perill My selfe Ile dedicate. Let me make men know More valour in me, then my habits show.

G.o.ds, put the strength o'th'Leonati in me: To shame the guize o'th' world, I will begin, The fas.h.i.+on lesse without, and more within.

Enter.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and the Romane Army at one doore: and the Britaine Army at another: Leonatus Posthumus following like a poore Souldier. They march ouer, and goe out. Then enter againe in Skirmish Iachimo and Posthumus: he vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo, and then leaues him.

Iac. The heauinesse and guilt within my bosome, Takes off my manhood: I haue belyed a Lady, The Princesse of this Country; and the ayre on't Reuengingly enfeebles me, or could this Carle, A very drudge of Natures, haue subdu'de me In my profession? Knighthoods, and Honors borne As I weare mine) are t.i.tles but of scorne.

If that thy Gentry (Britaine) go before This Lowt, as he exceeds our Lords, the oddes Is, that we sca.r.s.e are men, and you are G.o.ddes.

Enter.

The Battaile continues, the Britaines fly, Cymbeline is taken: Then enter to his rescue, Bellarius, Guiderius, and Aruiragus.

Bel. Stand, stand, we haue th' aduantage of the ground, The Lane is guarded: Nothing rowts vs, but The villany of our feares

Gui. Arui. Stand, stand, and fight.

Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britaines. They Rescue Cymbeline, and Exeunt.

Then enter Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen.

Luc. Away boy from the Troopes, and saue thy selfe: For friends kil friends, and the disorder's such As warre were hood-wink'd

Iac. 'Tis their fresh supplies

Luc. It is a day turn'd strangely: or betimes Let's re-inforce, or fly.

Exeunt.

Scena Tertia.

Enter Posthumus, and a Britaine Lord.

Lor. Cam'st thou from where they made the stand?

Post. I did, Though you it seemes come from the Fliers?

Lo. I did

Post. No blame be to you Sir, for all was lost, But that the Heauens fought: the King himselfe Of his wings dest.i.tute, the Army broken, And but the backes of Britaines seene; all flying Through a strait Lane, the Enemy full-heart'd, Lolling the Tongue with slaught'ring: hauing worke More plentifull, then Tooles to doo't: strooke downe Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling Meerely through feare, that the strait pa.s.se was damm'd With deadmen, hurt behinde, and Cowards liuing To dye with length'ned shame

Lo. Where was this Lane?

Post. Close by the battell, ditch'd, & wall'd with turph, Which gaue aduantage to an ancient Soldiour (An honest one I warrant) who deseru'd So long a breeding, as his white beard came to, In doing this for's Country. Athwart the Lane, He, with two striplings (Lads more like to run The Country base, then to commit such slaughter, With faces fit for Maskes, or rather fayrer Then those for preseruation cas'd, or shame) Made good the pa.s.sage, cryed to those that fled.

Our Britaines hearts dye flying, not our men, To darknesse fleete soules that flye backwards; stand, Or we are Romanes, and will giue you that Like beasts, which you shun beastly, and may saue But to looke backe in frowne: Stand, stand. These three, Three thousand confident, in acte as many: For three performers are the File, when all The rest do nothing. With this word stand, stand, Accomodated by the Place; more Charming With their owne n.o.blenesse, which could haue turn'd A Distaffe, to a Lance, guilded pale lookes; Part shame, part spirit renew'd, that some turn'd coward But by example (Oh a sinne in Warre, d.a.m.n'd in the first beginners) gan to looke The way that they did, and to grin like Lyons Vpon the Pikes o'th' Hunters. Then beganne A stop i'th' Chaser; a Retyre: Anon A Rowt, confusion thicke: forthwith they flye Chickens, the way which they stopt Eagles: Slaues The strides the Victors made: and now our Cowards Like Fragments in hard Voyages became The life o'th' need: hauing found the backe doore open Of the vnguarded hearts: heauens, how they wound, Some slaine before some dying; some their Friends Ore-borne i'th' former waue, ten chac'd by one, Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty: Those that would dye, or ere resist, are growne The mortall bugs o'th' Field