Cymbeline's Tent.
 Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO,
 LORDS, OFFICERS, and ATTENDANTS.

Cymbeline	Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made
	Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart
	That the poor soldier that so richly fought,
	Whose rags shamed gilded arms, whose naked breast
	Stepped before targes of proof, cannot be found.
	He shall be happy that can find him, if
	Our grace can make him so.

Belarius										I never saw
	Such noble fury in so poor a thing;
	Such precious deeds in one that promised naught
	But beggary and poor looks.

Cymbeline											No tidings of him?

Pisanio	He hath been searched among the dead and living,
	But no trace of him.

Cymbeline								To my grief, I am
	The heir of his reward,
	[To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS.]
									which I will add
	To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain,
	By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the time
	To ask of whence you are. Report it.

Belarius											Sir,
	In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen.
	Further to boast were neither true nor modest,
	Unless I add we are honest.

Cymbeline									Bow your knees.
													[They kneel.
	Arise my knights o'th' battle. I create you
	Companions to our person, and will fit you
	With dignities becoming your estates.

                       Enter CORNELIUS and LADIES.

	There's business in these faces. Why so sadly
	Greet you our victory? You look like Romans,
	And not o'th' court of Britain.

Cornelius											Hail, great king!
	To sour your happiness I must report
	The queen is dead.

Cymbeline								Who worse than a physician
	Would this report become? But I consider,
	By med'cine life may be prolonged, yet death
	Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?

Cornelius	With horror, madly dying, like her life,
	Which, being cruel to the world, concluded
	Most cruel to herself. What she confessed
	I will report, so please you; these her women
	Can trip me if I err, who with wet cheeks
	Were present when she finished.

Cymbeline											Prithee say.

Cornelius	First, she confessed she never loved you, only
	Affected greatness got by you, not you;
	Married your royalty, was wife to your place,
	Abhorred your person.

Cymbeline								She alone knew this;
	And, but she spoke in dying, I would not
	Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.

Cornelius	Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love
	With such integrity, she did confess
	Was as a scorpion to her sight, whose life,
	But that her flight prevented it, she had
	Ta'en off by poison.

Cymbeline								O most delicate fiend!
	Who is't can read a woman? Is there more?

Cornelius	More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had
	For you a mortal mineral which, being took,
	Should by the minute feed on life, and ling'ring,
	By inches waste you; in which time she purposed,
	By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
	O'ercome you with her show, and in time,
	When she had fitted you with her craft, to work
	Her son into th' adoption of the crown.
	But, failing of her end by his strange absence,
	Grew shameless-desperate, opened, in despite
	Of heaven and men, her purposes, repented
	The evils she hatched were not effected; so
	Despairing died.

Cymbeline							Heard you all this, her women?

Ladies	We did, so please your highness.

Cymbeline											Mine eyes
	Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;
	Mine ears that heard her flattery, nor my heart
	That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious
	To have mistrusted her; yet, O my daughter,
	That it was folly in me thou mayst say,
	And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!

    Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the SOOTHSAYER, and other ROMAN PRISONERS,
           guarded by SOLDIERS; POSTHUMUS behind, and INNOGEN.

	Thou comest not, Caius, now for tribute; that
	The Britons have razed out, though with the loss
	Of many a bold one; whose kinsman have made suit
	That their good souls may be appeased with slaughter
	Of you their captives, which ourself have granted.
	So think of your estate.

Lucius	Consider, sir, the chance of war; the day
	Was yours by accident. Had it gone with us,
	We should not, when the blood was cool, have threatened
	Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods
	Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
	May be called ransom, let it come. Sufficeth
	A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer.
	Augustus lives to think on't; and so much
	For my peculiar care. This one thing only
	I will entreat: my boy, a Briton born,
	Let him be ransomed. Never master had
	A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
	So tender over his occasions, true,
	So feat, so nurse-like; let his virtue join
	With my request, which I'll make bold your highness
	Cannot deny. He hath done no Briton harm,
	Though he have served a Roman. Save him, sir,
	And spare no blood beside.

Cymbeline									I have surely seen him;
	His favour is familiar to me. Boy,
	Thou hast looked thyself into my grace,
	And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore,
	To say, 'Live, boy'; ne'er thank thy master. Live,
	And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
	Fitting my bounty and thy state, I'll give it;
	Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
	The noblest ta'en.

Innogen							I humbly thank your highness.

Lucius	I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad,
	And yet I know thou wilt.

Innogen										No, no; alack,
	There's other work in hand. I see a thing
	Bitter to me as death. Your life, good master,
	Must shuffle for itself.

Lucius									The boy disdains me;
	He leaves me, scorns me. Briefly die their joys
	That place them on the truth of girls and boys.
	Why stands he so perplexed?

Cymbeline										What wouldst thou, boy?
	I love thee more and more; think more and more
	What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? Speak,
	Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin, thy friend?

Innogen	He is a Roman, no more kin to me
	Than I to your highness; who, being born your vassal,
	Am something nearer.

Cymbeline							Wherefore ey'st him so?

Innogen	I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please
	To give me hearing.

Cymbeline								Ay, with all my heart,
	And lend my best attention. What's thy name?

Innogen	Fidele, sir.

Cymbeline					Thou'rt my good youth, my page;
	I'll be thy master. Walk with me; speak freely.
							    [CYMBELINE and INNOGEN converse apart.

Belarius	Is not this boy revived from death?

Arviragus											One sand another
	Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad
	Who died, and was Fidele. What think you?

Guiderius	The same dead thing alive.

Belarius	Peace, peace; see further. He eyes us not; forbear.
	Creatures may be alike. Were't he, I am sure
	He would have spoke to us.

Guiderius										But we saw him dead.

Belarius	Be silent; let's see further.

Pisanio						[Aside.]			It is my mistress.
	Since she is living, let the time run on
	To good or bad.
								 [CYMBELINE and INNOGEN come forward.

Cymbeline							Come, stand thou by our side;
	Make thy demand aloud. [To IACHIMO.] Sir, step you forth;
	Give answer to this boy, and do it freely,
	Or, by our greatness and the grace of it,
	Which is our honour, bitter torture shall
	Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him.

Innogen	My boon is that this gentleman may render
	Of whom he had this ring.

Posthumus	[Aside.]					What's that to him?

Cymbeline	That diamond upon your finger, say
	How came it yours?

Iachimo	Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that
	Which to be spoke would torture thee.

Cymbeline											How, me?

Iachimo	I am glad to be constrained to utter that
	Which torments me to conceal. By villainy
	I got this ring. 'Twas Leonatus' jewel,
	Whom thou didst banish; and - which more may grieve thee,
	As it doth me - a nobler sir ne'er lived
	'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord?

Cymbeline	All that belongs to this.

Iachimo									That paragon, thy daughter,
	For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
	Quail to remember - Give me leave, I faint.

Cymbeline	My daughter? What of her? Renew thy strength;
	I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will
	Than die ere I hear more. Strive, man, and speak.

Iachimo	Upon a time - unhappy was the clock
	That struck the hour - it was in Rome - accursed
	The mansion where - 'twas at a feast - O, would
	Our viands had been poisoned, or at least
	Those which I heaved to head - the good Posthumus-
	What should I say? - he was too good to be
	Where ill men were, and was the best of all
	Amongst the rar'st of good ones - sitting sadly,
	Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
	For beauty, that made barren the swelled boast
	Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming
	The shrine of Venus or straight-pight Minerva,
	Postures beyond brief nature; for condition,
	A shop of all the qualities that man
	Loves woman for, besides that hook of wiving,
	Fairness which strikes the eye-

Cymbeline										I stand on fire.
	Come to the matter.

Iachimo									All too soon I shall,
	Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus,
	Most like a noble lord, in love, and one
	That had a royal lover, took his hint,
	And - not dispraising whom we praised, therein
	He was as calm as virtue - he began
	His mistress' picture, which by his tongue being made,
	And then a mind put in't, either our brags
	Were cracked of kitchen-trulls, or his description
	Proved us unspeaking sots.

Cymbeline										Nay, nay, to th' purpose.

Iachimo	Your daughter's chastity - there it begins.
	He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams
	And she alone were cold; whereat I, wretch,
	Made scruple of his praise and wagered with him
	Pieces of gold 'gainst this, which then he wore
	Upon his honoured finger, to attain
	In suit the place of's bed, and win this ring
	By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight,
	No lesser of her honour confident
	Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring,
	And would so had it been a carbuncle
	Of Phoebus' wheel; and might so safely, had it
	Been all the worth of's car. Away to Britain
	Post I in this design; well may you, sir,
	Remember me at court, where I was taught
	Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
	'Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quenched
	Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
	'Gan in your duller Britain operate
	Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent.
	And, to be brief, my practice so prevailed
	That I returned with simular proof enough
	To make the noble Leonatus mad
	By wounding his belief in her renown
	With tokens thus and thus; averring notes
	Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet-
	O cunning, how I got it! - nay, some marks
	Of secret on her person, that he could not
	But think her bond of chastity quite cracked,
	I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon-
	Methinks I see him now-

Posthumus					[Advancing.]	Ay, so thou dost,
	Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool,
	Egregious murderer, thief, anything
	That's due to all the villains past, in being,
	To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
	Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out
	For torturers ingenious. It is I
	That all the abhorrd things o'th' earth amend
	By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
	That killed thy daughter - villain-like, I lie,
	That caused a lesser villain than myself,
	A sacrilegious thief, to do't. The temple
	Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
	Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
	The dogs o'th' street to bay me; every villain
	Be called Posthumus Leonatus, and
	Be villainy less than 'twas! O Innogen!
	My queen, my life, my wife! O Innogen,
	Innogen, Innogen!

Innogen							Peace, my lord; hear, hear-

Posthumus	Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page,
	There lie thy part.
										 [He strikes her and she falls.

Pisanio								O, gentlemen, help!
	Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus!
	You ne'er killed Innogen till now. Help, help!
	Mine honoured lady!

Cymbeline									Does the world go round?

Posthumus	How comes these staggers on me?

Pisanio											Wake, my mistress!

Cymbeline	If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
	To death with mortal joy.

Pisanio								How fares my mistress?

Innogen	O, get thee from my sight;
	Thou gavest me poison. Dangerous fellow, hence!
	Breathe not where princes are.

Cymbeline										The tune of Innogen!

Pisanio	Lady,
	The gods throw stones of sulphur on me if
	That box I gave you was not thought by me
	A precious thing. I had it from the queen.

Cymbeline	New matter still.

Innogen								It poisoned me.

Cornelius											O gods!
	I left out one thing which the queen confessed,
	Which must approve thee honest. 'If Pisanio
	Have' said she, 'given his mistress that confection
	Which I gave him for cordial, she is served
	As I would serve a rat'.

Cymbeline								What's this, Cornelius?

Cornelius	The queen, sir, very oft importuned me
	To temper poisons for her, still pretending
	The satisfaction of her knowledge only
	In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs
	Of no esteem. I, dreading that her purpose
	Was of more danger, did compound for her
	A certain stuff, which being ta'en would cease
	The present power of life, but in short time
	All offices of nature should again
	Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?

Innogen	Most like I did, for I was dead.

Belarius											My boys,
	There was our error.

Guiderius								This is sure Fidele.

Innogen	[To POSTHUMUS.]
	Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?
	Think that you are upon a rock, and now
	Throw me again.
													[Embracing him.
Posthumus						Hang there like fruit, my soul,
	Till the tree die!

Cymbeline								How now, my flesh, my child?
	What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act?
	Wilt thou not speak to me?

Innogen						[Kneeling.]		Your blessing, sir.

Belarius	[To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS.]
	Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not;
	You had a motive for't.

Cymbeline									My tears that fall
	Prove holy water on thee! Innogen,
	Thy mother's dead.

Innogen							I am sorry for't, my lord.

Cymbeline	O, she was naught, and long of her it was
	That we meet here so strangely; but her son
	Is gone, we know not how nor where.

Pisanio											My lord,
	Now fear is from me I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten,
	Upon my lady's missing, came to me
	With his sword drawn, foamed at the mouth, and swore
	If I discovered not which way she was gone
	It was my instant death. By accident
	I had a feignd letter of my master's
	Then in my pocket, which directed him
	To seek her on the mountains near to Milford,
	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 hard 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 condemned, and must
	Endure our law. Thou'rt dead.

Innogen									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 called Belarius.

Cymbeline								What of him? He is
	A banished traitor.

Belarius							He it is that hath
	Assumed this age; indeed a banished 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.
													[Kneels.
	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 banished.
	Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
	Itself, and all my treason; that I suffered
	Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes-
	For such and so they are - these twenty years
	Have I trained 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 lapped
	In a most curious mantle wrought by th' 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,
	You may reign in them now! O Innogen,
	Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.

Innogen											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 called 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 swallowed.

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-dependances,
	From chance to chance; but nor the time nor place
	Will serve our long inter'gatories. See,
	Posthumus anchors upon Innogen;
	And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
	On him, her brothers, 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.

Innogen	You are my father too, and did relieve me
	To see this gracious season.

Cymbeline										All o'erjoyed,
	Save these in bonds. Let them be joyful too,
	For they shall taste our comfort.

Innogen											My good master,
	I will yet do you service.

Lucius									Happy be you!

Cymbeline	The forlorn soldier that so nobly fought,
	He would have well become this place, and graced
	The thankings of a king.

Posthumus										I am, sir,
	The soldier that did company these three
	In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for
	The purpose I then followed. 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										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 doomed!
	We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
	Pardon's the word to all.

Arviragus				[To POSTHUMUS.]	You holp us, sir,
	As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
	Joyed are we that you are.

Posthumus	Your servant, princes. Good my lord of Rome,
	Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept methought
	Great Jupiter, upon his eagle backed,
	Appeared 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.

Lucius											Philarmonus!

Soothsayer	Here, my good lord.

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 Leo-natus, 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 clipped about
	With this most tender air.

Cymbeline									This hath some seeming.

Soothsayer	The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
	Personates thee; and thy lopped branches point
	Thy two sons forth, who, by Belarius stol'n,
	For many years thought dead, are now revived,
	To the most majestic cedar joined, whose issue
	Promises Britain peace and plenty.

Cymbeline											Well,
	My peace we will begin; and, Caius Lucius,
	Although the victor, we submit to Caesar
	And to the Roman empire, promising
	To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
	We were dissuaded by our wicked queen,
	Whom heavens in justice, both on her and hers,
	Have laid most heavy hand.

Soothsayer	The fingers of the powers above do tune
	The harmony of this peace. The vision
	Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke
	Of yet this scarce-cold battle, at this instant
	Is full accomplished. For the Roman eagle,
	From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
	Lessened herself, and in the beams o'th' sun
	So vanished; which foreshowed our princely eagle,
	Th' imperial Caesar, should again unite
	His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
	Which shines here in the west.

Cymbeline											Laud we the gods;
	And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
	From our blest altars. Publish we this peace
	To all our subjects. Set we forward; let
	A Roman and a British ensign wave
	Friendly together; so through Lud's Town march;
	And in the temple of great Jupiter
	Our peace we'll ratify, seal it with feasts.
	Set on there! Never was a war did cease,
	Ere bloody hands were washed, with such a peace.
													[Exeunt.
