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 Stepp'd before larges 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 promises nought But beggary and poor looks. CYMBELINE No tidings of him? PISANIO He hath been search'd 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.
Arise my knights o' the 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' the 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 medicine life may be prolong'd, 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 confess'd I will report, so please you: these her women Can trip me, if I err; who with wet cheeks Were present when she finish'd. CYMBELINE Prithee, say. CORNELIUS First, she confess'd she never loved you, only Affected greatness got by you, not you:
Married your royalty, was wife to your place;Abhorr'd your person. CYMBELINE She alone knew this;And, but she spoke it 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 lingering 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 the adoption of the crown:
But, failing of her end by his strange absence, Grew shameless-desperate; open'd, in despite Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so Despairing died. CYMBELINE Heard you all this, her women? First Lady 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; POSTHUMUS LEONATUS behind, and IMOGENThou comest not, Caius, now for tribute that The Britons have razed out, though with the loss Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen 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. CAIUS 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 threaten'd Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives May be call'd 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 ransom'd: 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 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 look'd 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. IMOGEN I humbly thank your highness. CAIUS LUCIUS I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad;And yet I know thou wilt. IMOGEN 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. CAIUS 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 perplex'd? 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? IMOGEN He is a Roman; no more kin to me Than I to your highness; who, being born your vassal, Am something nearer. CYMBELINE Wherefore eyest him so? IMOGEN 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? IMOGEN Fidele, sir. CYMBELINE Thou'rt my good youth, my page;I'll be thy master: walk with me; speak freely.