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- Edition: Cymbeline
Cymbeline (Folio 1, 1623)
- Introduction
- Texts of this edition
- Contextual materials
- Facsimiles
3032Scena Quarta.
3033Enter Posthumus, and Gaoler.
3035You haue lockes vpon you:
3039(I thinke) to liberty: yet am I better
3041Groane so in perpetuity, then be cur'd
3045The penitent Instrument to picke that Bolt,
3046Then free for euer. Is't enough I am sorry?
3047So Children temporall Fathers do appease;
3048Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent,
3049I cannot do it better then in Gyues,
3051If of my Freedome 'tis the maine part, take
3053I know you are more clement then vilde men,
3054Who of their broken Debtors take a third,
3055A sixt, a tenth, letting them thriue againe
3056On their abatement; that's not my desire.
3057For Imogens deere life, take mine, and though
3058'Tis not so deere, yet 'tis a life; you coyn'd it,
3059'Tweene man, and man, they waigh not euery stampe:
3061(You rather) mine being yours: and so great Powres,
3062If you will take this Audit, take this life,
3063And cancell these cold Bonds. Oh Imogen,
3066 natus, Father to Posthumus, an old man, attyred like a war-
3067riour, leading in his hand an ancient Matron (his wife, &
3068Mother to Posthumus) with Musicke before them. Then
3069after other Musicke, followes the two young Leonati (Bro-
3070thers to Posthumus) with wounds as they died in the warrs.
3071 They circle Posthumus round as he lies sleeping.
3074With Mars fall out with Iuno chide, that thy Adulteries
3075 Rates, and Reuenges.
3076Hath my poore Boy done ought but well,
3079 attending Natures Law.
3080Whose Father then (as men report,
3081 thou Orphanes Father art)
3084Moth. Lucina lent not me her ayde,
3085 but tooke me in my Throwes,
3088A thing of pitty.
30931. Bro. When once he was mature for man,
3094 in Britaine where was hee
3095That could stand vp his paralell?
3097In eye of Imogen, that best could deeme
3098 his dignitie.
3099Mo. With Marriage wherefore was he mockt
3100 to be exil'd, and throwne
3101From Leonati Seate, and cast from her,
3103Sweete Imogen?
bbb 3 To
394The Tragedy of Cymbeline.
3108 our Parents, and vs twaine,
3111Our Fealty, & Tenantius right, with Honor to maintaine.
3113 to Cymbeline perform'd:
3114Then Iupiter, yu King of Gods, why hast yu thus adiourn'd
3115The Graces for his Merits due, being all to dolors turn'd?
3118Vpon a valiant Race, thy harsh, and potent iniuries:
3119Moth. Since (Iupiter) our Son is good,
3124Brothers. Helpe (Iupiter) or we appeale,
3126Iupiter descends in Thunder and Lightning, sitting vppon an
3127 Eagle: hee throwes a Thunder-bolt. The Ghostes fall on
3128their knees.
3129Iupiter. No more you petty Spirits of Region low
3132Sky-planted, batters all rebelling Coasts.
3134Vpon your neuer-withering bankes of Flowres.
3135Be not with mortall accidents opprest,
3136No care of yours it is, you know 'tis ours.
3138The more delay'd, delighted. Be content,
3139Your low-laide Sonne, our Godhead will vplift:
3140His Comforts thriue, his Trials well are spent:
3141Our Iouiall Starre reign'd at his Birth, and in
3142Our Temple was he married: Rise, and fade,
3143He shall be Lord of Lady Imogen,
3145This Tablet lay vpon his Brest, wherein
3147And so away: no farther with your dinne
3154Prunes the immortall wing, and cloyes his Beake,
3155As when his God is pleas'd.
3156All. Thankes Iupiter.
3157Sic. The Marble Pauement clozes, he is enter'd
3158His radiant Roofe: Away, and to be blest
3161A Father to me: and thou hast created
3162A Mother, and two Brothers. But (oh scorne)
3164And so I am awake. Poore Wretches, that depend
3165On Greatnesse, Fauour; Dreame as I haue done,
3169That haue this Golden chance, and know not why:
3170What Fayeries haunt this ground? A Book? Oh rare one,
3171Be not, as is our fangled world, a Garment
3173So follow, to be most vnlike our Courtiers,
3174As good, as promise.
3175Reades.
WHen as a Lyons whelpe, shall to himselfe vnknown, with-
3179which being dead many yeares, shall after reuiue, bee ioynted to
3182tie.
3184Tongue, and braine not: either both, or nothing,
3187The Action of my life is like it, which Ile keepe
3188If but for simpathy.
3189Enter Gaoler.
3190Gao. Come Sir, are you ready for death?
3192Gao. Hanging is the word, Sir, if you bee readie for
3193that, you are well Cook'd.
3196Gao. A heauy reckoning for you Sir: But the comfort
3197is you shall be called to no more payments, fear no more
3199the procuring of mirth: you come in faint for want of
3200meate, depart reeling with too much drinke: sorrie that
3201you haue payed too much, and sorry that you are payed
3202too much: Purse and Braine, both empty: the Brain the
3203heauier, for being too light; the Purse too light, being
3205now be quit: Oh the charity of a penny Cord, it summes
3206vp thousands in a trice: you haue no true Debitor, and
3208charge: your necke (Sis) is Pen, Booke, and Counters; so
3209the Acquittance followes.
3210Post. I am merrier to dye, then thou art to liue.
3213Hangman to helpe him to bed, I think he would change
3214places with his Officer: for, look you Sir, you know not
3215which way you shall go.
3216Post. Yes indeed do I, fellow.
3217Gao. Your death has eyes in's head then: I haue not
3219some that take vpon them to know, or to take vpon your
3221after-enquiry on your owne perill: and how you shall
3222speed in your iournies end, I thinke you'l neuer returne
3223to tell one.
3224Post. I tell thee, Fellow, there are none want eyes, to
3226will not vse them.
3229am sure hanging's the way of winking.
3230Enter a Messenger.
3232the King.
3234made free.
3235Gao. Ile be hang'd then.
for
The Tragedie of Cymbeline. 395
3237for the dead.
3241he be a Roman; and there be some of them too that dye
3243we were all of one minde, and one minde good: O there
3246in't. Exeunt.