Cymbeline

fits thy faith, thy faith thy name.
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say
Thou shalt be so well master’d, but, be sure,
No less beloved. The Roman emperor’s letters,
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with me. Imogen

I’ll follow, sir. But first, an’t please the gods,
I’ll hide my master from the flies, as deep
As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha’ strew’d his grave,
And on it said a century of prayers,
Such as I can, twice o’er, I’ll weep and sigh;
And leaving so his service, follow you,
So please you entertain me.

Lucius

Ay, good youth;
And rather father thee than master thee.
My friends,
The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,
And make him with our pikes and partisans
A grave: come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr’d
By thee to us, and he shall be interr’d
As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes:
Some falls are means the happier to arise. Exeunt.

Scene III

A room in Cymbeline’s palace.

	Enter Cymbeline, Lords, Pisanio, and Attendants.
Cymbeline	Again; and bring me word how ’tis with her. Exit an Attendant. A fever with the absence of her son, A madness, of which her life’s in danger. Heavens, How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen, The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen Upon a desperate bed, and in a time When fearful wars point at me; her son gone, So needful for this present: it strikes me, past The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow, Who needs must know of her departure and Dost seem so ignorant, we’ll enforce it from thee By a sharp torture.
Pisanio	Sir, my life is yours; I humbly set it at your will; but, for my mistress, I nothing know where she remains, why gone, Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your highness, Hold me your loyal servant.
First Lord	Good my liege, The day that she was missing he was here: I dare be bound he’s true and shall perform All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten, There wants no diligence in seeking him, And will, no doubt, be found.
Cymbeline	The time is troublesome. To Pisanio. We’ll slip you for a season; but our jealousy Does yet depend.
First Lord	So please your majesty, The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, Are landed on your coast, with a supply Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent.
Cymbeline	Now for the counsel of my son and queen! I am amazed with matter.
First Lord	Good my liege, Your preparation can affront no less Than what you hear of: come more, for more you’re ready: The want is but to put those powers in motion That long to move.
Cymbeline	I thank you. Let’s withdraw; And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not What can from Italy annoy us; but We grieve at chances here. Away! Exeunt all but Pisanio.
Pisanio	I heard no letter from my master since I wrote him Imogen was slain: ’tis strange: Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise To yield me often tidings; neither know I What is betid to Cloten; but remain Perplex’d in all. The heavens still must work. Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true. These present wars shall find I love my country, Even to the note o’ the king, or I’ll fall in them. All other doubts, by time let them be clear’d: Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer’d. Exit.

Scene IV

Wales: before the cave of Belarius.

	Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.
Guiderius	The noise is round about us.
Belarius	Let us from it.
Arviragus	What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it From action and adventure?
Guiderius	Nay, what hope Have we in hiding us? This way, the Romans Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us For barbarous and unnatural revolts During their use, and slay us after.
Belarius	Sons, We’ll higher to the mountains; there secure us. To the king’s party there’s no going: newness Of Cloten’s death⁠—we being not known, not muster’d Among the bands⁠—may drive us to a render Where we have lived, and so extort from’s that Which we have done, whose answer would be death Drawn on with torture.
Guiderius	This is, sir, a doubt In such a time nothing becoming you, Nor satisfying us.
Arviragus	It is not likely That when they hear the Roman horses neigh, Behold their quarter’d fires, have both their eyes And ears so cloy’d importantly as now, That they will waste their time upon our note, To know from whence we are.
Belarius	O, I am known Of many in the army: many years, Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him From my remembrance. And, besides, the king Hath not deserved my service nor your loves; Who find in my exile the want of breeding, The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless To have the courtesy your cradle promised, But to be still hot summer’s tanlings and The shrinking slaves of winter.
Guiderius	Than be so Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army: I and my brother are not known; yourself So out of thought, and thereto so o’ergrown, Cannot be question’d.
Arviragus	By this sun that shines, I’ll thither: what thing is it that I never Did see man die! scarce ever look’d on blood, But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison! Never bestrid a horse, save one that had A rider like myself, who ne’er wore rowel Nor iron on his heel! I am ashamed To look upon the holy sun, to have The benefit of his blest beams, remaining So long a poor unknown.
Guiderius	By heavens, I’ll go: If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, I’ll take the better care, but if you will not, The hazard therefore due fall on me by The hands of Romans!
Arviragus	So say I: amen.
Belarius	No reason I, since of your lives you set So slight a valuation, should reserve My crack’d one to more care. Have with you, boys! If in your country wars you chance to die, That is my bed too, lads, an there I’ll lie: Lead, lead. Aside. The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn, Till it fly