The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

>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.

Britain. 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.

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.

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 amaz’d with matter.

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 pow’rs 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 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’ th’ 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 liv’d, 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 deserv’d 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 promis’d, 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 th’ army.

I and my brother are not known; yourself So out of thought, and thereto so o’ergrown, Cannot be questioned.

ARVIRAGUS. By this sun that shines,

I’ll thither. What thing is’t 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 asham’d

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, and there I’ll lie.

Lead, lead. [Aside] The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn Till it fly out and show them princes born. Exeunt

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ACT V. SCENE I.

Britain. The Roman camp

 

Enter POSTHUMUS alone, with a bloody handkerchief POSTHUMUS. Yea, bloody cloth, I’ll keep thee; for I wish’d Thou shouldst be colour’d thus. You married ones, If each of you should take this course, how many Must murder wives much better than themselves For wrying but a little! O Pisanio!

Every good servant does not all commands; No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you Should have ta’en vengeance on my faults, I never Had liv’d to put on this; so had you saved The noble Imogen to repent, and struck Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But alack, You snatch some hence for little faults; that’s love, To have them fall no more. You some permit To second ills with ills, each elder worse, And make them dread it, to the doer’s thrift.

But Imogen is your own. Do your best wills, And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither Among th’ Italian gentry, and to fight Against my lady’s kingdom. ‘Tis enough That, Britain, I have kill’d thy mistress; peace!

I’ll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens, Hear patiently my purpose. I’ll disrobe me Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself As does a Britain peasant. So I’ll fight Against the part I come with; so I’ll die For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life Is every breath a death. And thus unknown, Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril Myself I’ll dedicate. Let me make men know More valour in me than my habits show.

Gods, put the strength o’ th’ Leonati in me!

To shame the guise o’ th’ world, I will begin The fashion-less without and more within. Exit

SCENE II.

Britain. A field of battle between the British and Roman camps Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman army at one door, and the British army at another, LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following like a poor soldier.

They march over and go out. Alarums. Then enter again, in skirmish, IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS. He vanquisheth and disarmeth IACHIMO, and then leaves him

 

IACHIMO. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom Takes off my manhood. I have belied a lady, The Princess of this country, and the air on’t Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl, A very drudge of nature’s, have subdu’d me In my profession? Knighthoods and honours borne As I wear mine are titles but of scorn.

If that thy gentry, Britain, go before This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds Is that we scarce are men, and you are gods. Exit The battle continues; the BRITONS fly; CYMBELINE is taken.

Then enter to his rescue BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS

 

BELARIUS. Stand, stand! We have th’ advantage of the ground; The lane is guarded; nothing routs us but The villainy of our fears.

GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS. Stand, stand, and fight!

 

Re-enter POSTHUMUS, and seconds the Britons; they rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then re-enter LUCIUS and IACHIMO, with IMOGEN

 

LUCIUS. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself; For friends kill friends, and the disorder’s such As war were hoodwink’d.

IACHIMO. ‘Tis their fresh supplies.

LUCIUS. It is a day turn’d strangely. Or betimes Let’s reinforce or fly. Exeunt

SCENE III.

Another part of the field

 

Enter POSTHUMUS and a Britain LORD

 

LORD. Cam’st thou from where they made the stand?

POSTHUMUS. I did:

Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.

LORD. I did.

POSTHUMUS. No blame be to you, sir, for all was lost, But that the heavens fought. The King himself Of his wings destitute, the army broken, And but the backs of Britons seen, an flying, Through a strait lane-the enemy, full-hearted, Lolling the tongue with slaught’ring, having work More plentiful than tools to do’t, struck down Some mortally, some slightly touch’d, some falling Merely through fear, that the strait pass was damm’d With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living To die with length’ned shame.

LORD. Where was this lane?

POSTHUMUS. Close by the battle, ditch’d, and wall’d with turf, Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier-An honest one, I warrant, who deserv’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 than to commit such slaughter; With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer Than those for preservation cas’d or shame-Made good the passage, cried to those that fled ‘Our Britain’s harts die flying, not our men.

To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards! Stand; Or we are Romans and will give you that, Like beasts, which you shun beastly, and may save But to look back in frown. Stand, stand!’ These three, Three thousand confident, in act as many-For three performers are the file when all The rest do nothing-with this word ‘Stand, stand!’

Accommodated by the place, more charming With their own nobleness, which could have turn’d A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks, Part shame, part spirit renew’d; that some turn’d coward But by example-O, a sin in war

Damn’d in the first beginners!- gan to look The way that they did and to grin like lions Upon the pikes o’ th’ hunters. Then began A stop i’ th’ chaser, a retire; anon

A rout, confusion thick. Forthwith they fly, Chickens, the way which they stoop’d eagles; slaves, The strides they victors made; and now our cowards, Like fragments in hard voyages,