CYMBELINE. Уильям Шекспир

CYMBELINE - Уильям Шекспир


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euer look’d on blood,

       But that of Coward Hares, hot Goats, and Venison?

       Neuer bestrid a Horse saue one, that had

       A Rider like my selfe, who ne’re wore Rowell,

       Nor Iron on his heele? I am asham’d

       To looke vpon the holy Sunne, to haue

       The benefit of his blest Beames, remaining

       So long a poore vnknowne

       Gui. By heauens Ile go,

       If you will blesse me Sir, and giue me leaue,

       Ile take the better care: but if you will not,

       The hazard therefore due fall on me, by

       The hands of Romaines

       Arui. So say I, Amen Bel. No reason I (since of your liues you set

       So slight a valewation) should reserue

       My crack’d one to more care. Haue with you Boyes:

       If in your Country warres you chance to dye,

       That is my Bed too (Lads) and there Ile lye.

       Lead, lead; the time seems long, their blood thinks scorn

       Till it flye out, and shew them Princes borne.

       Exeunt.

       Table of Contents

      SCENE I.

       Enter Posthumus alone.

       Post. Yea bloody cloth, Ile keep thee: for I am wisht

       Thou should’st be colour’d thus. You married ones,

       If each of you should take this course, how many

       Must murther Wiues much better then themselues

       For wrying but a little? Oh Pisanio,

       Euery good Seruant do’s not all Commands:

       No Bond, but to do iust ones. Gods, if you

       Should haue ‘tane vengeance on my faults, I neuer

       Had liu’d to put on this: so had you saued

       The noble Imogen, to repent, and strooke

       Me (wretch) more worth your Vengeance. But alacke,

       You snatch some hence for little faults; that’s loue

       To haue them fall no more: you some permit

       To second illes with illes, each elder worse,

       And make them dread it, to the dooers thrift.

       But Imogen is your owne, do your best willes,

       And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither

       Among th’ Italian Gentry, and to fight

       Against my Ladies Kingdome: ‘Tis enough

       That (Britaine) I haue kill’d thy Mistris: Peace,

       Ile giue no wound to thee: therefore good Heauens,

       Heare patiently my purpose. Ile disrobe me

       Of these Italian weedes, and suite my selfe

       As do’s a Britaine Pezant: so Ile fight

       Against the part I come with: so Ile dye

       For thee (O Imogen) euen for whom my life

       Is euery breath, a death: and thus, vnknowne,

       Pittied, nor hated, to the face of perill

       My selfe Ile dedicate. Let me make men know

       More valour in me, then my habits show.

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

       To shame the guize o’th’ world, I will begin,

       The fashion lesse without, and more within.

       Enter.

      SCENE II.

       Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and the Romane Army at one doore: and

       the Britaine

       Army at another: Leonatus Posthumus following like a poore

       Souldier. They

       march ouer, and goe out. Then enter againe in Skirmish Iachimo

       and

       Posthumus: he vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo, and then

       leaues him.

       Iac. The heauinesse and guilt within my bosome,

       Takes off my manhood: I haue belyed a Lady,

       The Princesse of this Country; and the ayre on’t

       Reuengingly enfeebles me, or could this Carle,

       A very drudge of Natures, haue subdu’de me

       In my profession? Knighthoods, and Honors borne

       As I weare mine) are titles but of scorne.

       If that thy Gentry (Britaine) go before

       This Lowt, as he exceeds our Lords, the oddes

       Is, that we scarse are men, and you are Goddes.

       Enter.

       The Battaile continues, the Britaines fly, Cymbeline is taken: Then enter to his rescue, Bellarius, Guiderius, and Aruiragus.

       Bel. Stand, stand, we haue th’ aduantage of the ground,

       The Lane is guarded: Nothing rowts vs, but

       The villany of our feares

       Gui. Arui. Stand, stand, and fight.

       Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britaines. They Rescue

       Cymbeline, and

       Exeunt.

       Then enter Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen.

       Luc. Away boy from the Troopes, and saue thy selfe:

       For friends kil friends, and the disorder’s such

       As warre were hoodwink’d

       Iac. ‘Tis their fresh supplies

       Luc. It is a day turn’d strangely: or betimes

       Let’s reinforce, or fly.

       Exeunt.

      SCENE III.

       Enter Posthumus, and a Britaine Lord.

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

       Post. I did,

       Though you it seemes come from the Fliers?

       Lo. I did

       Post. No blame be to you Sir, for all was lost,

       But that the Heauens fought: the King himselfe

       Of his wings destitute, the Army broken,

       And but the backes of Britaines seene; all flying

       Through a strait Lane, the Enemy full-heart’d,

       Lolling the Tongue with slaught’ring: hauing worke

       More plentifull, then Tooles to doo’t: strooke downe

       Some mortally, some slightly touch’d, some falling

       Meerely through feare, that the strait passe was damm’d

       With deadmen, hurt behinde, and Cowards liuing

       To dye with length’ned shame

      


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