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After your will, have crofs'd the fea; attending
You here at Milford-Haven, with your ships:
They are here in readiness.

Luc.

But what from Rome?

Cap. The fenate hath stirr'd up the confiners, And gentlemen of Italy; moft willing fpirits, That promise noble fervice: and they come Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,

Sienna's brother,

Luc.

When expect you them ? Cap. With the next benefit o' the wind.

Luc.

This forwardness Makes our hopes fair. Command, our prefent numbers Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't.-Now, fir, What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's purpose ? Sooth. Laft night the very gods show'd me a vifion : (I fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence,) Thus :I faw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing`d From the spungy fouth to this part of the west, There vanith'd in the funbeams: which portends, (Unless my fins abuse my divination,)

Success to the Roman hoft.

Luc.

Dream often fo,

And never falfe.-Soft, ho! what trunk is here,
Without his top? The ruin speaks, that sometime
It was a worthy building.-How! a page!—
Or dead, or fleeping on him? But dead, rather:
For nature doth abhor to make his bed

With the defunct, or fleep upon the dead.-
Let's fee the boy's face.

Cap.

He is alive, my lord.

Luc. He'll then inftruct us of this body.-Young one, Inform us of thy fortunes; for, it seems,

They crave to be demanded: Who is this,

Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he,
That, otherwife than noble nature did,

Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest
In this fad wreck? How came it? Who is it?
What art thou?

Imo.

I am nothing or if not,

Nothing to be were better. This was my master,
A very valiant Briton, and a good,

That here by mountaineers lies flain :-Alas!
There are no more fuch masters: I may wander
From east to occident, cry out for service,

Try many, all good, ferve truly, never
Find fuch another mafter.

Luc.

'Lack, good youth!

Thou mov'ft no less with thy complaining, than
Thy master in bleeding: Say his name, good friend.
Imo. Richard du Champ. If I do lie, and do
No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope
They'll pardon it. Say you, fir?

Luc.

Imo.

[Afide.

Thy name?

Fidele.

Luc. Thou doft approve thyself the very fame :
'Thy name well fits thy faith; thy faith, thy name.
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not fay,
Thou shalt be fo well mafter'd; but, be fure,
No lefs belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters,
Sent by a conful to me, should not fooner.
Than thine own worth prefer thee: Go with me.

Imo. I'll follow, fir. But, firft, an't please the gods,

I'll hide my mafter from the flies, as deep

As these poor pickaxes can dig: and when

With wild wood-leaves and weeds I have ftrew'd his grave, And on it faid a century of prayers,

Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep, and figh;

And,

And, leaving fo his fervice, follow you,

So please you entertain me.

Luc.

Ay, good youth;

And rather father thee, than mafter thee.
My friends,

The boy hath taught us manly duties: Let us
Find out the prettiest daizied 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 fhall be interr'd,

As foldiers 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, and PISANIO.

Cym. Again; and bring me word, how 'tis with her. A fever with the abfence of her fon

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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 fon 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
Doft seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
By a sharp torture.

Pif.

Sir, my life is yours,
I humbly fet it at your will: But, for my mistress,
I nothing know where the remains, why gone,

Nor

Nor when she purposes return. 'Beseech your highness, Hold me your loyal fervant.

1 Lord.

Good my liege,

The day that she was miffing, he was here:
I dare be bound he's true, and fhall perform
All parts of his subjection loyally.

For Cloten,

There wants no diligence in seeking him,
And will, no doubt, be found.

Cym.

The time's troublesome;

[TO PISANIO.

We'll flip you for a season; but our jealousy

Does yet depend.

I Lord.

So please your majesty,

The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your coaft; with a fupply

Of Roman gentlemen, by the fenate fent.

Cym. Now for the counsel of my fon, and queen!— I am amaz'd with matter.

I 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.

We fear not

Cym.
I thank you: Let's withdraw;
And meet the time, as it seeks us.
What can from Italy annoy us; but
We grieve at chances here.-Away.

Pif. I heard no letter from my master, since
I wrote him, Imogen was flain; '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 ftill must work :

[Exeunt.

Wherein

Wherein I am falfe, I am honeft; 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 fome boats, that are not steer'd. [Exit.

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Arv. What pleasure, fir, find we in life, to lock it From action and adventure?

Gui.

Nay, what hope

Have we in hiding us? this way, the Romans

Mult or for Britons flay us; or receive us
For barbarous and unnatural revolts

During their use, and slay us after.

Bel.

Sons,

We'll higher to the mountains; there fecure 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 us

That which we've done, whose answer would be death Drawn on with torture.

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