Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes
And ears fo cloy'd importantly as now,

That they will waste their time upon our note,
To know from whence we are.

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 deferv'd my service, nor your loves ¿
Who find in my exíle 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 fummer's tanlings, and
The shrinking flaves of winter.

Gui.
Than be fo,
Better to cease to be. Pray, fir, to the army:
I and my brother are not known; yourself,
So out of thought, and thereto fo o'ergrown,
Cannot be question'd.

Arv.

By this fun that shines,

I'll thither: What thing is it, that I never

Did fee man die? fcarce ever look'd on blood,
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison?
Never beftrid a horfe, fave one, that had

A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel
Nor iron on his heel? I am afham'd

To look upon the holy fun, to have

The benefit of his blefs'd beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.

Gui.

By heavens, I'll go :

The hazard therefore due fall on me, by

The hands of Romans!

will not,

Ary.

Arv.

Bel. No reafon I, fince on your lives you fet

So flight a valuation, fhould referve

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.-The time feems long; their blood thinks

fcorn,

Till it fly out, and fhow them princes born.

ACT

Thurflon, del,

Hopweed,

Cymbelinef

Act. 5. Scene.1.

Published Jan. 1. 1799. by Vermor & Hood, Poultry.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

A Field between the British and Roman Camps.

Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody bandkerchief.

Poft. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wish'd
Thou should't be colour'd thus. You married ones,
If each of you would take this courfe, how many
Muft murder wives much better than themselves,
For wrying but a little ?-O, Pifanio!.
Every good fervant 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: fo had you faved
The noble Imogen to repent; and struck

Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But, alack,
You fnatch fome hence for little faults; that's love,
To have them fall no more: you fome permit
To fecond ills with ills, each elder worfe;
And make them dread it to the doer's thrift.
But Imogen is your own: Do your best wills,

And make me bless'd to obey!—I am brought hither
Among the 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 difrobe me

Of these Italian weeds, and fuit myself
As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight
Against the part I come with, fo I'll die