Act V · Scene III
Another part of the field.
Hover a speech to translate it — or press play to hear it performed.
Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and a British Lord
Lord
Camest thou from where they made the stand?
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
I did.Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.
Lord
I did.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost,But that the heavens fought: the king himselfOf his wings destitute, the army broken,And but the backs of Britons seen, all flyingThrough a straight lane; the enemy full-hearted,Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having workMore plentiful than tools to do't, struck downSome mortally, some slightly touch'd, some fallingMerely through fear; that the straight pass was damm'dWith dead men hurt behind, and cowards livingTo die with lengthen'd shame.
Lord
Where was this lane?
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf;Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,An honest one, I warrant; who deservedSo 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 runThe country base than to commit such slaughterWith faces fit for masks, or rather fairerThan those for preservation cased, 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 thatLike 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 allThe rest do nothing--with this word 'Stand, stand,'Accommodated by the place, more charmingWith their own nobleness, which could have turn'dA distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks,Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some,turn'd cowardBut by example--O, a sin in war,Damn'd in the first beginners!--gan to lookThe way that they did, and to grin like lionsUpon the pikes o' the hunters. Then beganA stop i' the chaser, a retire, anonA rout, confusion thick; forthwith they flyChickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves,The strides they victors made: and now our cowards,Like fragments in hard voyages, becameThe life o' the need: having found the backdoor openOf the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!Some slain before; some dying; some their friendsO'er borne i' the former wave: ten, chased by one,Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:Those that would die or ere resist are grownThe mortal bugs o' the field.
Lord
This was strange chanceA narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
Nay, do not wonder at it: you are madeRather to wonder at the things you hearThan to work any. Will you rhyme upon't,And vent it for a mockery? Here is one:'Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,Preserved the Britons, was the Romans' bane.'
Lord
Nay, be not angry, sir.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
'Lack, to what end?Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his friend;For if he'll do as he is made to do,I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too.You have put me into rhyme.
Lord
Farewell; you're angry.
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
Still going?
Exit Lord
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
This is a lord! O noble misery,To be i' the field, and ask 'what news?' of me!To-day how many would have given their honoursTo have saved their carcasses! took heel to do't,And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm'd,Could not find death where I did hear him groan,Nor feel him where he struck: being an ugly monster,'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,Sweet words; or hath more ministers than weThat draw his knives i' the war. Well, I will find himFor being now a favourer to the Briton,No more a Briton, I have resumed againThe part I came in: fight I will no more,But yield me to the veriest hind that shallOnce touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter isHere made by the Roman; great the answer beBritons must take. For me, my ransom's death;On either side I come to spend my breath;Which neither here I'll keep nor bear again,But end it by some means for Imogen.
Enter two British Captains and Soldiers
First Captain
Great Jupiter be praised! Lucius is taken.'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.
Second Captain
There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,That gave the affront with them.
First Captain
So 'tis reported:But none of 'em can be found. Stand! who's there?
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
A Roman,Who had not now been drooping here, if secondsHad answer'd him.
Second Captain
Lay hands on him; a dog!A leg of Rome shall not return to tellWhat crows have peck'd them here. He bragshis serviceAs if he were of note: bring him to the king.
Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, Soldiers, Attendants, and Roman Captives. The Captains present POSTHUMUS LEONATUS to CYMBELINE, who delivers him over to a Gaoler: then exeunt omnes