5.1 Enter Posthumus, dressed as an Italian gentleman, carrying a bloody cloth

POSTHUMUS

Yea, bloody cloth, I’ll keep thee, for I once wished

Thou shouldst be coloured 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 lived to put on this; so had you saved

The noble Innogen 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 ill, to the doer’s thrift.

But Innogen is your own. Do your blest 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 killed thy mistress-piece;

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 Briton peasant.

⌈He disrobes himself⌉

So I’ll fight

Against the part I come with; so I’ll die

For thee, O Innogen, 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

5.2 ⌈A march.⌉ Enter Lucius, Giacomo, and the Roman army at one door, and the Briton army at another, Leonatus Posthumus following like a poor soldier. They march over and go out. ⌈Alarums.⌉ Then enter again in skirmish Giacomo and Posthumus: he vanquisheth and disarmeth Giacomo, and then leaves him

GIACOMO

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 subdued 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

5.3 The battle continues. ⌈Alarums. Excursions. The trumpets sound a retreat.⌉ 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.

Enter Posthumus like a poor soldier, and seconds the Britons. They rescue Cymbeline and exeunt

5.4 ⌈The trumpets sound a retreat,⌉ then enter Lucius, Giacomo, and Innogen

LUCIUS (to Innogen)

Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;

For friends kill friends, and the disorder’s such

As war were hoodwinked.

GIACOMO

’Tis their fresh supplies.

LUCIUS

It is a day turned strangely. Or betimes

Let’s reinforce, or fly.

Exeunt

5.5 Enter Posthumus like a poor soldier, and a Briton Lord

LORD

Cam’st thou from where they made the stand?

POSTHUMUS I did,

Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.

LORD Ay.

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, all 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 touched, some falling

Merely through fear, that the strait pass was dammed

With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living

To die with lengthened shame.

LORD

Where was this lane?

POSTHUMUS

Close by the battle, ditched, and walled with turf;

Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,

An honest one, I warrant, who deserved

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 cased, or shame-

Made good the passage, cried to those that fled

‘Our Britain’s harts die flying, not her 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