And but she spoke it dying, I would not

Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.

CORNELIUS

Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love

With such integrity, she did confess

Was as a scorpion to her sight, whose life,

But that her flight prevented it, she had

Ta’en off by poison.

CYMBELINE

O most delicate fiend!

Who is’t can read a woman? Is there more?

CORNELIUS

More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had

For you a mortal mineral which, being took,

Should by the minute feed on life, and, ling‘ring,

By inches waste you. In which time she purposed

By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to

O’ercome you with her show; and in fine,

When she had fit you with her craft, to work

Her son into th’adoption of the crown;

But failing of her end by his strange absence,

Grew shameless-desperate, opened in despite

Of heaven and men her purposes, repented

The evils she hatched were not effected; so

Despairing died.

CYMBELINE

Heard you all this, her women?

⌈LADIES⌉

We did, so please your highness.

CYMBELINE

Mine eyes

Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;

Mine ears that heard her flattery, nor my heart

That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious

To have mistrusted her. Yet, O my daughter,

That it was folly in me thou mayst say,

And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!

Enter Lucius, Giacomo, Soothsayer, and other Roman prisoners, Posthumus behind, and Innogen dressed as a man, all guarded by Briton soldiers

Thou com’st not, Caius, now for tribute. That

The Britons have razed out, though with the loss

Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit

That their good souls may be appeased with slaughter

Of you, their captives, which ourself have granted.

So think of your estate.

LUCIUS

Consider, sir, the chance of war. The day

Was yours by accident. Had it gone with us,

We should not, when the blood was cool, have

threatened

Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods

Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives

May be called ransom, let it come. Sufficeth

A Roman with a Roman’s heart can suffer.

Augustus lives to think on’t; and so much

For my peculiar care. This one thing only

I will entreat:

He presents Innogen to Cymbeline my boy, a Briton born,

Let him be ransomed. Never master had

A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,

So tender over his occasions, true,

So feat, so nurse-like; let his virtue join

With my request, which I’ll make bold your highness

Cannot deny. He hath done no Briton harm,

Though he have served a Roman. Save him, sir,

And spare no blood beside.

CYMBELINE

I have surely seen him.

His favour is familiar to me. Boy,

Thou hast looked thyself into my grace,

And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore,

To say ‘Live, boy’. Ne‘er thank thy master. Live,

And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt

Fitting my bounty and thy state, I’ll give it,

Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner

The noblest ta’en.

INNOGEN

I humbly thank your highness.

LUCIUS

I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad,

And yet I know thou wilt.

INNOGEN

No, no. Alack,

There’s other work in hand. I see a thing

Bitter to me as death. Your life, good master,

Must shuffle for itself.

LUCIUS

The boy disdains me.

He leaves me, scorns me. Briefly die their joys

That place them on the truth of girls and boys.

Why stands he so perplexed?

CYMBELINE (to Innogen) What wouldst thou, boy?

I love thee more and more; think more and more

What’s best to ask. Know‘st him thou look’st on?

Speak, no

Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin, thy friend?

INNOGEN

He is a Roman, no more kin to me

Than I to your highness, who, being born your vassal,

Am something nearer.

CYMBELINE

Wherefore ey’st him so?

INNOGEN

I’ll tell you, sir, in private, if you please

To give me hearing.

CYMBELINE

Ay, with all my heart,

And lend my best attention. What’s thy name?

INNOGEN

Fidele, sir.

CYMBELINE Thou’rt my good youth, my page.

I’ll be thy master. Walk with me, speak freely.

Cymbeline and Innogen speak apart

BELARIUS (aside to Guiderius and Arviragus)

Is not this boy revived from death?

ARVIRAGUS

One sand another

Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad

Who died, and was Fidele. What think you?

GUIDERIUS The same dead thing alive.

BELARIUS

Peace, peace, see further. He eyes us not. Forbear.

Creatures may be alike. Were’t he, I am sure

He would have spoke to us.

GUIDERIUS

But we see him dead.

BELARIUS

Be silent; let’s see further.

PISANIO (aside)

It is my mistress.

Since she is living, let the time run on

To good or bad.

CYMBELINE (to Innogen) Come, stand thou by our side,

Make thy demand aloud. (To Giacomo) Sir, step you

forth.

Give answer to this boy, and do it freely,

Or, by our greatness and the grace of it,

Which is our honour, bitter torture shall

Winnow the truth from falsehood.