SCENE III. Another part of the field. Cymbeline  Shakespeare homepage  |  Cymbeline  | Act 5, Scene 3 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE III. Another part of the field. 

 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 himself 

 Of his wings destitute, the army broken, 

 And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying 

 Through a straight lane; the enemy full-hearted, 

 Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work 

 More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down 

 Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling 

 Merely through fear; that the straight pass was damm'd 

 With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living 

 To 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 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 our 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 

 The rest do nothing--with this word 'Stand, stand,' 

 Accommodated by the place, more charming 

 With their own nobleness, which could have turn'd 

 A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks, 

 Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some, 

 turn'd coward 

 But by example--O, a sin in war, 

 Damn'd in the first beginners!--gan to look 

 The way that they did, and to grin like lions 

 Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began 

 A stop i' the chaser, a retire, anon 

 A rout, confusion thick; forthwith they fly 

 Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves, 

 The strides they victors made: and now our cowards, 

 Like fragments in hard voyages, became 

 The life o' the need: having found the backdoor open 

 Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound! 

 Some slain before; some dying; some their friends 

 O'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 grown 

 The mortal bugs o' the field. 

 Lord  This was strange chance 

 A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys. 

 POSTHUMUS LEONATUS  Nay, do not wonder at it: you are made 

 Rather to wonder at the things you hear 

 Than 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  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 honours 

 To 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 we 

 That draw his knives i' the war. Well, I will find him 

 For being now a favourer to the Briton, 

 No more a Briton, I have resumed again 

 The part I came in: fight I will no more, 

 But yield me to the veriest hind that shall 

 Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is 

 Here made by the Roman; great the answer be 

 Britons 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 seconds 

 Had answer'd him. 

 Second Captain  Lay hands on him; a dog! 

 A leg of Rome shall not return to tell 

 What crows have peck'd them here. He brags 

 his service 

 As 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  Shakespeare homepage  |  Cymbeline  | Act 5, Scene 3 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene 