LUCIUS

When Julius Caesar (whose remembrance yet Lives in men's eyes, and will to Ears and Tongues Be Theme, and hearing ever) was in this Britain, And Conquered it, Cassibulan thine Uncle (Famous in Caesars praises, no whit less Then in his Feats deserving it) for him, And his Succession, granted Room a Tribute, Yearly three thousand pounds; which (by thee) lately Is left vntender'd. I am sorry Cymbeline, That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar ( Caesar, that hath more Kings his Servants, then Thy self Domestic Officers) thine Enemy: Receive it from me then. War, and Confusion In Caesars name pronounce I against thee: Look For fury, not to be resisted. Thus defied, I thank thee for my self. Let proof speak. So sir. Thanks, Royal Sir: My Emperor hath wrote, I must from hence, And am right sorry, that I must report you My Master's Enemy. So Sir: I desire of you A Conduct over Land, to Milfordhaven. Madam, all joy befall your Grace, and you. Your hand, my Lord. Sir, the Event Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well. But what from Room? When expect you them? This forwardness Makes our Hope's fair. Command our present numbers Be mustered: bid the Captains look too't. Now Sir, What have you dreamed of late of this wars purpose. Dream often so, And never false. Soft hoa, what trunk is here? Without his top? The ruin speaks, that sometime It was a worthy building. How? a Page? Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather: For Nature does abhor to make his bed With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. Let's see the Boys face. He'll then instruct us of this body: Young one, Inform us of thy Fortune's, for it seems They crave to be demanded: who is this Thou makest thy bloody Pillow? Or who was he That (otherwise then noble Nature did) Hath altered that good Picture? What's thy interest In this sad wrack? How came't? Who is't? What art thou? 'Lacke, good youth: Thou movest no less with thy complaining, then Thy Master in bleeding: say his name, good Friend. Thy name? Thou dost approve thy self the very same: Thy Name well sits thy Faith; thy Faith, thy Name: Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say Thou shalt be so well mastered, but be sure No less beloved. The Roman Emperor's Letters Sent by a Consul to me, should not sooner Then thine own worth prefer thee: Go with me. I good youth, And rather Father thee, then Master thee: My Friends, The Boy hath taught us manly duties: Let us Find out the prettiest Dazied-Plot we can, And make him with our Pikes and Partisans A Grave: Come, Athy him: Boy he's preferred By thee, to us, and he shall be interred As Soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes, Some Falls are means the happier to arise. Away boy from the Troops, and save thy self: For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such As war were hoodwinked. It is a day turned strangely: or betimes Let's reinforce, or fly. 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 threatend 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: Suffices, A Roman, with a Roman heart can suffer: Augustus lives to think on't: and so much For my peculiar care. This one thing only I will entreat, my Boy (a Britain 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 Britain harm, Though he have served a Roman. Save him (Sir) And spare no blood beside. I do not bid thee beg my life, good Lad, And you I know thou wilt. 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? Happy be you. Philarmonus. Read, and declare the meaning. WHen as a Lyons whelp, shall to himself unknown, with out seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender Air: And when from a stately Cedar shall be lopped branches, which being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old Stock, and freshly grow, then shall Posthumus end his Misery's, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in Peace and Plen tie. Thou Leonatus art the Lyons Whelp, The fit and apt Construction of thy name Being Leonatus, does import so much: The piece of tender Air, thy virtuous Daughter, Which we call Mollis Aer, and Mollis Aer We term it Mulier ; which Mulier I divine Is this most constant Wife, who even now Answering the Letter of the Oracle, Unknown to you unsought, were clipped about With this most tender Air.