The Illustrated Works of Shakespeare/Illustrated Works of Shakespeare, The (1990)(Animated Pixels)[!][CDTV-PC].iso/shakes/text/27/05_03

Text File | 1991-04-10 | 5KB | 131 lines

Another Part of the Field.
 Enter POSTHUMUS 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                                                I did.

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 damned
    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 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 turned
    A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks;
    Part shame, part spirit renewed, that some turned coward
    But by example - O, a sin in war
    Damned in the first beginners! - 'gan to look
    The way that they did, and to grin like lions
    Upon the pikes o'th' hunters. Then began
    A stop i'th' chaser, a retire; anon
    A rout, confusion thick. Forthwith they fly
    Chickens, the way which they stooped eagles; slaves,
    The strides they victors made. And now our cowards,
    Like fragments in hard voyages, became
    The life o'th' need; having found the back-door open
    Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!
    Some slain before, some dying, some their friends
    O'erborne i'th' former wave, ten chased by one,
    Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty.
    Those that would die or ere resist are grown
    The mortal bugs o'th' field.

Lord                                        This was strange chance:
    A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.

Posthumus    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 mock'ry? 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                                    '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.
                                                    [Exit.
Posthumus    Still going? This is a lord! O noble misery,
    To be i'th' field and ask 'What news?' of me!
    Today 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 charmed,
    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'th' 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 th' 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 Innogen.

            Enter 1st and 2nd BRITISH CAPTAINS, with SOLDIERS.

1st Captain    Great Jupiter be praised, Lucius is taken.
    'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.

2nd Captain    There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,
    That gave th' affront with them.

1st Captain                                            So 'tis reported,
    But none of 'em can be found. Stand! Who's there?

Posthumus    A Roman,
    Who had not now been drooping here if seconds
    Had answered him.

2nd Captain                            Lay hands on him. A dog,
    A leg of Rome, shall not return to tell
    What crows have pecked them here. He brags his service
    As if he were of note. Bring him to the king.

        Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO,
                           and ROMAN CAPTIVES.
               The CAPTAINS present POSTHUMUS to CYMBELINE,
                    who delivers him over to a GAOLER.
                                                    [Exeunt.