Enter Lucius, Iachimo, 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. Then enter again, in
skirmish, Iachimo and Posthumus: he vanquisheth and disarmeth
Iachimo, and then leaves him
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.
The battle continues, the Britons fly, Cymbeline is taken: then enter
to his rescue, Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus
Stand, stand. We have th' advantage of the ground;
The lane is guarded: nothing routs us but
The villany of our fears.
GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS
Stand, stand, and fight!
Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons. They rescue Cymbeline
and exeunt. Then enter Lucius, Iachimo, and Innogen
Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself:
For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such
As war were hoodwinked.
'Tis their fresh supplies.
It is a day turned strangely: or betimes
Let's reinforce, or fly.