Enter, from one side, Lucius, Iachimo, and the Roman Army: from the other side, the British Army; Posthumus Leonatus following, like a poor soldier. They march over and go out. Then enter again, in skirmish, Iachimo and Posthumus Leonatus 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 the advantage of the ground; The lane is guarded: nothing routs us but The villany of our fears.
Re-enter Posthumus Leonatus, and seconds the Britons: they rescue Cymbeline, and exeunt. Then re-enter Lucius, and Iachimo, with Imogen
Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself; For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such As war were hoodwink'd.