ACT I. SCENE 1. _Britain. The garden of Cymbeline's palace

_Enter two gentlemen_

_1. Gent._ You do not meet a man but frowns. Our bloods No more obey the heavens than our courtiers Still seem as does the King.

_2. Gent._ But what's the matter?

_1. Gent._ His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom He purpos'd to his wife's sole son--a widow That late he married--hath referred herself Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. She's wedded, Her husband banish'd, she imprison'd; all Is outward sorrow; though I think the King Be touched at very heart.

_2. Gent._ None but the King?

_1. Gent._ He that hath lost her too; so is the Queen, That most desir'd the match: but not a courtier, Although they wear their faces to the bent Of the King's look, hath a heart that is not Glad at the thing they scowl at.

_2. Gent._ And why so?

_1. Gent._ He that hath miss'd the Princess is a thing Too bad for bad report; and he that hath her-- I mean, that married her, alack, good man! And therefore banish'd--is a creature such As, to seek through the regions of the earth For one his like, there would be something failing In him that should compare. I do not think So fair an outward, and such stuff within Endows a man but he.

_2. Gent._ You speak him far.

_1. Gent._ I do extend him, sir, within himself, Crush him together rather than unfold His measure duly.

_2. Gent._ What's his name and birth?

_1. Gent._ I cannot delve him to the root. His father Was call'd Sicilius, who did gain his honour Against the Romans with Cassibelan, But had his titles by Tenantius whom He serv'd with glory and admir'd success, So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus; And hath, besides this gentleman in question, Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time Died with their swords in hand; for which their father Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow That he quit being, and his gentle lady, Big of this gentleman our theme, deceas'd As he was born. The King he takes the babe To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus, Breeds him and makes him of his bed chamber, Puts to him all the learnings that his time Could make him the receiver of; which he took, As we do air, fast as 'twas minist'red, And in's spring became a harvest; liv'd in court-- Which rare it is to do--most prais'd, most lov'd, A sample to the youngest, to the more mature A glass that feated them, and to the graver A child that guided dotards; to his mistress, For whom he is now banish'd,--her own price Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue; By her election may be truly read What kind of man he is.

_2. Gent._ I honour him Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me Is she sole child to the King?

_1. Gent._ His only child. He had two sons,--if this be worth your hearing, Mark it--the eldest of them at three years old, I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery Were stolen, and to this hour no guess in knowledge Which way they went.

_2. Gent._ How long is this ago?

_1. Gent._ Some twenty years.

_2. Gent._ That a King's children should be so convey'd, So slackly guarded and the search so slow, That could not trace them!

_1. Gent._ Howso'er 'tis strange, Or that the negligence may well be laughed at, Yet it is true, sir.

_2. Gent._ I do well believe you.

_1. Gent._ We must forbear; here comes the gentleman, The Queen and Princess. (_Exeunt._)[6]

Here Shakespeare trusts mere exposition to rouse interest. His speakers merely question and answer, showing little characterization and practically no emotion. Is this extract as interesting as the following?

_Fits Urse. (Catches hold of the last flying monk.)_ Where is the traitor Becket?

_Becket._ Here. No traitor to the King, but Priest of God, Primate of England. (_Descending into the transept._) I am he ye seek. What would ye have of me?

_Fits Urse._ Your life.

_De Tracy._ Your life.

_De Morville._ Save that you will absolve the bishops.

_Becket._ Never,-- Except they make submission to the Church. You had my answer to that cry before.

_De Morville._ Why, then you are a dead man; flee!

_Becket._ I will not. I am readier to be slain than thou to slay. Hugh, I know well that thou hast but half a heart To bathe this sacred pavement with my blood. God pardon thee and these, but God's full curse Shatter you all to pieces if ye harm One of my flock!

_Fitz Urse._ Seize him and carry him! Come with us--nay--thou art our prisoner--come!

(_Fitz Urse lays hold of Archbishop's pall._)

_Becket._ Down!

(_Throws him headlong._)

_De Morville._ Ay, make him prisoner, do not harm the man.

_Fitz Urse._ (_Advances with drawn sword._) I told thee that I should remember thee!

_Becket._ Profligate pander!

_Fitz Urse._ Do you hear that? Strike, strike.

(_Strikes the Archbishop and wounds him in the forehead._)

_Becket._ (_Covers his eyes with his hand._) I do commend my cause to God.

_Fitz Urse._. Strike him, Tracy!

_Rosamund._ (_Rushing down the steps from the choir._) No, no, no, no. Mercy, Mercy, As you would hope for mercy.

_Fitz Urse._ Strike, I say.

_Grim._ O, God, O, noble knight, O, sacrilege!

_Fitz Urse._ Strike! I say.

_De Tracy._ There is my answer then.

(_Sword falls on Grim's arm, and glances from it, wounding Becket._)

This last to rid thee of a world of brawls!

_Becket._ (_Falling on his knees._) Into thy hands, O Lord--into thy hands--! (_Sinks prone._)

_De Brito._ The traitor's dead, and will arise no more.

(_De Brito, De Tracy, Fitz Urse rush out, crying "King's men!" De Morville follows slowly. Flashes of lightning through the Cathedral. Rosamund seen kneeling at the body of Becket._)[7]

The physical action of this extract instantly grips attention. Interested at once by this action, shortly we rush on unthinking, but feeling more and more intensely. In this extract action is everywhere. The actionless _Cymbeline_ is undramatic. This extract is intensely dramatic.

Just what, however, is this action which in drama is so essential? To most people it means physical or bodily action which rouses sympathy or dislike in an audience. The action of melodrama certainly exists largely for itself. We expect and get little but physical action for its own sake when a play is announced as was the well-known melodrama, _A Race for Life_.

As Melodramatically and Masterfully Stirring, Striking and Sensational as Phil Sheridan's Famous Ride.

Superb, Stupendous Scenes in Sunset Regions. Wilderness Wooings Where Wild Roses Grow. The Lights and Shades of Rugged Border Life. Chinese Comedy to Make Confucius Chuckle. The Realism of the Ranch and Race Track. The Hero Horse That Won a Human Life. An Equine Beauty Foils a Murderous Beast. Commingled Gleams of Gladness, Grief, and Guilt. Dope, Dynamite and Devilish Treachery Distanced. Continuous Climaxes That Come Like Cloudbursts.

Some plays depend almost wholly upon mere bustle and rapidly shifting movement, much of it wholly unnecessary to the plot. Large portions of many recent musical comedies illustrate this. Such unnecessary but crudely effective movement Stevenson burlesqued more than once in the stage directions of his _Macaire_.