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.)

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.)

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.