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5486 lines
161 KiB
Plaintext
5486 lines
161 KiB
Plaintext
CYMBELINE
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DRAMATIS PERSONAE
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CYMBELINE king of Britain.
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CLOTEN son to the Queen by a former husband.
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POSTHUMUS LEONATUS a gentleman, husband to Imogen.
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BELARIUS a banished lord, disguised under the name of Morgan.
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GUIDERIUS | sons to Cymbeline, disguised under the names
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| of Polydote and Cadwal, supposed sons to
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ARVIRAGUS | Morgan.
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PHILARIO friend to Posthumus, |
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| Italians.
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IACHIMO friend to Philario, |
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CAIUS LUCIUS general of the Roman forces.
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PISANIO servant to Posthumus.
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CORNELIUS a physician.
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A Roman Captain. (Captain:)
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Two British Captains.
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(First Captain:)
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(Second Captain:)
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A Frenchman, friend to Philario.
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(Frenchman:)
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Two Lords of Cymbeline's court.
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(First Lord:)
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(Second Lord:)
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Two Gentlemen of the same.
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(First Gentleman:)
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(Second Gentleman:)
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Two Gaolers.
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(First Gaoler:)
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(Second Gaoler:)
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QUEEN wife to Cymbeline.
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IMOGEN daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen.
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HELEN a lady attending on Imogen.
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Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes,
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a Soothsayer, a Dutchman, a Spaniard, Musicians,
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Officers, Captains, Soldiers, Messengers,
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and other Attendants. (Lord:)
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(Lady:)
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(First Lady:)
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(First Senator:)
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(Second Senator:)
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(First Tribune:)
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(Soothsayer:)
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(Messenger:)
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Apparitions.
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(Sicilius Leonatus:)
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(Mother:)
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(First Brother:)
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(Second Brother:)
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(Jupiter:)
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SCENE Britain; Rome.
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CYMBELINE
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ACT I
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SCENE I Britain. The garden of Cymbeline's palace.
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[Enter two Gentlemen]
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First Gentleman You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods
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No more obey the heavens than our courtiers
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Still seem as does the king.
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Second Gentleman But what's the matter?
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First Gentleman His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom
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He purposed to his wife's sole son--a widow
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That late he married--hath referr'd herself
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Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: she's wedded;
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Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd: all
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Is outward sorrow; though I think the king
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Be touch'd at very heart.
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Second Gentleman None but the king?
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First Gentleman He that hath lost her too; so is the queen,
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That most desired the match; but not a courtier,
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Although they wear their faces to the bent
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Of the king's look's, hath a heart that is not
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Glad at the thing they scowl at.
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Second Gentleman And why so?
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First Gentleman He that hath miss'd the princess is a thing
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Too bad for bad report: and he that hath her--
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I mean, that married her, alack, good man!
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And therefore banish'd--is a creature such
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As, to seek through the regions of the earth
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For one his like, there would be something failing
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In him that should compare. I do not think
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So fair an outward and such stuff within
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Endows a man but he.
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Second Gentleman You speak him far.
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First Gentleman I do extend him, sir, within himself,
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Crush him together rather than unfold
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His measure duly.
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Second Gentleman What's his name and birth?
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First Gentleman I cannot delve him to the root: his father
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Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour
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Against the Romans with Cassibelan,
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But had his titles by Tenantius whom
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He served with glory and admired success,
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So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus;
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And had, besides this gentleman in question,
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Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time
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Died with their swords in hand; for which
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their father,
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Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow
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That he quit being, and his gentle lady,
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Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased
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As he was born. The king he takes the babe
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To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,
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Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,
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Puts to him all the learnings that his time
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Could make him the receiver of; which he took,
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As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd,
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And in's spring became a harvest, lived in court--
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Which rare it is to do--most praised, most loved,
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A sample to the youngest, to the more mature
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A glass that feated them, and to the graver
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A child that guided dotards; to his mistress,
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For whom he now is banish'd, her own price
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Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;
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By her election may be truly read
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What kind of man he is.
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Second Gentleman I honour him
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Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me,
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Is she sole child to the king?
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First Gentleman His only child.
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He had two sons: if this be worth your hearing,
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Mark it: the eldest of them at three years old,
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I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery
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Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in knowledge
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Which way they went.
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Second Gentleman How long is this ago?
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First Gentleman Some twenty years.
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Second Gentleman That a king's children should be so convey'd,
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So slackly guarded, and the search so slow,
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That could not trace them!
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First Gentleman Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
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Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
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Yet is it true, sir.
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Second Gentleman I do well believe you.
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First Gentleman We must forbear: here comes the gentleman,
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The queen, and princess.
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[Exeunt]
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[Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and IMOGEN]
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QUEEN No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter,
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After the slander of most stepmothers,
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Evil-eyed unto you: you're my prisoner, but
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Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
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That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
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So soon as I can win the offended king,
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I will be known your advocate: marry, yet
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The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good
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You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience
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Your wisdom may inform you.
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POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Please your highness,
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I will from hence to-day.
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QUEEN You know the peril.
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I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
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The pangs of barr'd affections, though the king
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Hath charged you should not speak together.
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[Exit]
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IMOGEN O
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Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant
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Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,
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I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing--
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Always reserved my holy duty--what
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His rage can do on me: you must be gone;
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And I shall here abide the hourly shot
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Of angry eyes, not comforted to live,
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But that there is this jewel in the world
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That I may see again.
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POSTHUMUS LEONATUS My queen! my mistress!
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O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause
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To be suspected of more tenderness
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Than doth become a man. I will remain
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The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth:
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My residence in Rome at one Philario's,
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Who to my father was a friend, to me
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Known but by letter: thither write, my queen,
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And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,
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Though ink be made of gall.
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[Re-enter QUEEN]
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QUEEN Be brief, I pray you:
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If the king come, I shall incur I know not
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How much of his displeasure.
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[Aside]
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Yet I'll move him
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To walk this way: I never do him wrong,
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But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;
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Pays dear for my offences.
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[Exit]
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POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Should we be taking leave
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As long a term as yet we have to live,
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The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!
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IMOGEN Nay, stay a little:
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Were you but riding forth to air yourself,
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Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;
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This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart;
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But keep it till you woo another wife,
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When Imogen is dead.
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POSTHUMUS LEONATUS How, how! another?
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You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
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And sear up my embracements from a next
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With bonds of death!
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[Putting on the ring]
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Remain, remain thou here
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While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest,
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As I my poor self did exchange for you,
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To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles
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I still win of you: for my sake wear this;
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It is a manacle of love; I'll place it
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Upon this fairest prisoner.
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[Putting a bracelet upon her arm]
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IMOGEN O the gods!
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When shall we see again?
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[Enter CYMBELINE and Lords]
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POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Alack, the king!
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CYMBELINE Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight!
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If after this command thou fraught the court
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With thy unworthiness, thou diest: away!
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Thou'rt poison to my blood.
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POSTHUMUS LEONATUS The gods protect you!
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And bless the good remainders of the court! I am gone.
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[Exit]
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IMOGEN There cannot be a pinch in death
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More sharp than this is.
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CYMBELINE O disloyal thing,
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That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st
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A year's age on me.
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IMOGEN I beseech you, sir,
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Harm not yourself with your vexation
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I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare
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Subdues all pangs, all fears.
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CYMBELINE Past grace? obedience?
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IMOGEN Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.
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CYMBELINE That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!
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IMOGEN O blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle,
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And did avoid a puttock.
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CYMBELINE Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne
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A seat for baseness.
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IMOGEN No; I rather added
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A lustre to it.
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CYMBELINE O thou vile one!
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IMOGEN Sir,
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It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus:
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You bred him as my playfellow, and he is
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A man worth any woman, overbuys me
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Almost the sum he pays.
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CYMBELINE What, art thou mad?
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IMOGEN Almost, sir: heaven restore me! Would I were
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A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus
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Our neighbour shepherd's son!
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CYMBELINE Thou foolish thing!
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[Re-enter QUEEN]
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They were again together: you have done
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Not after our command. Away with her,
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And pen her up.
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QUEEN Beseech your patience. Peace,
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Dear lady daughter, peace! Sweet sovereign,
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Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some comfort
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Out of your best advice.
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CYMBELINE Nay, let her languish
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A drop of blood a day; and, being aged,
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Die of this folly!
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[Exeunt CYMBELINE and Lords]
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QUEEN Fie! you must give way.
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[Enter PISANIO]
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Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news?
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PISANIO My lord your son drew on my master.
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QUEEN Ha!
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No harm, I trust, is done?
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PISANIO There might have been,
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But that my master rather play'd than fought
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And had no help of anger: they were parted
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By gentlemen at hand.
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QUEEN I am very glad on't.
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IMOGEN Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part.
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To draw upon an exile! O brave sir!
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I would they were in Afric both together;
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Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
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The goer-back. Why came you from your master?
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PISANIO On his command: he would not suffer me
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To bring him to the haven; left these notes
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Of what commands I should be subject to,
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When 't pleased you to employ me.
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QUEEN This hath been
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Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour
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He will remain so.
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PISANIO I humbly thank your highness.
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QUEEN Pray, walk awhile.
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IMOGEN About some half-hour hence,
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I pray you, speak with me: you shall at least
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Go see my lord aboard: for this time leave me.
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[Exeunt]
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CYMBELINE
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ACT I
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SCENE II The same. A public place.
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[Enter CLOTEN and two Lords]
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First Lord Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the
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violence of action hath made you reek as a
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sacrifice: where air comes out, air comes in:
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there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.
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CLOTEN If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him?
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Second Lord [Aside] No, 'faith; not so much as his patience.
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First Lord Hurt him! his body's a passable carcass, if he be
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not hurt: it is a thoroughfare for steel, if it be not hurt.
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Second Lord [Aside] His steel was in debt; it went o' the
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backside the town.
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CLOTEN The villain would not stand me.
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Second Lord [Aside] No; but he fled forward still, toward your face.
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First Lord Stand you! You have land enough of your own: but
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he added to your having; gave you some ground.
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Second Lord [Aside] As many inches as you have oceans. Puppies!
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CLOTEN I would they had not come between us.
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Second Lord [Aside] So would I, till you had measured how long
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a fool you were upon the ground.
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CLOTEN And that she should love this fellow and refuse me!
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Second Lord [Aside] If it be a sin to make a true election, she
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is damned.
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First Lord Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain
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go not together: she's a good sign, but I have seen
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small reflection of her wit.
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Second Lord [Aside] She shines not upon fools, lest the
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reflection should hurt her.
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CLOTEN Come, I'll to my chamber. Would there had been some
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hurt done!
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Second Lord [Aside] I wish not so; unless it had been the fall
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of an ass, which is no great hurt.
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CLOTEN You'll go with us?
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First Lord I'll attend your lordship.
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CLOTEN Nay, come, let's go together.
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Second Lord Well, my lord.
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[Exeunt]
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CYMBELINE
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ACT I
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SCENE III A room in Cymbeline's palace.
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[Enter IMOGEN and PISANIO]
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IMOGEN I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' the haven,
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And question'dst every sail: if he should write
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And not have it, 'twere a paper lost,
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As offer'd mercy is. What was the last
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That he spake to thee?
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PISANIO It was his queen, his queen!
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IMOGEN Then waved his handkerchief?
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PISANIO And kiss'd it, madam.
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IMOGEN Senseless Linen! happier therein than I!
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And that was all?
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PISANIO No, madam; for so long
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As he could make me with this eye or ear
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Distinguish him from others, he did keep
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The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,
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Still waving, as the fits and stirs of 's mind
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Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on,
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How swift his ship.
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IMOGEN Thou shouldst have made him
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As little as a crow, or less, ere left
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To after-eye him.
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PISANIO Madam, so I did.
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IMOGEN I would have broke mine eye-strings; crack'd them, but
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To look upon him, till the diminution
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Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle,
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Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from
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The smallness of a gnat to air, and then
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Have turn'd mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio,
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When shall we hear from him?
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PISANIO Be assured, madam,
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With his next vantage.
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IMOGEN I did not take my leave of him, but had
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Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him
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How I would think on him at certain hours
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Such thoughts and such, or I could make him swear
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The shes of Italy should not betray
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Mine interest and his honour, or have charged him,
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At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,
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To encounter me with orisons, for then
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I am in heaven for him; or ere I could
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Give him that parting kiss which I had set
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Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father
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And like the tyrannous breathing of the north
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Shakes all our buds from growing.
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[Enter a Lady]
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Lady The queen, madam,
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Desires your highness' company.
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IMOGEN Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd.
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I will attend the queen.
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PISANIO Madam, I shall.
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[Exeunt]
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CYMBELINE
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ACT I
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SCENE IV Rome. Philario's house.
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[Enter PHILARIO, IACHIMO, a Frenchman, a
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Dutchman, and a Spaniard]
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IACHIMO Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain: he was
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then of a crescent note, expected to prove so worthy
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as since he hath been allowed the name of; but I
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could then have looked on him without the help of
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admiration, though the catalogue of his endowments
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had been tabled by his side and I to peruse him by items.
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PHILARIO You speak of him when he was less furnished than now
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he is with that which makes him both without and within.
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Frenchman I have seen him in France: we had very many there
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|
could behold the sun with as firm eyes as he.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO This matter of marrying his king's daughter, wherein
|
|
he must be weighed rather by her value than his own,
|
|
words him, I doubt not, a great deal from the matter.
|
|
|
|
Frenchman And then his banishment.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this
|
|
lamentable divorce under her colours are wonderfully
|
|
to extend him; be it but to fortify her judgment,
|
|
which else an easy battery might lay flat, for
|
|
taking a beggar without less quality. But how comes
|
|
it he is to sojourn with you? How creeps
|
|
acquaintance?
|
|
|
|
PHILARIO His father and I were soldiers together; to whom I
|
|
have been often bound for no less than my life.
|
|
Here comes the Briton: let him be so entertained
|
|
amongst you as suits, with gentlemen of your
|
|
knowing, to a stranger of his quality.
|
|
|
|
[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS]
|
|
|
|
I beseech you all, be better known to this
|
|
gentleman; whom I commend to you as a noble friend
|
|
of mine: how worthy he is I will leave to appear
|
|
hereafter, rather than story him in his own hearing.
|
|
|
|
Frenchman Sir, we have known together in Orleans.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies,
|
|
which I will be ever to pay and yet pay still.
|
|
|
|
Frenchman Sir, you o'er-rate my poor kindness: I was glad I
|
|
did atone my countryman and you; it had been pity
|
|
you should have been put together with so mortal a
|
|
purpose as then each bore, upon importance of so
|
|
slight and trivial a nature.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS By your pardon, sir, I was then a young traveller;
|
|
rather shunned to go even with what I heard than in
|
|
my every action to be guided by others' experiences:
|
|
but upon my mended judgment--if I offend not to say
|
|
it is mended--my quarrel was not altogether slight.
|
|
|
|
Frenchman 'Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords,
|
|
and by such two that would by all likelihood have
|
|
confounded one the other, or have fallen both.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference?
|
|
|
|
Frenchman Safely, I think: 'twas a contention in public,
|
|
which may, without contradiction, suffer the report.
|
|
It was much like an argument that fell out last
|
|
night, where each of us fell in praise of our
|
|
country mistresses; this gentleman at that time
|
|
vouching--and upon warrant of bloody
|
|
affirmation--his to be more fair, virtuous, wise,
|
|
chaste, constant-qualified and less attemptable
|
|
than any the rarest of our ladies in France.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO That lady is not now living, or this gentleman's
|
|
opinion by this worn out.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS She holds her virtue still and I my mind.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO You must not so far prefer her 'fore ours of Italy.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Being so far provoked as I was in France, I would
|
|
abate her nothing, though I profess myself her
|
|
adorer, not her friend.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO As fair and as good--a kind of hand-in-hand
|
|
comparison--had been something too fair and too good
|
|
for any lady in Britain. If she went before others
|
|
I have seen, as that diamond of yours outlustres
|
|
many I have beheld. I could not but believe she
|
|
excelled many: but I have not seen the most
|
|
precious diamond that is, nor you the lady.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I praised her as I rated her: so do I my stone.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO What do you esteem it at?
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS More than the world enjoys.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, or she's
|
|
outprized by a trifle.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS You are mistaken: the one may be sold, or given, if
|
|
there were wealth enough for the purchase, or merit
|
|
for the gift: the other is not a thing for sale,
|
|
and only the gift of the gods.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Which the gods have given you?
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Which, by their graces, I will keep.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO You may wear her in title yours: but, you know,
|
|
strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. Your
|
|
ring may be stolen too: so your brace of unprizable
|
|
estimations; the one is but frail and the other
|
|
casual; a cunning thief, or a that way accomplished
|
|
courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Your Italy contains none so accomplished a courtier
|
|
to convince the honour of my mistress, if, in the
|
|
holding or loss of that, you term her frail. I do
|
|
nothing doubt you have store of thieves;
|
|
notwithstanding, I fear not my ring.
|
|
|
|
PHILARIO Let us leave here, gentlemen.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I
|
|
thank him, makes no stranger of me; we are familiar at first.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO With five times so much conversation, I should get
|
|
ground of your fair mistress, make her go back, even
|
|
to the yielding, had I admittance and opportunity to friend.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS No, no.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to
|
|
your ring; which, in my opinion, o'ervalues it
|
|
something: but I make my wager rather against your
|
|
confidence than her reputation: and, to bar your
|
|
offence herein too, I durst attempt it against any
|
|
lady in the world.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS You are a great deal abused in too bold a
|
|
persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain what you're
|
|
worthy of by your attempt.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO What's that?
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS A repulse: though your attempt, as you call it,
|
|
deserve more; a punishment too.
|
|
|
|
PHILARIO Gentlemen, enough of this: it came in too suddenly;
|
|
let it die as it was born, and, I pray you, be
|
|
better acquainted.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Would I had put my estate and my neighbour's on the
|
|
approbation of what I have spoke!
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS What lady would you choose to assail?
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Yours; whom in constancy you think stands so safe.
|
|
I will lay you ten thousand ducats to your ring,
|
|
that, commend me to the court where your lady is,
|
|
with no more advantage than the opportunity of a
|
|
second conference, and I will bring from thence
|
|
that honour of hers which you imagine so reserved.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I will wage against your gold, gold to it: my ring
|
|
I hold dear as my finger; 'tis part of it.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO You are afraid, and therein the wiser. If you buy
|
|
ladies' flesh at a million a dram, you cannot
|
|
preserve it from tainting: but I see you have some
|
|
religion in you, that you fear.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a
|
|
graver purpose, I hope.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo
|
|
what's spoken, I swear.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Will you? I shall but lend my diamond till your
|
|
return: let there be covenants drawn between's: my
|
|
mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness of your
|
|
unworthy thinking: I dare you to this match: here's my ring.
|
|
|
|
PHILARIO I will have it no lay.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO By the gods, it is one. If I bring you no
|
|
sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest
|
|
bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats
|
|
are yours; so is your diamond too: if I come off,
|
|
and leave her in such honour as you have trust in,
|
|
she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are
|
|
yours: provided I have your commendation for my more
|
|
free entertainment.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I embrace these conditions; let us have articles
|
|
betwixt us. Only, thus far you shall answer: if
|
|
you make your voyage upon her and give me directly
|
|
to understand you have prevailed, I am no further
|
|
your enemy; she is not worth our debate: if she
|
|
remain unseduced, you not making it appear
|
|
otherwise, for your ill opinion and the assault you
|
|
have made to her chastity you shall answer me with
|
|
your sword.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Your hand; a covenant: we will have these things set
|
|
down by lawful counsel, and straight away for
|
|
Britain, lest the bargain should catch cold and
|
|
starve: I will fetch my gold and have our two
|
|
wagers recorded.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Agreed.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and IACHIMO]
|
|
|
|
Frenchman Will this hold, think you?
|
|
|
|
PHILARIO Signior Iachimo will not from it.
|
|
Pray, let us follow 'em.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT I
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE V Britain. A room in Cymbeline's palace.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter QUEEN, Ladies, and CORNELIUS]
|
|
|
|
QUEEN Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather those flowers;
|
|
Make haste: who has the note of them?
|
|
|
|
First Lady I, madam.
|
|
|
|
QUEEN Dispatch.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt Ladies]
|
|
|
|
Now, master doctor, have you brought those drugs?
|
|
|
|
CORNELIUS Pleaseth your highness, ay: here they are, madam:
|
|
|
|
[Presenting a small box]
|
|
|
|
But I beseech your grace, without offence,--
|
|
My conscience bids me ask--wherefore you have
|
|
Commanded of me those most poisonous compounds,
|
|
Which are the movers of a languishing death;
|
|
But though slow, deadly?
|
|
|
|
QUEEN I wonder, doctor,
|
|
Thou ask'st me such a question. Have I not been
|
|
Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn'd me how
|
|
To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so
|
|
That our great king himself doth woo me oft
|
|
For my confections? Having thus far proceeded,--
|
|
Unless thou think'st me devilish--is't not meet
|
|
That I did amplify my judgment in
|
|
Other conclusions? I will try the forces
|
|
Of these thy compounds on such creatures as
|
|
We count not worth the hanging, but none human,
|
|
To try the vigour of them and apply
|
|
Allayments to their act, and by them gather
|
|
Their several virtues and effects.
|
|
|
|
CORNELIUS Your highness
|
|
Shall from this practise but make hard your heart:
|
|
Besides, the seeing these effects will be
|
|
Both noisome and infectious.
|
|
|
|
QUEEN O, content thee.
|
|
|
|
[Enter PISANIO]
|
|
|
|
[Aside]
|
|
|
|
Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him
|
|
Will I first work: he's for his master,
|
|
An enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio!
|
|
Doctor, your service for this time is ended;
|
|
Take your own way.
|
|
|
|
CORNELIUS [Aside] I do suspect you, madam;
|
|
But you shall do no harm.
|
|
|
|
QUEEN [To PISANIO] Hark thee, a word.
|
|
|
|
CORNELIUS [Aside] I do not like her. She doth think she has
|
|
Strange lingering poisons: I do know her spirit,
|
|
And will not trust one of her malice with
|
|
A drug of such damn'd nature. Those she has
|
|
Will stupefy and dull the sense awhile;
|
|
Which first, perchance, she'll prove on
|
|
cats and dogs,
|
|
Then afterward up higher: but there is
|
|
No danger in what show of death it makes,
|
|
More than the locking-up the spirits a time,
|
|
To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd
|
|
With a most false effect; and I the truer,
|
|
So to be false with her.
|
|
|
|
QUEEN No further service, doctor,
|
|
Until I send for thee.
|
|
|
|
CORNELIUS I humbly take my leave.
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
QUEEN Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou think in time
|
|
She will not quench and let instructions enter
|
|
Where folly now possesses? Do thou work:
|
|
When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son,
|
|
I'll tell thee on the instant thou art then
|
|
As great as is thy master, greater, for
|
|
His fortunes all lie speechless and his name
|
|
Is at last gasp: return he cannot, nor
|
|
Continue where he is: to shift his being
|
|
Is to exchange one misery with another,
|
|
And every day that comes comes to decay
|
|
A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect,
|
|
To be depender on a thing that leans,
|
|
Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends,
|
|
So much as but to prop him?
|
|
|
|
[The QUEEN drops the box: PISANIO takes it up]
|
|
|
|
Thou takest up
|
|
Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour:
|
|
It is a thing I made, which hath the king
|
|
Five times redeem'd from death: I do not know
|
|
What is more cordial. Nay, I prethee, take it;
|
|
It is an earnest of a further good
|
|
That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how
|
|
The case stands with her; do't as from thyself.
|
|
Think what a chance thou changest on, but think
|
|
Thou hast thy mistress still, to boot, my son,
|
|
Who shall take notice of thee: I'll move the king
|
|
To any shape of thy preferment such
|
|
As thou'lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly,
|
|
That set thee on to this desert, am bound
|
|
To load thy merit richly. Call my women:
|
|
Think on my words.
|
|
|
|
[Exit PISANIO]
|
|
|
|
A sly and constant knave,
|
|
Not to be shaked; the agent for his master
|
|
And the remembrancer of her to hold
|
|
The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that
|
|
Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her
|
|
Of liegers for her sweet, and which she after,
|
|
Except she bend her humour, shall be assured
|
|
To taste of too.
|
|
|
|
[Re-enter PISANIO and Ladies]
|
|
|
|
So, so: well done, well done:
|
|
The violets, cowslips, and the primroses,
|
|
Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio;
|
|
Think on my words.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies]
|
|
|
|
PISANIO And shall do:
|
|
But when to my good lord I prove untrue,
|
|
I'll choke myself: there's all I'll do for you.
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT I
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE VI The same. Another room in the palace.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter IMOGEN]
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN A father cruel, and a step-dame false;
|
|
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady,
|
|
That hath her husband banish'd;--O, that husband!
|
|
My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated
|
|
Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol'n,
|
|
As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable
|
|
Is the desire that's glorious: blest be those,
|
|
How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills,
|
|
Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie!
|
|
|
|
[Enter PISANIO and IACHIMO]
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome,
|
|
Comes from my lord with letters.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Change you, madam?
|
|
The worthy Leonatus is in safety
|
|
And greets your highness dearly.
|
|
|
|
[Presents a letter]
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Thanks, good sir:
|
|
You're kindly welcome.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO [Aside] All of her that is out of door most rich!
|
|
If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare,
|
|
She is alone the Arabian bird, and I
|
|
Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
|
|
Arm me, audacity, from head to foot!
|
|
Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;
|
|
Rather directly fly.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN [Reads] 'He is one of the noblest note, to whose
|
|
kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon
|
|
him accordingly, as you value your trust--
|
|
LEONATUS.'
|
|
So far I read aloud:
|
|
But even the very middle of my heart
|
|
Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully.
|
|
You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I
|
|
Have words to bid you, and shall find it so
|
|
In all that I can do.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Thanks, fairest lady.
|
|
What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes
|
|
To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
|
|
Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
|
|
The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones
|
|
Upon the number'd beach? and can we not
|
|
Partition make with spectacles so precious
|
|
'Twixt fair and foul?
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN What makes your admiration?
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO It cannot be i' the eye, for apes and monkeys
|
|
'Twixt two such shes would chatter this way and
|
|
Contemn with mows the other; nor i' the judgment,
|
|
For idiots in this case of favour would
|
|
Be wisely definite; nor i' the appetite;
|
|
Sluttery to such neat excellence opposed
|
|
Should make desire vomit emptiness,
|
|
Not so allured to feed.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN What is the matter, trow?
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO The cloyed will,
|
|
That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub
|
|
Both fill'd and running, ravening first the lamb
|
|
Longs after for the garbage.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN What, dear sir,
|
|
Thus raps you? Are you well?
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Thanks, madam; well.
|
|
|
|
[To PISANIO]
|
|
|
|
Beseech you, sir, desire
|
|
My man's abode where I did leave him: he
|
|
Is strange and peevish.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO I was going, sir,
|
|
To give him welcome.
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Continues well my lord? His health, beseech you?
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Well, madam.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Is he disposed to mirth? I hope he is.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there
|
|
So merry and so gamesome: he is call'd
|
|
The Briton reveller.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN When he was here,
|
|
He did incline to sadness, and oft-times
|
|
Not knowing why.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO I never saw him sad.
|
|
There is a Frenchman his companion, one
|
|
An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves
|
|
A Gallian girl at home; he furnaces
|
|
The thick sighs from him, whiles the jolly Briton--
|
|
Your lord, I mean--laughs from's free lungs, cries 'O,
|
|
Can my sides hold, to think that man, who knows
|
|
By history, report, or his own proof,
|
|
What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
|
|
But must be, will his free hours languish for
|
|
Assured bondage?'
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Will my lord say so?
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter:
|
|
It is a recreation to be by
|
|
And hear him mock the Frenchman. But, heavens know,
|
|
Some men are much to blame.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Not he, I hope.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Not he: but yet heaven's bounty towards him might
|
|
Be used more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
|
|
In you, which I account his beyond all talents,
|
|
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
|
|
To pity too.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN What do you pity, sir?
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Two creatures heartily.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Am I one, sir?
|
|
You look on me: what wreck discern you in me
|
|
Deserves your pity?
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Lamentable! What,
|
|
To hide me from the radiant sun and solace
|
|
I' the dungeon by a snuff?
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN I pray you, sir,
|
|
Deliver with more openness your answers
|
|
To my demands. Why do you pity me?
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO That others do--
|
|
I was about to say--enjoy your--But
|
|
It is an office of the gods to venge it,
|
|
Not mine to speak on 't.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN You do seem to know
|
|
Something of me, or what concerns me: pray you,--
|
|
Since doubling things go ill often hurts more
|
|
Than to be sure they do; for certainties
|
|
Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing,
|
|
The remedy then born--discover to me
|
|
What both you spur and stop.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Had I this cheek
|
|
To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
|
|
Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
|
|
To the oath of loyalty; this object, which
|
|
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
|
|
Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then,
|
|
Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
|
|
That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
|
|
Made hard with hourly falsehood--falsehood, as
|
|
With labour; then by-peeping in an eye
|
|
Base and unlustrous as the smoky light
|
|
That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit
|
|
That all the plagues of hell should at one time
|
|
Encounter such revolt.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN My lord, I fear,
|
|
Has forgot Britain.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO And himself. Not I,
|
|
Inclined to this intelligence, pronounce
|
|
The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces
|
|
That from pay mutest conscience to my tongue
|
|
Charms this report out.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Let me hear no more.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart
|
|
With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady
|
|
So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,
|
|
Would make the great'st king double,--to be partner'd
|
|
With tomboys hired with that self-exhibition
|
|
Which your own coffers yield! with diseased ventures
|
|
That play with all infirmities for gold
|
|
Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff
|
|
As well might poison poison! Be revenged;
|
|
Or she that bore you was no queen, and you
|
|
Recoil from your great stock.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Revenged!
|
|
How should I be revenged? If this be true,--
|
|
As I have such a heart that both mine ears
|
|
Must not in haste abuse--if it be true,
|
|
How should I be revenged?
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Should he make me
|
|
Live, like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets,
|
|
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps,
|
|
In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.
|
|
I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,
|
|
More noble than that runagate to your bed,
|
|
And will continue fast to your affection,
|
|
Still close as sure.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN What, ho, Pisanio!
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Let me my service tender on your lips.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Away! I do condemn mine ears that have
|
|
So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,
|
|
Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not
|
|
For such an end thou seek'st,--as base as strange.
|
|
Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far
|
|
From thy report as thou from honour, and
|
|
Solicit'st here a lady that disdains
|
|
Thee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio!
|
|
The king my father shall be made acquainted
|
|
Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit,
|
|
A saucy stranger in his court to mart
|
|
As in a Romish stew and to expound
|
|
His beastly mind to us, he hath a court
|
|
He little cares for and a daughter who
|
|
He not respects at all. What, ho, Pisanio!
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO O happy Leonatus! I may say
|
|
The credit that thy lady hath of thee
|
|
Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness
|
|
Her assured credit. Blessed live you long!
|
|
A lady to the worthiest sir that ever
|
|
Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only
|
|
For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.
|
|
I have spoke this, to know if your affiance
|
|
Were deeply rooted; and shall make your lord,
|
|
That which he is, new o'er: and he is one
|
|
The truest manner'd; such a holy witch
|
|
That he enchants societies into him;
|
|
Half all men's hearts are his.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN You make amends.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO He sits 'mongst men like a descended god:
|
|
He hath a kind of honour sets him off,
|
|
More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,
|
|
Most mighty princess, that I have adventured
|
|
To try your taking a false report; which hath
|
|
Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment
|
|
In the election of a sir so rare,
|
|
Which you know cannot err: the love I bear him
|
|
Made me to fan you thus, but the gods made you,
|
|
Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN All's well, sir: take my power i' the court
|
|
for yours.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO My humble thanks. I had almost forgot
|
|
To entreat your grace but in a small request,
|
|
And yet of moment to, for it concerns
|
|
Your lord; myself and other noble friends,
|
|
Are partners in the business.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Pray, what is't?
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Some dozen Romans of us and your lord--
|
|
The best feather of our wing--have mingled sums
|
|
To buy a present for the emperor
|
|
Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
|
|
In France: 'tis plate of rare device, and jewels
|
|
Of rich and exquisite form; their values great;
|
|
And I am something curious, being strange,
|
|
To have them in safe stowage: may it please you
|
|
To take them in protection?
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Willingly;
|
|
And pawn mine honour for their safety: since
|
|
My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them
|
|
In my bedchamber.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO They are in a trunk,
|
|
Attended by my men: I will make bold
|
|
To send them to you, only for this night;
|
|
I must aboard to-morrow.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN O, no, no.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word
|
|
By lengthening my return. From Gallia
|
|
I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise
|
|
To see your grace.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN I thank you for your pains:
|
|
But not away to-morrow!
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO O, I must, madam:
|
|
Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please
|
|
To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night:
|
|
I have outstood my time; which is material
|
|
To the tender of our present.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN I will write.
|
|
Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept,
|
|
And truly yielded you. You're very welcome.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT II
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE I Britain. Before Cymbeline's palace.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter CLOTEN and two Lords]
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Was there ever man had such luck! when I kissed the
|
|
jack, upon an up-cast to be hit away! I had a
|
|
hundred pound on't: and then a whoreson jackanapes
|
|
must take me up for swearing; as if I borrowed mine
|
|
oaths of him and might not spend them at my pleasure.
|
|
|
|
First Lord What got he by that? You have broke his pate with
|
|
your bowl.
|
|
|
|
Second Lord [Aside] If his wit had been like him that broke it,
|
|
it would have run all out.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is not for
|
|
any standers-by to curtail his oaths, ha?
|
|
|
|
Second Lord No my lord;
|
|
|
|
[Aside]
|
|
|
|
nor crop the ears of them.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction?
|
|
Would he had been one of my rank!
|
|
|
|
Second Lord [Aside] To have smelt like a fool.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN I am not vexed more at any thing in the earth: a
|
|
pox on't! I had rather not be so noble as I am;
|
|
they dare not fight with me, because of the queen my
|
|
mother: every Jack-slave hath his bellyful of
|
|
fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that
|
|
nobody can match.
|
|
|
|
Second Lord [Aside] You are cock and capon too; and you crow,
|
|
cock, with your comb on.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Sayest thou?
|
|
|
|
Second Lord It is not fit your lordship should undertake every
|
|
companion that you give offence to.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN No, I know that: but it is fit I should commit
|
|
offence to my inferiors.
|
|
|
|
Second Lord Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Why, so I say.
|
|
|
|
First Lord Did you hear of a stranger that's come to court to-night?
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN A stranger, and I not know on't!
|
|
|
|
Second Lord [Aside] He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it
|
|
not.
|
|
|
|
First Lord There's an Italian come; and, 'tis thought, one of
|
|
Leonatus' friends.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Leonatus! a banished rascal; and he's another,
|
|
whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?
|
|
|
|
First Lord One of your lordship's pages.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Is it fit I went to look upon him? is there no
|
|
derogation in't?
|
|
|
|
Second Lord You cannot derogate, my lord.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Not easily, I think.
|
|
|
|
Second Lord [Aside] You are a fool granted; therefore your
|
|
issues, being foolish, do not derogate.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Come, I'll go see this Italian: what I have lost
|
|
to-day at bowls I'll win to-night of him. Come, go.
|
|
|
|
Second Lord I'll attend your lordship.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt CLOTEN and First Lord]
|
|
|
|
That such a crafty devil as is his mother
|
|
Should yield the world this ass! a woman that
|
|
Bears all down with her brain; and this her son
|
|
Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart,
|
|
And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess,
|
|
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endurest,
|
|
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd,
|
|
A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer
|
|
More hateful than the foul expulsion is
|
|
Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act
|
|
Of the divorce he'ld make! The heavens hold firm
|
|
The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshaked
|
|
That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand,
|
|
To enjoy thy banish'd lord and this great land!
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT II
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE II Imogen's bedchamber in Cymbeline's palace:
|
|
a trunk in one corner of it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[IMOGEN in bed, reading; a Lady attending]
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Who's there? my woman Helen?
|
|
|
|
Lady Please you, madam
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN What hour is it?
|
|
|
|
Lady Almost midnight, madam.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN I have read three hours then: mine eyes are weak:
|
|
Fold down the leaf where I have left: to bed:
|
|
Take not away the taper, leave it burning;
|
|
And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock,
|
|
I prithee, call me. Sleep hath seized me wholly
|
|
|
|
[Exit Lady]
|
|
|
|
To your protection I commend me, gods.
|
|
From fairies and the tempters of the night
|
|
Guard me, beseech ye.
|
|
|
|
[Sleeps. IACHIMO comes from the trunk]
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense
|
|
Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
|
|
Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd
|
|
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,
|
|
How bravely thou becomest thy bed, fresh lily,
|
|
And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
|
|
But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd,
|
|
How dearly they do't! 'Tis her breathing that
|
|
Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o' the taper
|
|
Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids,
|
|
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
|
|
Under these windows, white and azure laced
|
|
With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my design,
|
|
To note the chamber: I will write all down:
|
|
Such and such pictures; there the window; such
|
|
The adornment of her bed; the arras; figures,
|
|
Why, such and such; and the contents o' the story.
|
|
Ah, but some natural notes about her body,
|
|
Above ten thousand meaner moveables
|
|
Would testify, to enrich mine inventory.
|
|
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
|
|
And be her sense but as a monument,
|
|
Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off:
|
|
|
|
[Taking off her bracelet]
|
|
|
|
As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!
|
|
'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
|
|
As strongly as the conscience does within,
|
|
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
|
|
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
|
|
I' the bottom of a cowslip: here's a voucher,
|
|
Stronger than ever law could make: this secret
|
|
Will force him think I have pick'd the lock and ta'en
|
|
The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?
|
|
Why should I write this down, that's riveted,
|
|
Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late
|
|
The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down
|
|
Where Philomel gave up. I have enough:
|
|
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
|
|
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning
|
|
May bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear;
|
|
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.
|
|
|
|
[Clock strikes]
|
|
|
|
One, two, three: time, time!
|
|
|
|
[Goes into the trunk. The scene closes]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT II
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE III An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen's apartments.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter CLOTEN and Lords]
|
|
|
|
First Lord Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the
|
|
most coldest that ever turned up ace.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN It would make any man cold to lose.
|
|
|
|
First Lord But not every man patient after the noble temper of
|
|
your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Winning will put any man into courage. If I could
|
|
get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough.
|
|
It's almost morning, is't not?
|
|
|
|
First Lord Day, my lord.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN I would this music would come: I am advised to give
|
|
her music o' mornings; they say it will penetrate.
|
|
|
|
[Enter Musicians]
|
|
|
|
Come on; tune: if you can penetrate her with your
|
|
fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: if none
|
|
will do, let her remain; but I'll never give o'er.
|
|
First, a very excellent good-conceited thing;
|
|
after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich
|
|
words to it: and then let her consider.
|
|
[SONG]
|
|
|
|
Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
|
|
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
|
|
His steeds to water at those springs
|
|
On chaliced flowers that lies;
|
|
And winking Mary-buds begin
|
|
To ope their golden eyes:
|
|
With every thing that pretty is,
|
|
My lady sweet, arise:
|
|
Arise, arise.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will
|
|
consider your music the better: if it do not, it is
|
|
a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs and
|
|
calves'-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to
|
|
boot, can never amend.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt Musicians]
|
|
|
|
Second Lord Here comes the king.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN I am glad I was up so late; for that's the reason I
|
|
was up so early: he cannot choose but take this
|
|
service I have done fatherly.
|
|
|
|
[Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN]
|
|
|
|
Good morrow to your majesty and to my gracious mother.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?
|
|
Will she not forth?
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN I have assailed her with music, but she vouchsafes no notice.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE The exile of her minion is too new;
|
|
She hath not yet forgot him: some more time
|
|
Must wear the print of his remembrance out,
|
|
And then she's yours.
|
|
|
|
QUEEN You are most bound to the king,
|
|
Who lets go by no vantages that may
|
|
Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
|
|
To orderly soliciting, and be friended
|
|
With aptness of the season; make denials
|
|
Increase your services; so seem as if
|
|
You were inspired to do those duties which
|
|
You tender to her; that you in all obey her,
|
|
Save when command to your dismission tends,
|
|
And therein you are senseless.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Senseless! not so.
|
|
|
|
[Enter a Messenger]
|
|
|
|
Messenger So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
|
|
The one is Caius Lucius.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE A worthy fellow,
|
|
Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
|
|
But that's no fault of his: we must receive him
|
|
According to the honour of his sender;
|
|
And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,
|
|
We must extend our notice. Our dear son,
|
|
When you have given good morning to your mistress,
|
|
Attend the queen and us; we shall have need
|
|
To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt all but CLOTEN]
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
|
|
Let her lie still and dream.
|
|
|
|
[Knocks]
|
|
|
|
By your leave, ho!
|
|
I Know her women are about her: what
|
|
If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold
|
|
Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes
|
|
Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up
|
|
Their deer to the stand o' the stealer; and 'tis gold
|
|
Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief;
|
|
Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man: what
|
|
Can it not do and undo? I will make
|
|
One of her women lawyer to me, for
|
|
I yet not understand the case myself.
|
|
|
|
[Knocks]
|
|
|
|
By your leave.
|
|
|
|
[Enter a Lady]
|
|
|
|
Lady Who's there that knocks?
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN A gentleman.
|
|
|
|
Lady No more?
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.
|
|
|
|
Lady That's more
|
|
Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours,
|
|
Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's pleasure?
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Your lady's person: is she ready?
|
|
|
|
Lady Ay,
|
|
To keep her chamber.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN There is gold for you;
|
|
Sell me your good report.
|
|
|
|
Lady How! my good name? or to report of you
|
|
What I shall think is good?--The princess!
|
|
|
|
[Enter IMOGEN]
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand.
|
|
|
|
[Exit Lady]
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains
|
|
For purchasing but trouble; the thanks I give
|
|
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks
|
|
And scarce can spare them.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Still, I swear I love you.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me:
|
|
If you swear still, your recompense is still
|
|
That I regard it not.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN This is no answer.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN But that you shall not say I yield being silent,
|
|
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: 'faith,
|
|
I shall unfold equal discourtesy
|
|
To your best kindness: one of your great knowing
|
|
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin:
|
|
I will not.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Fools are not mad folks.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Do you call me fool?
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN As I am mad, I do:
|
|
If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
|
|
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
|
|
You put me to forget a lady's manners,
|
|
By being so verbal: and learn now, for all,
|
|
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
|
|
By the very truth of it, I care not for you,
|
|
And am so near the lack of charity--
|
|
To accuse myself--I hate you; which I had rather
|
|
You felt than make't my boast.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN You sin against
|
|
Obedience, which you owe your father. For
|
|
The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
|
|
One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes,
|
|
With scraps o' the court, it is no contract, none:
|
|
And though it be allow'd in meaner parties--
|
|
Yet who than he more mean?--to knit their souls,
|
|
On whom there is no more dependency
|
|
But brats and beggary, in self-figured knot;
|
|
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
|
|
The consequence o' the crown, and must not soil
|
|
The precious note of it with a base slave.
|
|
A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth,
|
|
A pantler, not so eminent.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Profane fellow
|
|
Wert thou the son of Jupiter and no more
|
|
But what thou art besides, thou wert too base
|
|
To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough,
|
|
Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
|
|
Comparative for your virtues, to be styled
|
|
The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
|
|
For being preferred so well.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN The south-fog rot him!
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN He never can meet more mischance than come
|
|
To be but named of thee. His meanest garment,
|
|
That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer
|
|
In my respect than all the hairs above thee,
|
|
Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!
|
|
|
|
[Enter PISANIO]
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN 'His garment!' Now the devil--
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently--
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN 'His garment!'
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN I am sprited with a fool.
|
|
Frighted, and anger'd worse: go bid my woman
|
|
Search for a jewel that too casually
|
|
Hath left mine arm: it was thy master's: 'shrew me,
|
|
If I would lose it for a revenue
|
|
Of any king's in Europe. I do think
|
|
I saw't this morning: confident I am
|
|
Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it:
|
|
I hope it be not gone to tell my lord
|
|
That I kiss aught but he.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO 'Twill not be lost.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN I hope so: go and search.
|
|
|
|
[Exit PISANIO]
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN You have abused me:
|
|
'His meanest garment!'
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Ay, I said so, sir:
|
|
If you will make't an action, call witness to't.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN I will inform your father.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Your mother too:
|
|
She's my good lady, and will conceive, I hope,
|
|
But the worst of me. So, I leave you, sir,
|
|
To the worst of discontent.
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN I'll be revenged:
|
|
'His meanest garment!' Well.
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT II
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE IV Rome. Philario's house.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO]
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Fear it not, sir: I would I were so sure
|
|
To win the king as I am bold her honour
|
|
Will remain hers.
|
|
|
|
PHILARIO What means do you make to him?
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Not any, but abide the change of time,
|
|
Quake in the present winter's state and wish
|
|
That warmer days would come: in these sear'd hopes,
|
|
I barely gratify your love; they failing,
|
|
I must die much your debtor.
|
|
|
|
PHILARIO Your very goodness and your company
|
|
O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king
|
|
Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius
|
|
Will do's commission throughly: and I think
|
|
He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages,
|
|
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
|
|
Is yet fresh in their grief.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I do believe,
|
|
Statist though I am none, nor like to be,
|
|
That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
|
|
The legions now in Gallia sooner landed
|
|
In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings
|
|
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
|
|
Are men more order'd than when Julius Caesar
|
|
Smiled at their lack of skill, but found
|
|
their courage
|
|
Worthy his frowning at: their discipline,
|
|
Now mingled with their courages, will make known
|
|
To their approvers they are people such
|
|
That mend upon the world.
|
|
|
|
[Enter IACHIMO]
|
|
|
|
PHILARIO See! Iachimo!
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS The swiftest harts have posted you by land;
|
|
And winds of all the comers kiss'd your sails,
|
|
To make your vessel nimble.
|
|
|
|
PHILARIO Welcome, sir.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I hope the briefness of your answer made
|
|
The speediness of your return.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Your lady
|
|
Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS And therewithal the best; or let her beauty
|
|
Look through a casement to allure false hearts
|
|
And be false with them.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Here are letters for you.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Their tenor good, I trust.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO 'Tis very like.
|
|
|
|
PHILARIO Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court
|
|
When you were there?
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO He was expected then,
|
|
But not approach'd.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS All is well yet.
|
|
Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is't not
|
|
Too dull for your good wearing?
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO If I had lost it,
|
|
I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
|
|
I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy
|
|
A second night of such sweet shortness which
|
|
Was mine in Britain, for the ring is won.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS The stone's too hard to come by.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Not a whit,
|
|
Your lady being so easy.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Make not, sir,
|
|
Your loss your sport: I hope you know that we
|
|
Must not continue friends.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Good sir, we must,
|
|
If you keep covenant. Had I not brought
|
|
The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant
|
|
We were to question further: but I now
|
|
Profess myself the winner of her honour,
|
|
Together with your ring; and not the wronger
|
|
Of her or you, having proceeded but
|
|
By both your wills.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS If you can make't apparent
|
|
That you have tasted her in bed, my hand
|
|
And ring is yours; if not, the foul opinion
|
|
You had of her pure honour gains or loses
|
|
Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both
|
|
To who shall find them.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Sir, my circumstances,
|
|
Being so near the truth as I will make them,
|
|
Must first induce you to believe: whose strength
|
|
I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not,
|
|
You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find
|
|
You need it not.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Proceed.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO First, her bedchamber,--
|
|
Where, I confess, I slept not, but profess
|
|
Had that was well worth watching--it was hang'd
|
|
With tapesty of silk and silver; the story
|
|
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
|
|
And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for
|
|
The press of boats or pride: a piece of work
|
|
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
|
|
In workmanship and value; which I wonder'd
|
|
Could be so rarely and exactly wrought,
|
|
Since the true life on't was--
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS This is true;
|
|
And this you might have heard of here, by me,
|
|
Or by some other.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO More particulars
|
|
Must justify my knowledge.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS So they must,
|
|
Or do your honour injury.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO The chimney
|
|
Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece
|
|
Chaste Dian bathing: never saw I figures
|
|
So likely to report themselves: the cutter
|
|
Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her,
|
|
Motion and breath left out.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS This is a thing
|
|
Which you might from relation likewise reap,
|
|
Being, as it is, much spoke of.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO The roof o' the chamber
|
|
With golden cherubins is fretted: her andirons--
|
|
I had forgot them--were two winking Cupids
|
|
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
|
|
Depending on their brands.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS This is her honour!
|
|
Let it be granted you have seen all this--and praise
|
|
Be given to your remembrance--the description
|
|
Of what is in her chamber nothing saves
|
|
The wager you have laid.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Then, if you can,
|
|
|
|
[Showing the bracelet]
|
|
|
|
Be pale: I beg but leave to air this jewel; see!
|
|
And now 'tis up again: it must be married
|
|
To that your diamond; I'll keep them.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Jove!
|
|
Once more let me behold it: is it that
|
|
Which I left with her?
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Sir--I thank her--that:
|
|
She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet;
|
|
Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
|
|
And yet enrich'd it too: she gave it me, and said
|
|
She prized it once.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS May be she pluck'd it off
|
|
To send it me.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO She writes so to you, doth she?
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS O, no, no, no! 'tis true. Here, take this too;
|
|
|
|
[Gives the ring]
|
|
|
|
It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
|
|
Kills me to look on't. Let there be no honour
|
|
Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; love,
|
|
Where there's another man: the vows of women
|
|
Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,
|
|
Than they are to their virtues; which is nothing.
|
|
O, above measure false!
|
|
|
|
PHILARIO Have patience, sir,
|
|
And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won:
|
|
It may be probable she lost it; or
|
|
Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted,
|
|
Hath stol'n it from her?
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Very true;
|
|
And so, I hope, he came by't. Back my ring:
|
|
Render to me some corporal sign about her,
|
|
More evident than this; for this was stolen.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO By Jupiter, I had it from her arm.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.
|
|
'Tis true:--nay, keep the ring--'tis true: I am sure
|
|
She would not lose it: her attendants are
|
|
All sworn and honourable:--they induced to steal it!
|
|
And by a stranger!--No, he hath enjoyed her:
|
|
The cognizance of her incontinency
|
|
Is this: she hath bought the name of whore
|
|
thus dearly.
|
|
There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell
|
|
Divide themselves between you!
|
|
|
|
PHILARIO Sir, be patient:
|
|
This is not strong enough to be believed
|
|
Of one persuaded well of--
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Never talk on't;
|
|
She hath been colted by him.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO If you seek
|
|
For further satisfying, under her breast--
|
|
Worthy the pressing--lies a mole, right proud
|
|
Of that most delicate lodging: by my life,
|
|
I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger
|
|
To feed again, though full. You do remember
|
|
This stain upon her?
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Ay, and it doth confirm
|
|
Another stain, as big as hell can hold,
|
|
Were there no more but it.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Will you hear more?
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Spare your arithmetic: never count the turns;
|
|
Once, and a million!
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO I'll be sworn--
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS No swearing.
|
|
If you will swear you have not done't, you lie;
|
|
And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny
|
|
Thou'st made me cuckold.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO I'll deny nothing.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS O, that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal!
|
|
I will go there and do't, i' the court, before
|
|
Her father. I'll do something--
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
PHILARIO Quite besides
|
|
The government of patience! You have won:
|
|
Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath
|
|
He hath against himself.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO With an my heart.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT II
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE V Another room in Philario's house.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS]
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Is there no way for men to be but women
|
|
Must be half-workers? We are all bastards;
|
|
And that most venerable man which I
|
|
Did call my father, was I know not where
|
|
When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his tools
|
|
Made me a counterfeit: yet my mother seem'd
|
|
The Dian of that time so doth my wife
|
|
The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!
|
|
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd
|
|
And pray'd me oft forbearance; did it with
|
|
A pudency so rosy the sweet view on't
|
|
Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her
|
|
As chaste as unsunn'd snow. O, all the devils!
|
|
This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,--wast not?--
|
|
Or less,--at first?--perchance he spoke not, but,
|
|
Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one,
|
|
Cried 'O!' and mounted; found no opposition
|
|
But what he look'd for should oppose and she
|
|
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
|
|
The woman's part in me! For there's no motion
|
|
That tends to vice in man, but I affirm
|
|
It is the woman's part: be it lying, note it,
|
|
The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
|
|
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
|
|
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
|
|
Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
|
|
All faults that may be named, nay, that hell knows,
|
|
Why, hers, in part or all; but rather, all;
|
|
For even to vice
|
|
They are not constant but are changing still
|
|
One vice, but of a minute old, for one
|
|
Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
|
|
Detest them, curse them: yet 'tis greater skill
|
|
In a true hate, to pray they have their will:
|
|
The very devils cannot plague them better.
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT III
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE I Britain. A hall in Cymbeline's palace.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter in state, CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN,
|
|
and Lords at one door, and at another,
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS and Attendants]
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us?
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS When Julius Caesar, whose remembrance yet
|
|
Lives in men's eyes and will to ears and tongues
|
|
Be theme and hearing ever, was in this Britain
|
|
And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,--
|
|
Famous in Caesar's praises, no whit less
|
|
Than in his feats deserving it--for him
|
|
And his succession granted Rome a tribute,
|
|
Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately
|
|
Is left untender'd.
|
|
|
|
QUEEN And, to kill the marvel,
|
|
Shall be so ever.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN There be many Caesars,
|
|
Ere such another Julius. Britain is
|
|
A world by itself; and we will nothing pay
|
|
For wearing our own noses.
|
|
|
|
QUEEN That opportunity
|
|
Which then they had to take from 's, to resume
|
|
We have again. Remember, sir, my liege,
|
|
The kings your ancestors, together with
|
|
The natural bravery of your isle, which stands
|
|
As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in
|
|
With rocks unscalable and roaring waters,
|
|
With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats,
|
|
But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquest
|
|
Caesar made here; but made not here his brag
|
|
Of 'Came' and 'saw' and 'overcame: ' with shame--
|
|
That first that ever touch'd him--he was carried
|
|
From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping--
|
|
Poor ignorant baubles!-- upon our terrible seas,
|
|
Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crack'd
|
|
As easily 'gainst our rocks: for joy whereof
|
|
The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point--
|
|
O giglot fortune!--to master Caesar's sword,
|
|
Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright
|
|
And Britons strut with courage.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Come, there's no more tribute to be paid: our
|
|
kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and,
|
|
as I said, there is no moe such Caesars: other of
|
|
them may have crook'd noses, but to owe such
|
|
straight arms, none.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Son, let your mother end.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as
|
|
Cassibelan: I do not say I am one; but I have a
|
|
hand. Why tribute? why should we pay tribute? If
|
|
Caesar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or
|
|
put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute
|
|
for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE You must know,
|
|
Till the injurious Romans did extort
|
|
This tribute from us, we were free:
|
|
Caesar's ambition,
|
|
Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch
|
|
The sides o' the world, against all colour here
|
|
Did put the yoke upon 's; which to shake off
|
|
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
|
|
Ourselves to be.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN |
|
|
| We do.
|
|
Lords |
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Say, then, to Caesar,
|
|
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which
|
|
Ordain'd our laws, whose use the sword of Caesar
|
|
Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise
|
|
Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
|
|
Though Rome be therefore angry: Mulmutius made our laws,
|
|
Who was the first of Britain which did put
|
|
His brows within a golden crown and call'd
|
|
Himself a king.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS I am sorry, Cymbeline,
|
|
That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar--
|
|
Caesar, that hath more kings his servants than
|
|
Thyself domestic officers--thine enemy:
|
|
Receive it from me, then: war and confusion
|
|
In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
|
|
For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,
|
|
I thank thee for myself.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Thou art welcome, Caius.
|
|
Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent
|
|
Much under him; of him I gather'd honour;
|
|
Which he to seek of me again, perforce,
|
|
Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect
|
|
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for
|
|
Their liberties are now in arms; a precedent
|
|
Which not to read would show the Britons cold:
|
|
So Caesar shall not find them.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS Let proof speak.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN His majesty bids you welcome. Make
|
|
pastime with us a day or two, or longer: if
|
|
you seek us afterwards in other terms, you
|
|
shall find us in our salt-water girdle: if you
|
|
beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in
|
|
the adventure, our crows shall fare the better
|
|
for you; and there's an end.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS So, sir.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE I know your master's pleasure and he mine:
|
|
All the remain is 'Welcome!'
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT III
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE II Another room in the palace.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter PISANIO, with a letter]
|
|
|
|
PISANIO How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not
|
|
What monster's her accuser? Leonatus,
|
|
O master! what a strange infection
|
|
Is fall'n into thy ear! What false Italian,
|
|
As poisonous-tongued as handed, hath prevail'd
|
|
On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal! No:
|
|
She's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes,
|
|
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
|
|
As would take in some virtue. O my master!
|
|
Thy mind to her is now as low as were
|
|
Thy fortunes. How! that I should murder her?
|
|
Upon the love and truth and vows which I
|
|
Have made to thy command? I, her? her blood?
|
|
If it be so to do good service, never
|
|
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
|
|
That I should seem to lack humanity
|
|
so much as this fact comes to?
|
|
|
|
[Reading]
|
|
|
|
'Do't: the letter
|
|
that I have sent her, by her own command
|
|
Shall give thee opportunity.' O damn'd paper!
|
|
Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless bauble,
|
|
Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st
|
|
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.
|
|
I am ignorant in what I am commanded.
|
|
|
|
[Enter IMOGEN]
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN How now, Pisanio!
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Who? thy lord? that is my lord, Leonatus!
|
|
O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer
|
|
That knew the stars as I his characters;
|
|
He'ld lay the future open. You good gods,
|
|
Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
|
|
Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not
|
|
That we two are asunder; let that grieve him:
|
|
Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them,
|
|
For it doth physic love: of his content,
|
|
All but in that! Good wax, thy leave. Blest be
|
|
You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers
|
|
And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike:
|
|
Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
|
|
You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods!
|
|
|
|
[Reads]
|
|
|
|
'Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me
|
|
in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as
|
|
you, O the dearest of creatures, would even renew me
|
|
with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria,
|
|
at Milford-Haven: what your own love will out of
|
|
this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all
|
|
happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your,
|
|
increasing in love,
|
|
LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.'
|
|
O, for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
|
|
He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me
|
|
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
|
|
May plod it in a week, why may not I
|
|
Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio,--
|
|
Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who long'st,--
|
|
let me bate,-but not like me--yet long'st,
|
|
But in a fainter kind:--O, not like me;
|
|
For mine's beyond beyond--say, and speak thick;
|
|
Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,
|
|
To the smothering of the sense--how far it is
|
|
To this same blessed Milford: and by the way
|
|
Tell me how Wales was made so happy as
|
|
To inherit such a haven: but first of all,
|
|
How we may steal from hence, and for the gap
|
|
That we shall make in time, from our hence-going
|
|
And our return, to excuse: but first, how get hence:
|
|
Why should excuse be born or e'er begot?
|
|
We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee, speak,
|
|
How many score of miles may we well ride
|
|
'Twixt hour and hour?
|
|
|
|
PISANIO One score 'twixt sun and sun,
|
|
Madam, 's enough for you:
|
|
|
|
[Aside]
|
|
|
|
and too much too.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Why, one that rode to's execution, man,
|
|
Could never go so slow: I have heard of
|
|
riding wagers,
|
|
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
|
|
That run i' the clock's behalf. But this is foolery:
|
|
Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say
|
|
She'll home to her father: and provide me presently
|
|
A riding-suit, no costlier than would fit
|
|
A franklin's housewife.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Madam, you're best consider.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN I see before me, man: nor here, nor here,
|
|
Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them,
|
|
That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee;
|
|
Do as I bid thee: there's no more to say,
|
|
Accessible is none but Milford way.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT III
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE III Wales: a mountainous country with a cave.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS; GUIDERIUS,
|
|
and ARVIRAGUS following]
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS A goodly day not to keep house, with such
|
|
Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate
|
|
Instructs you how to adore the heavens and bows you
|
|
To a morning's holy office: the gates of monarchs
|
|
Are arch'd so high that giants may jet through
|
|
And keep their impious turbans on, without
|
|
Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!
|
|
We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly
|
|
As prouder livers do.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Hail, heaven!
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Hail, heaven!
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Now for our mountain sport: up to yond hill;
|
|
Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider,
|
|
When you above perceive me like a crow,
|
|
That it is place which lessens and sets off;
|
|
And you may then revolve what tales I have told you
|
|
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
|
|
This service is not service, so being done,
|
|
But being so allow'd: to apprehend thus,
|
|
Draws us a profit from all things we see;
|
|
And often, to our comfort, shall we find
|
|
The sharded beetle in a safer hold
|
|
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life
|
|
Is nobler than attending for a cheque,
|
|
Richer than doing nothing for a bauble,
|
|
Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
|
|
Such gain the cap of him that makes 'em fine,
|
|
Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledged,
|
|
Have never wing'd from view o' the nest, nor know not
|
|
What air's from home. Haply this life is best,
|
|
If quiet life be best; sweeter to you
|
|
That have a sharper known; well corresponding
|
|
With your stiff age: but unto us it is
|
|
A cell of ignorance; travelling a-bed;
|
|
A prison for a debtor, that not dares
|
|
To stride a limit.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS What should we speak of
|
|
When we are old as you? when we shall hear
|
|
The rain and wind beat dark December, how,
|
|
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
|
|
The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing;
|
|
We are beastly, subtle as the fox for prey,
|
|
Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat;
|
|
Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage
|
|
We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,
|
|
And sing our bondage freely.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS How you speak!
|
|
Did you but know the city's usuries
|
|
And felt them knowingly; the art o' the court
|
|
As hard to leave as keep; whose top to climb
|
|
Is certain falling, or so slippery that
|
|
The fear's as bad as falling; the toil o' the war,
|
|
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
|
|
I' the name of fame and honour; which dies i'
|
|
the search,
|
|
And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph
|
|
As record of fair act; nay, many times,
|
|
Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
|
|
Must court'sy at the censure:--O boys, this story
|
|
The world may read in me: my body's mark'd
|
|
With Roman swords, and my report was once
|
|
First with the best of note: Cymbeline loved me,
|
|
And when a soldier was the theme, my name
|
|
Was not far off: then was I as a tree
|
|
Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but in one night,
|
|
A storm or robbery, call it what you will,
|
|
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
|
|
And left me bare to weather.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Uncertain favour!
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS My fault being nothing--as I have told you oft--
|
|
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd
|
|
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline
|
|
I was confederate with the Romans: so
|
|
Follow'd my banishment, and this twenty years
|
|
This rock and these demesnes have been my world;
|
|
Where I have lived at honest freedom, paid
|
|
More pious debts to heaven than in all
|
|
The fore-end of my time. But up to the mountains!
|
|
This is not hunters' language: he that strikes
|
|
The venison first shall be the lord o' the feast;
|
|
To him the other two shall minister;
|
|
And we will fear no poison, which attends
|
|
In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS]
|
|
|
|
How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
|
|
These boys know little they are sons to the king;
|
|
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
|
|
They think they are mine; and though train'd
|
|
up thus meanly
|
|
I' the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
|
|
The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them
|
|
In simple and low things to prince it much
|
|
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,
|
|
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who
|
|
The king his father call'd Guiderius,--Jove!
|
|
When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell
|
|
The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out
|
|
Into my story: say 'Thus, mine enemy fell,
|
|
And thus I set my foot on 's neck;' even then
|
|
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
|
|
Strains his young nerves and puts himself in posture
|
|
That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,
|
|
Once Arviragus, in as like a figure,
|
|
Strikes life into my speech and shows much more
|
|
His own conceiving.--Hark, the game is roused!
|
|
O Cymbeline! heaven and my conscience knows
|
|
Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon,
|
|
At three and two years old, I stole these babes;
|
|
Thinking to bar thee of succession, as
|
|
Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,
|
|
Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for
|
|
their mother,
|
|
And every day do honour to her grave:
|
|
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
|
|
They take for natural father. The game is up.
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT III
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE IV Country near Milford-Haven.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN]
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place
|
|
Was near at hand: ne'er long'd my mother so
|
|
To see me first, as I have now. Pisanio! man!
|
|
Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind,
|
|
That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh
|
|
From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus,
|
|
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
|
|
Beyond self-explication: put thyself
|
|
Into a havior of less fear, ere wildness
|
|
Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter?
|
|
Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with
|
|
A look untender? If't be summer news,
|
|
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st
|
|
But keep that countenance still. My husband's hand!
|
|
That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
|
|
And he's at some hard point. Speak, man: thy tongue
|
|
May take off some extremity, which to read
|
|
Would be even mortal to me.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Please you, read;
|
|
And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
|
|
The most disdain'd of fortune.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN [Reads] 'Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the
|
|
strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie
|
|
bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises,
|
|
but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain
|
|
as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio,
|
|
must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with
|
|
the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away
|
|
her life: I shall give thee opportunity at
|
|
Milford-Haven. She hath my letter for the purpose
|
|
where, if thou fear to strike and to make me certain
|
|
it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour and
|
|
equally to me disloyal.'
|
|
|
|
PISANIO What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper
|
|
Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander,
|
|
Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
|
|
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath
|
|
Rides on the posting winds and doth belie
|
|
All corners of the world: kings, queens and states,
|
|
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
|
|
This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam?
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN False to his bed! What is it to be false?
|
|
To lie in watch there and to think on him?
|
|
To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep
|
|
charge nature,
|
|
To break it with a fearful dream of him
|
|
And cry myself awake? that's false to's bed, is it?
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Alas, good lady!
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN I false! Thy conscience witness: Iachimo,
|
|
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency;
|
|
Thou then look'dst like a villain; now methinks
|
|
Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy
|
|
Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him:
|
|
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion;
|
|
And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls,
|
|
I must be ripp'd:--to pieces with me!--O,
|
|
Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming,
|
|
By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
|
|
Put on for villany; not born where't grows,
|
|
But worn a bait for ladies.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Good madam, hear me.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas,
|
|
Were in his time thought false, and Sinon's weeping
|
|
Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity
|
|
From most true wretchedness: so thou, Posthumus,
|
|
Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men;
|
|
Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjured
|
|
From thy great fall. Come, fellow, be thou honest:
|
|
Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou see'st him,
|
|
A little witness my obedience: look!
|
|
I draw the sword myself: take it, and hit
|
|
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart;
|
|
Fear not; 'tis empty of all things but grief;
|
|
Thy master is not there, who was indeed
|
|
The riches of it: do his bidding; strike
|
|
Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause;
|
|
But now thou seem'st a coward.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Hence, vile instrument!
|
|
Thou shalt not damn my hand.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Why, I must die;
|
|
And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
|
|
No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter
|
|
There is a prohibition so divine
|
|
That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart.
|
|
Something's afore't. Soft, soft! we'll no defence;
|
|
Obedient as the scabbard. What is here?
|
|
The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus,
|
|
All turn'd to heresy? Away, away,
|
|
Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more
|
|
Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools
|
|
Believe false teachers: though those that
|
|
are betray'd
|
|
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
|
|
Stands in worse case of woe.
|
|
And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up
|
|
My disobedience 'gainst the king my father
|
|
And make me put into contempt the suits
|
|
Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
|
|
It is no act of common passage, but
|
|
A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself
|
|
To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her
|
|
That now thou tirest on, how thy memory
|
|
Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee, dispatch:
|
|
The lamb entreats the butcher: where's thy knife?
|
|
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
|
|
When I desire it too.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO O gracious lady,
|
|
Since I received command to do this business
|
|
I have not slept one wink.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Do't, and to bed then.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Wherefore then
|
|
Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abused
|
|
So many miles with a pretence? this place?
|
|
Mine action and thine own? our horses' labour?
|
|
The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court,
|
|
For my being absent? whereunto I never
|
|
Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far,
|
|
To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
|
|
The elected deer before thee?
|
|
|
|
PISANIO But to win time
|
|
To lose so bad employment; in the which
|
|
I have consider'd of a course. Good lady,
|
|
Hear me with patience.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Talk thy tongue weary; speak
|
|
I have heard I am a strumpet; and mine ear
|
|
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
|
|
Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Then, madam,
|
|
I thought you would not back again.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Most like;
|
|
Bringing me here to kill me.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Not so, neither:
|
|
But if I were as wise as honest, then
|
|
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be
|
|
But that my master is abused:
|
|
Some villain, ay, and singular in his art.
|
|
Hath done you both this cursed injury.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Some Roman courtezan.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO No, on my life.
|
|
I'll give but notice you are dead and send him
|
|
Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded
|
|
I should do so: you shall be miss'd at court,
|
|
And that will well confirm it.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Why good fellow,
|
|
What shall I do the where? where bide? how live?
|
|
Or in my life what comfort, when I am
|
|
Dead to my husband?
|
|
|
|
PISANIO If you'll back to the court--
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN No court, no father; nor no more ado
|
|
With that harsh, noble, simple nothing,
|
|
That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
|
|
As fearful as a siege.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO If not at court,
|
|
Then not in Britain must you bide.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Where then
|
|
Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,
|
|
Are they not but in Britain? I' the world's volume
|
|
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in 't;
|
|
In a great pool a swan's nest: prithee, think
|
|
There's livers out of Britain.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO I am most glad
|
|
You think of other place. The ambassador,
|
|
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
|
|
To-morrow: now, if you could wear a mind
|
|
Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise
|
|
That which, to appear itself, must not yet be
|
|
But by self-danger, you should tread a course
|
|
Pretty and full of view; yea, haply, near
|
|
The residence of Posthumus; so nigh at least
|
|
That though his actions were not visible, yet
|
|
Report should render him hourly to your ear
|
|
As truly as he moves.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN O, for such means!
|
|
Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,
|
|
I would adventure.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Well, then, here's the point:
|
|
You must forget to be a woman; change
|
|
Command into obedience: fear and niceness--
|
|
The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
|
|
Woman its pretty self--into a waggish courage:
|
|
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy and
|
|
As quarrelous as the weasel; nay, you must
|
|
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
|
|
Exposing it--but, O, the harder heart!
|
|
Alack, no remedy!--to the greedy touch
|
|
Of common-kissing Titan, and forget
|
|
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
|
|
You made great Juno angry.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Nay, be brief
|
|
I see into thy end, and am almost
|
|
A man already.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO First, make yourself but like one.
|
|
Fore-thinking this, I have already fit--
|
|
'Tis in my cloak-bag--doublet, hat, hose, all
|
|
That answer to them: would you in their serving,
|
|
And with what imitation you can borrow
|
|
From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius
|
|
Present yourself, desire his service, tell him
|
|
wherein you're happy,--which you'll make him know,
|
|
If that his head have ear in music,--doubtless
|
|
With joy he will embrace you, for he's honourable
|
|
And doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad,
|
|
You have me, rich; and I will never fail
|
|
Beginning nor supplyment.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Thou art all the comfort
|
|
The gods will diet me with. Prithee, away:
|
|
There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even
|
|
All that good time will give us: this attempt
|
|
I am soldier to, and will abide it with
|
|
A prince's courage. Away, I prithee.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Well, madam, we must take a short farewell,
|
|
Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of
|
|
Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress,
|
|
Here is a box; I had it from the queen:
|
|
What's in't is precious; if you are sick at sea,
|
|
Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
|
|
Will drive away distemper. To some shade,
|
|
And fit you to your manhood. May the gods
|
|
Direct you to the best!
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Amen: I thank thee.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt, severally]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT III
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE V A room in Cymbeline's palace.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS,
|
|
Lords, and Attendants]
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Thus far; and so farewell.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS Thanks, royal sir.
|
|
My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence;
|
|
And am right sorry that I must report ye
|
|
My master's enemy.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Our subjects, sir,
|
|
Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
|
|
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
|
|
Appear unkinglike.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS So, sir: I desire of you
|
|
A conduct over-land to Milford-Haven.
|
|
Madam, all joy befal your grace!
|
|
|
|
QUEEN And you!
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE My lords, you are appointed for that office;
|
|
The due of honour in no point omit.
|
|
So farewell, noble Lucius.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS Your hand, my lord.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Receive it friendly; but from this time forth
|
|
I wear it as your enemy.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS Sir, the event
|
|
Is yet to name the winner: fare you well.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,
|
|
Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness!
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt LUCIUS and Lords]
|
|
|
|
QUEEN He goes hence frowning: but it honours us
|
|
That we have given him cause.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN 'Tis all the better;
|
|
Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
|
|
How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely
|
|
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness:
|
|
The powers that he already hath in Gallia
|
|
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
|
|
His war for Britain.
|
|
|
|
QUEEN 'Tis not sleepy business;
|
|
But must be look'd to speedily and strongly.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Our expectation that it would be thus
|
|
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,
|
|
Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd
|
|
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
|
|
The duty of the day: she looks us like
|
|
A thing more made of malice than of duty:
|
|
We have noted it. Call her before us; for
|
|
We have been too slight in sufferance.
|
|
|
|
[Exit an Attendant]
|
|
|
|
QUEEN Royal sir,
|
|
Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired
|
|
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
|
|
'Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty,
|
|
Forbear sharp speeches to her: she's a lady
|
|
So tender of rebukes that words are strokes
|
|
And strokes death to her.
|
|
|
|
[Re-enter Attendant]
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Where is she, sir? How
|
|
Can her contempt be answer'd?
|
|
|
|
Attendant Please you, sir,
|
|
Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer
|
|
That will be given to the loudest noise we make.
|
|
|
|
QUEEN My lord, when last I went to visit her,
|
|
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close,
|
|
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity,
|
|
She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
|
|
Which daily she was bound to proffer: this
|
|
She wish'd me to make known; but our great court
|
|
Made me to blame in memory.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Her doors lock'd?
|
|
Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear
|
|
Prove false!
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
QUEEN Son, I say, follow the king.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
|
|
have not seen these two days.
|
|
|
|
QUEEN Go, look after.
|
|
|
|
[Exit CLOTEN]
|
|
|
|
Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus!
|
|
He hath a drug of mine; I pray his absence
|
|
Proceed by swallowing that, for he believes
|
|
It is a thing most precious. But for her,
|
|
Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seized her,
|
|
Or, wing'd with fervor of her love, she's flown
|
|
To her desired Posthumus: gone she is
|
|
To death or to dishonour; and my end
|
|
Can make good use of either: she being down,
|
|
I have the placing of the British crown.
|
|
|
|
[Re-enter CLOTEN]
|
|
|
|
How now, my son!
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN 'Tis certain she is fled.
|
|
Go in and cheer the king: he rages; none
|
|
Dare come about him.
|
|
|
|
QUEEN [Aside] All the better: may
|
|
This night forestall him of the coming day!
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN I love and hate her: for she's fair and royal,
|
|
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
|
|
Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one
|
|
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
|
|
Outsells them all; I love her therefore: but
|
|
Disdaining me and throwing favours on
|
|
The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment
|
|
That what's else rare is choked; and in that point
|
|
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
|
|
To be revenged upon her. For when fools Shall--
|
|
|
|
[Enter PISANIO]
|
|
|
|
Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?
|
|
Come hither: ah, you precious pander! Villain,
|
|
Where is thy lady? In a word; or else
|
|
Thou art straightway with the fiends.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO O, good my lord!
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Where is thy lady? Or, by Jupiter,--
|
|
I will not ask again. Close villain,
|
|
I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
|
|
Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?
|
|
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
|
|
A dram of worth be drawn.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Alas, my lord,
|
|
How can she be with him? When was she missed?
|
|
He is in Rome.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Where is she, sir? Come nearer;
|
|
No further halting: satisfy me home
|
|
What is become of her.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO O, my all-worthy lord!
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN All-worthy villain!
|
|
Discover where thy mistress is at once,
|
|
At the next word: no more of 'worthy lord!'
|
|
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
|
|
Thy condemnation and thy death.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Then, sir,
|
|
This paper is the history of my knowledge
|
|
Touching her flight.
|
|
|
|
[Presenting a letter]
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Let's see't. I will pursue her
|
|
Even to Augustus' throne.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO [Aside] Or this, or perish.
|
|
She's far enough; and what he learns by this
|
|
May prove his travel, not her danger.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Hum!
|
|
|
|
PISANIO [Aside] I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen,
|
|
Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Sirrah, is this letter true?
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Sir, as I think.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. Sirrah, if thou
|
|
wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service,
|
|
undergo those employments wherein I should have
|
|
cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is,
|
|
what villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it
|
|
directly and truly, I would think thee an honest
|
|
man: thou shouldst neither want my means for thy
|
|
relief nor my voice for thy preferment.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Well, my good lord.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Wilt thou serve me? for since patiently and
|
|
constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of
|
|
that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the
|
|
course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of
|
|
mine: wilt thou serve me?
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Sir, I will.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Give me thy hand; here's my purse. Hast any of thy
|
|
late master's garments in thy possession?
|
|
|
|
PISANIO I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he
|
|
wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit
|
|
hither: let it be thy lint service; go.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO I shall, my lord.
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Meet thee at Milford-Haven!--I forgot to ask him one
|
|
thing; I'll remember't anon:--even there, thou
|
|
villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these
|
|
garments were come. She said upon a time--the
|
|
bitterness of it I now belch from my heart--that she
|
|
held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect
|
|
than my noble and natural person together with the
|
|
adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my
|
|
back, will I ravish her: first kill him, and in her
|
|
eyes; there shall she see my valour, which will then
|
|
be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my
|
|
speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and
|
|
when my lust hath dined,--which, as I say, to vex
|
|
her I will execute in the clothes that she so
|
|
praised,--to the court I'll knock her back, foot
|
|
her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly,
|
|
and I'll be merry in my revenge.
|
|
|
|
[Re-enter PISANIO, with the clothes]
|
|
|
|
Be those the garments?
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Ay, my noble lord.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven?
|
|
|
|
PISANIO She can scarce be there yet.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second
|
|
thing that I have commanded thee: the third is,
|
|
that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be
|
|
but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself
|
|
to thee. My revenge is now at Milford: would I had
|
|
wings to follow it! Come, and be true.
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Thou bid'st me to my loss: for true to thee
|
|
Were to prove false, which I will never be,
|
|
To him that is most true. To Milford go,
|
|
And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow,
|
|
You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed
|
|
Be cross'd with slowness; labour be his meed!
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT III
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE VI Wales. Before the cave of Belarius.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter IMOGEN, in boy's clothes]
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN I see a man's life is a tedious one:
|
|
I have tired myself, and for two nights together
|
|
Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick,
|
|
But that my resolution helps me. Milford,
|
|
When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,
|
|
Thou wast within a ken: O Jove! I think
|
|
Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean,
|
|
Where they should be relieved. Two beggars told me
|
|
I could not miss my way: will poor folks lie,
|
|
That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
|
|
A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder,
|
|
When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness
|
|
Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood
|
|
Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord!
|
|
Thou art one o' the false ones. Now I think on thee,
|
|
My hunger's gone; but even before, I was
|
|
At point to sink for food. But what is this?
|
|
Here is a path to't: 'tis some savage hold:
|
|
I were best not to call; I dare not call:
|
|
yet famine,
|
|
Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant,
|
|
Plenty and peace breeds cowards: hardness ever
|
|
Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who's here?
|
|
If any thing that's civil, speak; if savage,
|
|
Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I'll enter.
|
|
Best draw my sword: and if mine enemy
|
|
But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
|
|
Such a foe, good heavens!
|
|
|
|
[Exit, to the cave]
|
|
|
|
[Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS You, Polydote, have proved best woodman and
|
|
Are master of the feast: Cadwal and I
|
|
Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match:
|
|
The sweat of industry would dry and die,
|
|
But for the end it works to. Come; our stomachs
|
|
Will make what's homely savoury: weariness
|
|
Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth
|
|
Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be here,
|
|
Poor house, that keep'st thyself!
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS I am thoroughly weary.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS There is cold meat i' the cave; we'll browse on that,
|
|
Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS [Looking into the cave]
|
|
|
|
Stay; come not in.
|
|
But that it eats our victuals, I should think
|
|
Here were a fairy.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS What's the matter, sir?
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not,
|
|
An earthly paragon! Behold divineness
|
|
No elder than a boy!
|
|
|
|
[Re-enter IMOGEN]
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Good masters, harm me not:
|
|
Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought
|
|
To have begg'd or bought what I have took:
|
|
good troth,
|
|
I have stol'n nought, nor would not, though I had found
|
|
Gold strew'd i' the floor. Here's money for my meat:
|
|
I would have left it on the board so soon
|
|
As I had made my meal, and parted
|
|
With prayers for the provider.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Money, youth?
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS All gold and silver rather turn to dirt!
|
|
As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those
|
|
Who worship dirty gods.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN I see you're angry:
|
|
Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
|
|
Have died had I not made it.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Whither bound?
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN To Milford-Haven.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS What's your name?
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who
|
|
Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford;
|
|
To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
|
|
I am fall'n in this offence.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Prithee, fair youth,
|
|
Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds
|
|
By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd!
|
|
'Tis almost night: you shall have better cheer
|
|
Ere you depart: and thanks to stay and eat it.
|
|
Boys, bid him welcome.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Were you a woman, youth,
|
|
I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty,
|
|
I bid for you as I'd buy.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS I'll make't my comfort
|
|
He is a man; I'll love him as my brother:
|
|
And such a welcome as I'd give to him
|
|
After long absence, such is yours: most welcome!
|
|
Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN 'Mongst friends,
|
|
If brothers.
|
|
|
|
[Aside]
|
|
|
|
Would it had been so, that they
|
|
Had been my father's sons! then had my prize
|
|
Been less, and so more equal ballasting
|
|
To thee, Posthumus.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS He wrings at some distress.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Would I could free't!
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Or I, whate'er it be,
|
|
What pain it cost, what danger. God's!
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Hark, boys.
|
|
|
|
[Whispering]
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Great men,
|
|
That had a court no bigger than this cave,
|
|
That did attend themselves and had the virtue
|
|
Which their own conscience seal'd them--laying by
|
|
That nothing-gift of differing multitudes--
|
|
Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods!
|
|
I'd change my sex to be companion with them,
|
|
Since Leonatus's false.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS It shall be so.
|
|
Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in:
|
|
Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd,
|
|
We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story,
|
|
So far as thou wilt speak it.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Pray, draw near.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS The night to the owl and morn to the lark
|
|
less welcome.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Thanks, sir.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS I pray, draw near.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT III
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE VII Rome. A public place.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter two Senators and Tribunes]
|
|
|
|
First Senator This is the tenor of the emperor's writ:
|
|
That since the common men are now in action
|
|
'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians,
|
|
And that the legions now in Gallia are
|
|
Full weak to undertake our wars against
|
|
The fall'n-off Britons, that we do incite
|
|
The gentry to this business. He creates
|
|
Lucius preconsul: and to you the tribunes,
|
|
For this immediate levy, he commends
|
|
His absolute commission. Long live Caesar!
|
|
|
|
First Tribune Is Lucius general of the forces?
|
|
|
|
Second Senator Ay.
|
|
|
|
First Tribune Remaining now in Gallia?
|
|
|
|
First Senator With those legions
|
|
Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy
|
|
Must be supplyant: the words of your commission
|
|
Will tie you to the numbers and the time
|
|
Of their dispatch.
|
|
|
|
First Tribune We will discharge our duty.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT IV
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE I Wales: near the cave of Belarius.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter CLOTEN]
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN I am near to the place where they should meet, if
|
|
Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his garments
|
|
serve me! Why should his mistress, who was made by
|
|
him that made the tailor, not be fit too? the
|
|
rather--saving reverence of the word--for 'tis said
|
|
a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must
|
|
play the workman. I dare speak it to myself--for it
|
|
is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer
|
|
in his own chamber--I mean, the lines of my body are
|
|
as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong,
|
|
not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the
|
|
advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike
|
|
conversant in general services, and more remarkable
|
|
in single oppositions: yet this imperceiverant
|
|
thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is!
|
|
Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy
|
|
shoulders, shall within this hour be off; thy
|
|
mistress enforced; thy garments cut to pieces before
|
|
thy face: and all this done, spurn her home to her
|
|
father; who may haply be a little angry for my so
|
|
rough usage; but my mother, having power of his
|
|
testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. My
|
|
horse is tied up safe: out, sword, and to a sore
|
|
purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand! This is
|
|
the very description of their meeting-place; and
|
|
the fellow dares not deceive me.
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT IV
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE II Before the cave of Belarius.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS,
|
|
ARVIRAGUS, and IMOGEN]
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS [To IMOGEN] You are not well: remain here in the cave;
|
|
We'll come to you after hunting.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS [To IMOGEN] Brother, stay here
|
|
Are we not brothers?
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN So man and man should be;
|
|
But clay and clay differs in dignity,
|
|
Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN So sick I am not, yet I am not well;
|
|
But not so citizen a wanton as
|
|
To seem to die ere sick: so please you, leave me;
|
|
Stick to your journal course: the breach of custom
|
|
Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me
|
|
Cannot amend me; society is no comfort
|
|
To one not sociable: I am not very sick,
|
|
Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here:
|
|
I'll rob none but myself; and let me die,
|
|
Stealing so poorly.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS I love thee; I have spoke it
|
|
How much the quantity, the weight as much,
|
|
As I do love my father.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS What! how! how!
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS If it be sin to say so, I yoke me
|
|
In my good brother's fault: I know not why
|
|
I love this youth; and I have heard you say,
|
|
Love's reason's without reason: the bier at door,
|
|
And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say
|
|
'My father, not this youth.'
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS [Aside] O noble strain!
|
|
O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness!
|
|
Cowards father cowards and base things sire base:
|
|
Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace.
|
|
I'm not their father; yet who this should be,
|
|
Doth miracle itself, loved before me.
|
|
'Tis the ninth hour o' the morn.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Brother, farewell.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN I wish ye sport.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS You health. So please you, sir.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN [Aside] These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies
|
|
I have heard!
|
|
Our courtiers say all's savage but at court:
|
|
Experience, O, thou disprovest report!
|
|
The imperious seas breed monsters, for the dish
|
|
Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish.
|
|
I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio,
|
|
I'll now taste of thy drug.
|
|
|
|
[Swallows some]
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS I could not stir him:
|
|
He said he was gentle, but unfortunate;
|
|
Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Thus did he answer me: yet said, hereafter
|
|
I might know more.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS To the field, to the field!
|
|
We'll leave you for this time: go in and rest.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS We'll not be long away.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Pray, be not sick,
|
|
For you must be our housewife.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Well or ill,
|
|
I am bound to you.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS And shalt be ever.
|
|
|
|
[Exit IMOGEN, to the cave]
|
|
|
|
This youth, how'er distress'd, appears he hath had
|
|
Good ancestors.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS How angel-like he sings!
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS But his neat cookery! he cut our roots
|
|
In characters,
|
|
And sauced our broths, as Juno had been sick
|
|
And he her dieter.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Nobly he yokes
|
|
A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh
|
|
Was that it was, for not being such a smile;
|
|
The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly
|
|
From so divine a temple, to commix
|
|
With winds that sailors rail at.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS I do note
|
|
That grief and patience, rooted in him both,
|
|
Mingle their spurs together.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Grow, patience!
|
|
And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine
|
|
His perishing root with the increasing vine!
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS It is great morning. Come, away!--
|
|
Who's there?
|
|
|
|
[Enter CLOTEN]
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN I cannot find those runagates; that villain
|
|
Hath mock'd me. I am faint.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS 'Those runagates!'
|
|
Means he not us? I partly know him: 'tis
|
|
Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some ambush.
|
|
I saw him not these many years, and yet
|
|
I know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws: hence!
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS He is but one: you and my brother search
|
|
What companies are near: pray you, away;
|
|
Let me alone with him.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS]
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Soft! What are you
|
|
That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers?
|
|
I have heard of such. What slave art thou?
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS A thing
|
|
More slavish did I ne'er than answering
|
|
A slave without a knock.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Thou art a robber,
|
|
A law-breaker, a villain: yield thee, thief.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS To who? to thee? What art thou? Have not I
|
|
An arm as big as thine? a heart as big?
|
|
Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not
|
|
My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art,
|
|
Why I should yield to thee?
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Thou villain base,
|
|
Know'st me not by my clothes?
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS No, nor thy tailor, rascal,
|
|
Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes,
|
|
Which, as it seems, make thee.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Thou precious varlet,
|
|
My tailor made them not.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Hence, then, and thank
|
|
The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool;
|
|
I am loath to beat thee.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Thou injurious thief,
|
|
Hear but my name, and tremble.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS What's thy name?
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Cloten, thou villain.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name,
|
|
I cannot tremble at it: were it Toad, or
|
|
Adder, Spider,
|
|
'Twould move me sooner.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN To thy further fear,
|
|
Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
|
|
I am son to the queen.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS I am sorry for 't; not seeming
|
|
So worthy as thy birth.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Art not afeard?
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Those that I reverence those I fear, the wise:
|
|
At fools I laugh, not fear them.
|
|
|
|
CLOTEN Die the death:
|
|
When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
|
|
I'll follow those that even now fled hence,
|
|
And on the gates of Lud's-town set your heads:
|
|
Yield, rustic mountaineer.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt, fighting]
|
|
|
|
[Re-enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS]
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS No companies abroad?
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS None in the world: you did mistake him, sure.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS I cannot tell: long is it since I saw him,
|
|
But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour
|
|
Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice,
|
|
And burst of speaking, were as his: I am absolute
|
|
'Twas very Cloten.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS In this place we left them:
|
|
I wish my brother make good time with him,
|
|
You say he is so fell.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Being scarce made up,
|
|
I mean, to man, he had not apprehension
|
|
Of roaring terrors; for the effect of judgment
|
|
Is oft the cause of fear. But, see, thy brother.
|
|
|
|
[Re-enter GUIDERIUS, with CLOTEN'S head]
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse;
|
|
There was no money in't: not Hercules
|
|
Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none:
|
|
Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne
|
|
My head as I do his.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS What hast thou done?
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS I am perfect what: cut off one Cloten's head,
|
|
Son to the queen, after his own report;
|
|
Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore
|
|
With his own single hand he'ld take us in
|
|
Displace our heads where--thank the gods!--they grow,
|
|
And set them on Lud's-town.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS We are all undone.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Why, worthy father, what have we to lose,
|
|
But that he swore to take, our lives? The law
|
|
Protects not us: then why should we be tender
|
|
To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us,
|
|
Play judge and executioner all himself,
|
|
For we do fear the law? What company
|
|
Discover you abroad?
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS No single soul
|
|
Can we set eye on; but in all safe reason
|
|
He must have some attendants. Though his humour
|
|
Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that
|
|
From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not
|
|
Absolute madness could so far have raved
|
|
To bring him here alone; although perhaps
|
|
It may be heard at court that such as we
|
|
Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time
|
|
May make some stronger head; the which he hearing--
|
|
As it is like him--might break out, and swear
|
|
He'ld fetch us in; yet is't not probable
|
|
To come alone, either he so undertaking,
|
|
Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear,
|
|
If we do fear this body hath a tail
|
|
More perilous than the head.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Let ordinance
|
|
Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er,
|
|
My brother hath done well.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS I had no mind
|
|
To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness
|
|
Did make my way long forth.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS With his own sword,
|
|
Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en
|
|
His head from him: I'll throw't into the creek
|
|
Behind our rock; and let it to the sea,
|
|
And tell the fishes he's the queen's son, Cloten:
|
|
That's all I reck.
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS I fear 'twill be revenged:
|
|
Would, Polydote, thou hadst not done't! though valour
|
|
Becomes thee well enough.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Would I had done't
|
|
So the revenge alone pursued me! Polydore,
|
|
I love thee brotherly, but envy much
|
|
Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would revenges,
|
|
That possible strength might meet, would seek us through
|
|
And put us to our answer.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Well, 'tis done:
|
|
We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger
|
|
Where there's no profit. I prithee, to our rock;
|
|
You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay
|
|
Till hasty Polydote return, and bring him
|
|
To dinner presently.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Poor sick Fidele!
|
|
I'll weringly to him: to gain his colour
|
|
I'ld let a parish of such Clotens' blood,
|
|
And praise myself for charity.
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS O thou goddess,
|
|
Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
|
|
In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
|
|
As zephyrs blowing below the violet,
|
|
Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
|
|
Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind,
|
|
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
|
|
And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonder
|
|
That an invisible instinct should frame them
|
|
To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,
|
|
Civility not seen from other, valour
|
|
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
|
|
As if it had been sow'd. Yet still it's strange
|
|
What Cloten's being here to us portends,
|
|
Or what his death will bring us.
|
|
|
|
[Re-enter GUIDERIUS]
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Where's my brother?
|
|
I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,
|
|
In embassy to his mother: his body's hostage
|
|
For his return.
|
|
|
|
[Solemn music]
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS My ingenious instrument!
|
|
Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion
|
|
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Is he at home?
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS He went hence even now.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS What does he mean? since death of my dear'st mother
|
|
it did not speak before. All solemn things
|
|
Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?
|
|
Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys
|
|
Is jollity for apes and grief for boys.
|
|
Is Cadwal mad?
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Look, here he comes,
|
|
And brings the dire occasion in his arms
|
|
Of what we blame him for.
|
|
|
|
[Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, with IMOGEN, as dead,
|
|
bearing her in his arms]
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS The bird is dead
|
|
That we have made so much on. I had rather
|
|
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
|
|
To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch,
|
|
Than have seen this.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS O sweetest, fairest lily!
|
|
My brother wears thee not the one half so well
|
|
As when thou grew'st thyself.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS O melancholy!
|
|
Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
|
|
The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare
|
|
Might easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing!
|
|
Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,
|
|
Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy.
|
|
How found you him?
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Stark, as you see:
|
|
Thus smiling, as some fly hid tickled slumber,
|
|
Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at; his
|
|
right cheek
|
|
Reposing on a cushion.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Where?
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS O' the floor;
|
|
His arms thus leagued: I thought he slept, and put
|
|
My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
|
|
Answer'd my steps too loud.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Why, he but sleeps:
|
|
If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed;
|
|
With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
|
|
And worms will not come to thee.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS With fairest flowers
|
|
Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,
|
|
I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack
|
|
The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor
|
|
The azured harebell, like thy veins, no, nor
|
|
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
|
|
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would,
|
|
With charitable bill,--O bill, sore-shaming
|
|
Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie
|
|
Without a monument!--bring thee all this;
|
|
Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
|
|
To winter-ground thy corse.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Prithee, have done;
|
|
And do not play in wench-like words with that
|
|
Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
|
|
And not protract with admiration what
|
|
Is now due debt. To the grave!
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Say, where shall's lay him?
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS By good Euriphile, our mother.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Be't so:
|
|
And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
|
|
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground,
|
|
As once our mother; use like note and words,
|
|
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Cadwal,
|
|
I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee;
|
|
For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse
|
|
Than priests and fanes that lie.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS We'll speak it, then.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Great griefs, I see, medicine the less; for Cloten
|
|
Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys;
|
|
And though he came our enemy, remember
|
|
He was paid for that: though mean and
|
|
mighty, rotting
|
|
Together, have one dust, yet reverence,
|
|
That angel of the world, doth make distinction
|
|
Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely
|
|
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
|
|
Yet bury him as a prince.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Pray You, fetch him hither.
|
|
Thersites' body is as good as Ajax',
|
|
When neither are alive.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS If you'll go fetch him,
|
|
We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.
|
|
|
|
[Exit BELARIUS]
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east;
|
|
My father hath a reason for't.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS 'Tis true.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Come on then, and remove him.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS So. Begin.
|
|
[SONG]
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
|
|
Nor the furious winter's rages;
|
|
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
|
|
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
|
|
Golden lads and girls all must,
|
|
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Fear no more the frown o' the great;
|
|
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
|
|
Care no more to clothe and eat;
|
|
To thee the reed is as the oak:
|
|
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
|
|
All follow this, and come to dust.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Fear no more the lightning flash,
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Fear not slander, censure rash;
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:
|
|
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS |
|
|
| All lovers young, all lovers must
|
|
ARVIRAGUS | Consign to thee, and come to dust.
|
|
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS No exorciser harm thee!
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Nothing ill come near thee!
|
|
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS |
|
|
| Quiet consummation have;
|
|
ARVIRAGUS | And renowned be thy grave!
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Re-enter BELARIUS, with the body of CLOTEN]
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS We have done our obsequies: come, lay him down.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Here's a few flowers; but 'bout midnight, more:
|
|
The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night
|
|
Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their faces.
|
|
You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so
|
|
These herblets shall, which we upon you strew.
|
|
Come on, away: apart upon our knees.
|
|
The ground that gave them first has them again:
|
|
Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN [Awaking] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; which is
|
|
the way?--
|
|
I thank you.--By yond bush?--Pray, how far thither?
|
|
'Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet?--
|
|
I have gone all night. 'Faith, I'll lie down and sleep.
|
|
But, soft! no bedfellow!--O gods and goddesses!
|
|
|
|
[Seeing the body of CLOTEN]
|
|
|
|
These flowers are like the pleasures of the world;
|
|
This bloody man, the care on't. I hope I dream;
|
|
For so I thought I was a cave-keeper,
|
|
And cook to honest creatures: but 'tis not so;
|
|
'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
|
|
Which the brain makes of fumes: our very eyes
|
|
Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
|
|
I tremble stiff with fear: but if there be
|
|
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
|
|
As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!
|
|
The dream's here still: even when I wake, it is
|
|
Without me, as within me; not imagined, felt.
|
|
A headless man! The garments of Posthumus!
|
|
I know the shape of's leg: this is his hand;
|
|
His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh;
|
|
The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face
|
|
Murder in heaven?--How!--'Tis gone. Pisanio,
|
|
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
|
|
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
|
|
Conspired with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
|
|
Hast here cut off my lord. To write and read
|
|
Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio
|
|
Hath with his forged letters,--damn'd Pisanio--
|
|
From this most bravest vessel of the world
|
|
Struck the main-top! O Posthumus! alas,
|
|
Where is thy head? where's that? Ay me!
|
|
where's that?
|
|
Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
|
|
And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio?
|
|
'Tis he and Cloten: malice and lucre in them
|
|
Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
|
|
The drug he gave me, which he said was precious
|
|
And cordial to me, have I not found it
|
|
Murderous to the senses? That confirms it home:
|
|
This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O!
|
|
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
|
|
That we the horrider may seem to those
|
|
Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord!
|
|
|
|
[Falls on the body]
|
|
|
|
[Enter LUCIUS, a Captain and other Officers,
|
|
and a Soothsayer]
|
|
|
|
Captain To them the legions garrison'd in Gailia,
|
|
After your will, have cross'd the sea, attending
|
|
You here at Milford-Haven with your ships:
|
|
They are in readiness.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS But what from Rome?
|
|
|
|
Captain The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners
|
|
And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits,
|
|
That promise noble service: and they come
|
|
Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
|
|
Syenna's brother.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS When expect you them?
|
|
|
|
Captain With the next benefit o' the wind.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS This forwardness
|
|
Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers
|
|
Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't. Now, sir,
|
|
What have you dream'd of late of this war's purpose?
|
|
|
|
Soothsayer Last night the very gods show'd me a vision--
|
|
I fast and pray'd for their intelligence--thus:
|
|
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
|
|
From the spongy south to this part of the west,
|
|
There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends--
|
|
Unless my sins abuse my divination--
|
|
Success to the Roman host.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS Dream often so,
|
|
And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here
|
|
Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime
|
|
It was a worthy building. How! a page!
|
|
Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather;
|
|
For nature doth abhor to make his bed
|
|
With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.
|
|
Let's see the boy's face.
|
|
|
|
Captain He's alive, my lord.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS He'll then instruct us of this body. Young one,
|
|
Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems
|
|
They crave to be demanded. Who is this
|
|
Thou makest thy bloody pillow? Or who was he
|
|
That, otherwise than noble nature did,
|
|
Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest
|
|
In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it?
|
|
What art thou?
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN I am nothing: or if not,
|
|
Nothing to be were better. This was my master,
|
|
A very valiant Briton and a good,
|
|
That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas!
|
|
There is no more such masters: I may wander
|
|
From east to occident, cry out for service,
|
|
Try many, all good, serve truly, never
|
|
Find such another master.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS 'Lack, good youth!
|
|
Thou movest no less with thy complaining than
|
|
Thy master in bleeding: say his name, good friend.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Richard du Champ.
|
|
|
|
[Aside]
|
|
|
|
If I do lie and do
|
|
No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope
|
|
They'll pardon it.--Say you, sir?
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS Thy name?
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Fidele, sir.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS Thou dost approve thyself the very same:
|
|
Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name.
|
|
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say
|
|
Thou shalt be so well master'd, but, be sure,
|
|
No less beloved. The Roman emperor's letters,
|
|
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
|
|
Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with me.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods,
|
|
I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep
|
|
As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when
|
|
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd his grave,
|
|
And on it said a century of prayers,
|
|
Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh;
|
|
And leaving so his service, follow you,
|
|
So please you entertain me.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS Ay, good youth!
|
|
And rather father thee than master thee.
|
|
My friends,
|
|
The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us
|
|
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,
|
|
And make him with our pikes and partisans
|
|
A grave: come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr'd
|
|
By thee to us, and he shall be interr'd
|
|
As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes
|
|
Some falls are means the happier to arise.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT IV
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE III A room in Cymbeline's palace.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, PISANIO, and Attendants]
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Again; and bring me word how 'tis with her.
|
|
|
|
[Exit an Attendant]
|
|
|
|
A fever with the absence of her son,
|
|
A madness, of which her life's in danger. Heavens,
|
|
How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,
|
|
The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen
|
|
Upon a desperate bed, and in a time
|
|
When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,
|
|
So needful for this present: it strikes me, past
|
|
The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,
|
|
Who needs must know of her departure and
|
|
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
|
|
By a sharp torture.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Sir, my life is yours;
|
|
I humbly set it at your will; but, for my mistress,
|
|
I nothing know where she remains, why gone,
|
|
Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your highness,
|
|
Hold me your loyal servant.
|
|
|
|
First Lord Good my liege,
|
|
The day that she was missing he was here:
|
|
I dare be bound he's true and shall perform
|
|
All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,
|
|
There wants no diligence in seeking him,
|
|
And will, no doubt, be found.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE The time is troublesome.
|
|
|
|
[To PISANIO]
|
|
|
|
We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy
|
|
Does yet depend.
|
|
|
|
First Lord So please your majesty,
|
|
The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
|
|
Are landed on your coast, with a supply
|
|
Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Now for the counsel of my son and queen!
|
|
I am amazed with matter.
|
|
|
|
First Lord Good my liege,
|
|
Your preparation can affront no less
|
|
Than what you hear of: come more, for more
|
|
you're ready:
|
|
The want is but to put those powers in motion
|
|
That long to move.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE I thank you. Let's withdraw;
|
|
And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not
|
|
What can from Italy annoy us; but
|
|
We grieve at chances here. Away!
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt all but PISANIO]
|
|
|
|
PISANIO I heard no letter from my master since
|
|
I wrote him Imogen was slain: 'tis strange:
|
|
Nor hear I from my mistress who did promise
|
|
To yield me often tidings: neither know I
|
|
What is betid to Cloten; but remain
|
|
Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work.
|
|
Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true.
|
|
These present wars shall find I love my country,
|
|
Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in them.
|
|
All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd:
|
|
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd.
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT IV
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE IV Wales: before the cave of Belarius.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS The noise is round about us.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Let us from it.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it
|
|
From action and adventure?
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Nay, what hope
|
|
Have we in hiding us? This way, the Romans
|
|
Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us
|
|
For barbarous and unnatural revolts
|
|
During their use, and slay us after.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Sons,
|
|
We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us.
|
|
To the king's party there's no going: newness
|
|
Of Cloten's death--we being not known, not muster'd
|
|
Among the bands--may drive us to a render
|
|
Where we have lived, and so extort from's that
|
|
Which we have done, whose answer would be death
|
|
Drawn on with torture.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS This is, sir, a doubt
|
|
In such a time nothing becoming you,
|
|
Nor satisfying us.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS It is not likely
|
|
That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,
|
|
Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes
|
|
And ears so cloy'd importantly as now,
|
|
That they will waste their time upon our note,
|
|
To know from whence we are.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS O, I am known
|
|
Of many in the army: many years,
|
|
Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him
|
|
From my remembrance. And, besides, the king
|
|
Hath not deserved my service nor your loves;
|
|
Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
|
|
The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless
|
|
To have the courtesy your cradle promised,
|
|
But to be still hot summer's tamings and
|
|
The shrinking slaves of winter.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Than be so
|
|
Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army:
|
|
I and my brother are not known; yourself
|
|
So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown,
|
|
Cannot be question'd.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS By this sun that shines,
|
|
I'll thither: what thing is it that I never
|
|
Did see man die! scarce ever look'd on blood,
|
|
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison!
|
|
Never bestrid a horse, save one that had
|
|
A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel
|
|
Nor iron on his heel! I am ashamed
|
|
To look upon the holy sun, to have
|
|
The benefit of his blest beams, remaining
|
|
So long a poor unknown.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS By heavens, I'll go:
|
|
If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,
|
|
I'll take the better care, but if you will not,
|
|
The hazard therefore due fall on me by
|
|
The hands of Romans!
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS So say I amen.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS No reason I, since of your lives you set
|
|
So slight a valuation, should reserve
|
|
My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys!
|
|
If in your country wars you chance to die,
|
|
That is my bed too, lads, an there I'll lie:
|
|
Lead, lead.
|
|
|
|
[Aside]
|
|
|
|
The time seems long; their blood
|
|
thinks scorn,
|
|
Till it fly out and show them princes born.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT V
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE I Britain. The Roman camp.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody handkerchief]
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee, for I wish'd
|
|
Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones,
|
|
If each of you should take this course, how many
|
|
Must murder wives much better than themselves
|
|
For wrying but a little! O Pisanio!
|
|
Every good servant does not all commands:
|
|
No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you
|
|
Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never
|
|
Had lived to put on this: so had you saved
|
|
The noble Imogen to repent, and struck
|
|
Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But, alack,
|
|
You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love,
|
|
To have them fall no more: you some permit
|
|
To second ills with ills, each elder worse,
|
|
And make them dread it, to the doers' thrift.
|
|
But Imogen is your own: do your best wills,
|
|
And make me blest to obey! I am brought hither
|
|
Among the Italian gentry, and to fight
|
|
Against my lady's kingdom: 'tis enough
|
|
That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace!
|
|
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,
|
|
Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me
|
|
Of these Italian weeds and suit myself
|
|
As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight
|
|
Against the part I come with; so I'll die
|
|
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
|
|
Is every breath a death; and thus, unknown,
|
|
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril
|
|
Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
|
|
More valour in me than my habits show.
|
|
Gods, put the strength o' the Leonati in me!
|
|
To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin
|
|
The fashion, less without and more within.
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT V
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE II Field of battle between the British and Roman camps.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[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]
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO 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.
|
|
|
|
[Exit]
|
|
|
|
[The battle continues; the Britons fly; CYMBELINE is
|
|
taken: then enter, to his rescue, BELARIUS,
|
|
GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground;
|
|
The lane is guarded: nothing routs us but
|
|
The villany of our fears.
|
|
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS |
|
|
| Stand, stand, and fight!
|
|
ARVIRAGUS |
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Re-enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and seconds the
|
|
Britons: they rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then
|
|
re-enter LUCIUS, and IACHIMO, with IMOGEN]
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;
|
|
For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such
|
|
As war were hoodwink'd.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO 'Tis their fresh supplies.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS It is a day turn'd strangely: or betimes
|
|
Let's reinforce, or fly.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT V
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE III Another part of the field.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and a British Lord]
|
|
|
|
Lord Camest thou from where they made the stand?
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I did.
|
|
Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.
|
|
|
|
Lord I did.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS 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 straight lane; the enemy full-hearted,
|
|
Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work
|
|
More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down
|
|
Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
|
|
Merely through fear; that the straight pass was damm'd
|
|
With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living
|
|
To die with lengthen'd shame.
|
|
|
|
Lord Where was this lane?
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd 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 turn'd
|
|
A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks,
|
|
Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some,
|
|
turn'd coward
|
|
But by example--O, a sin in war,
|
|
Damn'd in the first beginners!--gan to look
|
|
The way that they did, and to grin like lions
|
|
Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began
|
|
A stop i' the chaser, a retire, anon
|
|
A rout, confusion thick; forthwith they fly
|
|
Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves,
|
|
The strides they victors made: and now our cowards,
|
|
Like fragments in hard voyages, became
|
|
The life o' the need: having found the backdoor open
|
|
Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!
|
|
Some slain before; some dying; some their friends
|
|
O'er borne i' the former wave: ten, chased by one,
|
|
Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty:
|
|
Those that would die or ere resist are grown
|
|
The mortal bugs o' the field.
|
|
|
|
Lord This was strange chance
|
|
A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS 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 mockery? 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 LEONATUS '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.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Still going?
|
|
|
|
[Exit Lord]
|
|
|
|
This is a lord! O noble misery,
|
|
To be i' the field, and ask 'what news?' of me!
|
|
To-day 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 charm'd,
|
|
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' the 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 the 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 Imogen.
|
|
|
|
[Enter two British Captains and Soldiers]
|
|
|
|
First Captain Great Jupiter be praised! Lucius is taken.
|
|
'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.
|
|
|
|
Second Captain There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,
|
|
That gave the affront with them.
|
|
|
|
First Captain So 'tis reported:
|
|
But none of 'em can be found. Stand! who's there?
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS A Roman,
|
|
Who had not now been drooping here, if seconds
|
|
Had answer'd him.
|
|
|
|
Second Captain Lay hands on him; a dog!
|
|
A leg of Rome shall not return to tell
|
|
What crows have peck'd them here. He brags
|
|
his service
|
|
As if he were of note: bring him to the king.
|
|
|
|
[Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS,
|
|
PISANIO, Soldiers, Attendants, and Roman Captives.
|
|
The Captains present POSTHUMUS LEONATUS to
|
|
CYMBELINE, who delivers him over to a Gaoler:
|
|
then exeunt omnes]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT V
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE IV A British prison.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and two Gaolers]
|
|
|
|
First Gaoler You shall not now be stol'n, you have locks upon you;
|
|
So graze as you find pasture.
|
|
|
|
Second Gaoler Ay, or a stomach.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt Gaolers]
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Most welcome, bondage! for thou art away,
|
|
think, to liberty: yet am I better
|
|
Than one that's sick o' the gout; since he had rather
|
|
Groan so in perpetuity than be cured
|
|
By the sure physician, death, who is the key
|
|
To unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter'd
|
|
More than my shanks and wrists: you good gods, give me
|
|
The penitent instrument to pick that bolt,
|
|
Then, free for ever! Is't enough I am sorry?
|
|
So children temporal fathers do appease;
|
|
Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent?
|
|
I cannot do it better than in gyves,
|
|
Desired more than constrain'd: to satisfy,
|
|
If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take
|
|
No stricter render of me than my all.
|
|
I know you are more clement than vile men,
|
|
Who of their broken debtors take a third,
|
|
A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again
|
|
On their abatement: that's not my desire:
|
|
For Imogen's dear life take mine; and though
|
|
'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd it:
|
|
'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp;
|
|
Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake:
|
|
You rather mine, being yours: and so, great powers,
|
|
If you will take this audit, take this life,
|
|
And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!
|
|
I'll speak to thee in silence.
|
|
|
|
[Sleeps]
|
|
|
|
[Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition,
|
|
SICILIUS LEONATUS, father to Posthumus Leonatus,
|
|
an old man, attired like a warrior; leading in
|
|
his hand an ancient matron, his wife, and mother
|
|
to Posthumus Leonatus, with music before them:
|
|
then, after other music, follow the two young
|
|
Leonati, brothers to Posthumus Leonatus, with
|
|
wounds as they died in the wars. They circle
|
|
Posthumus Leonatus round, as he lies sleeping]
|
|
|
|
Sicilius Leonatus No more, thou thunder-master, show
|
|
Thy spite on mortal flies:
|
|
With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,
|
|
That thy adulteries
|
|
Rates and revenges.
|
|
Hath my poor boy done aught but well,
|
|
Whose face I never saw?
|
|
I died whilst in the womb he stay'd
|
|
Attending nature's law:
|
|
Whose father then, as men report
|
|
Thou orphans' father art,
|
|
Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him
|
|
From this earth-vexing smart.
|
|
|
|
Mother Lucina lent not me her aid,
|
|
But took me in my throes;
|
|
That from me was Posthumus ript,
|
|
Came crying 'mongst his foes,
|
|
A thing of pity!
|
|
|
|
Sicilius Leonatus Great nature, like his ancestry,
|
|
Moulded the stuff so fair,
|
|
That he deserved the praise o' the world,
|
|
As great Sicilius' heir.
|
|
|
|
First Brother When once he was mature for man,
|
|
In Britain where was he
|
|
That could stand up his parallel;
|
|
Or fruitful object be
|
|
In eye of Imogen, that best
|
|
Could deem his dignity?
|
|
|
|
Mother With marriage wherefore was he mock'd,
|
|
To be exiled, and thrown
|
|
From Leonati seat, and cast
|
|
From her his dearest one,
|
|
Sweet Imogen?
|
|
|
|
Sicilius Leonatus Why did you suffer Iachimo,
|
|
Slight thing of Italy,
|
|
To taint his nobler heart and brain
|
|
With needless jealosy;
|
|
And to become the geck and scorn
|
|
O' th' other's villany?
|
|
|
|
Second Brother For this from stiller seats we came,
|
|
Our parents and us twain,
|
|
That striking in our country's cause
|
|
Fell bravely and were slain,
|
|
Our fealty and Tenantius' right
|
|
With honour to maintain.
|
|
|
|
First Brother Like hardiment Posthumus hath
|
|
To Cymbeline perform'd:
|
|
Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,
|
|
Why hast thou thus adjourn'd
|
|
The graces for his merits due,
|
|
Being all to dolours turn'd?
|
|
|
|
Sicilius Leonatus Thy crystal window ope; look out;
|
|
No longer exercise
|
|
Upon a valiant race thy harsh
|
|
And potent injuries.
|
|
|
|
Mother Since, Jupiter, our son is good,
|
|
Take off his miseries.
|
|
|
|
Sicilius Leonatus Peep through thy marble mansion; help;
|
|
Or we poor ghosts will cry
|
|
To the shining synod of the rest
|
|
Against thy deity.
|
|
|
|
|
|
First Brother | Help, Jupiter; or we appeal,
|
|
| And from thy justice fly.
|
|
Second Brother |
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting
|
|
upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. The
|
|
Apparitions fall on their knees]
|
|
|
|
Jupiter No more, you petty spirits of region low,
|
|
Offend our hearing; hush! How dare you ghosts
|
|
Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know,
|
|
Sky-planted batters all rebelling coasts?
|
|
Poor shadows of Elysium, hence, and rest
|
|
Upon your never-withering banks of flowers:
|
|
Be not with mortal accidents opprest;
|
|
No care of yours it is; you know 'tis ours.
|
|
Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift,
|
|
The more delay'd, delighted. Be content;
|
|
Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:
|
|
His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.
|
|
Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in
|
|
Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade.
|
|
He shall be lord of lady Imogen,
|
|
And happier much by his affliction made.
|
|
This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein
|
|
Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine:
|
|
and so, away: no further with your din
|
|
Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.
|
|
Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.
|
|
|
|
[Ascends]
|
|
|
|
Sicilius Leonatus He came in thunder; his celestial breath
|
|
Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle
|
|
Stoop'd as to foot us: his ascension is
|
|
More sweet than our blest fields: his royal bird
|
|
Prunes the immortal wing and cloys his beak,
|
|
As when his god is pleased.
|
|
|
|
All Thanks, Jupiter!
|
|
|
|
Sicilius Leonatus The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd
|
|
His radiant root. Away! and, to be blest,
|
|
Let us with care perform his great behest.
|
|
|
|
[The Apparitions vanish]
|
|
|
|
Posthumus Leonatus [Waking] Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot
|
|
A father to me; and thou hast created
|
|
A mother and two brothers: but, O scorn!
|
|
Gone! they went hence so soon as they were born:
|
|
And so I am awake. Poor wretches that depend
|
|
On greatness' favour dream as I have done,
|
|
Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve:
|
|
Many dream not to find, neither deserve,
|
|
And yet are steep'd in favours: so am I,
|
|
That have this golden chance and know not why.
|
|
What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one!
|
|
Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
|
|
Nobler than that it covers: let thy effects
|
|
So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers,
|
|
As good as promise.
|
|
|
|
[Reads]
|
|
|
|
'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown,
|
|
without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of
|
|
tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be
|
|
lopped branches, which, being dead many years,
|
|
shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock and
|
|
freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries,
|
|
Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.'
|
|
'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen
|
|
Tongue and brain not; either both or nothing;
|
|
Or senseless speaking or a speaking such
|
|
As sense cannot untie. Be what it is,
|
|
The action of my life is like it, which
|
|
I'll keep, if but for sympathy.
|
|
|
|
[Re-enter First Gaoler]
|
|
|
|
First Gaoler Come, sir, are you ready for death?
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.
|
|
|
|
First Gaoler Hanging is the word, sir: if
|
|
you be ready for that, you are well cooked.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS So, if I prove a good repast to the
|
|
spectators, the dish pays the shot.
|
|
|
|
First Gaoler A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is,
|
|
you shall be called to no more payments, fear no
|
|
more tavern-bills; which are often the sadness of
|
|
parting, as the procuring of mirth: you come in
|
|
flint for want of meat, depart reeling with too
|
|
much drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and
|
|
sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain
|
|
both empty; the brain the heavier for being too
|
|
light, the purse too light, being drawn of
|
|
heaviness: of this contradiction you shall now be
|
|
quit. O, the charity of a penny cord! It sums up
|
|
thousands in a trice: you have no true debitor and
|
|
creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come,
|
|
the discharge: your neck, sir, is pen, book and
|
|
counters; so the acquittance follows.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I am merrier to die than thou art to live.
|
|
|
|
First Gaoler Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the
|
|
tooth-ache: but a man that were to sleep your
|
|
sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he
|
|
would change places with his officer; for, look you,
|
|
sir, you know not which way you shall go.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Yes, indeed do I, fellow.
|
|
|
|
First Gaoler Your death has eyes in 's head then; I have not seen
|
|
him so pictured: you must either be directed by
|
|
some that take upon them to know, or do take upon
|
|
yourself that which I am sure you do not know, or
|
|
jump the after inquiry on your own peril: and how
|
|
you shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll
|
|
never return to tell one.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to
|
|
direct them the way I am going, but such as wink and
|
|
will not use them.
|
|
|
|
First Gaoler What an infinite mock is this, that a man should
|
|
have the best use of eyes to see the way of
|
|
blindness! I am sure hanging's the way of winking.
|
|
|
|
[Enter a Messenger]
|
|
|
|
Messenger Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the king.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Thou bring'st good news; I am called to be made free.
|
|
|
|
First Gaoler I'll be hang'd then.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and Messenger]
|
|
|
|
First Gaoler Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget young
|
|
gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, on my
|
|
conscience, there are verier knaves desire to live,
|
|
for all he be a Roman: and there be some of them
|
|
too that die against their wills; so should I, if I
|
|
were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one
|
|
mind good; O, there were desolation of gaolers and
|
|
gallowses! I speak against my present profit, but
|
|
my wish hath a preferment in 't.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE
|
|
|
|
|
|
ACT V
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCENE V Cymbeline's tent.
|
|
|
|
|
|
[Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS,
|
|
PISANIO, Lords, Officers, and Attendants]
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made
|
|
Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart
|
|
That the poor soldier that so richly fought,
|
|
Whose rags shamed gilded arms, whose naked breast
|
|
Stepp'd before larges of proof, cannot be found:
|
|
He shall be happy that can find him, if
|
|
Our grace can make him so.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS I never saw
|
|
Such noble fury in so poor a thing;
|
|
Such precious deeds in one that promises nought
|
|
But beggary and poor looks.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE No tidings of him?
|
|
|
|
PISANIO He hath been search'd among the dead and living,
|
|
But no trace of him.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE To my grief, I am
|
|
The heir of his reward;
|
|
|
|
[To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]
|
|
|
|
which I will add
|
|
To you, the liver, heart and brain of Britain,
|
|
By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the time
|
|
To ask of whence you are. Report it.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Sir,
|
|
In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen:
|
|
Further to boast were neither true nor modest,
|
|
Unless I add, we are honest.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Bow your knees.
|
|
Arise my knights o' the battle: I create you
|
|
Companions to our person and will fit you
|
|
With dignities becoming your estates.
|
|
|
|
[Enter CORNELIUS and Ladies]
|
|
|
|
There's business in these faces. Why so sadly
|
|
Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,
|
|
And not o' the court of Britain.
|
|
|
|
CORNELIUS Hail, great king!
|
|
To sour your happiness, I must report
|
|
The queen is dead.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Who worse than a physician
|
|
Would this report become? But I consider,
|
|
By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death
|
|
Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?
|
|
|
|
CORNELIUS With horror, madly dying, like her life,
|
|
Which, being cruel to the world, concluded
|
|
Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd
|
|
I will report, so please you: these her women
|
|
Can trip me, if I err; who with wet cheeks
|
|
Were present when she finish'd.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Prithee, say.
|
|
|
|
CORNELIUS First, she confess'd she never loved you, only
|
|
Affected greatness got by you, not you:
|
|
Married your royalty, was wife to your place;
|
|
Abhorr'd your person.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE She alone knew this;
|
|
And, but she spoke it dying, I would not
|
|
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.
|
|
|
|
CORNELIUS Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love
|
|
With such integrity, she did confess
|
|
Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life,
|
|
But that her flight prevented it, she had
|
|
Ta'en off by poison.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE O most delicate fiend!
|
|
Who is 't can read a woman? Is there more?
|
|
|
|
CORNELIUS More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had
|
|
For you a mortal mineral; which, being took,
|
|
Should by the minute feed on life and lingering
|
|
By inches waste you: in which time she purposed,
|
|
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
|
|
O'ercome you with her show, and in time,
|
|
When she had fitted you with her craft, to work
|
|
Her son into the adoption of the crown:
|
|
But, failing of her end by his strange absence,
|
|
Grew shameless-desperate; open'd, in despite
|
|
Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented
|
|
The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so
|
|
Despairing died.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Heard you all this, her women?
|
|
|
|
First Lady We did, so please your highness.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Mine eyes
|
|
Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;
|
|
Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart,
|
|
That thought her like her seeming; it had
|
|
been vicious
|
|
To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter!
|
|
That it was folly in me, thou mayst say,
|
|
And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!
|
|
|
|
[Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the Soothsayer, and other
|
|
Roman Prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS LEONATUS
|
|
behind, and IMOGEN]
|
|
|
|
Thou comest not, Caius, now for tribute that
|
|
The Britons have razed out, though with the loss
|
|
Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit
|
|
That their good souls may be appeased with slaughter
|
|
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted:
|
|
So think of your estate.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day
|
|
Was yours by accident; had it gone with us,
|
|
We should not, when the blood was cool,
|
|
have threaten'd
|
|
Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods
|
|
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
|
|
May be call'd ransom, let it come: sufficeth
|
|
A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer:
|
|
Augustus lives to think on't: and so much
|
|
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
|
|
I will entreat; my boy, a Briton born,
|
|
Let him be ransom'd: never master had
|
|
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
|
|
So tender over his occasions, true,
|
|
So feat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join
|
|
With my request, which I make bold your highness
|
|
Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm,
|
|
Though he have served a Roman: save him, sir,
|
|
And spare no blood beside.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE I have surely seen him:
|
|
His favour is familiar to me. Boy,
|
|
Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace,
|
|
And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore,
|
|
To say 'live, boy:' ne'er thank thy master; live:
|
|
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
|
|
Fitting my bounty and thy state, I'll give it;
|
|
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
|
|
The noblest ta'en.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN I humbly thank your highness.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad;
|
|
And yet I know thou wilt.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN No, no: alack,
|
|
There's other work in hand: I see a thing
|
|
Bitter to me as death: your life, good master,
|
|
Must shuffle for itself.
|
|
|
|
CAIUS LUCIUS The boy disdains me,
|
|
He leaves me, scorns me: briefly die their joys
|
|
That place them on the truth of girls and boys.
|
|
Why stands he so perplex'd?
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE What wouldst thou, boy?
|
|
I love thee more and more: think more and more
|
|
What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? speak,
|
|
Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN He is a Roman; no more kin to me
|
|
Than I to your highness; who, being born your vassal,
|
|
Am something nearer.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Wherefore eyest him so?
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please
|
|
To give me hearing.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Ay, with all my heart,
|
|
And lend my best attention. What's thy name?
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Fidele, sir.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Thou'rt my good youth, my page;
|
|
I'll be thy master: walk with me; speak freely.
|
|
|
|
[CYMBELINE and IMOGEN converse apart]
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Is not this boy revived from death?
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS One sand another
|
|
Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad
|
|
Who died, and was Fidele. What think you?
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS The same dead thing alive.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; forbear;
|
|
Creatures may be alike: were 't he, I am sure
|
|
He would have spoke to us.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS But we saw him dead.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Be silent; let's see further.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO [Aside] It is my mistress:
|
|
Since she is living, let the time run on
|
|
To good or bad.
|
|
|
|
[CYMBELINE and IMOGEN come forward]
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Come, stand thou by our side;
|
|
Make thy demand aloud.
|
|
|
|
[To IACHIMO]
|
|
Sir, step you forth;
|
|
Give answer to this boy, and do it freely;
|
|
Or, by our greatness and the grace of it,
|
|
Which is our honour, bitter torture shall
|
|
Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN My boon is, that this gentleman may render
|
|
Of whom he had this ring.
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS [Aside] What's that to him?
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE That diamond upon your finger, say
|
|
How came it yours?
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that
|
|
Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE How! me?
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that
|
|
Which torments me to conceal. By villany
|
|
I got this ring: 'twas Leonatus' jewel;
|
|
Whom thou didst banish; and--which more may
|
|
grieve thee,
|
|
As it doth me--a nobler sir ne'er lived
|
|
'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord?
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE All that belongs to this.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO That paragon, thy daughter,--
|
|
For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
|
|
Quail to remember--Give me leave; I faint.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE My daughter! what of her? Renew thy strength:
|
|
I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will
|
|
Than die ere I hear more: strive, man, and speak.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Upon a time,--unhappy was the clock
|
|
That struck the hour!--it was in Rome,--accursed
|
|
The mansion where!--'twas at a feast,--O, would
|
|
Our viands had been poison'd, or at least
|
|
Those which I heaved to head!--the good Posthumus--
|
|
What should I say? he was too good to be
|
|
Where ill men were; and was the best of all
|
|
Amongst the rarest of good ones,--sitting sadly,
|
|
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
|
|
For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast
|
|
Of him that best could speak, for feature, laming
|
|
The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva.
|
|
Postures beyond brief nature, for condition,
|
|
A shop of all the qualities that man
|
|
Loves woman for, besides that hook of wiving,
|
|
Fairness which strikes the eye--
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE I stand on fire:
|
|
Come to the matter.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO All too soon I shall,
|
|
Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus,
|
|
Most like a noble lord in love and one
|
|
That had a royal lover, took his hint;
|
|
And, not dispraising whom we praised,--therein
|
|
He was as calm as virtue--he began
|
|
His mistress' picture; which by his tongue
|
|
being made,
|
|
And then a mind put in't, either our brags
|
|
Were crack'd of kitchen-trolls, or his description
|
|
Proved us unspeaking sots.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Nay, nay, to the purpose.
|
|
|
|
IACHIMO Your daughter's chastity--there it begins.
|
|
He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams,
|
|
And she alone were cold: whereat I, wretch,
|
|
Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him
|
|
Pieces of gold 'gainst this which then he wore
|
|
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
|
|
In suit the place of's bed and win this ring
|
|
By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight,
|
|
No lesser of her honour confident
|
|
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;
|
|
And would so, had it been a carbuncle
|
|
Of Phoebus' wheel, and might so safely, had it
|
|
Been all the worth of's car. Away to Britain
|
|
Post I in this design: well may you, sir,
|
|
Remember me at court; where I was taught
|
|
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference
|
|
'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'd
|
|
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
|
|
'Gan in your duller Britain operate
|
|
Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent:
|
|
And, to be brief, my practise so prevail'd,
|
|
That I return'd with simular proof enough
|
|
To make the noble Leonatus mad,
|
|
By wounding his belief in her renown
|
|
With tokens thus, and thus; averting notes
|
|
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet,--
|
|
O cunning, how I got it!--nay, some marks
|
|
Of secret on her person, that he could not
|
|
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
|
|
I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon--
|
|
Methinks, I see him now--
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS [Advancing] Ay, so thou dost,
|
|
Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool,
|
|
Egregious murderer, thief, any thing
|
|
That's due to all the villains past, in being,
|
|
To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
|
|
Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out
|
|
For torturers ingenious: it is I
|
|
That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend
|
|
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
|
|
That kill'd thy daughter:--villain-like, I lie--
|
|
That caused a lesser villain than myself,
|
|
A sacrilegious thief, to do't: the temple
|
|
Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
|
|
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
|
|
The dogs o' the street to bay me: every villain
|
|
Be call'd Posthumus Leonitus; and
|
|
Be villany less than 'twas! O Imogen!
|
|
My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
|
|
Imogen, Imogen!
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Peace, my lord; hear, hear--
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page,
|
|
There lie thy part.
|
|
|
|
[Striking her: she falls]
|
|
|
|
PISANIO O, gentlemen, help!
|
|
Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus!
|
|
You ne'er kill'd Imogen til now. Help, help!
|
|
Mine honour'd lady!
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Does the world go round?
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS How come these staggers on me?
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Wake, my mistress!
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
|
|
To death with mortal joy.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO How fares thy mistress?
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN O, get thee from my sight;
|
|
Thou gavest me poison: dangerous fellow, hence!
|
|
Breathe not where princes are.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE The tune of Imogen!
|
|
|
|
PISANIO Lady,
|
|
The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if
|
|
That box I gave you was not thought by me
|
|
A precious thing: I had it from the queen.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE New matter still?
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN It poison'd me.
|
|
|
|
CORNELIUS O gods!
|
|
I left out one thing which the queen confess'd.
|
|
Which must approve thee honest: 'If Pisanio
|
|
Have,' said she, 'given his mistress that confection
|
|
Which I gave him for cordial, she is served
|
|
As I would serve a rat.'
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE What's this, Comelius?
|
|
|
|
CORNELIUS The queen, sir, very oft importuned me
|
|
To temper poisons for her, still pretending
|
|
The satisfaction of her knowledge only
|
|
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs,
|
|
Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose
|
|
Was of more danger, did compound for her
|
|
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease
|
|
The present power of life, but in short time
|
|
All offices of nature should again
|
|
Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Most like I did, for I was dead.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS My boys,
|
|
There was our error.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS This is, sure, Fidele.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?
|
|
Think that you are upon a rock; and now
|
|
Throw me again.
|
|
|
|
[Embracing him]
|
|
|
|
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Hang there like a fruit, my soul,
|
|
Till the tree die!
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE How now, my flesh, my child!
|
|
What, makest thou me a dullard in this act?
|
|
Wilt thou not speak to me?
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN [Kneeling] Your blessing, sir.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS [To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS] Though you did love
|
|
this youth, I blame ye not:
|
|
You had a motive for't.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE My tears that fall
|
|
Prove holy water on thee! Imogen,
|
|
Thy mother's dead.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN I am sorry for't, my lord.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE O, she was nought; and long of her it was
|
|
That we meet here so strangely: but her son
|
|
Is gone, we know not how nor where.
|
|
|
|
PISANIO My lord,
|
|
Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten,
|
|
Upon my lady's missing, came to me
|
|
With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and swore,
|
|
If I discover'd not which way she was gone,
|
|
It was my instant death. By accident,
|
|
had a feigned letter of my master's
|
|
Then in my pocket; which directed him
|
|
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
|
|
Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments,
|
|
Which he enforced from me, away he posts
|
|
With unchaste purpose and with oath to violate
|
|
My lady's honour: what became of him
|
|
I further know not.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS Let me end the story:
|
|
I slew him there.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Marry, the gods forfend!
|
|
I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
|
|
Pluck a bard sentence: prithee, valiant youth,
|
|
Deny't again.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS I have spoke it, and I did it.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE He was a prince.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS A most incivil one: the wrongs he did me
|
|
Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me
|
|
With language that would make me spurn the sea,
|
|
If it could so roar to me: I cut off's head;
|
|
And am right glad he is not standing here
|
|
To tell this tale of mine.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE I am sorry for thee:
|
|
By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must
|
|
Endure our law: thou'rt dead.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN That headless man
|
|
I thought had been my lord.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Bind the offender,
|
|
And take him from our presence.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Stay, sir king:
|
|
This man is better than the man he slew,
|
|
As well descended as thyself; and hath
|
|
More of thee merited than a band of Clotens
|
|
Had ever scar for.
|
|
|
|
[To the Guard]
|
|
|
|
Let his arms alone;
|
|
They were not born for bondage.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Why, old soldier,
|
|
Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
|
|
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
|
|
As good as we?
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS In that he spake too far.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE And thou shalt die for't.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS We will die all three:
|
|
But I will prove that two on's are as good
|
|
As I have given out him. My sons, I must,
|
|
For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech,
|
|
Though, haply, well for you.
|
|
|
|
ARVIRAGUS Your danger's ours.
|
|
|
|
GUIDERIUS And our good his.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Have at it then, by leave.
|
|
Thou hadst, great king, a subject who
|
|
Was call'd Belarius.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE What of him? he is
|
|
A banish'd traitor.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS He it is that hath
|
|
Assumed this age; indeed a banish'd man;
|
|
I know not how a traitor.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Take him hence:
|
|
The whole world shall not save him.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Not too hot:
|
|
First pay me for the nursing of thy sons;
|
|
And let it be confiscate all, so soon
|
|
As I have received it.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Nursing of my sons!
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS I am too blunt and saucy: here's my knee:
|
|
Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons;
|
|
Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
|
|
These two young gentlemen, that call me father
|
|
And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
|
|
They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
|
|
And blood of your begetting.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE How! my issue!
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
|
|
Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd:
|
|
Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
|
|
Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd
|
|
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes--
|
|
For such and so they are--these twenty years
|
|
Have I train'd up: those arts they have as I
|
|
Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as
|
|
Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
|
|
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
|
|
Upon my banishment: I moved her to't,
|
|
Having received the punishment before,
|
|
For that which I did then: beaten for loyalty
|
|
Excited me to treason: their dear loss,
|
|
The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shaped
|
|
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
|
|
Here are your sons again; and I must lose
|
|
Two of the sweet'st companions in the world.
|
|
The benediction of these covering heavens
|
|
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
|
|
To inlay heaven with stars.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Thou weep'st, and speak'st.
|
|
The service that you three have done is more
|
|
Unlike than this thou tell'st. I lost my children:
|
|
If these be they, I know not how to wish
|
|
A pair of worthier sons.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS Be pleased awhile.
|
|
This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
|
|
Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius:
|
|
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,
|
|
Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd
|
|
In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand
|
|
Of his queen mother, which for more probation
|
|
I can with ease produce.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Guiderius had
|
|
Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
|
|
It was a mark of wonder.
|
|
|
|
BELARIUS This is he;
|
|
Who hath upon him still that natural stamp:
|
|
It was wise nature's end in the donation,
|
|
To be his evidence now.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE O, what, am I
|
|
A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother
|
|
Rejoiced deliverance more. Blest pray you be,
|
|
That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
|
|
may reign in them now! O Imogen,
|
|
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.
|
|
|
|
IMOGEN No, my lord;
|
|
I have got two worlds by 't. O my gentle brothers,
|
|
Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter
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But I am truest speaker you call'd me brother,
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When I was but your sister; I you brothers,
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When ye were so indeed.
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CYMBELINE Did you e'er meet?
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ARVIRAGUS Ay, my good lord.
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GUIDERIUS And at first meeting loved;
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Continued so, until we thought he died.
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CORNELIUS By the queen's dram she swallow'd.
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CYMBELINE O rare instinct!
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When shall I hear all through? This fierce
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abridgement
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Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
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Distinction should be rich in. Where? how lived You?
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And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
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How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
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Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
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And your three motives to the battle, with
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I know not how much more, should be demanded;
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And all the other by-dependencies,
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From chance to chance: but nor the time nor place
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|
Will serve our long inter'gatories. See,
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Posthumus anchors upon Imogen,
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And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
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On him, her brother, me, her master, hitting
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Each object with a joy: the counterchange
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Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground,
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And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.
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[To BELARIUS]
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Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever.
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IMOGEN You are my father too, and did relieve me,
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To see this gracious season.
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CYMBELINE All o'erjoy'd,
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Save these in bonds: let them be joyful too,
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For they shall taste our comfort.
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IMOGEN My good master,
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I will yet do you service.
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CAIUS LUCIUS Happy be you!
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CYMBELINE The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought,
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He would have well becomed this place, and graced
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The thankings of a king.
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POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I am, sir,
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The soldier that did company these three
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In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for
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The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he,
|
|
Speak, Iachimo: I had you down and might
|
|
Have made you finish.
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IACHIMO [Kneeling] I am down again:
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But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,
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|
As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you,
|
|
Which I so often owe: but your ring first;
|
|
And here the bracelet of the truest princess
|
|
That ever swore her faith.
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POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Kneel not to me:
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The power that I have on you is, to spare you;
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|
The malice towards you to forgive you: live,
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And deal with others better.
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CYMBELINE Nobly doom'd!
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We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
|
|
Pardon's the word to all.
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ARVIRAGUS You holp us, sir,
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As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
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Joy'd are we that you are.
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POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Your servant, princes. Good my lord of Rome,
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|
Call forth your soothsayer: as I slept, methought
|
|
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd,
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|
Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows
|
|
Of mine own kindred: when I waked, I found
|
|
This label on my bosom; whose containing
|
|
Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
|
|
Make no collection of it: let him show
|
|
His skill in the construction.
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|
CAIUS LUCIUS Philarmonus!
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|
Soothsayer Here, my good lord.
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|
CAIUS LUCIUS Read, and declare the meaning.
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|
Soothsayer [Reads] 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself
|
|
unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a
|
|
piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar
|
|
shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many
|
|
years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old
|
|
stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end
|
|
his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in
|
|
peace and plenty.'
|
|
Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
|
|
The fit and apt construction of thy name,
|
|
Being Leonatus, doth import so much.
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|
[To CYMBELINE]
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|
|
|
The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
|
|
Which we call 'mollis aer;' and 'mollis aer'
|
|
We term it 'mulier:' which 'mulier' I divine
|
|
Is this most constant wife; who, even now,
|
|
Answering the letter of the oracle,
|
|
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about
|
|
With this most tender air.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE This hath some seeming.
|
|
|
|
Soothsayer The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
|
|
Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point
|
|
Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stol'n,
|
|
For many years thought dead, are now revived,
|
|
To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue
|
|
Promises Britain peace and plenty.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Well
|
|
My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius,
|
|
Although the victor, we submit to Caesar,
|
|
And to the Roman empire; promising
|
|
To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
|
|
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen;
|
|
Whom heavens, in justice, both on her and hers,
|
|
Have laid most heavy hand.
|
|
|
|
Soothsayer The fingers of the powers above do tune
|
|
The harmony of this peace. The vision
|
|
Which I made known to Lucius, ere the stroke
|
|
Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant
|
|
Is full accomplish'd; for the Roman eagle,
|
|
From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
|
|
Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' the sun
|
|
So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle,
|
|
The imperial Caesar, should again unite
|
|
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
|
|
Which shines here in the west.
|
|
|
|
CYMBELINE Laud we the gods;
|
|
And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
|
|
From our blest altars. Publish we this peace
|
|
To all our subjects. Set we forward: let
|
|
A Roman and a British ensign wave
|
|
Friendly together: so through Lud's-town march:
|
|
And in the temple of great Jupiter
|
|
Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.
|
|
Set on there! Never was a war did cease,
|
|
Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.
|
|
|
|
[Exeunt]
|