CYMBELINE

Contents
ACT I
Scene I. Britain. The garden of CymbelineÕs palace
Scene II. The same
Scene III. Britain. A public place
Scene IV. Britain. CymbelineÕs palace
Scene V. Rome. PhilarioÕs house
Scene VI. Britain. CymbelineÕs palace
Scene VII. Britain. The palace
ACT II
Scene I. Britain. Before CymbelineÕs palace
Scene II. Britain. ImogenÕs bedchamber in CymbelineÕs palace; a trunk in one corner
Scene III. CymbelineÕs palace. An ante-chamber adjoining ImogenÕs apartments
Scene IV. Rome. PhilarioÕs house
Scene V. Rome. Another room in PhilarioÕs house
ACT III
Scene I. Britain. A hall in CymbelineÕs palace
Scene II. Britain. Another room in CymbelineÕs palace
Scene III. Wales. A mountainous country with a cave
Scene IV. Wales, near Milford Haven
Scene V. Britain. CymbelineÕs palace
Scene VI. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius
Scene VII. The same
Scene VIII. Rome. A public place
ACT IV
Scene I. Wales. Near the cave of Belarius
Scene II. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius
Scene III. Britain. CymbelineÕs palace
Scene IV. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius
ACT V
Scene I. Britain. The Roman camp
Scene II. Britain. A field of battle between the British and Roman camps
Scene III. Another part of the field
Scene IV. Britain. A prison
Scene V. Britain. CymbelineÕs tent
Dramatis Person¾
CYMBELINE, King of Britain
CLOTEN, son to the Queen by a former husband
POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, a gentleman, husband to Imogen
BELARIUS, a banished lord, disguised under the name of Morgan
GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS, sons to Cymbeline, disguised under the names of POLYDORE and CADWAL, supposed sons to Belarius
PHILARIO, Italian, friend to Posthumus
IACHIMO, Italian, friend to Philario
CAIUS LUCIUS, General of the Roman forces
PISANIO, servant to Posthumus
CORNELIUS, a physician
A SOOTHSAYER
A ROMAN CAPTAIN
TWO BRITISH CAPTAINS
A FRENCH GENTLEMAN, friend to Philario
TWO LORDS of CymbelineÕs court
TWO GENTLEMEN of the same
TWO GAOLERS
QUEEN, wife to Cymbeline
IMOGEN, daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen
HELEN, a lady attending on Imogen
APPARITIONS
Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, a Dutch Gentleman, a Spanish Gentleman, Musicians, Officers, Captains, Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants
SCENE: Britain; Italy.
ACT I
SCENE I. Britain. The garden of CymbelineÕs palace.
Enter twoÊGentlemen.
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
You do not meet a man but frowns; our bloods
No more obey the heavens than our courtiers
Still seem as does the KingÕs.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
But whatÕs the matter?
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
His daughter, and the heir ofÕs kingdom, whom
He purposÕd to his wifeÕs sole sonÑa widow
That late he marriedÑhath referrÕd herself
Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. SheÕs wedded;
Her husband banishÕd; she imprisonÕd. All
Is outward sorrow, though I think the King
Be touchÕd at very heart.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
None but the King?
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
He that hath lost her too. So is the Queen,
That most desirÕd the match. But not a courtier,
Although they wear their faces to the bent
Of the KingÕs looks, hath a heart that is not
Glad at the thing they scowl at.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
And why so?
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
He that hath missÕd the Princess is a thing
Too bad for bad report; and he that hath herÑ
I mean that married her, alack, good man!
And therefore banishÕdÑis a creature such
As, to seek through the regions of the earth
For one his like, there would be something failing
In him that should compare. I do not think
So fair an outward and such stuff within
Endows a man but he.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
You speak him far.
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
I do extend him, sir, within himself;
Crush him together rather than unfold
His measure duly.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
WhatÕs his name and birth?
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
I cannot delve him to the root; his father
Was callÕd Sicilius, who did join his honour
Against the Romans with Cassibelan,
But had his titles by Tenantius, whom
He servÕd with glory and admirÕd success,
So gainÕd the sur-addition Leonatus;
And had, besides this gentleman in question,
Two other sons, who, in the wars oÕ thÕ time,
Died with their swords in hand; for which their father,
Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow
That he quit being; and his gentle lady,
Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceasÕd
As he was born. The King he takes the babe
To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,
Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,
Puts to him all the learnings that his time
Could make him the receiver of; which he took,
As we do air, fast as Õtwas ministÕred,
And inÕs spring became a harvest, livÕd in courtÑ
Which rare it is to doÑmost praisÕd, most lovÕd,
A sample to the youngest; to thÕ more mature
A glass that feated them; and to the graver
A child that guided dotards. To his mistress,
For whom he now is banishÕd, her own price
Proclaims how she esteemÕd him and his virtue;
By her election may be truly read
What kind of man he is.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
I honour him
Even out of your report. But pray you tell me,
Is she sole child to thÕ King?
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
His only child.
He had two sonsÑif this be worth your hearing,
Mark itÑthe eldest of them at three years old,
IÕ thÕ swathing clothes the other, from their nursery
Were stolÕn; and to this hour no guess in knowledge
Which way they went.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
How long is this ago?
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
Some twenty years.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
That a kingÕs children should be so conveyÕd,
So slackly guarded, and the search so slow
That could not trace them!
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
HowsoeÕer Õtis strange,
Or that the negligence may well be laughÕd at,
Yet is it true, sir.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
I do well believe you.
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
We must forbear; here comes the gentleman,
The Queen, and Princess.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. The same.
EnterÊQueen, PosthumusÊandÊImogen.
QUEEN.
No, be assurÕd you shall not find me, daughter,
After the slander of most stepmothers,
Evil-eyÕd unto you. YouÕre my prisoner, but
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
So soon as I can win thÕ offended King,
I will be known your advocate. Marry, yet
The fire of rage is in him, and Õtwere good
You leanÕd unto his sentence with what patience
Your wisdom may inform you.
POSTHUMUS.
Please your Highness,
I will from hence today.
QUEEN.
You know the peril.
IÕll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
The pangs of barrÕd affections, though the King
Hath chargÕd you should not speak together.
[Exit.]
IMOGEN.
O dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant
Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,
I something fear my fatherÕs wrath, but nothing
(Always reservÕd my holy duty) what
His rage can do on me. You must be gone;
And I shall here abide the hourly shot
Of angry eyes, not comforted to live
But that there is this jewel in the world
That I may see again.
POSTHUMUS.
My queen! my mistress!
O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause
To be suspected of more tenderness
Than doth become a man. I will remain
The loyalÕst husband that did eÕer plight troth;
My residence in Rome at one PhilarioÕs,
Who to my father was a friend, to me
Known but by letter; thither write, my queen,
And with mine eyes IÕll drink the words you send,
Though ink be made of gall.
EnterÊQueen.
QUEEN.
Be brief, I pray you.
If the King come, I shall incur I know not
How much of his displeasure. [Aside.] Yet IÕll move him
To walk this way. I never do him wrong
But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;
Pays dear for my offences.
[Exit.]
POSTHUMUS.
Should we be taking leave
As long a term as yet we have to live,
The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!
IMOGEN.
Nay, stay a little.
Were you but riding forth to air yourself,
Such parting were too petty. Look here, love:
This diamond was my motherÕs; take it, heart;
But keep it till you woo another wife,
When Imogen is dead.
POSTHUMUS.
How, how? Another?
You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
And sear up my embracements from a next
With bonds of death! Remain, remain thou here
[Puts on the ring.]
While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest,
As I my poor self did exchange for you,
To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles
I still win of you. For my sake wear this;
It is a manacle of love; IÕll place it
Upon this fairest prisoner.
[Puts a bracelet on her arm.]
IMOGEN.
O the gods!
When shall we see again?
EnterÊCymbelineÊand Lords.
POSTHUMUS.
Alack, the King!
CYMBELINE.
Thou basest thing, avoid; hence from my sight
If after this command thou fraught the court
With thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away!
ThouÕrt poison to my blood.
POSTHUMUS.
The gods protect you,
And bless the good remainders of the court!
I am gone.
[Exit.]
IMOGEN.
There cannot be a pinch in death
More sharp than this is.
CYMBELINE.
O disloyal thing,
That shouldst repair my youth, thou heapÕst
A yearÕs age on me!
IMOGEN.
I beseech you, sir,
Harm not yourself with your vexation.
I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare
Subdues all pangs, all fears.
CYMBELINE.
Past grace? obedience?
IMOGEN.
Past hope, and in despair; that way past grace.
CYMBELINE.
That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!
IMOGEN.
O blessed that I might not! I chose an eagle,
And did avoid a puttock.
CYMBELINE.
Thou tookÕst a beggar, wouldst have made my throne
A seat for baseness.
IMOGEN.
No; I rather added
A lustre to it.
CYMBELINE.
O thou vile one!
IMOGEN.
Sir,
It is your fault that I have lovÕd Posthumus.
You bred him as my playfellow, and he is
A man worth any woman; overbuys me
Almost the sum he pays.
CYMBELINE.
What, art thou mad?
IMOGEN.
Almost, sir. Heaven restore me! Would I were
A neat-herdÕs daughter, and my Leonatus
Our neighbour shepherdÕs son!
EnterÊQueen.
CYMBELINE.
Thou foolish thing!
[To the Queen.] They were again together. You have done
Not after our command. Away with her,
And pen her up.
QUEEN.
Beseech your patience. Peace,
Dear lady daughter, peace!ÑSweet sovereign,
Leave us to ourselves, and make yourself some comfort
Out of your best advice.
CYMBELINE.
Nay, let her languish
A drop of blood a day and, being aged,
Die of this folly.
[Exit withÊLords.]
EnterÊPisanio.
QUEEN.
Fie! you must give way.
Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news?
PISANIO.
My lord your son drew on my master.
QUEEN.
Ha!
No harm, I trust, is done?
PISANIO.
There might have been,
But that my master rather playÕd than fought,
And had no help of anger; they were parted
By gentlemen at hand.
QUEEN.
I am very glad onÕt.
IMOGEN.
Your sonÕs my fatherÕs friend; he takes his part
To draw upon an exile! O brave sir!
I would they were in Afric both together;
Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
The goer-back. Why came you from your master?
PISANIO.
On his command. He would not suffer me
To bring him to the haven; left these notes
Of what commands I should be subject to,
WhenÕt pleasÕd you to employ me.
QUEEN.
This hath been
Your faithful servant. I dare lay mine honour
He will remain so.
PISANIO.
I humbly thank your Highness.
QUEEN.
Pray walk awhile.
IMOGEN.
About some half-hour hence,
Pray you speak with me.
You shall at least go see my lord aboard.
For this time leave me.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. Britain. A public place.
EnterÊClotenÊand twoÊLords.
FIRST LORD.
Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the violence of action hath made you reek as a sacrifice. Where air comes out, air comes in; thereÕs none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.
CLOTEN.
If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him?
SECOND LORD.
[Aside.] No, faith; not so much as his patience.
FIRST LORD.
Hurt him! His bodyÕs a passable carcass if he be not hurt. It is a throughfare for steel if it be not hurt.
SECOND LORD.
[Aside.] His steel was in debt; it went oÕ thÕ backside the town.
CLOTEN.
The villain would not stand me.
SECOND LORD.
[Aside.] No; but he fled forward still, toward your face.
FIRST LORD.
Stand you? You have land enough of your own; but he added to your having, gave you some ground.
SECOND LORD.
[Aside.] As many inches as you have oceans.
Puppies!
CLOTEN.
I would they had not come between us.
SECOND LORD.
[Aside.] So would I, till you had measurÕd how long a fool you were upon the ground.
CLOTEN.
And that she should love this fellow, and refuse me!
SECOND LORD.
[Aside.] If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damnÕd.
FIRST LORD.
Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go not together; sheÕs a good sign, but I have seen small reflection of her wit.
SECOND LORD.
[Aside.] She shines not upon fools, lest the reflection should hurt her.
CLOTEN.
Come, IÕll to my chamber. Would there had been some hurt done!
SECOND LORD.
[Aside.] I wish not so; unless it had been the fall of an ass, which is no great hurt.
CLOTEN.
YouÕll go with us?
FIRST LORD.
IÕll attend your lordship.
CLOTEN.
Nay, come, letÕs go together.
SECOND LORD.
Well, my lord.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE IV. Britain. CymbelineÕs palace.
EnterÊImogenÊandÊPisanio.
IMOGEN.
I would thou grewÕst unto the shores oÕ thÕ haven,
And questionedÕst every sail; if he should write,
And I not have it, Õtwere a paper lost,
As offerÕd mercy is. What was the last
That he spake to thee?
PISANIO.
It was: his queen, his queen!
IMOGEN.
Then wavÕd his handkerchief?
PISANIO.
And kissÕd it, madam.
IMOGEN.
Senseless linen, happier therein than I!
And that was all?
PISANIO.
No, madam; for so long
As he could make me with his eye, or ear
Distinguish him from others, he did keep
The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,
Still waving, as the fits and stirs ofÕs mind
Could best express how slow his soul sailÕd on,
How swift his ship.
IMOGEN.
Thou shouldst have made him
As little as a crow, or less, ere left
To after-eye him.
PISANIO.
Madam, so I did.
IMOGEN.
I would have broke mine eyestrings, crackÕd them but
To look upon him, till the diminution
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle;
Nay, followed him till he had melted from
The smallness of a gnat to air, and then
Have turnÕd mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio,
When shall we hear from him?
PISANIO.
Be assurÕd, madam,
With his next vantage.
IMOGEN.
I did not take my leave of him, but had
Most pretty things to say. Ere I could tell him
How I would think on him at certain hours
Such thoughts and such; or I could make him swear
The shes of Italy should not betray
Mine interest and his honour; or have chargÕd him,
At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,
TÕ encounter me with orisons, for then
I am in heaven for him; or ere I could
Give him that parting kiss which I had set
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father,
And like the tyrannous breathing of the north
Shakes all our buds from growing.
Enter aÊLady.
LADY.
The Queen, madam,
Desires your HighnessÕ company.
IMOGEN.
Those things I bid you do, get them dispatchÕd.
I will attend the Queen.
PISANIO.
Madam, I shall.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE V. Rome. PhilarioÕs house.
EnterÊPhilario, Iachimo,ÊaÊFrenchman, aÊDutchmanÊand aÊSpaniard.
IACHIMO.
Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain. He was then of a crescent note, expected to prove so worthy as since he hath been allowed the name of. But I could then have lookÕd on him without the help of admiration, though the catalogue of his endowments had been tabled by his side, and I to peruse him by items.
PHILARIO.
You speak of him when he was less furnishÕd than now he is with that which makes him both without and within.
FRENCHMAN.
I have seen him in France; we had very many there could behold the sun with as firm eyes as he.
IACHIMO.
This matter of marrying his kingÕs 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 judgement, 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.
EnterÊPosthumus.
Here comes the Briton. Let him be so entertained amongst you as suits with gentlemen of your knowing to a stranger of his quality. 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.
Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies, which I will be ever to pay and yet pay still.
FRENCHMAN.
Sir, you oÕerrate 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.
By your pardon, sir. I was then a young traveller; rather shunnÕd to go even with what I heard than in my every action to be guided by othersÕ experiences; but upon my mended judgement (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 fallÕn both.
IACHIMO.
Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference?
FRENCHMAN.
Safely, I think. ÕTwas 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 gentlemanÕs opinion, by this, worn out.
POSTHUMUS.
She holds her virtue still, and I my mind.
IACHIMO.
You must not so far prefer her Õfore ours of Italy.
POSTHUMUS.
Being so far provokÕd as I was in France, I would abate her nothing, though I profess myself her adorer, not her friend.
IACHIMO.
As fair and as goodÑa kind of hand-in-hand comparisonÑhad 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.
I praisÕd her as I rated her. So do I my stone.
IACHIMO.
What do you esteem it at?
POSTHUMUS.
More than the world enjoys.
IACHIMO.
Either your unparagonÕd mistress is dead, or sheÕs outprizÕd by a trifle.
POSTHUMUS.
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.
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 stolÕn too. So your brace of unprizable estimations, the one is but frail and the other casual; a cunning thief, or a that-way-accomplishÕd courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last.
POSTHUMUS.
Your Italy contains none so accomplishÕd 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.
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.
No, no.
IACHIMO.
I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to your ring, which, in my opinion, oÕervalues 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.
You are a great deal abusÕd in too bold a persuasion, and I doubt not you sustain what yÕare worthy of by your attempt.
IACHIMO.
WhatÕs that?
POSTHUMUS.
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 neighbourÕs on thÕ approbation of what I have spoke!
POSTHUMUS.
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 reservÕd.
POSTHUMUS.
I will wage against your gold, gold to it. My ring I hold dear as my finger; Õtis part of it.
IACHIMO.
You are a friend, and therein the wiser. If you buy ladiesÕ 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.
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 whatÕs spoken, I swear.
POSTHUMUS.
Will you? I shall but lend my diamond till your return. Let there be covenants drawn betweenÕs. My mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness of your unworthy thinking. I dare you to this match: hereÕs 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 enjoyÕd 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.
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 prevailÕd, I am no further your enemy; she is not worth our debate; if she remain unseducÕd, you not making it appear otherwise, for your ill opinion and thÕ 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.
Agreed.
[ExeuntÊPosthumusÊandÊIachimo.]
FRENCHMAN.
Will this hold, think you?
PHILARIO.
Signior Iachimo will not from it. Pray let us follow Õem.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE VI. Britain. CymbelineÕs palace.
EnterÊQueen, LadiesÊandÊCornelius.
QUEEN.
Whiles yet the dewÕs on ground, gather those flowers;
Make haste; who has the note of them?
LADY.
I, madam.
QUEEN.
Dispatch.
[ExeuntÊLadies.]
Now, Master Doctor, have you brought those drugs?
CORNELIUS.
Pleaseth your Highness, ay. Here they are, madam.
[Presenting a box.]
But I beseech your Grace, without offence,
(My conscience bids me ask) wherefore you have
Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds
Which are the movers of a languishing death,
But, though slow, deadly?
QUEEN.
I wonder, Doctor,
Thou askÕst me such a question. Have I not been
Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learnÕd 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 thinkÕst me devilish) isÕt not meet
That I did amplify my judgement 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 practice but make hard your heart;
Besides, the seeing these effects will be
Both noisome and infectious.
QUEEN.
O, content thee.
EnterÊPisanio.
[Aside.] Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him
Will I first work. HeÕs 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 lingÕring poisons. I do know her spirit,
And will not trust one of her malice with
A drug of such damnÕd nature. Those she has
Will stupefy and dull the sense awhile,
Which first perchance sheÕll 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 foolÕd
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, sayÕst 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,
IÕll 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 dayÕs 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 takÕst up
Thou knowÕst not what; but take it for thy labour.
It is a thing I made, which hath the King
Five times redeemÕd from death. I do not know
What is more cordial. Nay, I prithee take it;
It is an earnest of a further good
That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how
The case stands with her; doÕt 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. IÕll move the King
To any shape of thy preferment, such
As thouÕlt 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.
[ExitÊPisanio.]
A sly and constant knave,
Not to be shakÕd; 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 assurÕd
To taste of too.
EnterÊPisanioÊandÊLadies.
So, so. Well done, well done.
The violets, cowslips, and the primroses,
Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio;
Think on my words.
[ExeuntÊQueenÊandÊLadies.]
PISANIO.
And shall do.
But when to my good lord I prove untrue
IÕll choke myself: thereÕs all IÕll do for you.
[Exit.]
SCENE VII. Britain. The palace.
EnterÊImogenÊalone.
IMOGEN.
A father cruel and a step-dame false;
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady
That hath her husband banishÕd. O, that husband!
My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated
Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stolÕn,
As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable
Is the desire thatÕs glorious. Blessed be those,
How mean soeÕer, that have their honest wills,
Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie!
EnterÊPisanioÊandÊIachimo.
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.
YouÕre kindly welcome.
IACHIMO.
[Aside.] All of her that is out of door most rich!
If she be furnishÕd with a mind so rare,
She is alone thÕ 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.]ÊHe is one of the noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your trust.
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊLEONATUS.
So far I read aloud;
But even the very middle of my heart
Is warmÕd by thÕ 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 Õtwixt
The fiery orbs above and the twinnÕd stones
Upon the numberÕd beach, and can we not
Partition make with spectacles so precious
ÕTwixt fair and foul?
IMOGEN.
What makes your admiration?
IACHIMO.
It cannot be iÕ thÕ eye, for apes and monkeys,
ÕTwixt two such shes, would chatter this way and
Contemn with mows the other; nor iÕ thÕ judgement,
For idiots in this case of favour would
Be wisely definite; nor iÕ thÕ appetite;
Sluttery, to such neat excellence opposÕd,
Should make desire vomit emptiness,
Not so allurÕd to feed.
IMOGEN.
What is the matter, trow?
IACHIMO.
The cloyed willÑ
That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub
Both fillÕd and runningÑravening first the lamb,
Longs after for the garbage.
IMOGEN.
What, dear sir,
Thus raps you? Are you well?
IACHIMO.
Thanks, madam; well. Beseech you, sir,
Desire my manÕs abode where I did leave him.
HeÕs 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 disposÕd to mirth? I hope he is.
IACHIMO.
Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there
So merry and so gamesome. He is callÕd
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 fromÕs free lungs, cries ÒO,
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, willÕs free hours languish for
Assured bondage?Ó
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 heavenÕs bounty towards him might
Be usÕd more thankfully. In himself, Õtis 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
IÕ thÕ 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 yourÑBut
It is an office of the gods to venge it,
Not mine to speak onÕt.
IMOGEN.
You do seem to know
Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you,
Since doubting things go ill often hurts more
Than to be sure they do; for certainties
Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing,
The remedy then bornÑdiscover 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 feelerÕs soul
To thÕ oath of loyalty; this object, which
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here; should I, damnÕd 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 illustrious as the smoky light
ThatÕs 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
InclinÕd to this intelligence pronounce
The beggary of his change; but Õtis your graces
That from my 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 fastenÕd to an empery,
Would make the greatÕst king double, to be partnerÕd
With tomboys hirÕd with that self exhibition
Which your own coffers yield! with diseasÕd ventures
That play with all infirmities for gold
Which rottenness can lend nature! Such boilÕd stuff
As well might poison poison! Be revengÕd;
Or she that bore you was no queen, and you
Recoil from your great stock.
IMOGEN.
RevengÕd?
How should I be revengÕd? 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 revengÕd?
IACHIMO.
Should he make me
Live like DianaÕs 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 seekÕst, as base as strange.
Thou wrongÕst a gentleman who is as far
From thy report as thou from honour; and
Solicits 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 assurÕd credit. Blessed live you long,
A lady to the worthiest sir that ever
Country callÕd 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 oÕer; and he is one
The truest mannerÕd, such a holy witch
That he enchants societies into him,
Half all menÕs hearts are his.
IMOGEN.
You make amends.
IACHIMO.
He sits Õmongst 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 adventurÕd
To try your taking of a false report, which hath
HonourÕd with confirmation your great judgement
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.
AllÕs well, sir; take my powÕr iÕ thÕ court for yours.
IACHIMO.
My humble thanks. I had almost forgot
TÕ entreat your Grace but in a small request,
And yet of moment too, for it concerns
Your lord; myself and other noble friends
Are partners in the business.
IMOGEN.
Pray what isÕt?
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. ÕTis 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 tomorrow.
IMOGEN.
O, no, no.
IACHIMO.
Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word
By lengthÕning my return. From Gallia
I crossÕd the seas on purpose and on promise
To see your Grace.
IMOGEN.
I thank you for your pains.
But not away tomorrow!
IACHIMO.
O, I must, madam.
Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please
To greet your lord with writing, doÕt tonight.
I have outstood my time, which is material
To thÕ tender of our present.
IMOGEN.
I will write.
Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept
And truly yielded you. YouÕre very welcome.
[Exeunt.]
ACT II
SCENE I. Britain. Before CymbelineÕs palace.
EnterÊClotenÊand the twoÊLords.
CLOTEN.
Was there ever man had such luck! When I kissÕd the jack, upon an upcast to be hit away! I had a hundred pound onÕt; 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 disposÕd 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 gave him satisfaction. Would he had been one of my rank!
SECOND LORD.
[Aside.] To have smellÕd like a fool.
CLOTEN.
I am not vexÕd more at anything in thÕ earth. A pox onÕt! I had rather not be so noble as I am; they dare not fight with me, because of the Queen my mother. Every jackslave 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 thatÕs come to court tonight?
CLOTEN.
A stranger, and I not known onÕt?
SECOND LORD.
[Aside.] HeÕs a strange fellow himself, and knows it not.
FIRST LORD.
ThereÕs an Italian come, and, Õtis thought, one of LeonatusÕ friends.
CLOTEN.
Leonatus? A banishÕd rascal; and heÕs another, whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?
FIRST LORD.
One of your lordshipÕs pages.
CLOTEN.
Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation inÕt?
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, IÕll go see this Italian. What I have lost today at bowls IÕll win tonight of him. Come, go.
SECOND LORD.
IÕll attend your lordship.
[ExeuntÊClotenÊandÊFirst 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 endurÕst,
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame governÕd,
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 heÕd make! The heavens hold firm
The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshakÕd
That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand
TÕ enjoy thy banishÕd lord and this great land!
[Exit.]
SCENE II. Britain. ImogenÕs bedchamber in CymbelineÕs palace; a trunk in one corner.
EnterÊImogenÊin her bed, and aÊLadyÊattending.
IMOGEN.
WhoÕs 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 oÕ thÕ clock,
I prithee call me. Sleep hath seizÕd me wholly.
[ExitÊLady.]
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 manÕs oÕer-labourÕd sense
Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
Did softly press the rushes ere he wakenÕd
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,
How bravely thou becomÕst thy bed! fresh lily,
And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagonÕd,
How dearly they doÕt! ÕTis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus. The flame oÕ thÕ taper
Bows toward her and would under-peep her lids
To see thÕ enclosed lights, now canopied
Under these windows white and azure, lacÕd
With blue of heavenÕs own tinct. But my design
To note the chamber. I will write all down:
Such and such pictures; there the window; such
ThÕ adornment of her bed; the arras, figures,
Why, such and such; and the contents oÕ thÕ story.
Ah, but some natural notes about her body
Above ten thousand meaner movables
Would testify, tÕ 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!
ÕTis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
As strongly as the conscience does within,
To thÕ madding of her lord. On her left breast
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
IÕ thÕ bottom of a cowslip. HereÕs a voucher
Stronger than ever law could make; this secret
Will force him think I have pickÕd the lock and taÕen
The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?
Why should I write this down thatÕs riveted,
ScrewÕd to my memory? She hath been reading late
The tale of Tereus; here the leafÕs turnÕd down
Where Philomel gave up. I have enough.
To thÕ trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning
May bare the ravenÕs eye! I lodge in fear;
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.
[Clock strikes.]
One, two, three. Time, time!
[Exit into the trunk.]
SCENE III. CymbelineÕs palace. An ante-chamber adjoining ImogenÕs apartments.
EnterÊClotenÊandÊLords.
FIRST LORD.
Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that ever turnÕd 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. ItÕs almost morning, isÕt not?
FIRST LORD.
Day, my lord.
CLOTEN.
I would this music would come. I am advised to give her music a mornings; they say it will penetrate.
EnterÊMusicians.
Come on, tune. If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so. WeÕll try with tongue too. If none will do, let her remain; but IÕll never give oÕer. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consider.
SONG
ÊÊÊÊHark, hark! the lark at heavenÕs gate sings,
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊAnd PhÏbus Õgins arise,
ÊÊÊÊHis steeds to water at those springs
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊOn chalicÕd flowÕrs that lies;
ÊÊÊÊAnd winking Mary-buds begin
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊTo ope their golden eyes.
ÊÊÊÊWith everything that pretty is,
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊMy lady sweet, arise;
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊArise, 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 horsehairs and calvesÕ guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend.
[ExeuntÊMusicians.]
EnterÊCymbelineÊandÊQueen.
SECOND LORD.
Here comes the King.
CLOTEN.
I am glad I was up so late, for thatÕs the reason I was up so early. He cannot choose but take this service I have done fatherly.ÑGood 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 assailÕd her with musics, 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 onÕt,
And then sheÕs yours.
QUEEN.
You are most bound to thÕ King,
Who lets go by no vantages that may
Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
To orderly solicits, and be friended
With aptness of the season; make denials
Increase your services; so seem as if
You were inspirÕd 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 aÊMessenger.
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 thatÕs 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
TÕ employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.
[Exeunt all butÊCloten.]
CLOTEN.
If she be up, IÕll speak with her; if not,
Let her lie still and dream. By your leave, ho!
[Knocks.]
I know her women are about her; what
If I do line one of their hands? ÕTis gold
Which buys admittance (oft it doth) yea, and makes
DianaÕs rangers false themselves, yield up
Their deer to thÕ stand oÕ thÕ stealer; and Õtis gold
Which makes the true man killÕd 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.
By your leave.
[Knocks.]
Enter aÊLady.
LADY.
WhoÕs there that knocks?
CLOTEN.
A gentleman.
LADY.
No more?
CLOTEN.
Yes, and a gentlewomanÕs son.
LADY.
ThatÕs more
Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours
Can justly boast of. WhatÕs your lordshipÕs pleasure?
CLOTEN.
Your ladyÕs 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!
EnterÊImogen.
CLOTEN.
Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand.
[ExitÊLady.]
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, Õtwere 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 Õtwere 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 youÕll be patient, IÕll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
You put me to forget a ladyÕs manners
By being so verbal; and learn now, for all,
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
By thÕ 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 makeÕt 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 fosterÕd with cold dishes,
With scraps oÕ thÕ court, it is no contract, none.
And though it be allowed 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-figurÕd knot,
Yet you are curbÕd from that enlargement by
The consequence oÕ thÕ crown, and must not foil
The precious note of it with a base slave,
A hilding for a livery, a squireÕs 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 Õtwere made
Comparative for your virtues to be stylÕd
The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
For being preferrÕd so well.
CLOTEN.
The south fog rot him!
IMOGEN.
He never can meet more mischance than come
To be but namÕd of thee. His meanÕst garment
That ever hath but clippÕd his body, is dearer
In my respect, than all the hairs above thee,
Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!
EnterÊPisanio.
CLOTEN.
ÔHis garmentÕ! Now the devilÑ
IMOGEN.
To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.
CLOTEN.
ÔHis garmentÕ!
IMOGEN.
I am sprited with a fool;
Frighted, and angÕred worse. Go bid my woman
Search for a jewel that too casually
Hath left mine arm. It was thy masterÕs; shrew me,
If I would lose it for a revenue
Of any kingÕs in Europe! I do think
I sawÕt this morning; confident I am
Last night Õtwas on mine arm; I kissÕd it.
I hope it be not gone to tell my lord
That I kiss aught but he.
PISANIO.
ÕTwill not be lost.
IMOGEN.
I hope so. Go and search.
[ExitÊPisanio.]
CLOTEN.
You have abusÕd me.
ÔHis meanest garmentÕ!
IMOGEN.
Ay, I said so, sir.
If you will make Õt an action, call witness to Õt.
CLOTEN.
I will inform your father.
IMOGEN.
Your mother too.
SheÕs my good lady and will conceive, I hope,
But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,
To thÕ worst of discontent.
[Exit.]
CLOTEN.
IÕll be revengÕd.
ÔHis meanÕst garmentÕ! Well.
[Exit.]
SCENE IV. Rome. PhilarioÕs house.
EnterÊPosthumusÊandÊPhilario.
POSTHUMUS.
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.
Not any; but abide the change of time,
Quake in the present winterÕs state, and wish
That warmer days would come. In these fearÕd hopes
I barely gratify your love; they failing,
I must die much your debtor.
PHILARIO.
Your very goodness and your company
OÕerpays all I can do. By this your king
Hath heard of great Augustus. Caius Lucius
Will doÕs commission throughly; and I think
HeÕll grant the tribute, send thÕ arrearages,
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in their grief.
POSTHUMUS.
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 orderÕd than when Julius C¾sar
SmilÕd 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.
EnterÊIachimo.
PHILARIO.
See! Iachimo!
POSTHUMUS.
The swiftest harts have posted you by land,
And winds of all the corners kissÕd your sails,
To make your vessel nimble.
PHILARIO.
Welcome, sir.
POSTHUMUS.
I hope the briefness of your answer made
The speediness of your return.
IACHIMO.
Your lady
Is one of the fairest that I have lookÕd upon.
POSTHUMUS.
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.
Their tenour good, I trust.
IACHIMO.
ÕTis very like.
PHILARIO.
Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court
When you were there?
IACHIMO.
He was expected then,
But not approachÕd.
POSTHUMUS.
All is well yet.
Sparkles this stone as it was wont, or isÕt not
Too dull for your good wearing?
IACHIMO.
If I have lost it,
I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
IÕll make a journey twice as far tÕ enjoy
A second night of such sweet shortness which
Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.
POSTHUMUS.
The stoneÕs too hard to come by.
IACHIMO.
Not a whit,
Your lady being so easy.
POSTHUMUS.
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 farther; 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.
If you can makeÕt 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
YouÕll give me leave to spare when you shall find
You need it not.
POSTHUMUS.
Proceed.
IACHIMO.
First, her bedchamber,
(Where I confess I slept not, but profess
Had that was well worth watching) it was hangÕd
With tapestry of silk and silver; the story,
Proud Cleopatra when she met her Roman
And Cydnus swellÕd 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 wonderÕd
Could be so rarely and exactly wrought,
Since the true life onÕt wasÑ
POSTHUMUS.
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.
So they must,
Or do your honour injury.
IACHIMO.
The chimney
Is south the chamber, and the chimneypiece
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.
This is a thing
Which you might from relation likewise reap,
Being, as it is, much spoke of.
IACHIMO.
The roof oÕ thÕ 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.
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, [Shows the bracelet]
Be pale. I beg but leave to air this jewel. See!
And now Õtis up again. It must be married
To that your diamond; IÕll keep them.
POSTHUMUS.
Jove!
Once more let me behold it. Is it that
Which I left with her?
IACHIMO.
Sir (I thank her) that.
She strippÕd it from her arm; I see her yet;
Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
And yet enrichÕd it too. She gave it me, and said
She prizÕd it once.
POSTHUMUS.
May be she pluckÕd it off
To send it me.
IACHIMO.
She writes so to you, doth she?
POSTHUMUS.
O, no, no, no! Õtis true. Here, take this too;
[Gives the ring.]
It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
Kills me to look onÕt. Let there be no honour
Where there is beauty; truth where semblance; love
Where thereÕs 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; Õtis not yet won.
It may be probable she lost it, or
Who knows if one her women, being corrupted
Hath stolÕn it from her?
POSTHUMUS.
Very true;
And so I hope he came byÕt. Back my ring.
Render to me some corporal sign about her,
More evident than this; for this was stolÕn.
IACHIMO.
By Jupiter, I had it from her arm!
POSTHUMUS.
Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.
ÕTis true, nay, keep the ring, Õtis true. I am sure
She would not lose it. Her attendants are
All sworn and honourable:Ñthey inducÕd to steal it!
And by a stranger! No, he hath enjoyÕd 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 believÕd
Of one persuaded well of.
POSTHUMUS.
Never talk onÕt;
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 kissÕd it; and it gave me present hunger
To feed again, though full. You do remember
This stain upon her?
POSTHUMUS.
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.
Spare your arithmetic; never count the turns.
Once, and a million!
IACHIMO.
IÕll be swornÑ
POSTHUMUS.
No swearing.
If you will swear you have not doneÕt, you lie;
And I will kill thee if thou dost deny
ThouÕst made me cuckold.
IACHIMO.
IÕll deny nothing.
POSTHUMUS.
O that I had her here to tear her limb-meal!
I will go there and doÕt, iÕ thÕ court, before
Her father. IÕll do somethingÑ
[Exit.]
PHILARIO.
Quite besides
The government of patience! You have won.
LetÕs follow him and pervert the present wrath
He hath against himself.
IACHIMO.
With all my heart.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE V. Rome. Another room in PhilarioÕs house.
EnterÊPosthumus.
POSTHUMUS.
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 stampÕd. Some coiner with his tools
Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seemÕd
The Dian of that time. So doth my wife
The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrainÕd,
And prayÕd me oft forbearance; did it with
A pudency so rosy, the sweet view onÕt
Might well have warmÕd old Saturn; that I thought her
As chaste as unsunnÕd snow. O, all the devils!
This yellow Iachimo in an hour, wasÕt not?
Or less; at first? Perchance he spoke not, but,
Like a full-acornÕd boar, a German one,
Cried ÒO!Ó and mounted; found no opposition
But what he lookÕd for should oppose and she
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
The womanÕs part in me! For thereÕs no motion
That tends to vice in man but I affirm
It is the womanÕs part. Be it lying, note it,
The womanÕs; 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 man may name, 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. IÕll write against them,
Detest them, curse them. Yet Õtis greater skill
In a true hate to pray they have their will:
The very devils cannot plague them better.
[Exit.]
ACT III
SCENE I. Britain. A hall in CymbelineÕs palace.
Enter in stateÊCymbeline, Queen, ClotenÊandÊLordsÊat one door, and at anotherÊCaius LuciusÊand Attendants.
CYMBELINE.
Now say, what would Augustus C¾sar with us?
LUCIUS.
When Julius C¾sar, (whose remembrance yet
Lives in menÕs eyes, and will to ears and tongues
Be theme and hearing ever) was in this Britain,
And conquerÕd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,
Famous in C¾sarÕs 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 untenderÕd.
QUEEN.
And, to kill the marvel,
Shall be so ever.
CLOTEN.
There be many C¾sars 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 fromÕs, to resume
We have again. Remember, sir, my liege,
The kings your ancestors, together with
The natural bravery of your isle, which stands
As NeptuneÕs park, ribbÕd and palÕd in
With rocks unscaleable and roaring waters,
With sands that will not bear your enemiesÕ boats
But suck them up to thÕ top-mast. A kind of conquest
C¾sar made here, but made not here his brag
Of ÔCame, and saw, and overcame.Õ With shame
(The first that ever touchÕd him) he was carried
From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping
(Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas,
Like egg-shells movÕd upon their surges, crackÕd
As easily Õgainst our rocks; for joy whereof
The famÕd Cassibelan, who was once at point
(O, giglot fortune!) to master C¾sarÕs sword,
Made LudÕs Town with rejoicing fires bright
And Britons strut with courage.
CLOTEN.
Come, thereÕs 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 C¾sars. Other of them may have crookÕd 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 C¾sar 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. C¾sarÕs ambition,
Which swellÕd so much that it did almost stretch
The sides oÕ thÕ world, against all colour here
Did put the yoke uponÕs; which to shake off
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
Ourselves to be.
CLOTEN.
We do.
CYMBELINE.
Say then to C¾sar,
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which
OrdainÕd our laws, whose use the sword of C¾sar
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 callÕd
Himself a king.
LUCIUS.
I am sorry, Cymbeline,
That I am to pronounce Augustus C¾sar
(C¾sar, that hath moe kings his servants than
Thyself domestic officers) thine enemy.
Receive it from me, then: war and confusion
In C¾sarÕs name pronounce I Õgainst thee; look
For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,
I thank thee for myself.
CYMBELINE.
Thou art welcome, Caius.
Thy C¾sar knighted me; my youth I spent
Much under him; of him I gatherÕd 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 C¾sar shall not find them.
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 thereÕs an end.
LUCIUS.
So, sir.
CYMBELINE.
I know your masterÕs pleasure, and he mine;
All the remain is, welcome.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. Britain. Another room in CymbelineÕs palace.
EnterÊPisanioÊreading of a letter.
PISANIO.
How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not
What monsters her accuse? Leonatus!
O master, what a strange infection
Is fallÕn into thy ear! What false Italian
(As poisonous-tonguÕd as handed) hath prevailÕd
On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal? No.
SheÕs punishÕd 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?
[Reads.]
ÔDoÕt. The letter
That I have sent her, by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity.Õ O damnÕd paper,
Black as the ink thatÕs on thee! Senseless bauble,
Art thou a fedary for this act, and lookÕst
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.
EnterÊImogen.
I am ignorant in what I am commanded.
IMOGEN.
How now, Pisanio?
PISANIO.
Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
IMOGEN.
Who? thy lord? That is my lord, Leonatus?
O, learnÕd indeed were that astronomer
That knew the stars as I his characters;
HeÕd lay the future open. You good gods,
Let what is here containÕd relish of love,
Of my lordÕs health, of his content; yet not
That we two are asunder; let that grieve him!
Some griefs are medÕcinable; 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 CupidÕs tables. Good news, gods!
[Reads.]
Justice and your fatherÕs 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.
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊLEONATUS POSTHUMUS.
O for a horse with wings! HearÕst thou, Pisanio?
He is at Milford Haven. Read, and tell me
How far Õtis 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 longÕst like me to see thy lord, who longÕst
(O, let me Õbate!) but not like me, yet longÕst,
But in a fainter kind. O, not like me,
For mineÕs beyond beyond: say, and speak thick,
(LoveÕs counsellor should fill the bores of hearing
To thÕ smothering of the sense) how far it is
To this same blessed Milford. And by thÕ way
Tell me how Wales was made so happy as
TÕ 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 ere begot?
WeÕll talk of that hereafter. Prithee speak,
How many score of miles may we well rid
ÕTwixt hour and hour?
PISANIO.
One score Õtwixt sun and sun,
Madam, Õs enough for you, and too much too.
IMOGEN.
Why, one that rode toÕs execution, man,
Could never go so slow. I have heard of riding wagers
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
That run iÕ thÕ clockÕs behalf. But this is foolÕry.
Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say
SheÕll home to her father; and provide me presently
A riding suit, no costlier than would fit
A franklinÕs huswife.
PISANIO.
Madam, youÕre 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. ThereÕs no more to say.
Accessible is none but Milford way.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. Wales. A mountainous country with a cave.
Enter from the caveÊBelarius, GuideriusÊandÊArviragus.
BELARIUS.
A goodly day not to keep house with such
Whose roofÕs as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate
Instructs you how tÕ adore the heavens, and bows you
To a morningÕs holy office. The gates of monarchs
Are archÕd 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 iÕ thÕ 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; IÕll 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 allowÕd. 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-wingÕd eagle. O, this life
Is nobler than attending for a check,
Richer than doing nothing for a robe,
Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
Such gain the cap of him that makes him fine,
Yet keeps his book uncrossÕd. No life to ours!
GUIDERIUS.
Out of your proof you speak. We, poor unfledgÕd,
Have never wingÕd from view oÕ thÕ nest, nor know not
What airÕs 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 abed,
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 choir, as doth the prisonÕd bird,
And sing our bondage freely.
BELARIUS.
How you speak!
Did you but know the cityÕs usuries,
And felt them knowingly; the art oÕ thÕ court,
As hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb
Is certain falling, or so slippÕry that
The fearÕs as bad as falling; the toil oÕ thÕ war,
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
IÕ thÕ name of fame and honour, which dies iÕ thÕ search,
And hath as oft a slandÕrous epitaph
As record of fair act; nay, many times,
Doth ill deserve by doing well; whatÕs worse,
Must curtsy at the censure. O, boys, this story
The world may read in me; my bodyÕs markÕd
With Roman swords, and my report was once
First with the best of note. Cymbeline lovÕd 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 prevailÕd
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline
I was confederate with the Romans. So
FollowÕd my banishment, and this twenty years
This rock and these demesnes have been my world,
Where I have livÕd at honest freedom, paid
More pious debts to heaven than in all
The fore-end of my time. But up to thÕ mountains!
This is not huntersÕ language. He that strikes
The venison first shall be the lord oÕ thÕ feast;
To him the other two shall minister;
And we will fear no poison, which attends
In place of greater state. IÕll meet you in the valleys.
[ExeuntÊGuideriusÊandÊArviragus.]
How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
These boys know little they are sons to thÕ King,
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think they are mine; and though trainÕd up thus meanly
IÕ thÕ 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 callÕd GuideriusÑJove!
When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell
The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out
Into my story; say ÔThus mine enemy fell,
And thus I set my foot onÕs neckÕ; 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 rousÕd!
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 refts 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 callÕd,
They take for natural father. The game is up.
[Exit.]
SCENE IV. Wales, near Milford Haven.
EnterÊPisanioÊandÊImogen.
IMOGEN.
Thou toldÕst me, when we came from horse, the place
Was near at hand. NeÕer longÕd 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 thÕ inward of thee? One but painted thus
Would be interpreted a thing perplexÕd
Beyond self-explication. Put thyself
Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my staider senses. WhatÕs the matter?
Why tenderÕst thou that paper to me with
A look untender? IfÕt be summer news,
Smile toÕt before; if winterly, thou needÕst
But keep that countÕnance still. My husbandÕs hand?
That drug-damnÕd Italy hath out-craftied him,
And heÕs 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 disdainÕd of fortune.
IMOGEN.
[Reads.]ÊThy mistress, Pisanio, hath playÕd 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, Õtis 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? ThatÕs false toÕs bed,
Is it?
PISANIO.
Alas, good lady!
IMOGEN.
I false! Thy conscience witness! Iachimo,
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency;
Thou then lookÕdst like a villain; now, methinks,
Thy favourÕs good enough. Some jay of Italy,
Whose mother was her painting, hath betrayÕd him.
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion,
And for I am richer than to hang by thÕ walls
I must be rippÕd. To pieces with me! O,
MenÕs vows are womenÕs traitors! All good seeming,
By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
Put on for villainy; not born whereÕt grows,
But worn a bait for ladies.
PISANIO.
Good madam, hear me.
IMOGEN.
True honest men being heard, like false ®neas,
Were, in his time, thought false; and SinonÕs 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 perjurÕd
From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest;
Do thou thy masterÕs bidding; when thou seest 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; Õtis 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 seemÕst 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 masterÕs. Against self-slaughter
There is a prohibition so divine
That cravens my weak hand. Come, hereÕs my heart:
SomethingÕs aforeÕt. Soft, soft! weÕll no defence,
Obedient as the scabbard. What is here?
The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus
All turnÕd 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 betrayÕd
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe. And thou, Posthumus,
That didst set up my disobedience Õgainst 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 disedgÕd by her
That now thou tirest on, how thy memory
Will then be pangÕd by me. Prithee dispatch.
The lamb entreats the butcher. WhereÕs thy knife?
Thou art too slow to do thy masterÕs bidding,
When I desire it too.
PISANIO.
O gracious lady,
Since I receivÕd command to do this busines
I have not slept one wink.
IMOGEN.
DoÕt, and to bed then.
PISANIO.
IÕll wake mine eyeballs first.
IMOGEN.
Wherefore then
Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abusÕd
So many miles with a pretence? This place?
Mine action and thine own? our horsesÕ labour?
The time inviting thee? The perturbÕd court,
For my being absent? whereunto I never
Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far
To be unbent when thou hast taÕen thy stand,
ThÕ elected deer before thee?
PISANIO.
But to win time
To lose so bad employment, in the which
I have considerÕd 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 abusÕd. Some villain,
Ay, and singular in his art, hath done you both
This cursed injury.
IMOGEN.
Some Roman courtezan!
PISANIO.
No, on my life!
IÕll give but notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody sign of it, for Õtis commanded
I should do so. You shall be missÕd at court,
And that will well confirm it.
IMOGEN.
Why, good fellow,
What shall I do the while? Where bide? How live?
Or in my life what comfort, when I am
Dead to my husband?
PISANIO.
If youÕll back to thÕ courtÑ
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? IÕ thÕ worldÕs volume
Our Britain seems as of it, but not inÕt;
In a great pool a swanÕs nest. Prithee think
ThereÕs livers out of Britain.
PISANIO.
I am most glad
You think of other place. ThÕ ambassador,
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford Haven
Tomorrow. Now, if you could wear a mind
Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise
That which tÕ appear itself must not yet be
But by self-danger, you should tread a course
Pretty and full of view; yea, happily, 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 onÕt,
I would adventure.
PISANIO.
Well then, hereÕs 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 it pretty self) into a waggish courage;
Ready in gibes, quick-answerÕd, 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
(ÕTis 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, Õfore noble Lucius
Present yourself, desire his service, tell him
Wherein youÕre happy; which will make him know
If that his head have ear in music; doubtless
With joy he will embrace you; for heÕs 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!
ThereÕs more to be considerÕd; but weÕll even
All that good time will give us. This attempt
I am soldier to, and will abide it with
A princeÕs courage. Away, I prithee.
PISANIO.
Well, madam, we must take a short farewell,
Lest, being missÕd, I be suspected of
Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress,
Here is a box; I had it from the Queen.
WhatÕs inÕt is precious. If you are sick at sea
Or stomach-qualmÕd 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.]
SCENE V. Britain. CymbelineÕs palace.
EnterÊCymbeline, Queen, Cloten, LuciusÊandÊLords.
CYMBELINE.
Thus far, and so farewell.
LUCIUS.
Thanks, royal sir.
My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence,
And am right sorry that I must report ye
My masterÕs enemy.
CYMBELINE.
Our subjects, sir,
Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
Appear unkinglike.
LUCIUS.
So, sir. I desire of you
A conduct overland to Milford Haven.
Madam, all joy befall your Grace, and you!
CYMBELINE.
My lords, you are appointed for that office;
The due of honour in no point omit.
So farewell, noble Lucius.
LUCIUS.
Your hand, my lord.
CLOTEN.
Receive it friendly; but from this time forth
I wear it as your enemy.
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 crossÕd the Severn. Happiness!
[ExeuntÊLuciusÊandÊLords.]
QUEEN.
He goes hence frowning; but it honours us
That we have given him cause.
CLOTEN.
ÕTis 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 powÕrs that he already hath in Gallia
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
His war for Britain.
QUEEN.
ÕTis not sleepy business,
But must be lookÕd 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 appearÕd
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tenderÕd
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 retirÕd
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
ÕTis time must do. Beseech your Majesty,
Forbear sharp speeches to her; sheÕs a lady
So tender of rebukes that words are strokes,
And strokes death to her.
EnterÊAttendant.
CYMBELINE.
Where is she, sir? How
Can her contempt be answerÕd?
ATTENDANT.
Please you, sir,
Her chambers are all lockÕd, and thereÕs no answer
That will be given to thÕ loud of noise we make.
QUEEN.
My lord, when last I went to visit her,
She prayÕd me to excuse her keeping close;
Whereto constrainÕd by her infirmity
She should that duty leave unpaid to you
Which daily she was bound to proffer. This
She wishÕd me to make known; but our great court
Made me to blame in memory.
CYMBELINE.
Her doors lockÕd?
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,
I have not seen these two days.
QUEEN.
Go, look after.
[ExitÊCloten.]
Pisanio, thou that standÕst 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 seizÕd her;
Or, wingÕd with fervour of her love, sheÕs flown
To her desirÕd 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.
EnterÊCloten.
How now, my son?
CLOTEN.
ÕTis certain she is fled.
Go in and cheer the King. He rages; none
Dare come about him.
QUEEN.
All the better. May
This night forestall him of the coming day!
[Exit.]
CLOTEN.
I love and hate her; for sheÕs 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 judgement
That whatÕs else rare is chokÕd; and in that point
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
To be revengÕd upon her. For when fools
ShallÑ
EnterÊPisanio.
Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?
Come hither. Ah, you precious pandar! 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 JupiterÑ
I will not ask again. Close villain,
IÕll 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 missÕd?
He is in Rome.
CLOTEN.
Where is she, sir? Come nearer.
No farther 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 Ôworthy lordÕ!
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.
LetÕs seeÕt. I will pursue her
Even to AugustusÕ throne.
PISANIO.
[Aside.] Or this or perish.
SheÕs far enough; and what he learns by this
May prove his travel, not her danger.
CLOTEN.
Humh!
PISANIO.
[Aside.] IÕll write to my lord sheÕs dead. O Imogen,
Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!
CLOTEN.
Sirrah, is this letter true?
PISANIO.
Sir, as I think.
CLOTEN.
It is PosthumusÕ hand; I knowÕt. 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 industryÑthat is, what villainy soeÕer I bid thee do, to perform it directly and trulyÑI 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; hereÕs my purse. Hast any of thy late masterÕs 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 first service; go.
PISANIO.
I shall, my lord.
[Exit.]
CLOTEN.
Meet thee at Milford Haven! I forgot to ask him one thing; IÕll rememberÕt anon. Even there, thou villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these garments were come. She said upon a timeÑthe bitterness of it I now belch from my heartÑthat 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 dinedÑwhich, as I say, to vex her I will execute in the clothes that she so praisÕdÑto the court IÕll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath despisÕd me rejoicingly, and IÕll be merry in my revenge.
EnterÊPisanioÊwith the clothes.
Be those the garments?
PISANIO.
Ay, my noble lord.
CLOTEN.
How long isÕt 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 bidÕst 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 foolÕs speed
Be crossÕd with slowness! Labour be his meed!
[Exit.]
SCENE VI. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius.
EnterÊImogenÊalone, in boyÕs clothes.
IMOGEN.
I see a manÕs life is a tedious one.
I have tirÕd 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 showÕd thee,
Thou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think
Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean,
Where they should be relievÕd. Two beggars told me
I could not miss my way. Will poor folks lie,
That have afflictions on them, knowing Õtis
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 oÕ thÕ false ones. Now I think on thee
My hungerÕs gone; but even before, I was
At point to sink for food. But what is this?
Here is a path toÕt; Õtis some savage hold.
I were best not call; I dare not call. Yet famine,
Ere clean it oÕerthrow nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty and peace breeds cowards; hardness ever
Of hardiness is mother. Ho! whoÕs here?
If anything thatÕs civil, speak; if savage,
Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then IÕll enter.
Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy
But fear the sword, like me, heÕll scarcely look onÕt.
Such a foe, good heavens!
[Exit into the cave.]
SCENE VII. The same.
EnterÊBelarius, GuideriusÊandÊArviragus.
BELARIUS.
You, Polydore, have provÕd best woodman and
Are master of the feast. Cadwal and I
Will play the cook and servant; Õtis our match.
The sweat of industry would dry and die
But for the end it works to. Come, our stomachs
Will make whatÕs homely savoury; weariness
Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth
Finds the down pillow hard. Now, peace be here,
Poor house, that keepÕst thyself!
GUIDERIUS.
I am thoroughly weary.
ARVIRAGUS.
I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.
GUIDERIUS.
There is cold meat iÕ thÕ cave; weÕll browse on that
Whilst what we have killÕd be cookÕd.
BELARIUS.
[Looking into the cave.] Stay, come not in.
But that it eats our victuals, I should think
Here were a fairy.
GUIDERIUS.
WhatÕs the matter, sir?
BELARIUS.
By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not,
An earthly paragon! Behold divineness
No elder than a boy!
EnterÊImogen.
IMOGEN.
Good masters, harm me not.
Before I enterÕd here I callÕd, and thought
To have beggÕd or bought what I have took. Good troth,
I have stolÕn nought; nor would not though I had found
Gold strewÕd iÕ thÕ floor. HereÕs money for my meat.
I would have left it on the board, so soon
As I had made my meal, and parted
With prayÕrs for the provider.
GUIDERIUS.
Money, youth?
ARVIRAGUS.
All gold and silver rather turn to dirt,
As Õtis no better reckonÕd but of those
Who worship dirty gods.
IMOGEN.
I see youÕre 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.
WhatÕs your name?
IMOGEN.
Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who
Is bound for Italy; he embarkÕd at Milford;
To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
I am fallÕn in this offence.
BELARIUS.
Prithee, fair youth,
Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds
By this rude place we live in. Well encounterÕd!
ÕTis 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 IÕd buy.
ARVIRAGUS.
IÕll makeÕt my comfort
He is a man. IÕll love him as my brother;
And such a welcome as IÕd give to him
After long absence, such is yours. Most welcome!
Be sprightly, for you fall Õmongst friends.
IMOGEN.
ÕMongst friends,
If brothers. [Aside.] Would it had been so that they
Had been my fatherÕs 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 freeÕt!
ARVIRAGUS.
Or I, whateÕer it be,
What pain it cost, what danger! Gods!
BELARIUS.
[Whispering.] Hark, boys.
IMOGEN.
[Aside.] Great men,
That had a court no bigger than this cave,
That did attend themselves, and had the virtue
Which their own conscience sealÕd them, laying by
That nothing-gift of differing multitudes,
Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods!
IÕd change my sex to be companion with them,
Since Leonatus false.
BELARIUS.
It shall be so.
Boys, weÕll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in.
Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have suppÕd,
WeÕll mannerly demand thee of thy story,
So far as thou wilt speak it.
GUIDERIUS.
Pray draw near.
ARVIRAGUS.
The night to thÕ owl and morn to thÕ lark less
welcome.
IMOGEN.
Thanks, sir.
ARVIRAGUS.
I pray draw near.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE VIII. Rome. A public place.
Enter twoÊRoman SenatorsÊandÊTribunes.
FIRST SENATOR.
This is the tenour of the EmperorÕs writ:
That since the common men are now in action
ÕGainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians,
And that the legions now in Gallia are
Full weak to undertake our wars against
The fallÕn-off Britons, that we do incite
The gentry to this business. He creates
Lucius proconsul; and to you, the tribunes,
For this immediate levy, he commands
His absolute commission. Long live C¾sar!
TRIBUNE.
Is Lucius general of the forces?
SECOND SENATOR.
Ay.
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.
TRIBUNE.
We will discharge our duty.
[Exeunt.]
ACT IV
SCENE I. Wales. Near the cave of Belarius.
EnterÊClotenÊalone.
CLOTEN.
I am near to thÕ place where they should meet, if Pisanio have mappÕd 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 Õtis said a womanÕs 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 her 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.]
SCENE II. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius.
Enter from the cave,ÊBelarius, Guiderius, ArviragusÊandÊImogen.
BELARIUS.
[To Imogen.] You are not well. Remain here in the cave;
WeÕll 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; IÕll 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.
IÕll 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, sir, I yoke me
In my good brotherÕs fault. I know not why
I love this youth, and I have heard you say
LoveÕs reasonÕs without reason. The bier at door,
And a demand who isÕt shall die, IÕd say
ÔMy father, not this youth.Õ
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.
IÕm not their father; yet who this should be
Doth miracle itself, lovÕd before me.Ñ
ÕTis the ninth hour oÕ thÕ morn.
ARVIRAGUS.
Brother, farewell.
IMOGEN.
I wish ye sport.
ARVIRAGUS.
Your health. [To Belarius.] So please you, sir.
IMOGEN.
[Aside.] These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I
have heard!
Our courtiers say allÕs savage but at court.
Experience, O, thou disprovÕst report!
ThÕ imperious seas breed monsters; for the dish,
Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish.
I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio,
IÕll 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 thÕ field, to thÕ field!
WeÕll leave you for this time. Go in and rest.
ARVIRAGUS.
WeÕll not be long away.
BELARIUS.
Pray be not sick,
For you must be our huswife.
IMOGEN.
Well, or ill,
I am bound to you.
BELARIUS.
And shalt be ever.
[ExitÊImogenÊinto the cave.]
This youth, howeÕer distressÕd, appears he hath had
Good ancestors.
ARVIRAGUS.
How angel-like he sings!
GUIDERIUS.
But his neat cookery! He cut our roots in characters,
And saucÕd 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! WhoÕs there?
EnterÊCloten.
CLOTEN.
I cannot find those runagates; that villain
Hath mockÕd me. I am faint.
BELARIUS.
Those runagates?
Means he not us? I partly know him; Õtis
Cloten, the son oÕ thÕ Queen. I fear some ambush.
I saw him not these many years, and yet
I know Õtis 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.
[ExeuntÊBelariusÊandÊArviragus.]
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 neÕer 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,
KnowÕst 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.
WhatÕs 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,
ÕTwould move me sooner.
CLOTEN.
To thy further fear,
Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
I am son to thÕ Queen.
GUIDERIUS.
IÕm sorry forÕt; not seeming
So worthy as thy birth.
CLOTEN.
Art not afeard?
GUIDERIUS.
Those that I reverence, those I fearÑthe wise;
At fools I laugh, not fear them.
CLOTEN.
Die the death.
When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
IÕll follow those that even now fled hence,
And on the gates of LudÕs Town set your heads.
Yield, rustic mountaineer.
[Exeunt, fighting.]
EnterÊBelariusÊandÊArviragus.
BELARIUS.
No companyÕs 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 blurrÕd those lines of favour
Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice,
And burst of speaking, were as his. I am absolute
ÕTwas 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
Or roaring terrors; for defect of judgement
Is oft the cease of fear.
EnterÊGuideriusÊwithÊClotenÕsÊhead.
But, see, thy brother.
GUIDERIUS.
This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse;
There was no money inÕt. Not Hercules
Could have knockÕd 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 ClotenÕs head,
Son to the Queen, after his own report;
Who callÕd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore
With his own single hand heÕd take us in,
Displace our heads where, thank the gods, they grow,
And set them on LudÕs 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 ravÕd,
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
HeÕd fetch us in; yet isÕt 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. HowsoeÕer,
My brother hath done well.
BELARIUS.
I had no mind
To hunt this day; the boy FideleÕs sickness
Did make my way long forth.
GUIDERIUS.
With his own sword,
Which he did wave against my throat, I have taÕen
His head from him. IÕll throwÕt into the creek
Behind our rock, and let it to the sea
And tell the fishes heÕs the QueenÕs son, Cloten.
ThatÕs all I reck.
[Exit.]
BELARIUS.
I fear Õtwill be revengÕd.
Would, Polydore, thou hadst not doneÕt! though valour
Becomes thee well enough.
ARVIRAGUS.
Would I had doneÕt,
So the revenge alone pursuÕd me! Polydore,
I love thee brotherly, but envy much
Thou hast robbÕd me of this deed. I would revenges,
That possible strength might meet, would seek us through,
And put us to our answer.
BELARIUS.
Well, Õtis done.
WeÕll hunt no more today, nor seek for danger
Where thereÕs no profit. I prithee to our rock.
You and Fidele play the cooks; IÕll stay
Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him
To dinner presently.
ARVIRAGUS.
Poor sick Fidele!
IÕll willingly to him; to gain his colour
IÕd let a parish of such ClotenÕs blood,
And praise myself for charity.
[Exit.]
BELARIUS.
O thou goddess,
Thou divine Nature, thou thyself thou blazonÕst
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 enchafÕd, as the rudÕst wind
That by the top doth take the mountain pine
And make him stoop to thÕ vale. ÕTis wonder
That an invisible instinct should frame them
To royalty unlearnÕd, honour untaught,
Civility not seen from other, valour
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
As if it had been sowÕd. Yet still itÕs strange
What ClotenÕs being here to us portends,
Or what his death will bring us.
EnterÊGuiderius.
GUIDERIUS.
WhereÕs my brother?
I have sent ClotenÕs clotpoll down the stream,
In embassy to his mother; his bodyÕs 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 dearÕst 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?
EnterÊArviragusÊwithÊImogenÊas dead, bearing her in his arms.
BELARIUS.
Look, here he comes,
And brings the dire occasion in his arms
Of what we blame him for!
ARVIRAGUS.
The bird is dead
That we have made so much on. I had rather
Have skippÕd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
To have turnÕd 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 grewÕst thyself.
BELARIUS.
O melancholy!
Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
The ooze to show what coast thy sluggish crare
MightÕst 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 had tickled slumber,
Not as deathÕs dart, being laughÕd at; his right cheek
Reposing on a cushion.
GUIDERIUS.
Where?
ARVIRAGUS.
OÕ thÕ floor;
His arms thus leaguÕd. I thought he slept, and put
My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
AnswerÕd my steps too loud.
GUIDERIUS.
Why, he but sleeps.
If he be gone heÕll 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,
IÕll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack
The flower thatÕs like thy face, pale primrose; nor
The azurÕd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweetÕned 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 furrÕd moss besides, when flowÕrs are none,
To winter-ground thy corseÑ
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 thÕ grave.
ARVIRAGUS.
Say, where shallÕs lay him?
GUIDERIUS.
By good Euriphile, our mother.
ARVIRAGUS.
BeÕt so;
And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to thÕ ground,
As once to our mother; use like note and words,
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.
GUIDERIUS.
Cadwal,
I cannot sing. IÕll weep, and word it with thee;
For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse
Than priests and fanes that lie.
ARVIRAGUS.
WeÕll speak it, then.
BELARIUS.
Great griefs, I see, medÕcine the less, for Cloten
Is quite forgot. He was a queenÕs 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 Õtween 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.
ThersitesÕ body is as good as AjaxÕ,
When neither are alive.
ARVIRAGUS.
If youÕll go fetch him,
WeÕll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.
[ExitÊBelarius.]
GUIDERIUS.
Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to thÕ East;
My father hath a reason forÕt.
ARVIRAGUS.
ÕTis true.
GUIDERIUS.
Come on, then, and remove him.
ARVIRAGUS.
So. Begin.
SONG
GUIDERIUS.
ÊÊÊÊFear no more the heat oÕ thÕ sun,
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊNor the furious winterÕs rages;
ÊÊÊÊThou thy worldly task hast done,
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊHome art gone, and taÕen thy wages.
ÊÊÊÊGolden lads and girls all must,
ÊÊÊÊAs chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
ARVIRAGUS.
ÊÊÊÊFear no more the frown oÕ thÕ great;
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊThou art past the tyrantÕs stroke.
ÊÊÊÊCare no more to clothe and eat;
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊTo thee the reed is as the oak.
ÊÊÊÊThe sceptre, learning, physic, must
ÊÊÊÊAll follow this and come to dust.
GUIDERIUS.
ÊÊÊÊFear no more the lightning flash.
ARVIRAGUS.
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊNor thÕ all-dreaded thunder-stone.
GUIDERIUS.
ÊÊÊÊFear not slander, censure rash;
ARVIRAGUS.
ÊÊÊÊThou hast finishÕd joy and moan.
BOTH.
ÊÊÊÊAll lovers young, all lovers must
ÊÊÊÊConsign to thee and come to dust.
GUIDERIUS.
ÊÊÊÊNo exorciser harm thee!
ARVIRAGUS.
ÊÊÊÊNor no witchcraft charm thee!
GUIDERIUS.
ÊÊÊÊGhost unlaid forbear thee!
ARVIRAGUS.
ÊÊÊÊNothing ill come near thee!
BOTH.
ÊÊÊÊQuiet consummation have,
ÊÊÊÊAnd renowned be thy grave!
EnterÊBelariusÊwith the body ofÊCloten.
GUIDERIUS.
We have done our obsequies. Come, lay him down.
BELARIUS.
HereÕs a few flowers; but Õbout midnight, more.
The herbs that have on them cold dew oÕ thÕ night
Are strewings fitÕst for graves. Upon their faces.
You were as flowÕrs, now witherÕd. 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 all butÊImogen.]
IMOGEN.
[Awaking.] Yes, sir, to Milford Haven. Which is the way?
I thank you. By yond bush? Pray, how far thither?
ÕOds pittikins! can it be six mile yet?
I have gone all night. Faith, IÕll lie down and sleep.
But, soft! no bedfellow. O gods and goddesses!
[Seeing the body.]
These flowÕrs are like the pleasures of the world;
This bloody man, the care onÕt. I hope I dream;
For so I thought I was a cave-keeper,
And cook to honest creatures. But Õtis not so;
ÕTwas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes
Are sometimes, like our judgements, blind. Good faith,
I tremble still with fear; but if there be
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
As a wrenÕs eye, fearÕd gods, a part of it!
The dreamÕs here still. Even when I wake it is
Without me, as within me; not imaginÕd, felt.
A headless man? The garments of Posthumus?
I know the shape ofÕs leg; this is his hand,
His foot Mercurial, his Martial thigh,
The brawns of Hercules; but his Jovial faceÑ
Murder in heaven! How! ÕTis gone. Pisanio,
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
ConspirÕd with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
Hath here cut off my lord. To write and read
Be henceforth treacherous! DamnÕd Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters (damnÕd Pisanio)
From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the main-top. O Posthumus! alas,
Where is thy head? WhereÕs that? Ay me! whereÕs that?
Pisanio might have killÕd thee at the heart,
And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio?
ÕTis he and Cloten; malice and lucre in them
Have laid this woe here. O, Õtis pregnant, pregnant!
The drug he gave me, which he said was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it
MurdÕrous to thÕ senses? That confirms it home.
This is PisanioÕs deed, and Cloten. 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 fainting on the body.]
EnterÊLucius, CaptainsÊand aÊSoothsayer.
CAPTAIN.
To them the legions garrisonÕd in Gallia,
After your will, have crossÕd the sea, attending
You here at Milford Haven; with your ships,
They are in readiness.
LUCIUS.
But what from Rome?
CAPTAIN.
The Senate hath stirrÕd up the confiners
And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits,
That promise noble service; and they come
Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
SiennaÕs brother.
LUCIUS.
When expect you them?
CAPTAIN.
With the next benefit oÕ thÕ wind.
LUCIUS.
This forwardness
Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers
Be musterÕd; bid the captains look toÕt. Now, sir,
What have you dreamÕd of late of this warÕs purpose?
SOOTHSAYER.
Last night the very gods showÕd me a vision
(I fast and prayÕd for their intelligence) thus:
I saw JoveÕs bird, the Roman eagle, wingÕd
From the spongy south to this part of the west,
There vanishÕd in the sunbeams; which portends,
Unless my sins abuse my divination,
Success to thÕ Roman host.
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.
LetÕs see the boyÕs face.
CAPTAIN.
HeÕs alive, my lord.
LUCIUS.
HeÕll 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 makÕst thy bloody pillow? Or who was he
That, otherwise than noble nature did,
Hath alterÕd that good picture? WhatÕs thy interest
In this sad wreck? How cameÕt? Who isÕt?
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.
LUCIUS.
ÕLack, good youth!
Thou movÕst 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
TheyÕll pardon it.ÑSay you, sir?
LUCIUS.
Thy name?
IMOGEN.
Fidele, sir.
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 masterÕd; but, be sure,
No less belovÕd. The Roman EmperorÕs letters,
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
Than thine own worth prefer thee. Go with me.
IMOGEN.
IÕll follow, sir. But first, anÕt please the gods,
IÕll hide my master from the flies, as deep
As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I haÕ strewÕd his grave,
And on it said a century of prayers,
Such as I can, twice oÕer, IÕll weep and sigh;
And leaving so his service, follow you,
So please you entertain me.
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 preferrÕd
By thee to us; and he shall be interrÕd
As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes.
Some falls are means the happier to arise.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. Britain. CymbelineÕs palace.
EnterÊCymbeline, Lords, PisanioÊand Attendants.
CYMBELINE.
Again! and bring me word how Õtis with her.
[Exit anÊAttendant.]
A fever with the absence of her son;
A madness, of which her lifeÕs 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, weÕll 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.
LORD.
Good my liege,
The day that she was missing he was here.
I dare be bound heÕs 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.] WeÕll slip you for a season; but our jealousy
Does yet depend.
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 amazÕd with matter.
LORD.
Good my liege,
Your preparation can affront no less
Than what you hear of. Come more, for more youÕre ready.
The want is but to put those powÕrs in motion
That long to move.
CYMBELINE.
I thank you. LetÕs 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 butÊPisanio.]
PISANIO.
I heard no letter from my master since
I wrote him Imogen was slain. ÕTis 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
PerplexÕd 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 oÕ thÕ King, or IÕll fall in them.
All other doubts, by time let them be clearÕd:
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steerÕd.
[Exit.]
SCENE IV. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius.
EnterÊBelarius, GuideriusÊandÊArviragus.
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,
WeÕll higher to the mountains; there secure us.
To the KingÕs party thereÕs no going. Newness
Of ClotenÕs death (we being not known, not musterÕd
Among the bands) may drive us to a render
Where we have livÕd, and so extort fromÕs 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 quarterÕd fires, have both their eyes
And ears so cloyÕd 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 deservÕd 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 promisÕd,
But to be still hot summerÕs tanlings and
The shrinking slaves of winter.
GUIDERIUS.
Than be so,
Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to thÕ army.
I and my brother are not known; yourself
So out of thought, and thereto so oÕergrown,
Cannot be questioned.
ARVIRAGUS.
By this sun that shines,
IÕll thither. What thing isÕt that I never
Did see man die! scarce ever lookÕd on blood
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison!
Never bestrid a horse, save one that had
A rider like myself, who neÕer wore rowel
Nor iron on his heel! I am ashamÕd
To look upon the holy sun, to have
The benefit of his blest beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.
GUIDERIUS.
By heavens, IÕll go!
If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,
IÕll 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 crackÕd one to more care. Have with you, boys!
If in your country wars you chance to die,
That is my bed too, lads, and there IÕll lie.
Lead, lead. [Aside.] The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn
Till it fly out and show them princes born.
[Exeunt.]
ACT V
SCENE I. Britain. The Roman camp.
EnterÊPosthumusÊalone, with a bloody handkerchief.
POSTHUMUS.
Yea, bloody cloth, IÕll keep thee; for I wishÕd
Thou shouldst be colourÕd 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 taÕen vengeance on my faults, I never
Had livÕd 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; thatÕs 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 doersÕ thrift.
But Imogen is your own. Do your best wills,
And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither
Among thÕ Italian gentry, and to fight
Against my ladyÕs kingdom. ÕTis enough
That, Britain, I have killÕd thy mistress; peace!
IÕll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,
Hear patiently my purpose. IÕll disrobe me
Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself
As does a Britain peasant. So IÕll fight
Against the part I come with; so IÕll 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 IÕll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me than my habits show.
Gods, put the strength oÕ thÕ Leonati in me!
To shame the guise oÕ thÕ world, I will begin
The fashion less without and more within.
[Exit.]
SCENE II. Britain. A field of battle between the British and Roman camps.
EnterÊLucius, IachimoÊand the Roman army at one door, and the British army at another,ÊLeonatus PosthumusÊfollowing like a poor soldier. They march over and go out. Alarums. Then enter again, in skirmish,ÊIachimoÊandÊPosthumus.ÊHe vanquisheth and disarmethÊIachimoÊand 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 onÕt
Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl,
A very drudge of natureÕs, have subduÕd 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;ÊCymbelineÊis taken. Then enter to his rescueÊBelarius, GuideriusÊandÊArviragus.
BELARIUS.
Stand, stand! We have thÕ advantage of the ground;
The lane is guarded; nothing routs us but
The villainy of our fears.
GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS.
Stand, stand, and fight!
EnterÊPosthumusÊand seconds the Britons; they rescueÊCymbelineÊand exeunt. Then re-enterÊLuciusÊandÊIachimoÊwithÊImogen.
LUCIUS.
Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;
For friends kill friends, and the disorderÕs such
As war were hoodwinkÕd.
IACHIMO.
ÕTis their fresh supplies.
LUCIUS.
It is a day turnÕd strangely. Or betimes
LetÕs reinforce or fly.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. Another part of the field.
EnterÊPosthumusÊand a BritonÊLord.
LORD.
CamÕst thou from where they made the stand?
POSTHUMUS.
I did:
Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.
LORD.
I did.
POSTHUMUS.
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 strait lane; the enemy, full-hearted,
Lolling the tongue with slaughtÕring, having work
More plentiful than tools to doÕt, struck down
Some mortally, some slightly touchÕd, some falling
Merely through fear, that the strait pass was dammÕd
With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living
To die with lengthÕned shame.
LORD.
Where was this lane?
POSTHUMUS.
Close by the battle, ditchÕd, and wallÕd with turf,
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,
An honest one, I warrant, who deservÕd
So long a breeding as his white beard came to,
In doing this forÕs 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 casÕd or shame)
Made good the passage, cried to those that fled
ÔOur BritainÕs 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!Õ These three,
Three thousand confident, in act as manyÑ
For three performers are the file when all
The rest do nothingÑwith this word ÔStand, stand!Õ
Accommodated by the place, more charming
With their own nobleness, which could have turnÕd
A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks,
Part shame, part spirit renewÕd; that some turnÕd coward
But by example (O, a sin in war
DamnÕd in the first beginners) Õgan to look
The way that they did and to grin like lions
Upon the pikes oÕ thÕ hunters. Then began
A stop iÕ thÕ chaser, a retire; anon
A rout, confusion thick. Forthwith they fly,
Chickens, the way which they stoopÕd eagles; slaves,
The strides they victors made; and now our cowards,
Like fragments in hard voyages, became
The life oÕ thÕ need. Having found the back-door open
Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!
Some slain before, some dying, some their friends
OÕerborne iÕ thÕ former wave. Ten chasÕd by one
Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty.
Those that would die or ere resist are grown
The mortal bugs oÕ thÕ field.
LORD.
This was strange chance:
A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.
POSTHUMUS.
Nay, do not wonder at it; you are made
Rather to wonder at the things you hear
Than to work any. Will you rhyme uponÕt,
And vent it for a mockÕry? Here is one:
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÔTwo boys, an old man (twice a boy), a lane,
ÊÊÊÊÊÊÊÊPreservÕd the Britons, was the RomansÕ bane.Õ
LORD.
Nay, be not angry, sir.
POSTHUMUS.
ÕLack, to what end?
Who dares not stand his foe IÕll be his friend;
For if heÕll do as he is made to do,
I know heÕll quickly fly my friendship too.
You have put me into rhyme.
LORD.
Farewell; youÕre angry.
[Exit.]
POSTHUMUS.
Still going? This is a lord! O noble misery,
To be iÕ thÕ field and ask ÔWhat news?Õ of me!
Today how many would have given their honours
To have savÕd their carcasses! took heel to doÕt,
And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charmÕd,
Could not find death where I did hear him groan,
Nor feel him where he struck. Being an ugly monster,
ÕTis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,
Sweet words; or hath moe ministers than we
That draw his knives iÕ thÕ war. Well, I will find him;
For being now a favourer to the Briton,
No more a Briton, I have resumÕd 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 thÕ Roman; great the answer be
Britons must take. For me, my ransomÕs death;
On either side I come to spend my breath,
Which neither here IÕll keep nor bear again,
But end it by some means for Imogen.
Enter two BritishÊCaptainsÊand soldiers.
FIRST CAPTAIN.
Great Jupiter be praisÕd! Lucius is taken.
ÕTis thought the old man and his sons were angels.
SECOND CAPTAIN.
There was a fourth man, in a silly habit,
That gave thÕ affront with them.
FIRST CAPTAIN.
So Õtis reported;
But none of Õem can be found. Stand! whoÕs there?
POSTHUMUS.
A Roman,
Who had not now been drooping here if seconds
Had answerÕd him.
SECOND CAPTAIN.
Lay hands on him; a dog!
A leg of Rome shall not return to tell
What crows have peckÕd them here. He brags his service,
As if he were of note. Bring him to thÕ King.
EnterÊCymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, PisanioÊand Roman captives. TheÊCaptainsÊpresentÊPosthumus toÊCymbeline,Êwho delivers him over to a gaoler.
[Exeunt omnes.]
SCENE IV. Britain. A prison.
EnterÊPosthumusÊand twoÊGaolers.
FIRST GAOLER. You shall not now be stolÕn, you have locks upon you;
So graze as you find pasture.
SECOND GAOLER.
Ay, or a stomach.
[ExeuntÊGaolers.]
POSTHUMUS.
Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a way,
I think, to liberty. Yet am I better
Than one thatÕs sick oÕ thÕ gout, since he had rather
Groan so in perpetuity than be curÕd
By thÕ sure physician death, who is the key
TÕ unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetterÕd
More than my shanks and wrists; you good gods, give me
The penitent instrument to pick that bolt,
Then, free for ever! IsÕt 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,
DesirÕd more than constrainÕd. To satisfy,
If of my freedom Õtis 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; thatÕs not my desire.
For ImogenÕs dear life take mine; and though
ÕTis not so dear, yet Õtis a life; you coinÕd it.
ÕTween man and man they weigh not every stamp;
Though light, take pieces for the figureÕs sake;
You rather mine, being yours. And so, great powÕrs,
If you will take this audit, take this life,
And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!
IÕll speak to thee in silence.
[Sleeps.]
Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition,ÊSicilius Leonatus,Êfather toÊPosthumus,Êan old man attired like a warrior; leading in his hand an ancient matron, his wife andÊMotherÊtoÊPosthumus,Êwith music before them. Then, after other music, follows the two youngÊLeonati,Êbrothers toÊPosthumus,Êwith wounds, as they died in the wars. They circleÊPosthumusÊround as he lies sleeping.
SICILIUS.
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 stayÕd
Attending natureÕs law;
Whose father then, as men report
Thou orphansÕ 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 rippÕd,
Came crying Õmongst his foes,
A thing of pity.
SICILIUS.
Great Nature like his ancestry
Moulded the stuff so fair
That he deservÕd the praise oÕ thÕ world
As great SiciliusÕ 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 mockÕd,
To be exilÕd and thrown
From Leonati seat and cast
From her his dearest one,
Sweet Imogen?
SICILIUS.
Why did you suffer Iachimo,
Slight thing of Italy,
To taint his nobler heart and brain
With needless jealousy,
And to become the geck and scorn
OÕ thÕ otherÕs villainy?
SECOND BROTHER.
For this from stiller seats we came,
Our parents and us twain,
That, striking in our countryÕs cause,
Fell bravely and were slain,
Our fealty and TenantiusÕ right
With honour to maintain.
FIRST BROTHER.
Like hardiment Posthumus hath
To Cymbeline performÕd.
Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,
Why hast thou thus adjournÕd
The graces for his merits due,
Being all to dolours turnÕd?
SICILIUS.
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.
Peep through thy marble mansion. Help!
Or we poor ghosts will cry
To thÕ shining synod of the rest
Against thy deity.
BROTHERS.
Help, Jupiter! or we appeal,
And from thy justice fly.
JupiterÊdescends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle. He throws a thunderbolt. TheÊGhostsÊfall 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 flowÕrs.
Be not with mortal accidents opprest:
No care of yours it is; you know Õtis ours.
Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift,
The more delayÕd, delighted. Be content;
Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift;
His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.
Our Jovial star reignÕd 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 farther with your din
Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.
Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.
[Ascends.]
SICILIUS.
He came in thunder; his celestial breath
Was sulphurous to smell; the holy eagle
StoopÕd 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 pleasÕd.
ALL.
Thanks, Jupiter!
SICILIUS.
The marble pavement closes, he is enterÕd
His radiant roof. Away! and, to be blest,
Let us with care perform his great behest.
[GhostsÊvanish.]
POSTHUMUS.
[Waking.] Sleep, thou has 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 greatnessÕ favour, dream as I have done;
Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve;
Many dream not to find, neither deserve,
And yet are steepÕd 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.]ÊWhen as a lionÕs whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embracÕd by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be loppÕd 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.
ÕTis 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
IÕll keep, if but for sympathy.
EnterÊGaoler.
GAOLER.
Come, sir, are you ready for death?
POSTHUMUS.
Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.
GAOLER.
Hanging is the word, sir; if you be ready for that, you are well cookÕd.
POSTHUMUS.
So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish pays the shot.
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 faint 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. O, 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 whatÕs past, is, and to come, the discharge. Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and counters; so the acquittance follows.
POSTHUMUS.
I am merrier to die than thou art to live.
GAOLER.
Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache. 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.
Yes indeed do I, fellow.
GAOLER.
Your death has eyes inÕs head, then; I have not seen him so picturÕd. You must either be directed by some that take upon them to know, or to 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 journeyÕs end, I think youÕll never return to tell one.
POSTHUMUS.
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.
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 hangingÕs the way of winking.
Enter aÊMessenger.
MESSENGER.
Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the King.
POSTHUMUS.
Thou bringÕst good news: I am callÕd to be made free.
GAOLER.
IÕll be hangÕd then.
POSTHUMUS.
Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead.
[ExeuntÊPosthumusÊandÊMessenger.]
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 inÕt.
[Exit.]
SCENE V. Britain. CymbelineÕs tent.
EnterÊCymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio, Lords, OfficersÊand 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 shamÕd gilded arms, whose naked breast
SteppÕd before targes 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 promisÕd nought
But beggary and poor looks.
CYMBELINE.
No tidings of him?
PISANIO.
He hath been searchÕd 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. ÕTis 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 oÕ thÕ battle; I create you
Companions to our person, and will fit you
With dignities becoming your estates.
EnterÊCorneliusÊandÊLadies.
ThereÕs business in these faces. Why so sadly
Greet you our victory? You look like Romans,
And not oÕ thÕ 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 medÕcine life may be prolongÕd, 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 confessÕd
I will report, so please you; these her women
Can trip me if I err, who with wet cheeks
Were present when she finishÕd.
CYMBELINE.
Prithee say.
CORNELIUS.
First, she confessÕd she never lovÕd you; only
Affected greatness got by you, not you;
Married your royalty, was wife to your place;
AbhorrÕd 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
TaÕen off by poison.
CYMBELINE.
O most delicate fiend!
Who isÕt 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 lingÕring,
By inches waste you. In which time she purposÕd,
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
OÕercome you with her show; and in time,
When she had fitted you with her craft, to work
Her son into thÕ adoption of the crown;
But failing of her end by his strange absence,
Grew shameless-desperate, openÕd, in despite
Of heaven and men, her purposes, repented
The evils she hatchÕd were not effected; so,
Despairing, died.
CYMBELINE.
Heard you all this, her women?
LADIES.
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!
EnterÊLucius, Iachimo,ÊtheÊSoothsayerÊand other Roman prisoners, guarded;ÊPosthumusÊbehind, andÊImogen.
Thou comÕst not, Caius, now for tribute; that
The Britons have razÕd out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one, whose kinsmen have made suit
That their good souls may be appeasÕd with slaughter
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted;
So think of your estate.
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 threatenÕd
Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
May be callÕd ransom, let it come. Sufficeth
A Roman with a RomanÕs heart can suffer.
Augustus lives to think onÕt; and so much
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will entreat: my boy, a Briton born,
Let him be ransomÕd. 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 IÕll make bold your Highness
Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm
Though he have servÕd 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 lookÕd thyself into my grace,
And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore
To say ÒLive, boy.Ó NeÕer thank thy master. Live;
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Fitting my bounty and thy state, IÕll give it;
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
The noblest taÕen.
IMOGEN.
I humbly thank your Highness.
LUCIUS.
I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad,
And yet I know thou wilt.
IMOGEN.
No, no! Alack,
ThereÕs other work in hand. I see a thing
Bitter to me as death; your life, good master,
Must shuffle for itself.
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 perplexÕd?
CYMBELINE.
What wouldst thou, boy?
I love thee more and more; think more and more
WhatÕs best to ask. KnowÕst him thou lookÕst 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 eyÕst him so?
IMOGEN.
IÕll tell you, sir, in private, if you please
To give me hearing.
CYMBELINE.
Ay, with all my heart,
And lend my best attention. WhatÕs thy name?
IMOGEN.
Fidele, sir.
CYMBELINE.
ThouÕrt my good youth, my page;
IÕll be thy master. Walk with me; speak freely.
[Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart.]
BELARIUS.
Is not this boy revivÕd 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; wereÕt he, I am sure
He would have spoke to us.
GUIDERIUS.
But we see him dead.
BELARIUS.
Be silent; letÕs see further.
PISANIO.
[Aside.] It is my mistress.
Since she is living, let the time run on
To good or bad.
[Cymbeline and Imogen advance.]
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.
[Aside.] WhatÕs that to him?
CYMBELINE.
That diamond upon your finger, say
How came it yours?
IACHIMO.
ThouÕlt torture me to leave unspoken that
Which to be spoke would torture thee.
CYMBELINE.
How? me?
IACHIMO.
I am glad to be constrainÕd to utter that
Which torments me to conceal. By villainy
I got this ring; Õtwas LeonatusÕ jewel,
Whom thou didst banish; andÑwhich more may grieve thee,
As it doth meÑa nobler sir neÕer livÕd
ÕTwixt 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 rememberÑGive 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: was in Rome, accursÕd
The mansion where: Õtwas at a feast, O, would
Our viands had been poisonÕd (or at least
Those which I heavÕd 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 rarÕst of good ones) sitting sadly
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
For beauty that made barren the swellÕd 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 praisÕd, therein
He was as calm as virtue) he began
His mistressÕ picture; which by his tongue being made,
And then a mind put inÕt, either our brags
Were crackÕd of kitchen trulls, or his description
ProvÕd us unspeaking sots.
CYMBELINE.
Nay, nay, to thÕ purpose.
IACHIMO.
Your daughterÕs 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 wagerÕd with him
Pieces of gold Õgainst this which then he wore
Upon his honourÕd finger, to attain
In suit the place ofÕs 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 PhoebusÕ wheel; and might so safely, had it
Been all the worth ofÕs 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
ÕTwixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quenchÕd
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
Gan in your duller Britain operate
Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent;
And, to be brief, my practice so prevailÕd
That I returnÕd with simular proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad,
By wounding his belief in her renown
With tokens thus and thus; averring 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 crackÕd,
I having taÕen the forfeit. Whereupon
Methinks I see him nowÑ
POSTHUMUS.
[Coming forward.] Ay, so thou dost,
Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool,
Egregious murderer, thief, anything
ThatÕs 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 thÕ abhorred things oÕ thÕ earth amend
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
That killÕd thy daughter; villain-like, I lie;
That causÕd a lesser villain than myself,
A sacrilegious thief, to doÕt. The temple
Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
The dogs oÕ thÕ street to bay me. Every villain
Be callÕd Posthumus Leonatus, and
Be villainy less than Õtwas! O Imogen!
My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
Imogen, Imogen!
IMOGEN.
Peace, my lord. Hear, hear!
POSTHUMUS.
ShallÕs have a play of this? Thou scornful page,
There lies thy part.
[Strikes her. She falls.]
PISANIO.
O gentlemen, help!
Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus!
You neÕer killÕd Imogen till now. Help, help!
Mine honourÕd lady!
CYMBELINE.
Does the world go round?
POSTHUMUS.
How comes 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 my mistress?
IMOGEN.
O, get thee from my sight;
Thou gavÕst 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 poisonÕd me.
CORNELIUS.
O gods!
I left out one thing which the Queen confessÕd,
Which must approve thee honest. ÔIf Pisanio
HaveÕ said she Ôgiven his mistress that confection
Which I gave him for cordial, she is servÕd
As I would serve a rat.Õ
CYMBELINE.
WhatÕs this, Cornelius?
CORNELIUS.
The Queen, sir, very oft importunÕd 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 taÕen would cease
The present powÕr of life, but in short time
All offices of nature should again
Do their due functions. Have you taÕen 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.
Hang there like fruit, my soul,
Till the tree die!
CYMBELINE.
How now, my flesh? my child?
What, makÕst 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 forÕt.
CYMBELINE.
My tears that fall
Prove holy water on thee! Imogen,
Thy motherÕs dead.
IMOGEN.
I am sorry forÕt, my lord.
CYMBELINE.
O, she was naught, 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, IÕll speak troth. Lord Cloten,
Upon my ladyÕs missing, came to me
With his sword drawn, foamÕd at the mouth, and swore,
If I discoverÕd not which way she was gone,
It was my instant death. By accident
I had a feigned letter of my masterÕs
Then in my pocket, which directed him
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
Where, in a frenzy, in my masterÕs garments,
Which he enforcÕd from me, away he posts
With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate
My ladyÕs 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 hard sentence. Prithee, valiant youth,
DenyÕt 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 offÕs 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 condemnÕd, and must
Endure our law. ThouÕrt 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 forÕt.
BELARIUS.
We will die all three;
But I will prove that two onÕs 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 dangerÕs ours.
GUIDERIUS.
And our good his.
BELARIUS.
Have at it then by leave!
Thou hadst, great King, a subject who
Was callÕd Belarius.
CYMBELINE.
What of him? He is
A banishÕd traitor.
BELARIUS.
He it is that hath
AssumÕd this age; indeed a banishÕd 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 receivÕd it.
CYMBELINE.
Nursing of my sons?
BELARIUS.
I am too blunt and saucy: hereÕs 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 fatherÕs. I, old Morgan,
Am that Belarius whom you sometime banishÕd.
Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
Itself, and all my treason; that I sufferÕd
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes
(For such and so they are) these twenty years
Have I trainÕd 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 movÕd her toÕt,
Having receivÕd the punishment before
For that which I did then. Beaten for loyalty
Excited me to treason. Their dear loss,
The more of you Õtwas felt, the more it shapÕd
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
Here are your sons again, and I must lose
Two of the sweetÕst 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 weepÕst and speakÕst.
The service that you three have done is more
Unlike than this thou tellÕst. I lost my children.
If these be they, I know not how to wish
A pair of worthier sons.
BELARIUS.
Be pleasÕd 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 lappÕd
In a most curious mantle, wrought by thÕ 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 natureÕs end in the donation,
To be his evidence now.
CYMBELINE.
O, what am I?
A mother to the birth of three? NeÕer mother
RejoicÕd deliverance more. Blest pray you be,
That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
You may reign in them now! O Imogen,
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.
IMOGEN.
No, my lord;
I have got two worlds byÕt. O my gentle brothers,
Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter
But I am truest speaker! You callÕd me brother,
When I was but your sister: I you brothers,
When we were so indeed.
CYMBELINE.
Did you eÕer meet?
ARVIRAGUS.
Ay, my good lord.
GUIDERIUS.
And at first meeting lovÕd,
ContinuÕd so until we thought he died.
CORNELIUS.
By the QueenÕs dram she swallowÕd.
CYMBELINE.
O rare instinct!
When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgement
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
Distinction should be rich in. Where? how livÕd you?
And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
And your three motives to the battle, with
I know not how much more, should be demanded,
And all the other by-dependances,
From chance to chance; but nor the time nor place
Will serve our long interrogatories. See,
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen;
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
On him, her brothers, me, her master, hitting
Each object with a joy; the counterchange
Is severally in all. LetÕs quit this ground,
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.
[To Belarius.] Thou art my brother; so weÕll hold thee ever.
IMOGEN.
You are my father too, and did relieve me
To see this gracious season.
CYMBELINE.
All oÕerjoyÕd
Save these in bonds. Let them be joyful too,
For they shall taste our comfort.
IMOGEN.
My good master,
I will yet do you service.
LUCIUS.
Happy be you!
CYMBELINE.
The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought,
He would have well becomÕd this place and gracÕd
The thankings of a king.
POSTHUMUS.
I am, sir,
The soldier that did company these three
In poor beseeming; Õtwas a fitment for
The purpose I then followÕd. That I was he,
Speak, Iachimo. I had you down, and might
Have made you finish.
IACHIMO.
[Kneeling.] I am down again;
But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,
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.
POSTHUMUS.
Kneel not to me.
The powÕr that I have on you is to spare you;
The malice towards you to forgive you. Live,
And deal with others better.
CYMBELINE.
Nobly doomÕd!
WeÕll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
PardonÕs the word to all.
ARVIRAGUS.
You holp us, sir,
As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
JoyÕd are we that you are.
POSTHUMUS.
Your servant, Princes. Good my lord of Rome,
Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle backÕd,
AppearÕd to me, with other spritely shows
Of mine own kindred. When I wakÕd, 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.
LUCIUS.
Philarmonus!
SOOTHSAYER.
Here, my good lord.
LUCIUS.
Read, and declare the meaning.
SOOTHSAYER.
[Reads.]ÊWhen as a lionÕs whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embracÕd by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be loppÕd 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 lionÕs whelp;
The fit and apt construction of thy name,
Being Leo-natus, doth import so much.
[To Cymbeline] The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
Which we callÊmollis aer, andÊmollis aer
We term itÊmulier; whichÊmulierÊI divine
Is this most constant wife, who even now
Answering the letter of the oracle,
Unknown to you, unsought, were clippÕd about
With this most tender air.
CYMBELINE.
This hath some seeming.
SOOTHSAYER.
The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
Personates thee; and thy loppÕd branches point
Thy two sons forth, who, by Belarius stolÕn,
For many years thought dead, are now revivÕd,
To the majestic cedar joinÕd, whose issue
Promises Britain peace and plenty.
CYMBELINE.
Well,
My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius,
Although the victor, we submit to C¾sar
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 powÕrs above do tune
The harmony of this peace. The vision
Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke
Of yet this scarce-cold battle, at this instant
Is full accomplishÕd; for the Roman eagle,
From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
LessenÕd herself and in the beams oÕ thÕ sun
So vanishÕd; which foreshowÕd our princely eagle,
ThÕ imperial C¾sar, 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 blessÕd altars. Publish we this peace
To all our subjects. Set we forward; let
A Roman and a British ensign wave
Friendly together. So through LudÕs Town march;
And in the temple of great Jupiter
Our peace weÕll ratify; seal it with feasts.
Set on there! Never was a war did cease,
Ere bloody hands were washÕd, with such a peace.
[Exeunt.]