CYMBELINE
by William Shakespeare
Contents
ACT I
Scene I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline’s palace.
Scene II. The same.
Scene III. Britain. A public place.
Scene IV. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace.
Scene V. Rome. Philario’s house.
Scene VI. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace.
Scene VII. Britain. The palace.
ACT II
Scene I. Britain. Before Cymbeline’s palace.
Scene II. Britain. Imogen’s bedchamber in Cymbeline’s palace; a trunk
in one corner.
Scene III. Cymbeline’s palace. An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen’s
apartments.
Scene IV. Rome. Philario’s house.
Scene V. Rome. Another room in Philario’s house.
ACT III
Scene I. Britain. A hall in Cymbeline’s palace.
Scene II. Britain. Another room in Cymbeline’s palace.
Scene III. Wales. A mountainous country with a cave.
Scene IV. Wales, near Milford Haven.
Scene V. Britain. Cymbeline’s 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. Cymbeline’s 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. Cymbeline’s tent.
Dramatis Personæ
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 Cymbeline’s 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 Cymbeline’s palace.
Enter two Gentlemen.
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 King’s.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
But what’s the matter?
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
His daughter, and the heir of’s kingdom, whom
He purpos’d to his wife’s sole son—a widow
That late he married—hath referr’d herself
Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. She’s wedded;
Her husband banish’d; she imprison’d. All
Is outward sorrow, though I think the King
Be touch’d at very heart.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
None but the King?
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
He that hath lost her too. So is the Queen,
That most desir’d the match. But not a courtier,
Although they wear their faces to the bent
Of the King’s looks, hath a heart that is not
Glad at the thing they scowl at.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
And why so?
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
He that hath miss’d the Princess is a thing
Too bad for bad report; and he that hath her—
I mean that married her, alack, good man!
And therefore banish’d—is a creature such
As, to seek through the regions of the earth
For one his like, there would be something failing
In him that should compare. I do not think
So fair an outward and such stuff within
Endows a man but he.
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.
What’s his name and birth?
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
I cannot delve him to the root; his father
Was call’d Sicilius, who did join his honour
Against the Romans with Cassibelan,
But had his titles by Tenantius, whom
He serv’d with glory and admir’d success,
So gain’d the sur-addition Leonatus;
And had, besides this gentleman in question,
Two other sons, who, in the wars o’ th’ time,
Died with their swords in hand; for which their father,
Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow
That he quit being; and his gentle lady,
Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas’d
As he was born. The King he takes the babe
To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,
Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,
Puts to him all the learnings that his time
Could make him the receiver of; which he took,
As we do air, fast as ’twas minist’red,
And in’s spring became a harvest, liv’d in court—
Which rare it is to do—most prais’d, most lov’d,
A sample to the youngest; to th’ more mature
A glass that feated them; and to the graver
A child that guided dotards. To his mistress,
For whom he now is banish’d, her own price
Proclaims how she esteem’d him and his virtue;
By her election may be truly read
What kind of man he is.
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
I honour him
Even out of your report. But pray you tell me,
Is she sole child to th’ King?
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
His only child.
He had two sons—if this be worth your hearing,
Mark it—the eldest of them at three years old,
I’ th’ swathing clothes the other, from their nursery
Were stol’n; 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 king’s children should be so convey’d,
So slackly guarded, and the search so slow
That could not trace them!
FIRST GENTLEMAN.
Howsoe’er ’tis strange,
Or that the negligence may well be laugh’d 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.
Enter Queen, Posthumus and Imogen.
QUEEN.
No, be assur’d you shall not find me, daughter,
After the slander of most stepmothers,
Evil-ey’d unto you. You’re my prisoner, but
Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
So soon as I can win th’ offended King,
I will be known your advocate. Marry, yet
The fire of rage is in him, and ’twere good
You lean’d 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.
I’ll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
The pangs of barr’d affections, though the King
Hath charg’d 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 father’s wrath, but nothing
(Always reserv’d 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 loyal’st husband that did e’er plight troth;
My residence in Rome at one Philario’s,
Who to my father was a friend, to me
Known but by letter; thither write, my queen,
And with mine eyes I’ll drink the words you send,
Though ink be made of gall.
Enter Queen.
QUEEN.
Be brief, I pray you.
If the King come, I shall incur I know not
How much of his displeasure. [_Aside._] Yet I’ll 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 mother’s; 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; I’ll place it
Upon this fairest prisoner.
[_Puts a bracelet on her arm._]
IMOGEN.
O the gods!
When shall we see again?
Enter Cymbeline and 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!
Thou’rt 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 heap’st
A year’s 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 took’st 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 lov’d 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-herd’s daughter, and my Leonatus
Our neighbour shepherd’s son!
Enter Queen.
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!—Sweet 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 with Lords._]
Enter Pisanio.
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 play’d than fought,
And had no help of anger; they were parted
By gentlemen at hand.
QUEEN.
I am very glad on’t.
IMOGEN.
Your son’s my father’s 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,
When’t pleas’d 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.
Enter Cloten and two Lords.
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;
there’s 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 body’s 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 o’ th’ 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 measur’d 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 damn’d.
FIRST LORD.
Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go not together;
she’s 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, I’ll 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.
You’ll go with us?
FIRST LORD.
I’ll attend your lordship.
CLOTEN.
Nay, come, let’s go together.
SECOND LORD.
Well, my lord.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE IV. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace.
Enter Imogen and Pisanio.
IMOGEN.
I would thou grew’st unto the shores o’ th’ haven,
And questioned’st every sail; if he should write,
And I not have it, ’twere a paper lost,
As offer’d mercy is. What was the last
That he spake to thee?
PISANIO.
It was: his queen, his queen!
IMOGEN.
Then wav’d his handkerchief?
PISANIO.
And kiss’d 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 of’s mind
Could best express how slow his soul sail’d 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, crack’d 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 turn’d mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio,
When shall we hear from him?
PISANIO.
Be assur’d, 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 charg’d him,
At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,
T’ 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 a Lady.
LADY.
The Queen, madam,
Desires your Highness’ company.
IMOGEN.
Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch’d.
I will attend the Queen.
PISANIO.
Madam, I shall.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE V. Rome. Philario’s house.
Enter Philario, Iachimo, a Frenchman, a Dutchman and a Spaniard.
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 look’d 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 furnish’d 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 king’s daughter, wherein he must be weighed
rather by her value than his own, words him, I doubt not, a great deal
from the matter.
FRENCHMAN.
And then his banishment.
IACHIMO.
Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this lamentable divorce
under her colours are wonderfully to extend him, be it but to fortify
her 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.
Enter Posthumus.
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 o’errate 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 shunn’d to go
even with what I heard than in my every action to be guided by others’
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
fall’n both.
IACHIMO.
Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference?
FRENCHMAN.
Safely, I think. ’Twas a contention in public, which may, without
contradiction, suffer the report. It was much like an argument that
fell out last night, where each of us fell in praise of our country
mistresses; this gentleman at that time vouching (and upon warrant of
bloody affirmation) his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste,
constant, qualified, and less attemptable, than any the rarest of our
ladies in France.
IACHIMO.
That lady is not now living, or this gentleman’s opinion, by this, worn
out.
POSTHUMUS.
She holds her virtue still, and I my mind.
IACHIMO.
You must not so far prefer her ’fore ours of Italy.
POSTHUMUS.
Being so far provok’d as I was in France, I would abate her nothing,
though I profess myself her adorer, not her friend.
IACHIMO.
As fair and as good—a kind of hand-in-hand comparison—had been
something too fair and too good for any lady in Britain. If she went
before others I have seen as that diamond of yours outlustres many I
have beheld, I could not but believe she excelled many; but I have not
seen the most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady.
POSTHUMUS.
I prais’d 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 unparagon’d mistress is dead, or she’s outpriz’d 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 stol’n too. So your brace of
unprizable estimations, the one is but frail and the other casual; a
cunning thief, or a that-way-accomplish’d courtier, would hazard the
winning both of first and last.
POSTHUMUS.
Your Italy contains none so accomplish’d 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, o’ervalues it something. But I make my wager rather against
your confidence than her reputation; and, to bar your offence herein
too, I durst attempt it against any lady in the world.
POSTHUMUS.
You are a great deal abus’d in too bold a persuasion, and I doubt not
you sustain what y’are worthy of by your attempt.
IACHIMO.
What’s 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 neighbour’s on th’ 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 reserv’d.
POSTHUMUS.
I will wage against your gold, gold to it. My ring I hold dear as my
finger; ’tis part of it.
IACHIMO.
You are a friend, and therein the wiser. If you buy ladies’ flesh at a
million a dram, you cannot preserve it from tainting. But I see you
have some religion in you, that you fear.
POSTHUMUS.
This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a graver purpose, I hope.
IACHIMO.
I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo what’s spoken, I
swear.
POSTHUMUS.
Will you? I shall but lend my diamond till your return. Let there be
covenants drawn between’s. My mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness
of your unworthy thinking. I dare you to this match: here’s my ring.
PHILARIO.
I will have it no lay.
IACHIMO.
By the gods, it is one. If I bring you no sufficient testimony that I
have enjoy’d 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 prevail’d, I am no further your enemy;
she is not worth our debate; if she remain unseduc’d, you not making it
appear otherwise, for your ill opinion and th’ 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.
[_Exeunt Posthumus and Iachimo._]
FRENCHMAN.
Will this hold, think you?
PHILARIO.
Signior Iachimo will not from it. Pray let us follow ’em.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE VI. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace.
Enter Queen, Ladies and Cornelius.
QUEEN.
Whiles yet the dew’s on ground, gather those flowers;
Make haste; who has the note of them?
LADY.
I, madam.
QUEEN.
Dispatch.
[_Exeunt Ladies._]
Now, Master Doctor, have you brought those drugs?
CORNELIUS.
Pleaseth your Highness, ay. Here they are, madam.
[_Presenting a 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 ask’st me such a question. Have I not been
Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn’d me how
To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so
That our great king himself doth woo me oft
For my confections? Having thus far proceeded
(Unless thou think’st me devilish) is’t not meet
That I did amplify my 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.
Enter Pisanio.
[_Aside._] Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him
Will I first work. He’s for his master,
An enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio!
Doctor, your service for this time is ended;
Take your own way.
CORNELIUS.
[_Aside._] I do suspect you, madam;
But you shall do no harm.
QUEEN.
[_To Pisanio._] Hark thee, a word.
CORNELIUS.
[_Aside._] I do not like her. She doth think she has
Strange ling’ring poisons. I do know her spirit,
And will not trust one of her malice with
A drug of such damn’d nature. Those she has
Will stupefy and dull the sense awhile,
Which first perchance she’ll prove on cats and dogs,
Then afterward up higher; but there is
No danger in what show of death it makes,
More than the locking up the spirits a time,
To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool’d
With a most false effect; and I the truer
So to be false with her.
QUEEN.
No further service, Doctor,
Until I send for thee.
CORNELIUS.
I humbly take my leave.
[_Exit._]
QUEEN.
Weeps she still, say’st thou? Dost thou think in time
She will not quench, and let instructions enter
Where folly now possesses? Do thou work.
When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son,
I’ll tell thee on the instant thou art then
As great as is thy master; greater, for
His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name
Is at last gasp. Return he cannot, nor
Continue where he is. To shift his being
Is to exchange one misery with another,
And every day that comes comes to decay
A day’s work in him. What shalt thou expect
To be depender on a thing that leans,
Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends
So much as but to prop him?
[_The Queen drops the box. Pisanio takes it up._]
Thou tak’st up
Thou know’st not what; but take it for thy labour.
It is a thing I made, which hath the King
Five times redeem’d from death. I do not know
What is more cordial. Nay, I 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; do’t as from thyself.
Think what a chance thou changest on; but think
Thou hast thy mistress still; to boot, my son,
Who shall take notice of thee. I’ll move the King
To any shape of thy preferment, such
As thou’lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly,
That set thee on to this desert, am bound
To load thy merit richly. Call my women.
Think on my words.
[_Exit Pisanio._]
A sly and constant knave,
Not to be shak’d; 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 assur’d
To taste of too.
Enter Pisanio and Ladies.
So, so. Well done, well done.
The violets, cowslips, and the primroses,
Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio;
Think on my words.
[_Exeunt Queen and Ladies._]
PISANIO.
And shall do.
But when to my good lord I prove untrue
I’ll choke myself: there’s all I’ll do for you.
[_Exit._]
SCENE VII. Britain. The palace.
Enter Imogen alone.
IMOGEN.
A father cruel and a step-dame false;
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady
That hath her husband banish’d. O, that husband!
My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated
Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol’n,
As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable
Is the desire that’s glorious. Blessed be those,
How mean soe’er, that have their honest wills,
Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie!
Enter Pisanio and Iachimo.
PISANIO.
Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome
Comes from my lord with letters.
IACHIMO.
Change you, madam?
The worthy Leonatus is in safety,
And greets your Highness dearly.
[_Presents a letter._]
IMOGEN.
Thanks, good sir.
You’re kindly welcome.
IACHIMO.
[_Aside._] All of her that is out of door most rich!
If she be furnish’d with a mind so rare,
She is alone th’ Arabian bird, and I
Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
Arm me, audacity, from head to foot!
Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;
Rather, directly fly.
IMOGEN.
[_Reads._] _He is one of the noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am
most infinitely tied. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your
trust.
LEONATUS._
So far I read aloud;
But even the very middle of my heart
Is warm’d by th’ rest and takes it thankfully.
You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I
Have words to bid you; and shall find it so
In all that I can do.
IACHIMO.
Thanks, fairest lady.
What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes
To see this vaulted arch and the rich crop
Of sea and land, which can distinguish ’twixt
The fiery orbs above and the twinn’d stones
Upon the number’d beach, and can we not
Partition make with spectacles so precious
’Twixt fair and foul?
IMOGEN.
What makes your admiration?
IACHIMO.
It cannot be i’ th’ eye, for apes and monkeys,
’Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way and
Contemn with mows the other; nor i’ th’ judgement,
For idiots in this case of favour would
Be wisely definite; nor i’ th’ appetite;
Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos’d,
Should make desire vomit emptiness,
Not so allur’d to feed.
IMOGEN.
What is the matter, trow?
IACHIMO.
The cloyed will—
That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub
Both fill’d and running—ravening first the lamb,
Longs after for the garbage.
IMOGEN.
What, dear sir,
Thus raps you? Are you well?
IACHIMO.
Thanks, madam; well. Beseech you, sir,
Desire my man’s abode where I did leave him.
He’s 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 dispos’d to mirth? I hope he is.
IACHIMO.
Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there
So merry and so gamesome. He is call’d
The Briton reveller.
IMOGEN.
When he was here
He did incline to sadness, and oft-times
Not knowing why.
IACHIMO.
I never saw him sad.
There is a Frenchman his companion, one
An eminent monsieur that, it seems, much loves
A Gallian girl at home. He furnaces
The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton
(Your lord, I mean) laughs from’s free lungs, cries “O,
Can my sides hold, to think that man, who knows
By history, report, or his own proof,
What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
But must be, will’s free hours languish for
Assured bondage?”
IMOGEN.
Will my lord say so?
IACHIMO.
Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter.
It is a recreation to be by
And hear him mock the Frenchman. But heavens know
Some men are much to blame.
IMOGEN.
Not he, I hope.
IACHIMO.
Not he; but yet heaven’s bounty towards him might
Be us’d more thankfully. In himself, ’tis much;
In you, which I account his, beyond all talents.
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
To pity too.
IMOGEN.
What do you pity, sir?
IACHIMO.
Two creatures heartily.
IMOGEN.
Am I one, sir?
You look on me: what wreck discern you in me
Deserves your pity?
IACHIMO.
Lamentable! What,
To hide me from the radiant sun and solace
I’ th’ dungeon by a snuff?
IMOGEN.
I pray you, sir,
Deliver with more openness your answers
To my demands. Why do you pity me?
IACHIMO.
That others do,
I was about to say, enjoy your—But
It is an office of the gods to venge it,
Not mine to speak on’t.
IMOGEN.
You do seem to know
Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you,
Since 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 born—discover to me
What both you spur and stop.
IACHIMO.
Had I this cheek
To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
Whose every touch, would force the feeler’s soul
To th’ oath of loyalty; this object, which
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here; should I, damn’d then,
Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly falsehood (falsehood as
With labour): then by-peeping in an eye
Base and illustrious as the smoky light
That’s fed with stinking tallow: it were fit
That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter such revolt.
IMOGEN.
My lord, I fear,
Has forgot Britain.
IACHIMO.
And himself. Not I
Inclin’d to this intelligence pronounce
The beggary of his change; but ’tis 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 fasten’d to an empery,
Would make the great’st king double, to be partner’d
With tomboys hir’d with that self exhibition
Which your own coffers yield! with diseas’d ventures
That play with all infirmities for gold
Which rottenness can lend nature! Such boil’d stuff
As well might poison poison! Be reveng’d;
Or she that bore you was no queen, and you
Recoil from your great stock.
IMOGEN.
Reveng’d?
How should I be reveng’d? 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 reveng’d?
IACHIMO.
Should he make me
Live like Diana’s priest betwixt cold sheets,
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps,
In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.
I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,
More noble than that runagate to your bed,
And will continue fast to your affection,
Still close as sure.
IMOGEN.
What ho, Pisanio!
IACHIMO.
Let me my service tender on your lips.
IMOGEN.
Away! I do condemn mine ears that have
So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,
Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not
For such an end thou seek’st, as base as strange.
Thou wrong’st a gentleman who is as far
From thy report as thou from honour; and
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 assur’d credit. Blessed live you long,
A lady to the worthiest sir that ever
Country call’d his! and you his mistress, only
For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.
I have spoke this to know if your affiance
Were deeply rooted, and shall make your lord
That which he is new o’er; and he is one
The truest manner’d, such a holy witch
That he enchants societies into him,
Half all men’s hearts are his.
IMOGEN.
You make amends.
IACHIMO.
He sits ’mongst men like a descended god:
He hath a kind of honour sets him off
More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,
Most mighty Princess, that I have adventur’d
To try your taking of a false report, which hath
Honour’d 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.
All’s well, sir; take my pow’r i’ th’ court for yours.
IACHIMO.
My humble thanks. I had almost forgot
T’ 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 is’t?
IACHIMO.
Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord
(The best feather of our wing) have mingled sums
To buy a present for the Emperor;
Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
In France. ’Tis plate of rare device, and jewels
Of rich and exquisite form, their values great;
And I am something curious, being strange,
To have them in safe stowage. May it please you
To take them in protection?
IMOGEN.
Willingly;
And pawn mine honour for their safety. Since
My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them
In my bedchamber.
IACHIMO.
They are in a trunk,
Attended by my men. I will make bold
To send them to you only for this night;
I must aboard tomorrow.
IMOGEN.
O, no, no.
IACHIMO.
Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word
By length’ning my return. From Gallia
I cross’d the seas on purpose and on promise
To see your Grace.
IMOGEN.
I thank you for your pains.
But not away tomorrow!
IACHIMO.
O, I must, madam.
Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please
To greet your lord with writing, do’t tonight.
I have outstood my time, which is material
To th’ tender of our present.
IMOGEN.
I will write.
Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept
And truly yielded you. You’re very welcome.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT II
SCENE I. Britain. Before Cymbeline’s palace.
Enter Cloten and the two Lords.
CLOTEN.
Was there ever man had such luck! When I kiss’d the jack, upon an
upcast to be hit away! I had a hundred pound on’t; and then a whoreson
jackanapes must take me up for swearing, as if I borrowed mine oaths of
him, and might not spend them at my pleasure.
FIRST LORD.
What got he by that? You have broke his pate with your bowl.
SECOND LORD.
[_Aside._] If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have
run all out.
CLOTEN.
When a gentleman is dispos’d 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 smell’d like a fool.
CLOTEN.
I am not vex’d more at anything in th’ earth. A pox on’t! I had rather
not be so noble as I am; they dare not fight with me, because of the
Queen my mother. Every 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 that’s come to court tonight?
CLOTEN.
A stranger, and I not known on’t?
SECOND LORD.
[_Aside._] He’s a strange fellow himself, and knows it not.
FIRST LORD.
There’s an Italian come, and, ’tis thought, one of Leonatus’ friends.
CLOTEN.
Leonatus? A banish’d rascal; and he’s another, whatsoever he be. Who
told you of this stranger?
FIRST LORD.
One of your lordship’s pages.
CLOTEN.
Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation in’t?
SECOND LORD.
You cannot derogate, my lord.
CLOTEN.
Not easily, I think.
SECOND LORD.
[_Aside._] You are a fool granted; therefore your issues, being
foolish, do not derogate.
CLOTEN.
Come, I’ll go see this Italian. What I have lost today at bowls I’ll
win tonight of him. Come, go.
SECOND LORD.
I’ll attend your lordship.
[_Exeunt Cloten and First Lord._]
That such a crafty devil as is his mother
Should yield the world this ass! A woman that
Bears all down with her brain; and this her son
Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart,
And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess,
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur’st,
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern’d,
A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer
More hateful than the foul expulsion is
Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act
Of the divorce he’d make! The heavens hold firm
The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshak’d
That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand
T’ enjoy thy banish’d lord and this great land!
[_Exit._]
SCENE II. Britain. Imogen’s bedchamber in Cymbeline’s palace; a trunk
in one corner.
Enter Imogen in her bed, and a Lady attending.
IMOGEN.
Who’s there? My woman Helen?
LADY.
Please you, madam.
IMOGEN.
What hour is it?
LADY.
Almost midnight, madam.
IMOGEN.
I have read three hours then. Mine eyes are weak;
Fold down the leaf where I have left. To bed.
Take not away the taper, leave it burning;
And if thou canst awake by four o’ th’ clock,
I prithee call me. Sleep hath seiz’d me wholly.
[_Exit Lady._]
To your protection I commend me, gods.
From fairies and the tempters of the night
Guard me, beseech ye!
[_Sleeps. Iachimo comes from the trunk._]
IACHIMO.
The crickets sing, and man’s o’er-labour’d sense
Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
Did softly press the rushes ere he waken’d
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,
How bravely thou becom’st thy bed! fresh lily,
And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon’d,
How dearly they do’t! ’Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus. The flame o’ th’ taper
Bows toward her and would under-peep her lids
To see th’ enclosed lights, now canopied
Under these windows white and azure, lac’d
With blue of heaven’s own tinct. But my design
To note the chamber. I will write all down:
Such and such pictures; there the window; such
Th’ adornment of her bed; the arras, figures,
Why, such and such; and the contents o’ th’ story.
Ah, but some natural notes about her body
Above ten thousand meaner movables
Would testify, t’ enrich mine inventory.
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
And be her sense but as a monument,
Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off;
[_Taking off her bracelet._]
As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!
’Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
As strongly as the conscience does within,
To th’ madding of her lord. On her left breast
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
I’ th’ bottom of a cowslip. Here’s a voucher
Stronger than ever law could make; this secret
Will force him think I have pick’d the lock and ta’en
The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?
Why should I write this down that’s riveted,
Screw’d to my memory? She hath been reading late
The tale of Tereus; here the leaf’s turn’d down
Where Philomel gave up. I have enough.
To th’ trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning
May bare the raven’s eye! I lodge in fear;
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.
[_Clock strikes._]
One, two, three. Time, time!
[_Exit into the trunk._]
SCENE III. Cymbeline’s palace. An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen’s
apartments.
Enter Cloten and Lords.
FIRST LORD.
Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that
ever turn’d up ace.
CLOTEN.
It would make any man cold to lose.
FIRST LORD.
But not every man patient after the noble temper of your lordship. You
are most hot and furious when you win.
CLOTEN.
Winning will put any man into courage. If I could get this foolish
Imogen, I should have gold enough. It’s almost morning, is’t not?
FIRST LORD.
Day, my lord.
CLOTEN.
I would this music would come. I am advised to give her music a
mornings; they say it will penetrate.
Enter Musicians.
Come on, tune. If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so. We’ll
try with tongue too. If none will do, let her remain; but I’ll never
give o’er. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; after, a
wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her
consider.
SONG
Hark, hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings,
And Phœbus ’gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic’d flow’rs that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes.
With everything that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise;
Arise, arise!
CLOTEN.
So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider your music the
better; if it do not, it is a vice in her ears which horsehairs and
calves’ guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend.
[_Exeunt Musicians._]
Enter Cymbeline and Queen.
SECOND LORD.
Here comes the King.
CLOTEN.
I am glad I was up so late, for that’s the reason I was up so early. He
cannot choose but take this service I have done fatherly.—Good morrow
to your Majesty and to my gracious mother.
CYMBELINE.
Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?
Will she not forth?
CLOTEN.
I have assail’d 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 on’t,
And then she’s yours.
QUEEN.
You are most bound to th’ 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 inspir’d to do those duties which
You tender to her; that you in all obey her,
Save when command to your dismission tends,
And therein you are senseless.
CLOTEN.
Senseless? Not so.
Enter a Messenger.
MESSENGER.
So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
The one is Caius Lucius.
CYMBELINE.
A worthy fellow,
Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
But that’s no fault of his. We must receive him
According to the honour of his sender;
And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,
We must extend our notice. Our dear son,
When you have given good morning to your mistress,
Attend the Queen and us; we shall have need
T’ employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.
[_Exeunt all but Cloten._]
CLOTEN.
If she be up, I’ll speak with her; if not,
Let her lie still and dream. By your leave, ho!
[_Knocks._]
I know her women are about her; what
If I do line one of their hands? ’Tis gold
Which buys admittance (oft it doth) yea, and makes
Diana’s rangers false themselves, yield up
Their deer to th’ stand o’ th’ stealer; and ’tis gold
Which makes the true man kill’d and saves the thief;
Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man. What
Can it not do and undo? I will make
One of her women lawyer to me, for
I yet not understand the case myself.
By your leave.
[_Knocks._]
Enter a Lady.
LADY.
Who’s there that knocks?
CLOTEN.
A gentleman.
LADY.
No more?
CLOTEN.
Yes, and a gentlewoman’s son.
LADY.
That’s more
Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours
Can justly boast of. What’s your lordship’s pleasure?
CLOTEN.
Your lady’s person; is she ready?
LADY.
Ay,
To keep her chamber.
CLOTEN.
There is gold for you; sell me your good report.
LADY.
How? My good name? or to report of you
What I shall think is good? The Princess!
Enter Imogen.
CLOTEN.
Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand.
[_Exit Lady._]
IMOGEN.
Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains
For purchasing but trouble. The thanks I give
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,
And scarce can spare them.
CLOTEN.
Still I swear I love you.
IMOGEN.
If you but said so, ’twere as deep with me.
If you swear still, your recompense is still
That I regard it not.
CLOTEN.
This is no answer.
IMOGEN.
But that you shall not say I yield, being silent,
I would not speak. I pray you spare me. Faith,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy
To your best kindness; one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.
CLOTEN.
To leave you in your madness ’twere my sin;
I will not.
IMOGEN.
Fools are not mad folks.
CLOTEN.
Do you call me fool?
IMOGEN.
As I am mad, I do;
If you’ll be patient, I’ll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
You put me to forget a lady’s manners
By being so verbal; and learn now, for all,
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
By th’ very truth of it, I care not for you,
And am so near the lack of charity
To accuse myself I hate you; which I had rather
You felt than make’t my boast.
CLOTEN.
You sin against
Obedience, which you owe your father. For
The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
One bred of alms and foster’d with cold dishes,
With scraps o’ th’ 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-figur’d knot,
Yet you are curb’d from that enlargement by
The consequence o’ th’ crown, and must not foil
The precious note of it with a base slave,
A hilding for a livery, a squire’s cloth,
A pantler; not so eminent!
IMOGEN.
Profane fellow!
Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more
But what thou art besides, thou wert too base
To be his groom. Thou wert dignified enough,
Even to the point of envy, if ’twere made
Comparative for your virtues to be styl’d
The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
For being preferr’d so well.
CLOTEN.
The south fog rot him!
IMOGEN.
He never can meet more mischance than come
To be but nam’d of thee. His mean’st garment
That ever hath but clipp’d his body, is dearer
In my respect, than all the hairs above thee,
Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!
Enter Pisanio.
CLOTEN.
‘His garment’! Now the devil—
IMOGEN.
To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.
CLOTEN.
‘His garment’!
IMOGEN.
I am sprited with a fool;
Frighted, and ang’red worse. Go bid my woman
Search for a jewel that too casually
Hath left mine arm. It was thy master’s; shrew me,
If I would lose it for a revenue
Of any king’s in Europe! I do think
I saw’t this morning; confident I am
Last night ’twas on mine arm; I kiss’d it.
I hope it be not gone to tell my lord
That I kiss aught but he.
PISANIO.
’Twill not be lost.
IMOGEN.
I hope so. Go and search.
[_Exit Pisanio._]
CLOTEN.
You have abus’d me.
‘His meanest garment’!
IMOGEN.
Ay, I said so, sir.
If you will make ’t an action, call witness to ’t.
CLOTEN.
I will inform your father.
IMOGEN.
Your mother too.
She’s my good lady and will conceive, I hope,
But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,
To th’ worst of discontent.
[_Exit._]
CLOTEN.
I’ll be reveng’d.
‘His mean’st garment’! Well.
[_Exit._]
SCENE IV. Rome. Philario’s house.
Enter Posthumus and Philario.
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 winter’s state, and wish
That warmer days would come. In these fear’d hopes
I barely gratify your love; they failing,
I must die much your debtor.
PHILARIO.
Your very goodness and your company
O’erpays all I can do. By this your king
Hath heard of great Augustus. Caius Lucius
Will do’s commission throughly; and I think
He’ll grant the tribute, send th’ 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 order’d than when Julius Cæsar
Smil’d at their lack of skill, but found their courage
Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline,
Now mingled with their courages, will make known
To their approvers they are people such
That mend upon the world.
Enter Iachimo.
PHILARIO.
See! Iachimo!
POSTHUMUS.
The swiftest harts have posted you by land,
And winds of all the corners kiss’d 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 look’d 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.
’Tis very like.
PHILARIO.
Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court
When you were there?
IACHIMO.
He was expected then,
But not approach’d.
POSTHUMUS.
All is well yet.
Sparkles this stone as it was wont, or is’t not
Too dull for your good wearing?
IACHIMO.
If I have lost it,
I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
I’ll make a journey twice as far t’ enjoy
A second night of such sweet shortness which
Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.
POSTHUMUS.
The stone’s 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 make’t apparent
That you have tasted her in bed, my hand
And ring is yours. If not, the foul opinion
You had of her pure honour gains or loses
Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both
To who shall find them.
IACHIMO.
Sir, my circumstances,
Being so near the truth as I will make them,
Must first induce you to believe; whose strength
I will confirm with oath; which I doubt not
You’ll give me leave to spare when you shall find
You need it not.
POSTHUMUS.
Proceed.
IACHIMO.
First, her bedchamber,
(Where I confess I slept not, but profess
Had that was well worth watching) it was hang’d
With tapestry of silk and silver; the story,
Proud Cleopatra when she met her Roman
And Cydnus swell’d above the banks, or for
The press of boats or pride. A piece of work
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
In workmanship and value; which I wonder’d
Could be so rarely and exactly wrought,
Since the true life on’t was—
POSTHUMUS.
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 o’ th’ 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 ’tis up again. It must be married
To that your diamond; I’ll 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 stripp’d it from her arm; I see her yet;
Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
And yet enrich’d it too. She gave it me, and said
She priz’d it once.
POSTHUMUS.
May be she pluck’d it off
To send it me.
IACHIMO.
She writes so to you, doth she?
POSTHUMUS.
O, no, no, no! ’tis true. Here, take this too;
[_Gives the ring._]
It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
Kills me to look on’t. Let there be no honour
Where there is beauty; truth where semblance; love
Where there’s another man. The vows of women
Of no more bondage be to where they are made
Than they are to their virtues, which is nothing.
O, above measure false!
PHILARIO.
Have patience, sir,
And take your ring again; ’tis not yet won.
It may be probable she lost it, or
Who knows if one her women, being corrupted
Hath stol’n it from her?
POSTHUMUS.
Very true;
And so I hope he came by’t. Back my ring.
Render to me some corporal sign about her,
More evident than this; for this was stol’n.
IACHIMO.
By Jupiter, I had it from her arm!
POSTHUMUS.
Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.
’Tis true, nay, keep the ring, ’tis true. I am sure
She would not lose it. Her attendants are
All sworn and honourable:—they induc’d to steal it!
And by a stranger! No, he hath enjoy’d 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 believ’d
Of one persuaded well of.
POSTHUMUS.
Never talk on’t;
She hath been colted by him.
IACHIMO.
If you seek
For further satisfying, under her breast
(Worthy the pressing) lies a mole, right proud
Of that most delicate lodging. By my life,
I kiss’d it; and it gave me present hunger
To feed again, though full. You do remember
This stain upon her?
POSTHUMUS.
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.
I’ll be sworn—
POSTHUMUS.
No swearing.
If you will swear you have not done’t, you lie;
And I will kill thee if thou dost deny
Thou’st made me cuckold.
IACHIMO.
I’ll deny nothing.
POSTHUMUS.
O that I had her here to tear her limb-meal!
I will go there and do’t, i’ th’ court, before
Her father. I’ll do something—
[_Exit._]
PHILARIO.
Quite besides
The government of patience! You have won.
Let’s follow him and pervert the present wrath
He hath against himself.
IACHIMO.
With all my heart.
[_Exeunt._]
SCENE V. Rome. Another room in Philario’s house.
Enter Posthumus.
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 stamp’d. Some coiner with his tools
Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seem’d
The Dian of that time. So doth my wife
The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain’d,
And pray’d me oft forbearance; did it with
A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on’t
Might well have warm’d old Saturn; that I thought her
As chaste as unsunn’d snow. O, all the devils!
This yellow Iachimo in an hour, was’t not?
Or less; at first? Perchance he spoke not, but,
Like a full-acorn’d boar, a German one,
Cried “O!” and mounted; found no opposition
But what he look’d for should oppose and she
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
The woman’s part in me! For there’s no motion
That tends to vice in man but I affirm
It is the woman’s part. Be it lying, note it,
The woman’s; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
All faults that 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. I’ll write against them,
Detest them, curse them. Yet ’tis greater skill
In a true hate to pray they have their will:
The very devils cannot plague them better.
[_Exit._]
ACT III
SCENE I. Britain. A hall in Cymbeline’s palace.
Enter in state Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten and Lords at one door, and at
another Caius Lucius and Attendants.
CYMBELINE.
Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with us?
LUCIUS.
When Julius Cæsar, (whose remembrance yet
Lives in men’s eyes, and will to ears and tongues
Be theme and hearing ever) was in this Britain,
And conquer’d it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,
Famous in Cæsar’s praises no whit less
Than in his feats deserving it, for him
And his succession granted Rome a tribute,
Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately
Is left untender’d.
QUEEN.
And, to kill the marvel,
Shall be so ever.
CLOTEN.
There be many Cæsars ere such another Julius. Britain is a world by
itself, and we will nothing pay for wearing our own noses.
QUEEN.
That opportunity,
Which then they had to take from’s, to resume
We have again. Remember, sir, my liege,
The kings your ancestors, together with
The natural bravery of your isle, which stands
As Neptune’s park, ribb’d and pal’d in
With rocks unscaleable and roaring waters,
With sands that will not bear your enemies’ boats
But suck them up to th’ top-mast. A kind of conquest
Cæsar made here, but made not here his brag
Of ‘Came, and saw, and overcame.’ With shame
(The first that ever touch’d him) he was carried
From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping
(Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas,
Like egg-shells mov’d upon their surges, crack’d
As easily ’gainst our rocks; for joy whereof
The fam’d Cassibelan, who was once at point
(O, giglot fortune!) to master Cæsar’s sword,
Made Lud’s Town with rejoicing fires bright
And Britons strut with courage.
CLOTEN.
Come, there’s no more tribute to be paid. Our kingdom is stronger than
it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no moe such Cæsars. Other
of them may have crook’d noses; but to owe such straight arms, none.
CYMBELINE.
Son, let your mother end.
CLOTEN.
We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan. I do not say
I am one; but I have a hand. Why tribute? Why should we pay tribute? If
Cæsar 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. Cæsar’s ambition,
Which swell’d so much that it did almost stretch
The sides o’ th’ world, against all colour here
Did put the yoke upon’s; which to shake off
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
Ourselves to be.
CLOTEN.
We do.
CYMBELINE.
Say then to Cæsar,
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which
Ordain’d our laws, whose use the sword of Cæsar
Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise
Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
Though Rome be therefore angry. Mulmutius made our laws,
Who was the first of Britain which did put
His brows within a golden crown, and call’d
Himself a king.
LUCIUS.
I am sorry, Cymbeline,
That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar
(Cæsar, that hath moe kings his servants than
Thyself domestic officers) thine enemy.
Receive it from me, then: war and confusion
In Cæsar’s name pronounce I ’gainst thee; look
For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,
I thank thee for myself.
CYMBELINE.
Thou art welcome, Caius.
Thy Cæsar knighted me; my youth I spent
Much under him; of him I gather’d honour,
Which he to seek of me again, perforce,
Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for
Their liberties are now in arms, a precedent
Which not to read would show the Britons cold;
So Cæsar 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
there’s an end.
LUCIUS.
So, sir.
CYMBELINE.
I know your master’s pleasure, and he mine;
All the remain is, welcome.
[_Exeunt._]