Imo. Nay, stay a little:Were you but riding forth to ayre your selfe,Such parting were too petty. Looke heere (Loue)This Diamond was my Mothers; take it (Heart)But keepe it till you woo another Wife,When Imogen is dead
Post. How, how? Another?You gentle Gods, giue me but this I haue,And seare vp my embracements from a next,With bonds of death. Remaine, remaine thou heere,While sense can keepe it on: And sweetest, fairest,As I (my poore selfe) did exchange for youTo your so infinite losse; so in our triflesI still winne of you. For my sake weare this,It is a Manacle of Loue, Ile place itVpon this fayrest Prisoner
Imo. O the Gods!When shall we see againe?Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.
Post. Alacke, the King
Cym. Thou basest thing, auoyd hence, from my sight:If after this command thou fraught the CourtWith thy vnworthinesse, thou dyest. Away,Thou'rt poyson to my blood
Post. The Gods protect you,And blesse the good Remainders of the Court:I am gone
Imo. There cannot be a pinch in deathMore sharpe then this is
Cym. O disloyall thing,That should'st repayre my youth, thou heap'stA yeares age on mee
Imo. I beseech you Sir,Harme not your selfe with your vexation,I am senselesse of your Wrath; a Touch more rareSubdues all pangs, all feares
Cym. Past Grace? Obedience?Imo. Past hope, and in dispaire, that way past Grace
Cym. That might'st haue hadThe sole Sonne of my Queene
Imo. O blessed, that I might not: I chose an Eagle,And did auoyd a Puttocke
Cym. Thou took'st a Begger, would'st haue made myThrone, a Seate for basenesse
Imo. No, I rather added a lustre to it
Cym. O thou vilde one!Imo. Sir,It is your fault that I haue lou'd Posthumus:You bred him as my Play-fellow, and he isA man, worth any woman: Ouer-buyes meeAlmost the summe he payes
Cym. What? art thou mad?Imo. Almost Sir: Heauen restore me: would I wereA Neat-heards Daughter, and my LeonatusOur Neighbour-Shepheards Sonne.Enter Queene.
Cym. Thou foolish thing;They were againe together: you haue doneNot after our command. Away with her,And pen her vp
Qu. Beseech your patience: PeaceDeere Lady daughter, peace. Sweet Soueraigne,Leaue vs to our selues, and make your self some comfortOut of your best aduice
Cym. Nay, let her languishA drop of blood a day, and being agedDye of this Folly.Enter.
Enter Pisanio.
Qu. Fye, you must giue way:Heere is your Seruant. How now Sir? What newes?Pisa. My Lord your Sonne, drew on my Master
Qu. Hah?No harme I trust is done?Pisa. There might haue beene,But that my Master rather plaid, then fought,And had no helpe of Anger: they were partedBy Gentlemen, at hand
Qu. I am very glad on't
Imo. Your Son's my Fathers friend, he takes his partTo draw vpon an Exile. O braue Sir,I would they were in Affricke both together,My selfe by with a Needle, that I might prickeThe goer backe. Why came you from your Master?Pisa. On his command: he would not suffer meeTo bring him to the Hauen: left these NotesOf what commands I should be subiect too,When't pleas'd you to employ me
Qu. This hath beeneYour faithfull Seruant: I dare lay mine HonourHe will remaine so
Pisa. I humbly thanke your Highnesse
Qu. Pray walke a-while
Imo. About some halfe houre hence,Pray you speake with me;You shall (at least) go see my Lord aboord.For this time leaue me.
Exeunt.
Scena Tertia.
Enter Clotten, and two Lords.
1. Sir, I would aduise you to shift a Shirt; the Violence of Action hath made you reek as a Sacrifice: where ayre comes out, ayre comes in: There's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent
Clot. If my Shirt were bloody, then to shift it.Haue I hurt him?2 No faith: not so much as his patience
1 Hurt him? His bodie's a passable Carkasse if he beenot hurt. It is a through-fare for Steele if it be not hurt
2 His Steele was in debt, it went o'th' Backe-side theTowne
Clot. The Villaine would not stand me
2 No, but he fled forward still, toward your face
1 Stand you? you haue Land enough of your owne:But he added to your hauing, gaue you some ground
2 As many Inches, as you haue Oceans (Puppies.)Clot. I would they had not come betweene vs
2 So would I, till you had measur'd how long a Fooleyou were vpon the ground
Clot. And that shee should loue this Fellow, and refusemee
2 If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damn'd
1 Sir, as I told you alwayes: her Beauty & her Braine go not together. Shee's a good signe, but I haue seene small reflection of her wit
2 She shines not vpon Fooles, least the reflectionShould hurt her
Clot. Come, Ile to my Chamber: would there hadbeene some hurt done
2 I wish not so, vnlesse it had bin the fall of an Asse,which is no great hurt
Clot. You'l go with vs?1 Ile attend your Lordship
Clot. Nay come, let's go together
2 Well my Lord.
Exeunt.
Scena Quarta.
Enter Imogen, and Pisanio.
Imo. I would thou grew'st vnto the shores o'th' Hauen,And questioned'st euery Saile: if he should write,And I not haue it, 'twere a Paper lostAs offer'd mercy is: What was the lastThat he spake to thee?Pisa. It was his Queene, his Queene
Imo. Then wau'd his Handkerchiefe?Pisa. And kist it, Madam
Imo. Senselesse Linnen, happier therein then I:And that was all?Pisa. No Madam: for so longAs he could make me with his eye, or eare,Distinguish him from others, he did keepeThe Decke, with Gloue, or Hat, or Handkerchife,Still wauing, as the fits and stirres of's mindCould best expresse how slow his Soule sayl'd on,How swift his Ship
Imo. Thou should'st haue made himAs little as a Crow, or lesse, ere leftTo after-eye him
Pisa. Madam, so I did
Imo. I would haue broke mine eye-strings;Crack'd them, but to looke vpon him, till the diminutionOf space, had pointed him sharpe as my Needle:Nay, followed him, till he had melted fromThe smalnesse of a Gnat, to ayre: and thenHaue turn'd mine eye, and wept. But good Pisanio,When shall we heare from him
Pisa. Be assur'd Madam,With his next vantage
Imo. I did not take my leaue of him, but hadMost pretty things to say: Ere I could tell himHow I would thinke on him at certaine houres,Such thoughts, and such: Or I could make him sweare,The Shees of Italy should not betrayMine Interest, and his Honour: or haue charg'd himAt the sixt houre of Morne, at Noone, at Midnight,T' encounter me with Orisons, for thenI am in Heauen for him: Or ere I could,Giue him that parting kisse, which I had setBetwixt two charming words, comes in my Father,And like the Tyrannous breathing of the North,Shakes all our buddes from growing.Enter a Lady.
La. The Queene (Madam)Desires your Highnesse Company
Imo. Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd,I will attend the Queene
Pisa. Madam, I shall.
Exeunt.
Scena Quinta.
Enter Philario, Iachimo: a Frenchman, a Dutchman, and aSpaniard.
Iach. Beleeue it Sir, I haue seene him in Britaine; hee was then of a Cressent note, expected to proue so woorthy, as since he hath beene allowed the name of. But I could then haue look'd on him, without the help of Admiration, though the Catalogue of his endowments had bin tabled by his side, and I to peruse him by Items
Phil. You speake of him when he was lesse furnish'd, then now hee is, with that which makes him both without, and within
French. I haue seene him in France: wee had very many there, could behold the Sunne, with as firme eyes as hee
Iach. This matter of marrying his Kings Daughter, wherein he must be weighed rather by her valew, then his owne, words him (I doubt not) a great deale from the matter
French. And then his banishment
Iach. I, and the approbation of those that weepe this lamentable diuorce vnder her colours, are wonderfully to extend him, be it but to fortifie her iudgement, which else an easie battery might lay flat, for taking a Begger without lesse quality. But how comes it, he is to soiourne with you? How creepes acquaintance? Phil. His Father and I were Souldiers together, to whom I haue bin often bound for no lesse then my life. Enter Posthumus.
Heere comes the Britaine. Let him be so entertained among'st you, as suites with Gentlemen of your knowing, to a Stranger of his quality. I beseech you all be better knowne to this Gentleman, whom I commend to you, as a Noble Friend of mine. How Worthy he is, I will leaue to appeare hereafter, rather then story him in his owne hearing
French. Sir, we haue knowne togither in Orleance
Post. Since when, I haue bin debtor to you for courtesies, which I will be euer to pay, and yet pay still
French. Sir, you o're-rate my poore kindnesse, I was glad I did attone my Countryman and you: it had beene pitty you should haue beene put together, with so mortall a purpose, as then each bore, vpon importance of so slight and triuiall a nature
Post. By your pardon Sir, I was then a young Traueller, rather shun'd to go euen with what I heard, then in my euery action to be guided by others experiences: but vpon my mended iudgement (if I offend to say it is mended) my Quarrell was not altogether slight
French. Faith yes, to be put to the arbiterment of Swords, and by such two, that would by all likelyhood haue confounded one the other, or haue falne both
Iach. Can we with manners, aske what was the difference? French. Safely, I thinke, 'twas a contention in publicke, which may (without contradiction) suffer the report. It was much like an argument that fell out last night, where each of vs fell in praise of our Country-Mistresses. This Gentleman, at that time vouching (and vpon warrant of bloody affirmation) his to be more Faire, Vertuous, Wise, Chaste, Constant, Qualified, and lesse attemptible then any, the rarest of our Ladies in Fraunce
Iach. That Lady is not now liuing; or this Gentlemans opinion by this, worne out
Post. She holds her Vertue still, and I my mind
Iach. You must not so farre preferre her, 'fore ours ofItaly
Posth. Being so farre prouok'd as I was in France: I would abate her nothing, though I professe my selfe her Adorer, not her Friend
Iach. As faire, and as good: a kind of hand in hand comparison, had beene something too faire, and too good for any Lady in Britanie; if she went before others. I haue seene as that Diamond of yours out-lusters many I haue beheld, I could not beleeue she excelled many: but I haue not seene the most pretious Diamond that is, nor you the Lady
Post. I prais'd her, as I rated her: so do I my Stone
Iach. What do you esteeme it at?Post. More then the world enioyes
Iach. Either your vnparagon'd Mistris is dead, orshe's out-priz'd by a trifle
Post. You are mistaken: the one may be solde or giuen, or if there were wealth enough for the purchases, or merite for the guift. The other is not a thing for sale, and onely the guift of the Gods
Iach. Which the Gods haue giuen you?Post. Which by their Graces I will keepe
Iach. You may weare her in title yours: but you know strange Fowle light vpon neighbouring Ponds. Your Ring may be stolne too, so your brace of vnprizeable Estimations, the one is but fraile, and the other Casuall; A cunning Thiefe, or a (that way) accomplish'd Courtier, would hazzard the winning both of first and last
Post. Your Italy, containes none so accomplish'd a Courtier to conuince the Honour of my Mistris: if in the holding or losse of that, you terme her fraile, I do nothing doubt you haue store of Theeues, notwithstanding I feare not my Ring
Phil. Let vs leaue heere, Gentlemen?Post. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy Signior Ithanke him, makes no stranger of me, we are familiar atfirst
Iach. With fiue times so much conuersation, I should get ground of your faire Mistris; make her go backe, euen to the yeilding, had I admittance, and opportunitie to friend
Post. No, no
Iach. I dare thereupon pawne the moytie of my Estate, to your Ring, which in my opinion o're-values it something: but I make my wager rather against your Confidence, then her Reputation. And to barre your offence heerein to, I durst attempt it against any Lady in the world
Post. You are a great deale abus'd in too bold a perswasion, and I doubt not you sustaine what y'are worthy of, by your Attempt
Iach. What's that?Posth. A Repulse though your Attempt (as you callit) deserue more; a punishment too
Phi. Gentlemen enough of this, it came in too sodainely, let it dye as it was borne, and I pray you be better acquainted
Iach. Would I had put my Estate, and my Neighbors on th' approbation of what I haue spoke
Post. What Lady would you chuse to assaile? Iach. Yours, whom in constancie you thinke stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousands Duckets to your Ring, that commend me to the Court where your Lady is, with no more aduantage then the opportunitie of a second conference, and I will bring from thence, that Honor of hers, which you imagine so reseru'd
Posthmus. I will wage against your Gold, Gold to it: My Ring I holde deere as my finger, 'tis part of it
Iach. You are a Friend, and there in the wiser: if you buy Ladies flesh at a Million a Dram, you cannot preserue it from tainting; but I see you haue some Religion in you, that you feare
Posthu. This is but a custome in your tongue: youbeare a grauer purpose I hope
Iach. I am the Master of my speeches, and would vnder-gowhat's spoken, I sweare
Posthu. Will you? I shall but lend my Diamond till your returne: let there be Couenants drawne between's. My Mistris exceedes in goodnesse, the hugenesse of your vnworthy thinking. I dare you to this match: heere's my Ring
Phil. I will haue it no lay
Iach. By the Gods it is one: if I bring you no sufficient testimony that I haue enioy'd the deerest bodily part of your Mistris: my ten thousand Duckets are yours, so is your Diamond too: if I come off, and leaue her in such honour as you haue trust in; Shee your Iewell, this your Iewell, and my Gold are yours: prouided, I haue your commendation, for my more free entertainment
Post. I embrace these Conditions, let vs haue Articles betwixt vs: onely thus farre you shall answere, if you make your voyage vpon her, and giue me directly to vnderstand, you haue preuayl'd, I am no further your Enemy, shee is not worth our debate. If shee remaine vnseduc'd, you not making it appeare otherwise: for your ill opinion, and th' assault you haue made to her chastity, you shall answer me with your Sword
Iach. Your hand, a Couenant: wee will haue these things set downe by lawfull Counsell, and straight away for Britaine, least the Bargaine should catch colde, and sterue: I will fetch my Gold, and haue our two Wagers recorded
Post. Agreed
French. Will this hold, thinke you
Phil. Signior Iachimo will not from it.Pray let vs follow 'em.
Exeunt.
Scena Sexta.
Enter Queene, Ladies, and Cornelius.
Qu. Whiles yet the dewe's on ground,Gather those Flowers,Make haste. Who ha's the note of them?Lady. I Madam
Queen. Dispatch.
Exit Ladies.
Now Master Doctor, haue you brought those drugges?Cor. Pleaseth your Highnes, I: here they are, Madam:But I beseech your Grace, without offence(My Conscience bids me aske) wherefore you haueCommanded of me these most poysonous Compounds,Which are the moouers of a languishing death:But though slow, deadly
Qu. I wonder, Doctor,Thou ask'st me such a Question: Haue I not beneThy Pupill long? Hast thou not learn'd me howTo make Perfumes? Distill? Preserue? Yea so,That our great King himselfe doth woo me oftFor my Confections? Hauing thus farre proceeded,(Vnlesse thou think'st me diuellish) is't not meeteThat I did amplifie my iudgement inOther Conclusions? I will try the forcesOf these thy Compounds, on such Creatures asWe count not worth the hanging (but none humane)To try the vigour of them, and applyAllayments to their Act, and by them gatherTheir seuerall vertues, and effects
Cor. Your HighnesseShall from this practise, but make hard your heart:Besides, the seeing these effects will beBoth noysome, and infectious
Qu. O content thee.Enter Pisanio.
Heere comes a flattering Rascall, vpon himWill I first worke: Hee's for his Master,And enemy to my Sonne. How now Pisanio?Doctor, your seruice for this time is ended,Take your owne way
Cor. I do suspect you, Madam,But you shall do no harme
Qu. Hearke thee, a word
Cor. I do not like her. She doth thinke she ha'sStrange ling'ring poysons: I do know her spirit,And will not trust one of her malice, withA drugge of such damn'd Nature. Those she ha's,Will stupifie and dull the Sense a-while,Which first (perchance) shee'l proue on Cats and Dogs,Then afterward vp higher: but there isNo danger in what shew of death it makes,More then the locking vp the Spirits a time,To be more fresh, reuiuing. She is fool'dWith a most false effect: and I, the truer,So to be false with her
Qu. No further seruice, Doctor,Vntill I send for thee
Cor. I humbly take my leaue.Enter.
Qu. Weepes she still (saist thou?)Dost thou thinke in timeShe will not quench, and let instructions enterWhere Folly now possesses? Do thou worke:When thou shalt bring me word she loues my Sonne,Ile tell thee on the instant, thou art thenAs great as is thy Master: Greater, forHis Fortunes all lye speechlesse, and his nameIs at last gaspe. Returne he cannot, norContinue where he is: To shift his being,Is to exchange one misery with another,And euery day that comes, comes to decayA dayes worke in him. What shalt thou expectTo be depender on a thing that leanes?Who cannot be new built, nor ha's no FriendsSo much, as but to prop him? Thou tak'st vpThou know'st not what: But take it for thy labour,It is a thing I made, which hath the KingFiue times redeem'd from death. I do not knowWhat is more Cordiall. Nay, I prythee take it,It is an earnest of a farther goodThat I meane to thee. Tell thy Mistris howThe case stands with her: doo't, as from thy selfe;Thinke what a chance thou changest on, but thinkeThou hast thy Mistris still, to boote, my Sonne,Who shall take notice of thee. Ile moue the KingTo any shape of thy Preferment, suchAs thou'lt desire: and then my selfe, I cheefely,That set thee on to this desert, am boundTo loade thy merit richly. Call my women.
Exit Pisa.
Thinke on my words. A slye, and constant knaue,Not to be shak'd: the Agent for his Master,And the Remembrancer of her, to holdThe hand-fast to her Lord. I haue giuen him that,Which if he take, shall quite vnpeople herOf Leidgers for her Sweete: and which, she afterExcept she bend her humor, shall be assur'dTo taste of too.Enter Pisanio, and Ladies.
So, so: Well done, well done:The Violets, Cowslippes, and the Prime-RosesBeare to my Closset: Fare thee well, Pisanio.Thinke on my words.
Exit Qu. and Ladies
Pisa. And shall do:But when to my good Lord, I proue vntrue,Ile choake my selfe: there's all Ile do for you.Enter.
Scena Septima.
Enter Imogen alone.
Imo. A Father cruell, and a Stepdame false,A Foolish Suitor to a Wedded-Lady,That hath her Husband banish'd: O, that Husband,My supreame Crowne of griefe, and those repeatedVexations of it. Had I bin Theefe-stolne,As my two Brothers, happy: but most miserableIs the desires that's glorious. Blessed be thoseHow meane so ere, that haue their honest wills,Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fye.Enter Pisanio, and Iachimo.
Pisa. Madam, a Noble Gentleman of Rome,Comes from my Lord with Letters
Iach. Change you, Madam:The Worthy Leonatus is in safety,And greetes your Highnesse deerely
Imo. Thanks good Sir,You're kindly welcome
Iach. All of her, that is out of doore, most rich:If she be furnish'd with a mind so rareShe is alone th' Arabian-Bird; and IHaue lost the wager. Boldnesse be my Friend:Arme me Audacitie from head to foote,Or like the Parthian I shall flying fight,Rather directly fly
Imogen reads. He is one of the Noblest note, to whosekindnesses I ammost infinitelytied. Reflect vpon him accordingly, as you value yourtrust. Leonatus.So farre I reade aloud.But euen the very middle of my heartIs warm'd by'th' rest, and take it thankefully.You are as welcome (worthy Sir) as IHaue words to bid you, and shall finde it soIn all that I can do
Iach. Thankes fairest Lady:What are men mad? Hath Nature giuen them eyesTo see this vaulted Arch, and the rich CropOf Sea and Land, which can distinguish 'twixtThe firie Orbes aboue, and the twinn'd StonesVpon the number'd Beach, and can we notPartition make with Spectacles so pretiousTwixt faire, and foule?Imo. What makes your admiration?Iach. It cannot be i'th' eye: for Apes, and Monkeys'Twixt two such She's, would chatter this way, andContemne with mowes the other. Nor i'th' iudgment:For Idiots in this case of fauour, wouldBe wisely definit: Nor i'th' Appetite.Sluttery to such neate Excellence, oppos'dShould make desire vomit emptinesse,Not so allur'd to feed
Imo. What is the matter trow?Iach. The Cloyed will:That satiate yet vnsatisfi'd desire, that TubBoth fill'd and running: Rauening first the Lambe,Longs after for the Garbage
Imo. What, deere Sir,Thus rap's you? Are you well?Iach. Thanks Madam well: Beseech you Sir,Desire my Man's abode, where I did leaue him:He's strange and peeuish
Pisa. I was going Sir,To giue him welcome.Enter.
Imo. Continues well my Lord?His health beseech you?Iach. Well, Madam
Imo. Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope he is
Iach. Exceeding pleasant: none a stranger there,So merry, and so gamesome: he is call'dThe Britaine Reueller
Imo. When he was heereHe did incline to sadnesse, and oft timesNot knowing why
Iach. I neuer saw him sad.There is a Frenchman his Companion, oneAn eminent Monsieur, that it seemes much louesA Gallian-Girle at home. He furnacesThe thicke sighes from him; whiles the iolly Britaine,(Your Lord I meane) laughes from's free lungs: cries oh,Can my sides hold, to think that man who knowesBy History, Report, or his owne proofeWhat woman is, yea what she cannot chooseBut must be: will's free houres languish:For assured bondage?Imo. Will my Lord say so?Iach. I Madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter,It is a Recreation to be byAnd heare him mocke the Frenchman:But Heauen's know some men are much too blame
Imo. Not he I hope
Iach. Not he:But yet Heauen's bounty towards him, mightBe vs'd more thankfully. In himselfe 'tis much;In you, which I account his beyond all Talents.Whil'st I am bound to wonder, I am boundTo pitty too
Imo. What do you pitty Sir?Iach. Two Creatures heartyly
Imo. Am I one Sir?You looke on me: what wrack discerne you in meDeserues your pitty?Iach. Lamentable: whatTo hide me from the radiant Sun, and solaceI'th' Dungeon by a Snuffe
Imo. I pray you Sir,Deliuer with more opennesse your answeresTo my demands. Why do you pitty me?Iach. That others do,(I was about to say) enioy your- butIt is an office of the Gods to venge it,Not mine to speake on't
Imo. You do seeme to knowSomething of me, or what concernes me; pray youSince doubting things go ill, often hurts moreThen to be sure they do. For CertaintiesEither are past remedies; or timely knowing,The remedy then borne. Discouer to meWhat both you spur and stop
Iach. Had I this cheekeTo bathe my lips vpon: this hand, whose touch,(Whose euery touch) would force the Feelers souleTo'th' oath of loyalty. This obiect, whichTakes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,Fiering it onely heere, should I (damn'd then)Slauuer with lippes as common as the stayresThat mount the Capitoll: Ioyne gripes, with handsMade hard with hourely falshood (falshood asWith labour:) then by peeping in an eyeBase and illustrious as the smoakie lightThat's fed with stinking Tallow: it were fitThat all the plagues of Hell should at one timeEncounter such reuolt
Imo. My Lord, I feareHas forgot Brittaine
Iach. And himselfe, not IInclin'd to this intelligence, pronounceThe Beggery of his change: but 'tis your GracesThat from my mutest Conscience, to my tongue,Charmes this report out
Imo. Let me heare no more
Iach. O deerest Soule: your Cause doth strike my hartWith pitty, that doth make me sicke. A LadySo faire, and fasten'd to an EmperieWould make the great'st King double, to be partner'dWith Tomboyes hyr'd, with that selfe exhibitionWhich your owne Coffers yeeld: with diseas'd venturesThat play with all Infirmities for Gold,Which rottennesse can lend Nature. Such boyl'd stuffeAs well might poyson Poyson. Be reueng'd,Or she that bore you, was no Queene, and youRecoyle from your great Stocke
Imo. Reueng'd:How should I be reueng'd? If this be true,(As I haue such a Heart, that both mine earesMust not in haste abuse) if it be true,How should I be reueng'd?Iach. Should he make meLiue like Diana's Priest, betwixt cold sheets,Whiles he is vaulting variable RampesIn your despight, vpon your purse: reuenge it.I dedicate my selfe to your sweet pleasure,More Noble then that runnagate to your bed,And will continue fast to your Affection,Still close, as sure
Imo. What hoa, Pisanio?Iach. Let me my seruice tender on your lippes
Imo. Away, I do condemne mine eares, that haueSo long attended thee. If thou wert HonourableThou would'st haue told this tale for Vertue, notFor such an end thou seek'st, as base, as strange:Thou wrong'st a Gentleman, who is as farreFrom thy report, as thou from Honor: andSolicites heere a Lady, that disdainesThee, and the Diuell alike. What hoa, Pisanio?The King my Father shall be made acquaintedOf thy Assault: if he shall thinke it fit,A sawcy Stranger in his Court, to MartAs in a Romish Stew, and to expoundHis beastly minde to vs; he hath a CourtHe little cares for, and a Daughter, whoHe not respects at all. What hoa, Pisanio?Iach. O happy Leonatus I may say,The credit that thy Lady hath of theeDeserues thy trust, and thy most perfect goodnesseHer assur'd credit. Blessed liue you long,A Lady to the worthiest Sir, that euerCountry call'd his; and you his Mistris, onelyFor the most worthiest fit. Giue me your pardon,I haue spoke this to know if your AffianceWere deeply rooted, and shall make your Lord,That which he is, new o're: And he is oneThe truest manner'd: such a holy Witch,That he enchants Societies into him:Halfe all men hearts are his
Imo. You make amends
Iach. He sits 'mongst men, like a defended God;He hath a kinde of Honor sets him off,More then a mortall seeming. Be not angrie(Most mighty Princesse) that I haue aduentur'dTo try your taking of a false report, which hathHonour'd with confirmation your great Iudgement,In the election of a Sir, so rare,Which you know, cannot erre. The loue I beare him,Made me to fan you thus, but the Gods made you(Vnlike all others) chaffelesse. Pray your pardon
Imo. All's well Sir:Take my powre i'th' Court for yours
Iach. My humble thankes: I had almost forgotT' intreat your Grace, but in a small request,And yet of moment too, for it concernes:Your Lord, my selfe, and other Noble FriendsAre partners in the businesse
Imo. Pray what is't?Iach. Some dozen Romanes of vs, and your Lord(The best Feather of our wing) haue mingled summesTo buy a Present for the Emperor:Which I (the Factor for the rest) haue doneIn France: 'tis Plate of rare deuice, and IewelsOf rich, and exquisite forme, their valewes great,And I am something curious, being strangeTo haue them in safe stowage: May it please youTo take them in protection
Imo. Willingly:And pawne mine Honor for their safety, sinceMy Lord hath interest in them, I will keepe themIn my Bed-chamber
Iach. They are in a TrunkeAttended by my men: I will make boldTo send them to you, onely for this night:I must aboord to morrow
Imo. O no, no
Iach. Yes I beseech: or I shall short my wordBy length'ning my returne. From Gallia,I crost the Seas on purpose, and on promiseTo see your Grace
Imo. I thanke you for your paines:But not away to morrow
Iach. O I must Madam.Therefore I shall beseech you, if you pleaseTo greet your Lord with writing, doo't to night,I haue out-stood my time, which is materiallTo'th' tender of our Present
Imo. I will write:Send your Trunke to me, it shall safe be kept,And truely yeelded you: you're very welcome.
Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.
Enter Clotten, and the two Lords.
Clot. Was there euer man had such lucke? when I kist the Iacke vpon an vp-cast, to be hit away? I had a hundred pound on't: and then a whorson Iacke-an-Apes, must take me vp for swearing, as if I borrowed mine oathes of him, and might not spend them at my pleasure
1. What got he by that? you haue broke his patewith your Bowle
2. If his wit had bin like him that broke it: it wouldhaue run all out
Clot. When a Gentleman is dispos'd to sweare: it isnot for any standers by to curtall his oathes. Ha?2. No my Lord; nor crop the eares of them
Clot. Whorson dog: I gaue him satisfaction? wouldhe had bin one of my Ranke
2. To haue smell'd like a Foole
Clot. I am not vext more at any thing 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 Queene my Mother: euery Iacke-Slaue hath his belly full of Fighting, and I must go vp and downe like a Cock, that no body can match
2. You are Cocke and Capon too, and you crowCock, with your combe on
Clot. Sayest thou?2. It is not fit your Lordship should vndertake eueryCompanion, that you giue offence too
Clot. No, I know that: but it is fit I should commitoffence to my inferiors
2. I, it is fit for your Lordship onely
Clot. Why so I say
1. Did you heere of a Stranger that's come to Courtnight?Clot. A Stranger, and I not know on't?2. He's a strange Fellow himselfe, and knowes it not
1. There's an Italian come, and 'tis thought one ofLeonatus Friends
Clot. Leonatus? A banisht Rascall; and he's another,whatsoeuer he be. Who told you of this Stranger?1. One of your Lordships Pages
Clot. Is it fit I went to looke vpon him? Is there noderogation in't?2. You cannot derogate my Lord
Clot. Not easily I thinke
2. You are a Foole graunted, therefore your Issuesbeing foolish do not derogate
Clot. Come, Ile go see this Italian: what I haue lostto day at Bowles, Ile winne to night of him. Come: go
2. Ile attend your Lordship.Enter.
That such a craftie Diuell as is his MotherShould yeild the world this Asse: A woman, thatBeares all downe with her Braine, and this her Sonne,Cannot take two from twenty for his heart,And leaue eighteene. Alas poore Princesse,Thou diuine Imogen, what thou endur'st,Betwixt a Father by thy Step-dame gouern'd,A Mother hourely coyning plots: A Wooer,More hatefull then the foule expulsion isOf thy deere Husband. Then that horrid ActOf the diuorce, heel'd make the Heauens hold firmeThe walls of thy deere Honour. Keepe vnshak'dThat Temple thy faire mind, that thou maist standT' enioy thy banish'd Lord: and this great Land.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Imogen, in her Bed, and a Lady.
Imo. Who's there? My woman: Helene?La. Please you Madam
Imo. What houre is it?Lady. Almost midnight, Madam
Imo. I haue read three houres then:Mine eyes are weake,Fold downe the leafe where I haue left: to bed.Take not away the Taper, leaue it burning:And if thou canst awake by foure o'th' clock,I prythee call me: Sleepe hath ceiz'd me wholly.To your protection I commend me, Gods,From Fayries, and the Tempters of the night,Guard me beseech yee.
Sleepes.
Iachimo from the Trunke.
Iach. The Crickets sing, and mans ore-labor'd senseRepaires it selfe by rest: Our Tarquine thusDid softly presse the Rushes, ere he waken'dThe Chastitie he wounded. Cytherea,How brauely thou becom'st thy Bed; fresh Lilly,And whiter then the Sheetes: that I might touch,But kisse, one kisse. Rubies vnparagon'd,How deerely they doo't: 'Tis her breathing thatPerfumes the Chamber thus: the Flame o'th' TaperBowes toward her, and would vnder-peepe her lids.To see th' inclosed Lights, now CanopiedVnder these windowes, White and Azure lac'dWith Blew of Heauens owne tinct. But my designe.To note the Chamber, I will write all downe,Such, and such pictures: There the window, suchTh' adornement of her Bed; the Arras, Figures,Why such, and such: and the Contents o'th' Story.Ah, but some naturall notes about her Body,Aboue ten thousand meaner MoueablesWould testifie, t' enrich mine Inuentorie.O sleepe, thou Ape of death, lye dull vpon her,And be her Sense but as a Monument,Thus in a Chappell lying. Come off, come off;As slippery as the Gordian-knot was hard.'Tis mine, and this will witnesse outwardly,As strongly as the Conscience do's within:To'th' madding of her Lord. On her left brestA mole Cinque-spotted: Like the Crimson dropsI'th' bottome of a Cowslippe. Heere's a Voucher,Stronger then euer Law could make; this SecretWill force him thinke I haue pick'd the lock, and t'aneThe treasure of her Honour. No more: to what end?Why should I write this downe, that's riueted,Screw'd to my memorie. She hath bin reading late,The Tale of Tereus, heere the leaffe's turn'd downeWhere Philomele gaue vp. I haue enough,To'th' Truncke againe, and shut the spring of it.Swift, swift, you Dragons of the night, that dawningMay beare the Rauens eye: I lodge in feare,Though this a heauenly Angell: hell is heere.
Clocke strikes
One, two, three: time, time.Enter.
Scena Tertia.
Enter Clotten, and Lords.
1. Your Lordship is the most patient man in losse, the most coldest that euer turn'd vp Ace
Clot. It would make any man cold to loose
1. But not euery man patient after the noble temper of your Lordship; You are most hot, and furious when you winne. Winning will put any man into courage: if I could get this foolish Imogen, I should haue Gold enough: it's almost morning, is't not? 1 Day, my Lord
Clot. I would this Musicke would come: I am aduised to giue her Musicke a mornings, they say it will penetrate. Enter Musitians.
Come on, tune: If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so: wee'l try with tongue too: if none will do, let her remaine: but Ile neuer giue o're. First, a very excellent good conceyted thing; after a wonderful sweet aire, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consider.
Hearke, hearke, the Larke at Heauens gate sings, and Phoebus gins arise, His Steeds to water at those Springs on chalic'd Flowres that lyes: And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their Golden eyes With euery thing that pretty is, my Lady sweet arise: Arise, arise. So, get you gone: if this penetrate, I will consider your Musicke the better: if it do not, it is a voyce in her eares which Horse-haires, and Calues-guts, nor the voyce of vnpaued Eunuch to boot, can neuer amend. Enter Cymbaline, and Queene.
2 Heere comes the King
Clot. I am glad I was vp so late, for that's the reasonI was vp so earely: he cannot choose but take this SeruiceI haue done, fatherly. Good morrow to your Maiesty,and to my gracious Mother
Cym. Attend you here the doore of our stern daughterWill she not forth?Clot. I haue assayl'd her with Musickes, but she vouchsafesno notice
Cym. The Exile of her Minion is too new,She hath not yet forgot him, some more timeMust weare the print of his remembrance on't,And then she's yours
Qu. You are most bound to'th' King,Who let's go by no vantages, that mayPreferre you to his daughter: Frame your selfeTo orderly solicity, and be friendedWith aptnesse of the season: make denialsEncrease your Seruices: so seeme, as ifYou were inspir'd to do those duties whichYou tender to her: that you in all obey her,Saue when command to your dismission tends,And therein you are senselesse
Clot. Senselesse? Not so
Mes. So like you (Sir) Ambassadors from Rome;The one is Caius Lucius
Cym. A worthy Fellow,Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;But that's no fault of his: we must receyue himAccording to the Honor of his Sender,And towards himselfe, his goodnesse fore-spent on vsWe must extend our notice: Our deere Sonne,When you haue giuen good morning to your Mistris,Attend the Queene, and vs, we shall haue needeT' employ you towards this Romane.Come our Queene.
Exeunt.
Clot. If she be vp, Ile speake with her: if notLet her lye still, and dreame: by your leaue hoa,I know her women are about her: whatIf I do line one of their hands, 'tis GoldWhich buyes admittance (oft it doth) yea, and makesDiana's Rangers false themselues, yeeld vpTheir Deere to'th' stand o'th' Stealer: and 'tis GoldWhich makes the True-man kill'd, and saues the Theefe:Nay, sometime hangs both Theefe, and True-man: whatCan it not do, and vndoo? I will makeOne of her women Lawyer to me, forI yet not vnderstand the case my selfe.By your leaue.
Knockes.
Enter a Lady.
La. Who's there that knockes?Clot. A Gentleman
La. No more
Clot. Yes, and a Gentlewomans Sonne
La. That's moreThen some whose Taylors are as deere as yours,Can iustly boast of: what's your Lordships pleasure?Clot. Your Ladies person, is she ready?La. I, to keepe her Chamber
Clot. There is Gold for you,Sell me your good report
La. How, my good name? or to report of youWhat I shall thinke is good. The Princesse.Enter Imogen.
Clot. Good morrow fairest, Sister your sweet hand
Imo. Good morrow Sir, you lay out too much painesFor purchasing but trouble: the thankes I giue,Is telling you that I am poore of thankes,And scarse can spare them
Clot. Still I sweare I loue you
Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deepe with me:If you sweare still, your recompence is stillThat I regard it not
Clot. This is no answer
Imo. But that you shall not say, I yeeld being silent,I would not speake. I pray you spare me, 'faithI shall vnfold equall discourtesieTo your best kindnesse: one of your great knowingShould learne (being taught) forbearance
Clot. To leaue you in your madnesse, 'twere my sin,I will not
Imo. Fooles are not mad Folkes
Clot. Do you call me Foole?Imo. As I am mad I do:If you'l be patient, Ile no more be mad,That cures vs both. I am much sorry (Sir)You put me to forget a Ladies mannersBy being so verball: and learne now, for all,That I which know my heart, do heere pronounceBy th' very truth of it, I care not for you,And am so neere the lacke of CharitieTo accuse my selfe, I hate you: which I had ratherYou felt, then make't my boast
Clot. You sinne againstObedience, which you owe your Father, forThe Contract you pretend with that base Wretch,One, bred of Almes, 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 then he more meane) to knit their soules(On whom there is no more dependancieBut Brats and Beggery) in selfe-figur'd knot,Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement, byThe consequence o'th' Crowne, and must not foyleThe precious note of it; with a base Slaue,A Hilding for a Liuorie, a Squires Cloth,A Pantler; not so eminent
Imo. Prophane Fellow:Wert thou the Sonne of Iupiter, and no more,But what thou art besides: thou wer't too base,To be his Groome: thou wer't dignified enoughEuen to the point of Enuie. If 'twere madeComparatiue for your Vertues, to be stil'dThe vnder Hangman of his Kingdome; and hatedFor being prefer'd so well
Clot. The South-Fog rot him
Imo. He neuer can meete more mischance, then comeTo be but nam'd of thee. His mean'st GarmentThat euer hath but clipt his body; is dearerIn my respect, then all the Heires aboue thee,Were they all made such men: How now Pisanio?Enter Pisanio.
Clot. His Garments? Now the diuell
Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently
Clot. His Garment?Imo. I am sprighted with a Foole,Frighted, and angred worse: Go bid my womanSearch for a Iewell, that too casuallyHath left mine Arme: it was thy Masters. Shrew meIf I would loose it for a Reuenew,Of any Kings in Europe. I do think,I saw't this morning: Confident I am.Last night 'twas on mine Arme; I kiss'd it,I hope it be not gone, to tell my LordThat I kisse aught but he
Pis. 'Twill not be lost
Imo. I hope so: go and search
Clot. You haue abus'd me:His meanest Garment?Imo. I, I said so Sir,If you will make't an Action, call witnesse to't
Clot. I will enforme your Father
Imo. Your Mother too:She's my good Lady; and will concieue, I hopeBut the worst of me. So I leaue you Sir,To'th' worst of discontent.Enter.
Clot. Ile be reueng'd:His mean'st Garment? Well.Enter.
Scena Quarta.
Enter Posthumus, and Philario.
Post. Feare it not Sir: I would I were so sureTo winne the King, as I am bold, her HonourWill remaine her's
Phil. What meanes do you make to him?Post. Not any: but abide the change of Time,Quake in the present winters state, and wishThat warmer dayes would come: In these fear'd hopeI barely gratifie your loue; they faylingI must die much your debtor
Phil. Your very goodnesse, and your company,Ore-payes all I can do. By this your King,Hath heard of Great Augustus: Caius Lucius,Will do's Commission throughly. And I thinkHee'le grant the Tribute: send th' Arrerages,Or looke vpon our Romaines, whose remembranceIs yet fresh in their griefe
Post. I do beleeue(Statist though I am none, nor like to be)That this will proue a Warre; and you shall heareThe Legion now in Gallia, sooner landedIn our not-fearing-Britaine, then haue tydingsOf any penny Tribute paid. Our CountrymenAre men more order'd, then when Iulius CaesarSmil'd at their lacke of skill, but found their courageWorthy his frowning at. Their discipline,(Now wing-led with their courages) will make knowneTo their Approuers, they are People, suchThat mend vpon the world.Enter Iachimo.
Phi. See Iachimo
Post. The swiftest Harts, haue posted you by land;And Windes of all the Corners kiss'd your Sailes,To make your vessell nimble
Phil. Welcome Sir
Post. I hope the briefenesse of your answere, madeThe speedinesse of your returne
Iachi. Your Lady,Is one of the fayrest that I haue look'd vponPost. And therewithall the best, or let her beautyLooke thorough a Casement to allure false hearts,And be false with them
Iachi. Heere are Letters for you
Post. Their tenure good I trust
Iach. 'Tis very like
Post. Was Caius Lucius in the Britaine Court,When you were there?Iach. He was expected then,But not approach'd
Post. All is well yet,Sparkles this Stone as it was wont, or is't notToo dull for your good wearing?Iach. If I haue lost it,I should haue lost the worth of it in Gold,Ile make a iourney twice as farre, t' enioyA second night of such sweet shortnesse, whichWas mine in Britaine, for the Ring is wonne
Post. The Stones too hard to come by
Iach. Not a whit,Your Lady being so easy
Post. Make note SirYour losse, your Sport: I hope you know that weMust not continue Friends
Iach. Good Sir, we mustIf you keepe Couenant: had I not broughtThe knowledge of your Mistris home, I grantWe were to question farther; but I nowProfesse my selfe the winner of her Honor,Together with your Ring; and not the wrongerOf her, or you hauing proceeded butBy both your willes
Post. If you can mak't apparantThat you haue tasted her in Bed; my hand,And Ring is yours. If not, the foule opinionYou had of her pure Honour; gaines, or looses,Your Sword, or mine, or Masterlesse leaue bothTo who shall finde them
Iach. Sir, my CircumstancesBeing so nere the Truth, as I will make them,Must first induce you to beleeue; whose strengthI will confirme with oath, which I doubt notYou'l giue me leaue to spare, when you shall findeYou neede it not
Post. Proceed
Iach. First, her Bed-chamber(Where I confesse I slept not, but professeHad that was well worth watching) it was hang'dWith Tapistry of Silke, and Siluer, the StoryProud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,And Sidnus swell'd aboue the Bankes, or forThe presse of Boates, or Pride. A peece of WorkeSo brauely done, so rich, that it did striueIn Workemanship, and Value, which I wonder'dCould be so rarely, and exactly wroughtSince the true life on't was-Post. This is true:And this you might haue heard of heere, by me,Or by some other
Iach. More particularsMust iustifie my knowledge
Post. So they must,Or doe your Honour iniury
Iach. The ChimneyIs South the Chamber, and the Chimney-peeceChaste Dian, bathing: neuer saw I figuresSo likely to report themselues; the CutterWas as another Nature dumbe, out-went her,Motion, and Breath left out
Post. This is a thingWhich you might from Relation likewise reape,Being, as it is, much spoke of
Iach. The Roofe o'th' Chamber,With golden Cherubins is fretted. Her Andirons(I had forgot them) were two winking CupidsOf Siluer, each on one foote standing, nicelyDepending on their Brands
Post. This is her Honor:Let it be granted you haue seene all this (and praiseBe giuen to your remembrance) the descriptionOf what is in her Chamber, nothing sauesThe wager you haue laid
Iach. Then if you canBe pale, I begge but leaue to ayre this Iewell: See,And now 'tis vp againe: it must be marriedTo that your Diamond, Ile keepe them
Post. Ioue-Once more let me behold it: Is it thatWhich I left with her?Iach. Sir (I thanke her) thatShe stript it from her Arme: I see her yet:Her pretty Action, did out-sell her guift,And yet enrich'd it too: she gaue it me,And said, she priz'd it once
Post. May be, she pluck'd it offTo send it me
Iach. She writes so to you? doth shee?Post. O no, no, no, 'tis true. Heere, take this too,It is a Basiliske vnto mine eye,Killes me to looke on't: Let there be no Honor,Where there is Beauty: Truth, where semblance: Loue,Where there's another man. The Vowes of Women,Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,Then they are to their Vertues, which is nothing:O, aboue measure false
Phil. Haue patience Sir,And take your Ring againe, 'tis not yet wonne:It may be probable she lost it: orWho knowes if one her women, being corruptedHath stolne it from her
Post. Very true,And so I hope he came by't: backe my Ring,Render to me some corporall signe about herMore euident then this: for this was stolne
Iach. By Iupiter, I had it from her Arme
Post. Hearke you, he sweares: by Iupiter he sweares.'Tis true, nay keepe the Ring; 'tis true: I am sureShe would not loose it: her Attendants areAll sworne, and honourable: they induc'd to steale it?And by a Stranger? No, he hath enioy'd her,The Cognisance of her incontinencieIs this: she hath bought the name of Whore, thus deerlyThere, take thy hyre, and all the Fiends of HellDiuide themselues betweene you
Phil. Sir, be patient:This is not strong enough to be beleeu'dOf one perswaded well of
Post. Neuer talke on't:She hath bin colted by him
Iach. If you seekeFor further satisfying, vnder her Breast(Worthy her pressing) lyes a Mole, right proudOf that most delicate Lodging. By my lifeI kist it, and it gaue me present hungerTo feede againe, though full. You do rememberThis staine vpon her?Post. I, and it doth confirmeAnother staine, as bigge as Hell can hold,Were there no more but it
Iach. Will you heare more?Post. Spare your Arethmaticke,Neuer count the Turnes: Once, and a Million
Iach. Ile be sworne
Post. No swearing:If you will sweare you haue not done't, you lye,And I will kill thee, if thou do'st denyThou'st made me Cuckold
Iach. Ile deny nothing
Post. O that I had her heere, to teare her Limb-meale:I will go there and doo't, i'th' Court, beforeHer Father. Ile do something.Enter.
Phil. Quite besidesThe gouernment of Patience. You haue wonne:Let's follow him, and peruert the present wrathHe hath against himselfe
Iach. With all my heart.
Exeunt.
Enter Posthumus.
Post. Is there no way for Men to be, but WomenMust be halfe-workers? We are all Bastards,And that most venerable man, which IDid call my Father, was, I know not whereWhen I was stampt. Some Coyner with his ToolesMade me a counterfeit: yet my Mother seem'dThe Dian of that time: so doth my WifeThe Non-pareill of this. Oh Vengeance, Vengeance!Me of my lawfull pleasure she restrain'd,And pray'd me oft forbearance: did it withA pudencie so Rosie, the sweet view on'tMight well haue warm'd olde Saturne;That I thought herAs Chaste, as vn-Sunn'd Snow. Oh, all the Diuels!This yellow Iachimo in an houre, was't not?Or lesse; at first? Perchance he spoke not, butLike a full Acorn'd Boare, a Iarmen on,Cry'de oh, and mounted; found no oppositionBut what he look'd for, should oppose, and sheShould from encounter guard. Could I finde outThe Womans part in me, for there's no motionThat tends to vice in man, but I affirmeIt is the Womans part: be it Lying, note it,The womans: Flattering, hers; Deceiuing, hers:Lust, and ranke thoughts, hers, hers: Reuenges hers:Ambitions, Couetings, change of Prides, Disdaine,Nice-longing, Slanders, Mutability;All Faults that name, nay, that Hell knowes,Why hers, in part, or all: but rather all. For euen to ViceThey are not constant, but are changing still;One Vice, but of a minute old, for oneNot halfe so old as that. Ile write against them,Detest them, curse them: yet 'tis greater SkillIn a true Hate, to pray they haue their will:The very Diuels cannot plague them better.Enter.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.
Enter in State, Cymbeline, Queene, Clotten, and Lords at one doore, and at another, Caius, Lucius; and Attendants.
Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with vs?Luc. When Iulius Caesar (whose remembrance yetLiues in mens eyes, and will to Eares and TonguesBe Theame, and hearing euer) was in this Britain,And Conquer'd it, Cassibulan thine Vnkle(Famous in Caesars prayses, no whit lesseThen in his Feats deseruing it) for him,And his Succession, granted Rome a Tribute,Yeerely three thousand pounds; which (by thee) latelyIs left vntender'd
Qu. And to kill the meruaile,Shall be so euer
Clot. There be many Caesars,Ere such another Iulius: Britaine's a worldBy it selfe, and we will nothing payFor wearing our owne Noses
Qu. That opportunityWhich then they had to take from's, to resumeWe haue againe. Remember Sir, my Liege,The Kings your Ancestors, together withThe naturall brauery of your Isle, which standsAs Neptunes Parke, ribb'd, and pal'd inWith Oakes vnskaleable, and roaring Waters,With Sands that will not beare your Enemies Boates,But sucke them vp to'th' Top-mast. A kinde of ConquestCaesar made heere, but made not heere his braggeOf Came, and Saw, and Ouer-came: with shame(The first that euer touch'd him) he was carriedFrom off our Coast, twice beaten: and his Shipping(Poore ignorant Baubles) on our terrible SeasLike Egge-shels mou'd vpon their Surges, crack'dAs easily 'gainst our Rockes. For ioy whereof,The fam'd Cassibulan, who was once at point(Oh giglet Fortune) to master Caesars Sword,Made Luds-Towne with reioycing-Fires bright,And Britaines strut with Courage
Clot. Come, there's no more Tribute to be paid: our Kingdome is stronger then it was at that time: and (as I said) there is no mo such Caesars, other of them may haue crook'd Noses, but to owe such straite Armes, none
Cym. Son, let your Mother end
Clot. We haue yet many among vs, can gripe as hard as Cassibulan, I doe not say I am one: but I haue a hand. Why Tribute? Why should we pay Tribute? If Caesar can hide the Sun from vs 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
Cym. You must know,Till the iniurious Romans, did extortThis Tribute from vs, we were free. Caesars Ambition,Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretchThe sides o'th' World, against all colour heere,Did put the yoake vpon's; which to shake offBecomes a warlike people, whom we reckonOur selues to be, we do. Say then to Caesar,Our Ancestor was that Mulmutius, whichOrdain'd our Lawes, whose vse the Sword of CaesarHath too much mangled; whose repayre, and franchise,Shall (by the power we hold) be our good deed,Tho Rome be therfore angry. Mulmutius made our lawesWho was the first of Britaine, which did putHis browes within a golden Crowne, and call'dHimselfe a King
Luc. I am sorry Cymbeline,That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar(Caesar, that hath moe Kings his Seruants, thenThy selfe Domesticke Officers) thine Enemy:Receyue it from me then. Warre, and ConfusionIn Caesars name pronounce I 'gainst thee: LookeFor fury, not to be resisted. Thus defide,I thanke thee for my selfe
Cym. Thou art welcome Caius,Thy Caesar Knighted me; my youth I spentMuch vnder him; of him, I gather'd Honour,Which he, to seeke of me againe, perforce,Behooues me keepe at vtterance. I am perfect,That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, forTheir Liberties are now in Armes: a PresidentWhich not to reade, would shew the Britaines cold:So Caesar shall not finde them
Luc. Let proofe speake
Clot. His Maiesty biddes you welcome. Make pastime with vs, a day, or two, or longer: if you seek vs afterwards in other tearmes, you shall finde vs in our Saltwater-Girdle: if you beate vs out of it, it is yours: if you fall in the aduenture, our Crowes shall fare the better for you: and there's an end
Luc. So sir
Cym. I know your Masters pleasure, and he mine:All the Remaine, is welcome.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Pisanio reading of a Letter.
Pis. How? of Adultery? Wherefore write you notWhat Monsters her accuse? Leonatus:Oh Master, what a strange infectionIs falne into thy eare? What false Italian,(As poysonous tongu'd, as handed) hath preuail'dOn thy too ready hearing? Disloyall? No.She's punish'd for her Truth; and vndergoesMore Goddesse-like, then Wife-like; such AssaultsAs would take in some Vertue. Oh my Master,Thy mind to her, is now as lowe, as wereThy Fortunes. How? That I should murther her,Vpon the Loue, and Truth, and Vowes; which IHaue made to thy command? I her? Her blood?If it be so, to do good seruice, neuerLet me be counted seruiceable. How looke I,That I should seeme to lacke humanity,So much as this Fact comes to? Doo't: The Letter.That I haue sent her, by her owne command,Shall giue thee opportunitie. Oh damn'd paper,Blacke as the Inke that's on thee: senselesse bauble,Art thou a Foedarie for this Act; and look'stSo Virgin-like without? Loe here she comes.Enter Imogen.
I am ignorant in what I am commanded
Imo. How now Pisanio?Pis. Madam, heere is a Letter from my Lord