ACT IISCENE I. Britain. Before Cymbeline’s palace.EnterClotenand the twoLords.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.[ExeuntClotenandFirst Lord.]That such a crafty devil as is his motherShould yield the world this ass! A woman thatBears all down with her brain; and this her sonCannot 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 wooerMore hateful than the foul expulsion isOf thy dear husband, than that horrid actOf the divorce he’d make! The heavens hold firmThe walls of thy dear honour, keep unshak’dThat temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst standT’ 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.EnterImogenin her bed, and aLadyattending.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.[ExitLady.]To your protection I commend me, gods.From fairies and the tempters of the nightGuard me, beseech ye![Sleeps. Iachimo comes from the trunk.]IACHIMO.The crickets sing, and man’s o’er-labour’d senseRepairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thusDid softly press the rushes ere he waken’dThe 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 thatPerfumes the chamber thus. The flame o’ th’ taperBows toward her and would under-peep her lidsTo see th’ enclosed lights, now canopiedUnder these windows white and azure, lac’dWith blue of heaven’s own tinct. But my designTo note the chamber. I will write all down:Such and such pictures; there the window; suchTh’ adornment of her bed; the arras, figures,Why, such and such; and the contents o’ th’ story.Ah, but some natural notes about her bodyAbove ten thousand meaner movablesWould 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 breastA mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson dropsI’ th’ bottom of a cowslip. Here’s a voucherStronger than ever law could make; this secretWill force him think I have pick’d the lock and ta’enThe 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 lateThe tale of Tereus; here the leaf’s turn’d downWhere Philomel gave up. I have enough.To th’ trunk again, and shut the spring of it.Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawningMay 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.EnterClotenandLords.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.EnterMusicians.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.SONGHark, hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings,And Phœbus ’gins arise,His steeds to water at those springsOn chalic’d flow’rs that lies;And winking Mary-buds beginTo 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.[ExeuntMusicians.]EnterCymbelineandQueen.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 timeMust 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 mayPrefer you to his daughter. Frame yourselfTo orderly solicits, and be friendedWith aptness of the season; make denialsIncrease your services; so seem as ifYou were inspir’d to do those duties whichYou 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 aMessenger.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 himAccording 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 needT’ employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.[Exeunt all butCloten.]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; whatIf I do line one of their hands? ’Tis goldWhich buys admittance (oft it doth) yea, and makesDiana’s rangers false themselves, yield upTheir deer to th’ stand o’ th’ stealer; and ’tis goldWhich makes the true man kill’d and saves the thief;Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man. WhatCan it not do and undo? I will makeOne of her women lawyer to me, forI yet not understand the case myself.By your leave.[Knocks.]Enter aLady.LADY.Who’s there that knocks?CLOTEN.A gentleman.LADY.No more?CLOTEN.Yes, and a gentlewoman’s son.LADY.That’s moreThan some whose tailors are as dear as yoursCan 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 youWhat I shall think is good? The Princess!EnterImogen.CLOTEN.Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand.[ExitLady.]IMOGEN.Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much painsFor purchasing but trouble. The thanks I giveIs 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 stillThat 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 discourtesyTo your best kindness; one of your great knowingShould 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 mannersBy 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 charityTo accuse myself I hate you; which I had ratherYou felt than make’t my boast.CLOTEN.You sin againstObedience, which you owe your father. ForThe 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 dependencyBut brats and beggary) in self-figur’d knot,Yet you are curb’d from that enlargement byThe consequence o’ th’ crown, and must not foilThe 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 moreBut what thou art besides, thou wert too baseTo be his groom. Thou wert dignified enough,Even to the point of envy, if ’twere madeComparative for your virtues to be styl’dThe under-hangman of his kingdom, and hatedFor being preferr’d so well.CLOTEN.The south fog rot him!IMOGEN.He never can meet more mischance than comeTo be but nam’d of thee. His mean’st garmentThat ever hath but clipp’d his body, is dearerIn my respect, than all the hairs above thee,Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!EnterPisanio.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 womanSearch for a jewel that too casuallyHath left mine arm. It was thy master’s; shrew me,If I would lose it for a revenueOf any king’s in Europe! I do thinkI saw’t this morning; confident I amLast night ’twas on mine arm; I kiss’d it.I hope it be not gone to tell my lordThat I kiss aught but he.PISANIO.’Twill not be lost.IMOGEN.I hope so. Go and search.[ExitPisanio.]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.EnterPosthumusandPhilario.POSTHUMUS.Fear it not, sir; I would I were so sureTo win the King as I am bold her honourWill 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 wishThat warmer days would come. In these fear’d hopesI barely gratify your love; they failing,I must die much your debtor.PHILARIO.Your very goodness and your companyO’erpays all I can do. By this your kingHath heard of great Augustus. Caius LuciusWill do’s commission throughly; and I thinkHe’ll grant the tribute, send th’ arrearages,Or look upon our Romans, whose remembranceIs yet fresh in their grief.POSTHUMUS.I do believeStatist though I am none, nor like to be,That this will prove a war; and you shall hearThe legions now in Gallia sooner landedIn our not-fearing Britain than have tidingsOf any penny tribute paid. Our countrymenAre men more order’d than when Julius CæsarSmil’d at their lack of skill, but found their courageWorthy his frowning at. Their discipline,Now mingled with their courages, will make knownTo their approvers they are people suchThat mend upon the world.EnterIachimo.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 madeThe speediness of your return.IACHIMO.Your ladyIs one of the fairest that I have look’d upon.POSTHUMUS.And therewithal the best; or let her beautyLook 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 courtWhen 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 notToo 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’ enjoyA second night of such sweet shortness whichWas 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 weMust not continue friends.IACHIMO.Good sir, we must,If you keep covenant. Had I not broughtThe knowledge of your mistress home, I grantWe were to question farther; but I nowProfess myself the winner of her honour,Together with your ring; and not the wrongerOf her or you, having proceeded butBy both your wills.POSTHUMUS.If you can make’t apparentThat you have tasted her in bed, my handAnd ring is yours. If not, the foul opinionYou had of her pure honour gains or losesYour sword or mine, or masterless leaves bothTo 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 strengthI will confirm with oath; which I doubt notYou’ll give me leave to spare when you shall findYou need it not.POSTHUMUS.Proceed.IACHIMO.First, her bedchamber,(Where I confess I slept not, but professHad that was well worth watching) it was hang’dWith tapestry of silk and silver; the story,Proud Cleopatra when she met her RomanAnd Cydnus swell’d above the banks, or forThe press of boats or pride. A piece of workSo bravely done, so rich, that it did striveIn workmanship and value; which I wonder’dCould 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 meOr by some other.IACHIMO.More particularsMust justify my knowledge.POSTHUMUS.So they must,Or do your honour injury.IACHIMO.The chimneyIs south the chamber, and the chimneypieceChaste Dian bathing. Never saw I figuresSo likely to report themselves. The cutterWas as another nature, dumb; outwent her,Motion and breath left out.POSTHUMUS.This is a thingWhich you might from relation likewise reap,Being, as it is, much spoke of.IACHIMO.The roof o’ th’ chamberWith golden cherubins is fretted; her andirons(I had forgot them) were two winking CupidsOf silver, each on one foot standing, nicelyDepending on their brands.POSTHUMUS.This is her honour!Let it be granted you have seen all this, and praiseBe given to your remembrance; the descriptionOf what is in her chamber nothing savesThe 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 marriedTo that your diamond; I’ll keep them.POSTHUMUS.Jove!Once more let me behold it. Is it thatWhich 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 saidShe priz’d it once.POSTHUMUS.May be she pluck’d it offTo 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 honourWhere there is beauty; truth where semblance; loveWhere there’s another man. The vows of womenOf no more bondage be to where they are madeThan 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, orWho knows if one her women, being corruptedHath 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 sureShe would not lose it. Her attendants areAll sworn and honourable:—they induc’d to steal it!And by a stranger! No, he hath enjoy’d her.The cognizance of her incontinencyIs this: she hath bought the name of whore thus dearly.There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hellDivide themselves between you!PHILARIO.Sir, be patient;This is not strong enough to be believ’dOf one persuaded well of.POSTHUMUS.Never talk on’t;She hath been colted by him.IACHIMO.If you seekFor further satisfying, under her breast(Worthy the pressing) lies a mole, right proudOf that most delicate lodging. By my life,I kiss’d it; and it gave me present hungerTo feed again, though full. You do rememberThis stain upon her?POSTHUMUS.Ay, and it doth confirmAnother 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 denyThou’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, beforeHer father. I’ll do something—[Exit.]PHILARIO.Quite besidesThe government of patience! You have won.Let’s follow him and pervert the present wrathHe hath against himself.IACHIMO.With all my heart.[Exeunt.]SCENE V. Rome. Another room in Philario’s house.EnterPosthumus.POSTHUMUS.Is there no way for men to be, but womenMust be half-workers? We are all bastards,And that most venerable man which IDid call my father was I know not whereWhen I was stamp’d. Some coiner with his toolsMade me a counterfeit; yet my mother seem’dThe Dian of that time. So doth my wifeThe nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain’d,And pray’d me oft forbearance; did it withA pudency so rosy, the sweet view on’tMight well have warm’d old Saturn; that I thought herAs 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 oppositionBut what he look’d for should oppose and sheShould from encounter guard. Could I find outThe woman’s part in me! For there’s no motionThat tends to vice in man but I affirmIt 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 viceThey are not constant, but are changing stillOne vice but of a minute old for oneNot half so old as that. I’ll write against them,Detest them, curse them. Yet ’tis greater skillIn a true hate to pray they have their will:The very devils cannot plague them better.[Exit.]
EnterClotenand the twoLords.
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.
[ExeuntClotenandFirst Lord.]
That such a crafty devil as is his motherShould yield the world this ass! A woman thatBears all down with her brain; and this her sonCannot 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 wooerMore hateful than the foul expulsion isOf thy dear husband, than that horrid actOf the divorce he’d make! The heavens hold firmThe walls of thy dear honour, keep unshak’dThat temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst standT’ enjoy thy banish’d lord and this great land!
[Exit.]
EnterImogenin her bed, and aLadyattending.
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.
[ExitLady.]
To your protection I commend me, gods.From fairies and the tempters of the nightGuard me, beseech ye!
[Sleeps. Iachimo comes from the trunk.]
IACHIMO.The crickets sing, and man’s o’er-labour’d senseRepairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thusDid softly press the rushes ere he waken’dThe 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 thatPerfumes the chamber thus. The flame o’ th’ taperBows toward her and would under-peep her lidsTo see th’ enclosed lights, now canopiedUnder these windows white and azure, lac’dWith blue of heaven’s own tinct. But my designTo note the chamber. I will write all down:Such and such pictures; there the window; suchTh’ adornment of her bed; the arras, figures,Why, such and such; and the contents o’ th’ story.Ah, but some natural notes about her bodyAbove ten thousand meaner movablesWould 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 breastA mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson dropsI’ th’ bottom of a cowslip. Here’s a voucherStronger than ever law could make; this secretWill force him think I have pick’d the lock and ta’enThe 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 lateThe tale of Tereus; here the leaf’s turn’d downWhere Philomel gave up. I have enough.To th’ trunk again, and shut the spring of it.Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawningMay 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.]
EnterClotenandLords.
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.
EnterMusicians.
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 springsOn chalic’d flow’rs that lies;And winking Mary-buds beginTo 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.
[ExeuntMusicians.]
EnterCymbelineandQueen.
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 timeMust 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 mayPrefer you to his daughter. Frame yourselfTo orderly solicits, and be friendedWith aptness of the season; make denialsIncrease your services; so seem as ifYou were inspir’d to do those duties whichYou 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 aMessenger.
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 himAccording 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 needT’ employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.
[Exeunt all butCloten.]
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; whatIf I do line one of their hands? ’Tis goldWhich buys admittance (oft it doth) yea, and makesDiana’s rangers false themselves, yield upTheir deer to th’ stand o’ th’ stealer; and ’tis goldWhich makes the true man kill’d and saves the thief;Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man. WhatCan it not do and undo? I will makeOne of her women lawyer to me, forI yet not understand the case myself.By your leave.
[Knocks.]
Enter aLady.
LADY.Who’s there that knocks?
CLOTEN.A gentleman.
LADY.No more?
CLOTEN.Yes, and a gentlewoman’s son.
LADY.That’s moreThan some whose tailors are as dear as yoursCan 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 youWhat I shall think is good? The Princess!
EnterImogen.
CLOTEN.Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand.
[ExitLady.]
IMOGEN.Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much painsFor purchasing but trouble. The thanks I giveIs 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 stillThat 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 discourtesyTo your best kindness; one of your great knowingShould 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 mannersBy 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 charityTo accuse myself I hate you; which I had ratherYou felt than make’t my boast.
CLOTEN.You sin againstObedience, which you owe your father. ForThe 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 dependencyBut brats and beggary) in self-figur’d knot,Yet you are curb’d from that enlargement byThe consequence o’ th’ crown, and must not foilThe 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 moreBut what thou art besides, thou wert too baseTo be his groom. Thou wert dignified enough,Even to the point of envy, if ’twere madeComparative for your virtues to be styl’dThe under-hangman of his kingdom, and hatedFor being preferr’d so well.
CLOTEN.The south fog rot him!
IMOGEN.He never can meet more mischance than comeTo be but nam’d of thee. His mean’st garmentThat ever hath but clipp’d his body, is dearerIn my respect, than all the hairs above thee,Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!
EnterPisanio.
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 womanSearch for a jewel that too casuallyHath left mine arm. It was thy master’s; shrew me,If I would lose it for a revenueOf any king’s in Europe! I do thinkI saw’t this morning; confident I amLast night ’twas on mine arm; I kiss’d it.I hope it be not gone to tell my lordThat I kiss aught but he.
PISANIO.’Twill not be lost.
IMOGEN.I hope so. Go and search.
[ExitPisanio.]
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.]
EnterPosthumusandPhilario.
POSTHUMUS.Fear it not, sir; I would I were so sureTo win the King as I am bold her honourWill 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 wishThat warmer days would come. In these fear’d hopesI barely gratify your love; they failing,I must die much your debtor.
PHILARIO.Your very goodness and your companyO’erpays all I can do. By this your kingHath heard of great Augustus. Caius LuciusWill do’s commission throughly; and I thinkHe’ll grant the tribute, send th’ arrearages,Or look upon our Romans, whose remembranceIs yet fresh in their grief.
POSTHUMUS.I do believeStatist though I am none, nor like to be,That this will prove a war; and you shall hearThe legions now in Gallia sooner landedIn our not-fearing Britain than have tidingsOf any penny tribute paid. Our countrymenAre men more order’d than when Julius CæsarSmil’d at their lack of skill, but found their courageWorthy his frowning at. Their discipline,Now mingled with their courages, will make knownTo their approvers they are people suchThat mend upon the world.
EnterIachimo.
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 madeThe speediness of your return.
IACHIMO.Your ladyIs one of the fairest that I have look’d upon.
POSTHUMUS.And therewithal the best; or let her beautyLook 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 courtWhen 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 notToo 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’ enjoyA second night of such sweet shortness whichWas 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 weMust not continue friends.
IACHIMO.Good sir, we must,If you keep covenant. Had I not broughtThe knowledge of your mistress home, I grantWe were to question farther; but I nowProfess myself the winner of her honour,Together with your ring; and not the wrongerOf her or you, having proceeded butBy both your wills.
POSTHUMUS.If you can make’t apparentThat you have tasted her in bed, my handAnd ring is yours. If not, the foul opinionYou had of her pure honour gains or losesYour sword or mine, or masterless leaves bothTo 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 strengthI will confirm with oath; which I doubt notYou’ll give me leave to spare when you shall findYou need it not.
POSTHUMUS.Proceed.
IACHIMO.First, her bedchamber,(Where I confess I slept not, but professHad that was well worth watching) it was hang’dWith tapestry of silk and silver; the story,Proud Cleopatra when she met her RomanAnd Cydnus swell’d above the banks, or forThe press of boats or pride. A piece of workSo bravely done, so rich, that it did striveIn workmanship and value; which I wonder’dCould 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 meOr by some other.
IACHIMO.More particularsMust justify my knowledge.
POSTHUMUS.So they must,Or do your honour injury.
IACHIMO.The chimneyIs south the chamber, and the chimneypieceChaste Dian bathing. Never saw I figuresSo likely to report themselves. The cutterWas as another nature, dumb; outwent her,Motion and breath left out.
POSTHUMUS.This is a thingWhich you might from relation likewise reap,Being, as it is, much spoke of.
IACHIMO.The roof o’ th’ chamberWith golden cherubins is fretted; her andirons(I had forgot them) were two winking CupidsOf silver, each on one foot standing, nicelyDepending on their brands.
POSTHUMUS.This is her honour!Let it be granted you have seen all this, and praiseBe given to your remembrance; the descriptionOf what is in her chamber nothing savesThe 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 marriedTo that your diamond; I’ll keep them.
POSTHUMUS.Jove!Once more let me behold it. Is it thatWhich 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 saidShe priz’d it once.
POSTHUMUS.May be she pluck’d it offTo 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 honourWhere there is beauty; truth where semblance; loveWhere there’s another man. The vows of womenOf no more bondage be to where they are madeThan 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, orWho knows if one her women, being corruptedHath 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 sureShe would not lose it. Her attendants areAll sworn and honourable:—they induc’d to steal it!And by a stranger! No, he hath enjoy’d her.The cognizance of her incontinencyIs this: she hath bought the name of whore thus dearly.There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hellDivide themselves between you!
PHILARIO.Sir, be patient;This is not strong enough to be believ’dOf one persuaded well of.
POSTHUMUS.Never talk on’t;She hath been colted by him.
IACHIMO.If you seekFor further satisfying, under her breast(Worthy the pressing) lies a mole, right proudOf that most delicate lodging. By my life,I kiss’d it; and it gave me present hungerTo feed again, though full. You do rememberThis stain upon her?
POSTHUMUS.Ay, and it doth confirmAnother 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 denyThou’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, beforeHer father. I’ll do something—
[Exit.]
PHILARIO.Quite besidesThe government of patience! You have won.Let’s follow him and pervert the present wrathHe hath against himself.
IACHIMO.With all my heart.
[Exeunt.]
EnterPosthumus.
POSTHUMUS.Is there no way for men to be, but womenMust be half-workers? We are all bastards,And that most venerable man which IDid call my father was I know not whereWhen I was stamp’d. Some coiner with his toolsMade me a counterfeit; yet my mother seem’dThe Dian of that time. So doth my wifeThe nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain’d,And pray’d me oft forbearance; did it withA pudency so rosy, the sweet view on’tMight well have warm’d old Saturn; that I thought herAs 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 oppositionBut what he look’d for should oppose and sheShould from encounter guard. Could I find outThe woman’s part in me! For there’s no motionThat tends to vice in man but I affirmIt 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 viceThey are not constant, but are changing stillOne vice but of a minute old for oneNot half so old as that. I’ll write against them,Detest them, curse them. Yet ’tis greater skillIn a true hate to pray they have their will:The very devils cannot plague them better.
[Exit.]