The Complete Works of William Shakespeare CymbelinePart 2 out of 3
And for I am richer than to hang by th' walls I must be ripp'd. To pieces with me! O, Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming, By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought Put on for villainy; not born where't grows, But worn a bait for ladies. PISANIO. Good madam, hear me. IMOGEN. True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas, Were, in his time, thought false; and Sinon's weeping Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity From most true wretchedness. So thou, Posthumus, Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men: Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjur'd From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest; Do thou thy master's bidding; when thou seest him, A little witness my obedience. Look! I draw the sword myself; take it, and hit The innocent mansion of my love, my heart. Fear not; 'tis empty of all things but grief; Thy master is not there, who was indeed The riches of it. Do his bidding; strike. Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause, But now thou seem'st a coward. PISANIO. Hence, vile instrument! Thou shalt not damn my hand. IMOGEN. Why, I must die; And if I do not by thy hand, thou art No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart- Something's afore't. Soft, soft! we'll no defence!- Obedient as the scabbard. What is here? The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus All turn'd to heresy? Away, away, Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools Believe false teachers; though those that are betray'd Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor Stands in worse case of woe. And thou, Posthumus, That didst set up my disobedience 'gainst the King My father, and make me put into contempt the suits Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find It is no act of common passage but A strain of rareness; and I grieve myself To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her That now thou tirest on, how thy memory Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee dispatch. The lamp entreats the butcher. Where's thy knife? Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, When I desire it too. PISANIO. O gracious lady, Since I receiv'd command to do this busines I have not slept one wink. IMOGEN. Do't, and to bed then. PISANIO. I'll wake mine eyeballs first. IMOGEN. Wherefore then Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd So many miles with a pretence? This place? Mine action and thine own? our horses' labour? The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court, For my being absent?- whereunto I never Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand, Th' elected deer before thee? PISANIO. But to win time To lose so bad employment, in the which I have consider'd of a course. Good lady, Hear me with patience. IMOGEN. Talk thy tongue weary- speak. I have heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear, Therein false struck, can take no greater wound, Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. PISANIO. Then, madam, I thought you would not back again. IMOGEN. Most like- Bringing me here to kill me. PISANIO. Not so, neither; But if I were as wise as honest, then My purpose would prove well. It cannot be But that my master is abus'd. Some villain, Ay, and singular in his art, hath done you both This cursed injury. IMOGEN. Some Roman courtezan! PISANIO. No, on my life! I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him Some bloody sign of it, for 'tis commanded I should do so. You shall be miss'd at court, And that will well confirm it. IMOGEN. Why, good fellow, What shall I do the while? where bide? how live? Or in my life what comfort, when I am Dead to my husband? PISANIO. If you'll back to th' court- IMOGEN. No court, no father, nor no more ado With that harsh, noble, simple nothing- That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me As fearful as a siege. PISANIO. If not at court, Then not in Britain must you bide. IMOGEN. Where then? Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night, Are they not but in Britain? I' th' world's volume Our Britain seems as of it, but not in't; In a great pool a swan's nest. Prithee think There's livers out of Britain. PISANIO. I am most glad You think of other place. Th' ambassador, Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford Haven To-morrow. Now, if you could wear a mind Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise That which t' appear itself must not yet be But by self-danger, you should tread a course Pretty and full of view; yea, happily, near The residence of Posthumus; so nigh, at least, That though his actions were not visible, yet Report should render him hourly to your ear As truly as he moves. IMOGEN. O! for such means, Though peril to my modesty, not death on't, I would adventure. PISANIO. Well then, here's the point: You must forget to be a woman; change Command into obedience; fear and niceness- The handmaids of all women, or, more truly, Woman it pretty self- into a waggish courage; Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and As quarrelous as the weasel. Nay, you must Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, Exposing it- but, O, the harder heart! Alack, no remedy!- to the greedy touch Of common-kissing Titan, and forget Your laboursome and dainty trims wherein You made great Juno angry. IMOGEN. Nay, be brief; I see into thy end, and am almost A man already. PISANIO. First, make yourself but like one. Fore-thinking this, I have already fit- 'Tis in my cloak-bag- doublet, hat, hose, all That answer to them. Would you, in their serving, And with what imitation you can borrow From youth of such a season, fore noble Lucius Present yourself, desire his service, tell him Wherein you're happy- which will make him know If that his head have ear in music; doubtless With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable, And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad- You have me, rich; and I will never fail Beginning nor supplyment. IMOGEN. Thou art all the comfort The gods will diet me with. Prithee away! There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even All that good time will give us. This attempt I am soldier to, and will abide it with A prince's courage. Away, I prithee. PISANIO. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell, Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, Here is a box; I had it from the Queen. What's in't is precious. If you are sick at sea Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this Will drive away distemper. To some shade, And fit you to your manhood. May the gods Direct you to the best! IMOGEN. Amen. I thank thee. Exeunt severally SCENE V. Britain. CYMBELINE'S palace Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, and LORDS CYMBELINE. Thus far; and so farewell. LUCIUS. Thanks, royal sir. My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence, And am right sorry that I must report ye My master's enemy. CYMBELINE. Our subjects, sir, Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself To show less sovereignty than they, must needs Appear unkinglike. LUCIUS. So, sir. I desire of you A conduct overland to Milford Haven. Madam, all joy befall your Grace, and you! CYMBELINE. My lords, you are appointed for that office; The due of honour in no point omit. So farewell, noble Lucius. LUCIUS. Your hand, my lord. CLOTEN. Receive it friendly; but from this time forth I wear it as your enemy. LUCIUS. Sir, the event Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well. CYMBELINE. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords, Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness! Exeunt LUCIUS and LORDS QUEEN. He goes hence frowning; but it honours us That we have given him cause. CLOTEN. 'Tis all the better; Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. CYMBELINE. Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness. The pow'rs that he already hath in Gallia Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves His war for Britain. QUEEN. 'Tis not sleepy business, But must be look'd to speedily and strongly. CYMBELINE. Our expectation that it would be thus Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen, Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd The duty of the day. She looks us like A thing more made of malice than of duty; We have noted it. Call her before us, for We have been too slight in sufferance. Exit a MESSENGER QUEEN. Royal sir, Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord, 'Tis time must do. Beseech your Majesty, Forbear sharp speeches to her; she's a lady So tender of rebukes that words are strokes, And strokes death to her. Re-enter MESSENGER CYMBELINE. Where is she, sir? How Can her contempt be answer'd? MESSENGER. Please you, sir, Her chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer That will be given to th' loud of noise we make. QUEEN. My lord, when last I went to visit her, She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close; Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity She should that duty leave unpaid to you Which daily she was bound to proffer. This She wish'd me to make known; but our great court Made me to blame in memory. CYMBELINE. Her doors lock'd? Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear Prove false! Exit QUEEN. Son, I say, follow the King. CLOTEN. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, I have not seen these two days. QUEEN. Go, look after. Exit CLOTEN Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus! He hath a drug of mine. I pray his absence Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes It is a thing most precious. But for her, Where is she gone? Haply despair hath seiz'd her; Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown To her desir'd Posthumus. Gone she is To death or to dishonour, and my end Can make good use of either. She being down, I have the placing of the British crown. Re-enter CLOTEN How now, my son? CLOTEN. 'Tis certain she is fled. Go in and cheer the King. He rages; none Dare come about him. QUEEN. All the better. May This night forestall him of the coming day! Exit CLOTEN. I love and hate her; for she's fair and royal, And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite Than lady, ladies, woman. From every one The best she hath, and she, of all compounded, Outsells them all. I love her therefore; but Disdaining me and throwing favours on The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment That what's else rare is chok'd; and in that point I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed, To be reveng'd upon her. For when fools Shall- Enter PISANIO Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah? Come hither. Ah, you precious pander! Villain, Where is thy lady? In a word, or else Thou art straightway with the fiends. PISANIO. O good my lord! CLOTEN. Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter- I will not ask again. Close villain, I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus? From whose so many weights of baseness cannot A dram of worth be drawn. PISANIO. Alas, my lord, How can she be with him? When was she miss'd? He is in Rome. CLOTEN. Where is she, sir? Come nearer. No farther halting! Satisfy me home What is become of her. PISANIO. O my all-worthy lord! CLOTEN. All-worthy villain! Discover where thy mistress is at once, At the next word. No more of 'worthy lord'! Speak, or thy silence on the instant is Thy condemnation and thy death. PISANIO. Then, sir, This paper is the history of my knowledge Touching her flight. [Presenting a letter] CLOTEN. Let's see't. I will pursue her Even to Augustus' throne. PISANIO. [Aside] Or this or perish. She's far enough; and what he learns by this May prove his travel, not her danger. CLOTEN. Humh! PISANIO. [Aside] I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen, Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again! CLOTEN. Sirrah, is this letter true? PISANIO. Sir, as I think. CLOTEN. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service, undergo those employments wherein I should have cause to use thee with a serious industry- that is, what villainy soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it directly and truly- I would think thee an honest man; thou shouldst neither want my means for thy relief nor my voice for thy preferment. PISANIO. Well, my good lord. CLOTEN. Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serve me? PISANIO. Sir, I will. CLOTEN. Give me thy hand; here's my purse. Hast any of thy late master's garments in thy possession? PISANIO. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress. CLOTEN. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither. Let it be thy first service; go. PISANIO. I shall, my lord. Exit CLOTEN. Meet thee at Milford Haven! I forgot to ask him one thing; I'll remember't anon. Even there, thou villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these garments were come. She said upon a time- the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart- that she held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect than my noble and natural person, together with the adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my back will I ravish her; first kill him, and in her eyes. There shall she see my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and when my lust hath dined- which, as I say, to vex her I will execute in the clothes that she so prais'd- to the court I'll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath despis'd me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge. Re-enter PISANIO, with the clothes Be those the garments? PISANIO. Ay, my noble lord. CLOTEN. How long is't since she went to Milford Haven? PISANIO. She can scarce be there yet. CLOTEN. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second thing that I have commanded thee. The third is that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be but duteous and true, preferment shall tender itself to thee. My revenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to follow it! Come, and be true. Exit PISANIO. Thou bid'st me to my loss; for true to thee Were to prove false, which I will never be, To him that is most true. To Milford go, And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow, You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed Be cross'd with slowness! Labour be his meed! Exit SCENE VI. Wales. Before the cave of BELARIUS Enter IMOGEN alone, in boy's clothes IMOGEN. I see a man's life is a tedious one. I have tir'd myself, and for two nights together Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick But that my resolution helps me. Milford, When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee, Thou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean, Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me I could not miss my way. Will poor folks lie, That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder, When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness Is sorer than to lie for need; and falsehood Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord! Thou art one o' th' false ones. Now I think on thee My hunger's gone; but even before, I was At point to sink for food. But what is this? Here is a path to't; 'tis some savage hold. I were best not call; I dare not call. Yet famine, Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant. Plenty and peace breeds cowards; hardness ever Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who's here? If anything that's civil, speak; if savage, Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I'll enter. Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy But fear the sword, like me, he'll scarcely look on't. Such a foe, good heavens! Exit into the cave Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS BELARIUS. You, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman and Are master of the feast. Cadwal and I Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match. The sweat of industry would dry and die But for the end it works to. Come, our stomachs Will make what's homely savoury; weariness Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth Finds the down pillow hard. Now, peace be here, Poor house, that keep'st thyself! GUIDERIUS. I am thoroughly weary. ARVIRAGUS. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite. GUIDERIUS. There is cold meat i' th' cave; we'll browse on that Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd. BELARIUS. [Looking into the cave] Stay, come not in. But that it eats our victuals, I should think Here were a fairy. GUIDERIUS. What's the matter, sir? BELARIUS.. By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not, An earthly paragon! Behold divineness No elder than a boy! Re-enter IMOGEN IMOGEN. Good masters, harm me not. Before I enter'd here I call'd, and thought To have begg'd or bought what I have took. Good troth, I have stol'n nought; nor would not though I had found Gold strew'd i' th' floor. Here's money for my meat. I would have left it on the board, so soon As I had made my meal, and parted With pray'rs for the provider. GUIDERIUS. Money, youth? ARVIRAGUS. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt, As 'tis no better reckon'd but of those Who worship dirty gods. IMOGEN. I see you're angry. Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should Have died had I not made it. BELARIUS. Whither bound? IMOGEN. To Milford Haven. BELARIUS. What's your name? IMOGEN. Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford; To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, I am fall'n in this offence. BELARIUS. Prithee, fair youth, Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd! 'Tis almost night; you shall have better cheer Ere you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it. Boys, bid him welcome. GUIDERIUS. Were you a woman, youth, I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty I bid for you as I'd buy. ARVIRAGUS. I'll make't my comfort He is a man. I'll love him as my brother; And such a welcome as I'd give to him After long absence, such is yours. Most welcome! Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends. IMOGEN. 'Mongst friends, If brothers. [Aside] Would it had been so that they Had been my father's sons! Then had my prize Been less, and so more equal ballasting To thee, Posthumus. BELARIUS. He wrings at some distress. GUIDERIUS. Would I could free't! ARVIRAGUS. Or I, whate'er it be, What pain it cost, what danger! Gods! BELARIUS. [Whispering] Hark, boys. IMOGEN. [Aside] Great men, That had a court no bigger than this cave, That did attend themselves, and had the virtue Which their own conscience seal'd them, laying by That nothing-gift of differing multitudes, Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods! I'd change my sex to be companion with them, Since Leonatus' false. BELARIUS. It shall be so. Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in. Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd, We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story, So far as thou wilt speak it. GUIDERIUS. Pray draw near. ARVIRAGUS. The night to th' owl and morn to th' lark less welcome. IMOGEN. Thanks, sir. ARVIRAGUS. I pray draw near. Exeunt SCENE VII. Rome. A public place Enter two ROMAN SENATORS and TRIBUNES FIRST SENATOR. This is the tenour of the Emperor's writ: That since the common men are now in action 'Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians, And that the legions now in Gallia are Full weak to undertake our wars against The fall'n-off Britons, that we do incite The gentry to this business. He creates Lucius proconsul; and to you, the tribunes, For this immediate levy, he commands His absolute commission. Long live Caesar! TRIBUNE. Is Lucius general of the forces? SECOND SENATOR. Ay. TRIBUNE. Remaining now in Gallia? FIRST SENATOR. With those legions Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy Must be supplyant. The words of your commission Will tie you to the numbers and the time Of their dispatch. TRIBUNE. We will discharge our duty. Exeunt ACT IV. SCENE I. Wales. Near the cave of BELARIUS Enter CLOTEN alone CLOTEN. I am near to th' place where they should meet, if Pisanio have mapp'd it truly. How fit his garments serve me! Why should his mistress, who was made by him that made the tailor, not be fit too? The rather- saving reverence of the word- for 'tis said a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must play the workman. I dare speak it to myself, for it is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer in his own chamber- I mean, the lines of my body are as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong, not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike conversant in general services, and more remarkable in single oppositions. Yet this imperceiverant thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is! Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, shall within this hour be off; thy mistress enforced; thy garments cut to pieces before her face; and all this done, spurn her home to her father, who may, haply, be a little angry for my so rough usage; but my mother, having power of his testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. My horse is tied up safe. Out, sword, and to a sore purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand. This is the very description of their meeting-place; and the fellow dares not deceive me. Exit SCENE II. Wales. Before the cave of BELARIUS Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, and IMOGEN BELARIUS. [To IMOGEN] You are not well. Remain here in the cave; We'll come to you after hunting. ARVIRAGUS. [To IMOGEN] Brother, stay here. Are we not brothers? IMOGEN. So man and man should be; But clay and clay differs in dignity, Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. GUIDERIUS. Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him. IMOGEN. So sick I am not, yet I am not well; But not so citizen a wanton as To seem to die ere sick. So please you, leave me; Stick to your journal course. The breach of custom Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me Cannot amend me; society is no comfort To one not sociable. I am not very sick, Since I can reason of it. Pray you trust me here. I'll rob none but myself; and let me die, Stealing so poorly. GUIDERIUS. I love thee; I have spoke it. How much the quantity, the weight as much As I do love my father. BELARIUS. What? how? how? ARVIRAGUS. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me In my good brother's fault. I know not why I love this youth, and I have heard you say Love's reason's without reason. The bier at door, And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say 'My father, not this youth.' BELARIUS. [Aside] O noble strain! O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness! Cowards father cowards and base things sire base. Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace. I'm not their father; yet who this should be Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me.- 'Tis the ninth hour o' th' morn. ARVIRAGUS. Brother, farewell. IMOGEN. I wish ye sport. ARVIRAGUS. Your health. [To BELARIUS] So please you, sir. IMOGEN. [Aside] These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I have heard! Our courtiers say all's savage but at court. Experience, O, thou disprov'st report! Th' imperious seas breed monsters; for the dish, Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio, I'll now taste of thy drug. [Swallows some] GUIDERIUS. I could not stir him. He said he was gentle, but unfortunate; Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. ARVIRAGUS. Thus did he answer me; yet said hereafter I might know more. BELARIUS. To th' field, to th' field! We'll leave you for this time. Go in and rest. ARVIRAGUS. We'll not be long away. BELARIUS. Pray be not sick, For you must be our huswife. IMOGEN. Well, or ill, I am bound to you. BELARIUS. And shalt be ever. Exit IMOGEN into the cave This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears he hath had Good ancestors. ARVIRAGUS. How angel-like he sings! GUIDERIUS. But his neat cookery! He cut our roots in characters, And sauc'd our broths as Juno had been sick, And he her dieter. ARVIRAGUS. Nobly he yokes A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh Was that it was for not being such a smile; The smile mocking the sigh that it would fly From so divine a temple to commix With winds that sailors rail at. GUIDERIUS. I do note That grief and patience, rooted in him both, Mingle their spurs together. ARVIRAGUS. Grow patience! And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine His perishing root with the increasing vine! BELARIUS. It is great morning. Come, away! Who's there? Enter CLOTEN CLOTEN. I cannot find those runagates; that villain Hath mock'd me. I am faint. BELARIUS. Those runagates? Means he not us? I partly know him; 'tis Cloten, the son o' th' Queen. I fear some ambush. I saw him not these many years, and yet I know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws. Hence! GUIDERIUS. He is but one; you and my brother search What companies are near. Pray you away; Let me alone with him. Exeunt BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS CLOTEN. Soft! What are you That fly me thus? Some villain mountaineers? I have heard of such. What slave art thou? GUIDERIUS. A thing More slavish did I ne'er than answering 'A slave' without a knock. CLOTEN. Thou art a robber, A law-breaker, a villain. Yield thee, thief. GUIDERIUS. To who? To thee? What art thou? Have not I An arm as big as thine, a heart as big? Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art; Why I should yield to thee. CLOTEN. Thou villain base, Know'st me not by my clothes? GUIDERIUS. No, nor thy tailor, rascal, Who is thy grandfather; he made those clothes, Which, as it seems, make thee. CLOTEN. Thou precious varlet, My tailor made them not. GUIDERIUS. Hence, then, and thank The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool; I am loath to beat thee. CLOTEN. Thou injurious thief, Hear but my name, and tremble. GUIDERIUS. What's thy name? CLOTEN. Cloten, thou villain. GUIDERIUS. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name, I cannot tremble at it. Were it toad, or adder, spider, 'Twould move me sooner. CLOTEN. To thy further fear, Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know I am son to th' Queen. GUIDERIUS. I'm sorry for't; not seeming So worthy as thy birth. CLOTEN. Art not afeard? GUIDERIUS. Those that I reverence, those I fear- the wise: At fools I laugh, not fear them. CLOTEN. Die the death. When I have slain thee with my proper hand, I'll follow those that even now fled hence, And on the gates of Lud's Town set your heads. Yield, rustic mountaineer. Exeunt, fighting Re-enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS BELARIUS. No company's abroad. ARVIRAGUS. None in the world; you did mistake him, sure. BELARIUS. I cannot tell; long is it since I saw him, But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice, And burst of speaking, were as his. I am absolute 'Twas very Cloten. ARVIRAGUS. In this place we left them. I wish my brother make good time with him, You say he is so fell. BELARIUS. Being scarce made up, I mean to man, he had not apprehension Or roaring terrors; for defect of judgment Is oft the cease of fear. Re-enter GUIDERIUS with CLOTEN'S head But, see, thy brother. GUIDERIUS. This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse; There was no money in't. Not Hercules Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none; Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne My head as I do his. BELARIUS. What hast thou done? GUIDERIUS. I am perfect what: cut off one Cloten's head, Son to the Queen, after his own report; Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore With his own single hand he'd take us in, Displace our heads where- thank the gods!- they grow, And set them on Lud's Town. BELARIUS. We are all undone. GUIDERIUS. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose But that he swore to take, our lives? The law Protects not us; then why should we be tender To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us, Play judge and executioner all himself, For we do fear the law? What company Discover you abroad? BELARIUS. No single soul Can we set eye on, but in all safe reason He must have some attendants. Though his humour Was nothing but mutation- ay, and that From one bad thing to worse- not frenzy, not Absolute madness could so far have rav'd, To bring him here alone. Although perhaps It may be heard at court that such as we Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time May make some stronger head- the which he hearing, As it is like him, might break out and swear He'd fetch us in; yet is't not probable To come alone, either he so undertaking Or they so suffering. Then on good ground we fear, If we do fear this body hath a tail More perilous than the head. ARVIRAGUS. Let ordinance Come as the gods foresay it. Howsoe'er, My brother hath done well. BELARIUS. I had no mind To hunt this day; the boy Fidele's sickness Did make my way long forth. GUIDERIUS. With his own sword, Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en His head from him. I'll throw't into the creek Behind our rock, and let it to the sea And tell the fishes he's the Queen's son, Cloten. That's all I reck. Exit BELARIUS. I fear 'twill be reveng'd. Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't! though valour Becomes thee well enough. ARVIRAGUS. Would I had done't, So the revenge alone pursu'd me! Polydore, I love thee brotherly, but envy much Thou hast robb'd me of this deed. I would revenges, That possible strength might meet, would seek us through, And put us to our answer. BELARIUS. Well, 'tis done. We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger Where there's no profit. I prithee to our rock. You and Fidele play the cooks; I'll stay Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him To dinner presently. ARVIRAGUS. Poor sick Fidele! I'll willingly to him; to gain his colour I'd let a parish of such Cloten's blood, And praise myself for charity. Exit BELARIUS. O thou goddess, Thou divine Nature, thou thyself thou blazon'st In these two princely boys! They are as gentle As zephyrs blowing below the violet, Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough, Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind That by the top doth take the mountain pine And make him stoop to th' vale. 'Tis wonder That an invisible instinct should frame them To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught, Civility not seen from other, valour That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop As if it had been sow'd. Yet still it's strange What Cloten's being here to us portends, Or what his death will bring us. Re-enter GUIDERIUS GUIDERIUS. Where's my brother? I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream, In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage For his return. [Solemn music] BELARIUS. My ingenious instrument! Hark, Polydore, it sounds. But what occasion Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark! GUIDERIUS. Is he at home? BELARIUS. He went hence even now. GUIDERIUS. What does he mean? Since death of my dear'st mother It did not speak before. All solemn things Should answer solemn accidents. The matter? Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys Is jollity for apes and grief for boys. Is Cadwal mad? Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, with IMOGEN as dead, bearing her in his arms BELARIUS. Look, here he comes, And brings the dire occasion in his arms Of what we blame him for! ARVIRAGUS. The bird is dead That we have made so much on. I had rather Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty, To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch, Than have seen this. GUIDERIUS. O sweetest, fairest lily! My brother wears thee not the one half so well As when thou grew'st thyself. BELARIUS. O melancholy! Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find The ooze to show what coast thy sluggish care Might'st easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing! Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I, Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy. How found you him? ARVIRAGUS. Stark, as you see; Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at; his right cheek Reposing on a cushion. GUIDERIUS. Where? ARVIRAGUS. O' th' floor; His arms thus leagu'd. I thought he slept, and put My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness Answer'd my steps too loud. GUIDERIUS. Why, he but sleeps. If he be gone he'll make his grave a bed; With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, And worms will not come to thee. ARVIRAGUS. With fairest flowers, Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweet'ned not thy breath. The ruddock would, With charitable bill- O bill, sore shaming Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie Without a monument!- bring thee all this; Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flow'rs are none, To winter-ground thy corse- GUIDERIUS. Prithee have done, And do not play in wench-like words with that Which is so serious. Let us bury him, And not protract with admiration what Is now due debt. To th' grave. ARVIRAGUS. Say, where shall's lay him? GUIDERIUS. By good Euriphile, our mother. ARVIRAGUS. Be't so; And let us, Polydore, though now our voices Have got the mannish crack, sing him to th' ground, As once to our mother; use like note and words, Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. GUIDERIUS. Cadwal, I cannot sing. I'll weep, and word it with thee; For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse Than priests and fanes that lie. ARVIRAGUS. We'll speak it, then. BELARIUS. Great griefs, I see, med'cine the less, for Cloten Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys; And though he came our enemy, remember He was paid for that. Though mean and mighty rotting Together have one dust, yet reverence- That angel of the world- doth make distinction Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely; And though you took his life, as being our foe, Yet bury him as a prince. GUIDERIUS. Pray you fetch him hither. Thersites' body is as good as Ajax', When neither are alive. ARVIRAGUS. If you'll go fetch him, We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin. Exit BELARIUS GUIDERIUS. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to th' East; My father hath a reason for't. ARVIRAGUS. 'Tis true. GUIDERIUS. Come on, then, and remove him. ARVIRAGUS. So. Begin. SONG GUIDERIUS. Fear no more the heat o' th' sun Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. ARVIRAGUS. Fear no more the frown o' th' great; Thou art past the tyrant's stroke. Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak. The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this and come to dust. GUIDERIUS. Fear no more the lightning flash, ARVIRAGUS. Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-stone; GUIDERIUS. Fear not slander, censure rash; ARVIRAGUS. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan. BOTH. All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee and come to dust. GUIDERIUS. No exorciser harm thee! ARVIRAGUS. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! GUIDERIUS. Ghost unlaid forbear thee! ARVIRAGUS. Nothing ill come near thee! BOTH. Quiet consummation have, And renowned be thy grave! Re-enter BELARIUS with the body of CLOTEN GUIDERIUS. We have done our obsequies. Come, lay him down. BELARIUS. Here's a few flowers; but 'bout midnight, more. The herbs that have on them cold dew o' th' night Are strewings fit'st for graves. Upon their faces. You were as flow'rs, now wither'd. Even so These herblets shall which we upon you strew. Come on, away. Apart upon our knees. The ground that gave them first has them again. Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. Exeunt all but IMOGEN IMOGEN. [Awaking] Yes, sir, to Milford Haven. Which is the way? I thank you. By yond bush? Pray, how far thither? 'Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet? I have gone all night. Faith, I'll lie down and sleep. But, soft! no bedfellow. O gods and goddesses! [Seeing the body] These flow'rs are like the pleasures of the world; This bloody man, the care on't. I hope I dream; For so I thought I was a cave-keeper, And cook to honest creatures. But 'tis not so; 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes Are sometimes, like our judgments, blind. Good faith, I tremble still with fear; but if there be Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it! The dream's here still. Even when I wake it is Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt. A headless man? The garments of Posthumus? I know the shape of's leg; this is his hand, His foot Mercurial, his Martial thigh, The brawns of Hercules; but his Jovial face- Murder in heaven! How! 'Tis gone. Pisanio, All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou, Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten, Hath here cut off my lord. To write and read Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio Hath with his forged letters- damn'd Pisanio- From this most bravest vessel of the world Struck the main-top. O Posthumus! alas, Where is thy head? Where's that? Ay me! where's that? Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart, And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio? 'Tis he and Cloten; malice and lucre in them Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant! The drug he gave me, which he said was precious And cordial to me, have I not found it Murd'rous to th' senses? That confirms it home. This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten. O! Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, That we the horrider may seem to those Which chance to find us. O, my lord, my lord! [Falls fainting on the body] Enter LUCIUS, CAPTAINS, and a SOOTHSAYER CAPTAIN. To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia, After your will, have cross'd the sea, attending You here at Milford Haven; with your ships, They are in readiness. LUCIUS. But what from Rome? CAPTAIN. The Senate hath stirr'd up the confiners And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits, That promise noble service; and they come Under the conduct of bold Iachimo, Sienna's brother. LUCIUS. When expect you them? CAPTAIN. With the next benefit o' th' wind. LUCIUS. This forwardness Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't. Now, sir, What have you dream'd of late of this war's purpose? SOOTHSAYER. Last night the very gods show'd me a vision- I fast and pray'd for their intelligence- thus: I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd From the spongy south to this part of the west, There vanish'd in the sunbeams; which portends, Unless my sins abuse my divination, Success to th' Roman host. LUCIUS. Dream often so, And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime It was a worthy building. How? a page? Or dead or sleeping on him? But dead, rather; For nature doth abhor to make his bed With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. Let's see the boy's face. CAPTAIN. He's alive, my lord. LUCIUS. He'll then instruct us of this body. Young one, Inform us of thy fortunes; for it seems They crave to be demanded. Who is this Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he That, otherwise than noble nature did, Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest In this sad wreck? How came't? Who is't? What art thou? IMOGEN. I am nothing; or if not, Nothing to be were better. This was my master, A very valiant Briton and a good, That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas! There is no more such masters. I may wander From east to occident; cry out for service; Try many, all good; serve truly; never Find such another master. LUCIUS. 'Lack, good youth! Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining than Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend. IMOGEN. Richard du Champ. [Aside] If I do lie, and do No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope They'll pardon it.- Say you, sir? LUCIUS. Thy name? IMOGEN. Fidele, sir. LUCIUS. Thou dost approve thyself the very same; Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name. Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say Thou shalt be so well master'd; but, be sure, No less belov'd. The Roman Emperor's letters, Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner Than thine own worth prefer thee. Go with me. IMOGEN. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods, I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd his grave, And on it said a century of prayers, Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh; And leaving so his service, follow you, So please you entertain me. LUCIUS. Ay, good youth; And rather father thee than master thee. My friends, The boy hath taught us manly duties; let us Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can, And make him with our pikes and partisans A grave. Come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr'd By thee to us; and he shall be interr'd As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes. Some falls are means the happier to arise. Exeunt SCENE III. Britain. CYMBELINE'S palace Enter CYMBELINE, LORDS, PISANIO, and attendants CYMBELINE. Again! and bring me word how 'tis with her. Exit an attendant A fever with the absence of her son; A madness, of which her life's in danger. Heavens, How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen, The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen Upon a desperate bed, and in a time When fearful wars point at me; her son gone, So needful for this present. It strikes me past The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow, Who needs must know of her departure and Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee By a sharp torture. PISANIO. Sir, my life is yours; I humbly set it at your will; but for my mistress, I nothing know where she remains, why gone, Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your Highness, Hold me your loyal servant. LORD. Good my liege, The day that she was missing he was here. I dare be bound he's true and shall perform All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten, There wants no diligence in seeking him, And will no doubt be found. CYMBELINE. The time is troublesome. [To PISANIO] We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy Does yet depend. LORD. So please your Majesty, The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, Are landed on your coast, with a supply Of Roman gentlemen by the Senate sent. CYMBELINE. Now for the counsel of my son and queen! I am amaz'd with matter. LORD. Good my liege, Your preparation can affront no less Than what you hear of. Come more, for more you're ready. The want is but to put those pow'rs in motion That long to move. CYMBELINE. I thank you. Let's withdraw, And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not What can from Italy annoy us; but We grieve at chances here. Away! Exeunt all but PISANIO PISANIO. I heard no letter from my master since I wrote him Imogen was slain. 'Tis strange. Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise To yield me often tidings. Neither know What is betid to Cloten, but remain Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work. Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true. These present wars shall find I love my country, Even to the note o' th' King, or I'll fall in them. All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd: Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd. Exit SCENE IV. Wales. Before the cave of BELARIUS Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS GUIDERIUS. The noise is round about us. BELARIUS. Let us from it. ARVIRAGUS. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it From action and adventure? GUIDERIUS. Nay, what hope Have we in hiding us? This way the Romans Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us For barbarous and unnatural revolts During their use, and slay us after. BELARIUS. Sons, We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us. To the King's party there's no going. Newness Of Cloten's death- we being not known, not muster'd Among the bands-may drive us to a render Where we have liv'd, and so extort from's that Which we have done, whose answer would be death, Drawn on with torture. GUIDERIUS. This is, sir, a doubt In such a time nothing becoming you Nor satisfying us. ARVIRAGUS. It is not likely That when they hear the Roman horses neigh, Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes And ears so cloy'd importantly as now, That they will waste their time upon our note, To know from whence we are. BELARIUS. O, I am known Of many in the army. Many years, Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him From my remembrance. And, besides, the King Hath not deserv'd my service nor your loves, Who find in my exile the want of breeding, The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd, But to be still hot summer's tanlings and The shrinking slaves of winter. GUIDERIUS. Than be so, Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to th' army. I and my brother are not known; yourself So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown, Cannot be questioned. ARVIRAGUS. By this sun that shines, I'll thither. What thing is't that I never Did see man die! scarce ever look'd on blood But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison! Never bestrid a horse, save one that had A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel Nor iron on his heel! I am asham'd To look upon the holy sun, to have The benefit of his blest beams, remaining So long a poor unknown. GUIDERIUS. By heavens, I'll go! If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, I'll take the better care; but if you will not, The hazard therefore due fall on me by The hands of Romans! ARVIRAGUS. So say I. Amen. BELARIUS. No reason I, since of your lives you set So slight a valuation, should reserve My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys! If in your country wars you chance to die, That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie. Lead, lead. [Aside] The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn Till it fly out and show them princes born. Exeunt < PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF CARNEGIE MELLON UNIVERSITY WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY SERVICE THAT CHARGES FOR DOWNLOAD TIME OR FOR MEMBERSHIP.>> ACT V. SCENE I. Britain. The Roman camp Enter POSTHUMUS alone, with a bloody handkerchief POSTHUMUS. Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee; for I wish'd Thou shouldst be colour'd thus. You married ones, If each of you should take this course, how many Must murder wives much better than themselves For wrying but a little! O Pisanio! Every good servant does not all commands; No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you Should have ta'en vengeance on my faults, I never Had liv'd to put on this; so had you saved The noble Imogen to repent, and struck Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But alack, You snatch some hence for little faults; that's love, To have them fall no more. You some permit To second ills with ills, each elder worse, And make them dread it, to the doer's thrift. But Imogen is your own. Do your best wills, And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither Among th' Italian gentry, and to fight Against my lady's kingdom. 'Tis enough That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress; peace! I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens, Hear patiently my purpose. I'll disrobe me Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself As does a Britain peasant. So I'll fight Against the part I come with; so I'll die For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life Is every breath a death. And thus unknown, Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know More valour in me than my habits show. Gods, put the strength o' th' Leonati in me! To shame the guise o' th' world, I will begin The fashion- less without and more within. Exit SCENE II. Britain. A field of battle between the British and Roman camps Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman army at one door, and the British army at another, LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following like a poor soldier. They march over and go out. Alarums. Then enter again, in skirmish, IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS. He vanquisheth and disarmeth IACHIMO, and then leaves him IACHIMO. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom Takes off my manhood. I have belied a lady, The Princess of this country, and the air on't Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl, A very drudge of nature's, have subdu'd me In my profession? Knighthoods and honours borne As I wear mine are titles but of scorn. If that thy gentry, Britain, go before This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds Is that we scarce are men, and you are gods. Exit The battle continues; the BRITONS fly; CYMBELINE is taken. Then enter to his rescue BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS BELARIUS. Stand, stand! We have th' advantage of the ground; The lane is guarded; nothing routs us but The villainy of our fears. GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS. Stand, stand, and fight! Re-enter POSTHUMUS, and seconds the Britons; they rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then re-enter LUCIUS and IACHIMO, with IMOGEN LUCIUS. Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself; For friends kill friends, and the disorder's such As war were hoodwink'd. IACHIMO. 'Tis their fresh supplies. LUCIUS. It is a day turn'd strangely. Or betimes Let's reinforce or fly. Exeunt SCENE III. Another part of the field Enter POSTHUMUS and a Britain LORD LORD. Cam'st thou from where they made the stand? POSTHUMUS. I did: Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. LORD. I did. POSTHUMUS. No blame be to you, sir, for all was lost, But that the heavens fought. The King himself Of his wings destitute, the army broken, And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying, Through a strait lane- the enemy, full-hearted, Lolling the tongue with slaught'ring, having work More plentiful than tools to do't, struck down Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling Merely through fear, that the strait pass was damm'd With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living To die with length'ned shame. LORD. Where was this lane? POSTHUMUS. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and wall'd with turf, Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier- An honest one, I warrant, who deserv'd So long a breeding as his white beard came to, In doing this for's country. Athwart the lane He, with two striplings- lads more like to run The country base than to commit such slaughter; With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer Than those for preservation cas'd or shame- Made good the passage, cried to those that fled 'Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men. To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards! Stand; Or we are Romans and will give you that, Like beasts, which you shun beastly, and may save But to look back in frown. Stand, stand!' These three, Three thousand confident, in act as many- For three performers are the file when all The rest do nothing- with this word 'Stand, stand!' Accommodated by the place, more charming With their own nobleness, which could have turn'd A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks, Part shame, part spirit renew'd; that some turn'd coward But by example- O, a sin in war Damn'd in the first beginners!- gan to look The way that they did and to grin like lions Upon the pikes o' th' hunters. Then began A stop i' th' chaser, a retire; anon A rout, confusion thick. Forthwith they fly, Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles; slaves, The strides they victors made; and now our cowards, Like fragments in hard voyages, became The life o' th' need. Having found the back-door open Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound! Some slain before, some dying, some their friends O'erborne i' th' former wave. Ten chas'd by one Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty. Those that would die or ere resist are grown The mortal bugs o' th' field. LORD. This was strange chance: A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys. POSTHUMUS. Nay, do not wonder at it; you are made Rather to wonder at the things you hear Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon't, And vent it for a mock'ry? Here is one: 'Two boys, an old man (twice a boy), a lane, Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane.' LORD. Nay, be not angry, sir. POSTHUMUS. 'Lack, to what end? Who dares not stand his foe I'll be his friend; For if he'll do as he is made to do, I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too. You have put me into rhyme. LORD. Farewell; you're angry. Exit POSTHUMUS. Still going? This is a lord! O noble misery, To be i' th' field and ask 'What news?' of me! To-day how many would have given their honours To have sav'd their carcasses! took heel to do't, And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm'd, Could not find death where I did hear him groan, Nor feel him where he struck. Being an ugly monster, 'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, Sweet words; or hath moe ministers than we That draw his knives i' th' war. Well, I will find him; For being now a favourer to the Briton, No more a Briton, I have resum'd again The part I came in. Fight I will no more, But yield me to the veriest hind that shall Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is Here made by th' Roman; great the answer be Britons must take. For me, my ransom's death; On either side I come to spend my breath, Which neither here I'll keep nor bear again, But end it by some means for Imogen. Enter two BRITISH CAPTAINS and soldiers FIRST CAPTAIN. Great Jupiter be prais'd! Lucius is taken. 'Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels. SECOND CAPTAIN. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, That gave th' affront with them. FIRST CAPTAIN. So 'tis reported; But none of 'em can be found. Stand! who's there? POSTHUMUS. A Roman, Who had not now been drooping here if seconds Had answer'd him. SECOND CAPTAIN. Lay hands on him; a dog! A leg of Rome shall not return to tell What crows have peck'd them here. He brags his service, As if he were of note. Bring him to th' King. Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, and Roman captives. The CAPTAINS present POSTHUMUS to CYMBELINE, who delivers him over to a gaoler. Exeunt omnes SCENE IV. Britain. A prison Enter POSTHUMUS and two GAOLERS FIRST GAOLER. You shall not now be stol'n, you have locks upon you; So graze as you find pasture. SECOND GAOLER. Ay, or a stomach. Exeunt GAOLERS POSTHUMUS. Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a way, I think, to liberty. Yet am I better Than one that's sick o' th' gout, since he had rather Groan so in perpetuity than be cur'd By th' sure physician death, who is the key T' unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter'd More than my shanks and wrists; you good gods, give me The penitent instrument to pick that bolt, Then, free for ever! Is't enough I am sorry? So children temporal fathers do appease; Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent, I cannot do it better than in gyves, Desir'd more than constrain'd. To satisfy, If of my freedom 'tis the main part, take No stricter render of me than my all. I know you are more clement than vile men, Who of their broken debtors take a third, A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again On their abatement; that's not my desire. For Imogen's dear life take mine; and though 'Tis not so dear, yet 'tis a life; you coin'd it. 'Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp; Though light, take pieces for the figure's sake; You rather mine, being yours. And so, great pow'rs, If you will take this audit, take this life, And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen! I'll speak to thee in silence. [Sleeps] Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, SICILIUS LEONATUS, father to POSTHUMUS, an old man attired like a warrior; leading in his hand an ancient matron, his WIFE, and mother to POSTHUMUS, with music before them. Then, after other music, follows the two young LEONATI, brothers to POSTHUMUS, with wounds, as they died in the wars. They circle POSTHUMUS round as he lies sleeping SICILIUS. No more, thou thunder-master, show Thy spite on mortal flies. With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, That thy adulteries Rates and revenges. Hath my poor boy done aught but well, Whose face I never saw? I died whilst in the womb he stay'd Attending nature's law; Whose father then, as men report Thou orphans' father art, Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him From this earth-vexing smart. MOTHER. Lucina lent not me her aid, But took me in my throes, That from me was Posthumus ripp'd, Came crying 'mongst his foes, A thing of pity. SICILIUS. Great Nature like his ancestry Moulded the stuff so fair That he deserv'd the praise o' th' world As great Sicilius' heir. FIRST BROTHER. When once he was mature for man, In Britain where was he That could stand up his parallel, Or fruitful object be In eye of Imogen, that best Could deem his dignity? MOTHER. With marriage wherefore was he mock'd, To be exil'd and thrown From Leonati seat and cast From her his dearest one, Sweet Imogen? SICILIUS. Why did you suffer Iachimo, Slight thing of Italy, To taint his nobler heart and brain With needless jealousy, And to become the geck and scorn O' th' other's villainy? SECOND BROTHER. For this from stiller seats we came, Our parents and us twain, That, striking in our country's cause, Fell bravely and were slain, Our fealty and Tenantius' right With honour to maintain. FIRST BROTHER. Like hardiment Posthumus hath To Cymbeline perform'd. Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods, Why hast thou thus adjourn'd The graces for his merits due, Being all to dolours turn'd? SICILIUS. Thy crystal window ope; look out; No longer exercise Upon a valiant race thy harsh And potent injuries. MOTHER. Since, Jupiter, our son is good, Take off his miseries. SICILIUS. Peep through thy marble mansion. Help! Or we poor ghosts will cry To th' shining synod of the rest Against thy deity. BROTHERS. Help, Jupiter! or we appeal, And from thy justice fly. JUPITER descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle. He throws a thunderbolt. The GHOSTS fall on their knees JUPITER. No more, you petty spirits of region low, Offend our hearing; hush! How dare you ghosts Accuse the Thunderer whose bolt, you know, Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts? Poor shadows of Elysium, hence and rest Upon your never-withering banks of flow'rs. Be not with mortal accidents opprest: No care of yours it is; you know 'tis ours. Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift, The more delay'd, delighted. Be content; Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift; His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. Our Jovial star reign'd at his birth, and in Our temple was he married. Rise and fade! He shall be lord of Lady Imogen, And happier much by his affliction made. This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine; And so, away; no farther with your din Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. [Ascends] SICILIUS. He came in thunder; his celestial breath Was sulpherous to smell; the holy eagle Stoop'd as to foot us. His ascension is More sweet than our blest fields. His royal bird Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, As when his god is pleas'd. ALL. Thanks, Jupiter! SICILIUS. The marble pavement closes, he is enter'd His radiant roof. Away! and, to be blest, Let us with care perform his great behest. [GHOSTS vanish] POSTHUMUS. [Waking] Sleep, thou has been a grandsire and begot A father to me; and thou hast created A mother and two brothers. But, O scorn, Gone! They went hence so soon as they were born. And so I am awake. Poor wretches, that depend On greatness' favour, dream as I have done; Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve; Many dream not to find, neither deserve, And yet are steep'd in favours; so am I, That have this golden chance, and know not why. What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one! Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment Nobler than that it covers. Let thy effects So follow to be most unlike our courtiers, As good as promise. [Reads] 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embrac'd by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopp'd branches which, being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.' 'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen Tongue, and brain not; either both or nothing, Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such As sense cannot untie. Be what it is, The action of my life is like it, which I'll keep, if but for sympathy. Re-enter GAOLER GAOLER. Come, sir, are you ready for death? POSTHUMUS. Over-roasted rather; ready long ago. GAOLER. Hanging is the word, sir; if you be ready for that, you are well cook'd. POSTHUMUS. So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish pays the shot. GAOLER. A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments, fear no more tavern bills, which are often the sadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth. You come in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with too much drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain both empty; the brain the heavier for being too light, the purse too light, being drawn of heaviness. O, of this contradiction you shall now be quit. O, the charity of a penny cord! It sums up thousands in a trice. You have no true debitor and creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come, the discharge. Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and counters; so the acquittance follows. POSTHUMUS. I am merrier to die than thou art to live. GAOLER. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache. But a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would change places with his officer; for look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go. POSTHUMUS. Yes indeed do I, fellow. GAOLER. Your death has eyes in's head, then; I have not seen him so pictur'd. You must either be directed by some that take upon them to know, or to take upon yourself that which I am sure you do not know, or jump the after-inquiry on your own peril. And how you shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll never return to tell one. POSTHUMUS. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them the way I am going, but such as wink and will not use them. GAOLER. What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the best use of eyes to see the way of blindness! I am sure hanging's the way of winking. Enter a MESSENGER MESSENGER. Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the King. POSTHUMUS. Thou bring'st good news: I am call'd to be made free. GAOLER. I'll be hang'd then. POSTHUMUS. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead. Exeunt POSTHUMUS and MESSENGER GAOLER. Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to live, for all he be a Roman; and there be some of them too that die against their wills; so should I, if I were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good. O, there were desolation of gaolers and gallowses! I speak against my present profit, but my wish hath a preferment in't. Exit SCENE V. Britain. CYMBELINE'S tent Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, LORDS, OFFICERS, and attendants CYMBELINE. Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart That the poor soldier that so richly fought, Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast Stepp'd before targes of proof, cannot be found. He shall be happy that can find him, if Our grace can make him so. BELARIUS. I never saw Such noble fury in so poor a thing; Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought But beggary and poor looks. CYMBELINE. No tidings of him? PISANIO. He hath been search'd among the dead and living, But no trace of him. CYMBELINE. To my grief, I am The heir of his reward; [To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS] which I will add To you, the liver, heart, and brain, of Britain, By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the time To ask of whence you are. Report it. BELARIUS. Sir, In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen; Further to boast were neither true nor modest, Unless I add we are honest. CYMBELINE. Bow your knees. Arise my knights o' th' battle; I create you Companions to our person, and will fit you With dignities becoming your estates. Enter CORNELIUS and LADIES There's business in these faces. Why so sadly Greet you our victory? You look like Romans, And not o' th' court of Britain. CORNELIUS. Hail, great King! To sour your happiness I must report The Queen is dead. CYMBELINE. Who worse than a physician Would this report become? But I consider By med'cine life may be prolong'd, yet death Will seize the doctor too. How ended she? CORNELIUS. With horror, madly dying, like her life; Which, being cruel to the world, concluded Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd I will report, so please you; these her women Can trip me if I err, who with wet cheeks Were present when she finish'd. CYMBELINE. Prithee say. CORNELIUS. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you; only Affected greatness got by you, not you; Married your royalty, was wife to your place; Abhorr'd your person. CYMBELINE. She alone knew this; And but she spoke it dying, I would not Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. CORNELIUS. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love With such integrity, she did confess Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life, But that her flight prevented it, she had Ta'en off by poison. CYMBELINE. O most delicate fiend! Who is't can read a woman? Is there more? CORNELIUS. More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had For you a mortal mineral, which, being took, Should by the minute feed on life, and ling'ring, By inches waste you. In which time she purpos'd, By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to O'ercome you with her show; and in time, When she had fitted you with her craft, to work Her son into th' adoption of the crown; But failing of her end by his strange absence, Grew shameless-desperate, open'd, in despite Of heaven and men, her purposes, repented The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so, Despairing, died. CYMBELINE. Heard you all this, her women? LADY. We did, so please your Highness. CYMBELINE. Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious To have mistrusted her; yet, O my daughter! That it was folly in me thou mayst say, And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all! Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the SOOTHSAYER, and other Roman prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS behind, and IMOGEN Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss Of many a bold one, whose kinsmen have made suit That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter Of you their captives, which ourself have granted; So think of your estate. LUCIUS. Consider, sir, the chance of war. The day Was yours by accident; had it gone with us, We should not, when the blood was cool, have threaten'd Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives May be call'd ransom, let it come. Sufficeth A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer. Augustus lives to think on't; and so much For my peculiar care. This one thing only I will entreat: my boy, a Briton born, Let him be ransom'd. Never master had A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, So tender over his occasions, true, So feat, so nurse-like; let his virtue join With my request, which I'll make bold your Highness Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm Though he have serv'd a Roman. Save him, sir, And spare no blood beside. CYMBELINE. I have surely seen him; His favour is familiar to me. Boy, Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace, And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore To say 'Live, boy.' Ne'er thank thy master. Live; And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt, Fitting my bounty and thy state, I'll give it; Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner, The noblest ta'en. IMOGEN. I humbly thank your Highness. LUCIUS. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad, And yet I know thou wilt. IMOGEN. No, no! Alack, There's other work in hand. I see a thing Bitter to me as death; your life, good master, Must shuffle for itself. LUCIUS. The boy disdains me, He leaves me, scorns me. Briefly die their joys That place them on the truth of girls and boys. Why stands he so perplex'd? CYMBELINE. What wouldst thou, boy? I love thee more and more; think more and more What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? Speak, Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend? IMOGEN. He is a Roman, no more kin to me Than I to your Highness; who, being born your vassal, Am something nearer. CYMBELINE. Wherefore ey'st him so? IMOGEN. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing. CYMBELINE. Ay, with all my heart, And lend my best attention. What's thy name? IMOGEN. Fidele, sir. CYMBELINE. Thou'rt my good youth, my page; I'll be thy master. Walk with me; speak freely. [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN converse apart] BELARIUS. Is not this boy reviv'd from death? ARVIRAGUS. One sand another Not more resembles- that sweet rosy lad Who died and was Fidele. What think you? GUIDERIUS. The same dead thing alive. BELARIUS. Peace, peace! see further. He eyes us not; forbear. Creatures may be alike; were't he, I am sure He would have spoke to us. GUIDERIUS. But we saw him dead. BELARIUS. Be silent; let's see further. PISANIO. [Aside] It is my mistress. Since she is living, let the time run on To good or bad. [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN advance] CYMBELINE. Come, stand thou by our side; Make thy demand aloud. [To IACHIMO] Sir, step you forth; Give answer to this boy, and do it freely, Or, by our greatness and the grace of it, Which is our honour, bitter torture shall Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him. IMOGEN. My boon is that this gentleman may render Of whom he had this ring. POSTHUMUS. [Aside] What's that to him? CYMBELINE. That diamond upon your finger, say How came it yours? IACHIMO. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that Which to be spoke would torture thee. CYMBELINE. How? me? IACHIMO. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that Which torments me to conceal. By villainy I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel, Whom thou didst banish; and- which more may grieve thee, As it doth me- a nobler sir ne'er liv'd 'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord? CYMBELINE. All that belongs to this. IACHIMO. That paragon, thy daughter, For whom my heart drops blood and my false spirits Quail to remember- Give me leave, I faint. CYMBELINE. My daughter? What of her? Renew thy strength; I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will Than die ere I hear more. Strive, man, and speak. IACHIMO. Upon a time- unhappy was the clock That struck the hour!- was in Rome- accurs'd The mansion where!- 'twas at a feast- O, would Our viands had been poison'd, or at least Those which I heav'd to head!- the good Posthumus- What should I say? he was too good to be Where ill men were, and was the best of all Amongst the rar'st of good ones- sitting sadly Hearing us praise our loves of Italy For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming The shrine of Venus or straight-pight Minerva, Postures beyond brief nature; for condition, A shop of all the qualities that man Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving, Fairness which strikes the eye- CYMBELINE. I stand on fire. Come to the matter. IACHIMO. All too soon I shall, Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus, Most like a noble lord in love and one That had a royal lover, took his hint; And not dispraising whom we prais'd- therein He was as calm as virtue- he began His mistress' picture; which by his tongue being made, And then a mind put in't, either our brags Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description Prov'd us unspeaking sots. CYMBELINE. Nay, nay, to th' purpose. IACHIMO. Your daughter's chastity- there it begins. He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams And she alone were cold; whereat I, wretch, Made scruple of his praise, and wager'd with him Pieces of gold 'gainst this which then he wore Upon his honour'd finger, to attain In suit the place of's bed, and win this ring By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight, No lesser of her honour confident Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; And would so, had it been a carbuncle Of Phoebus' wheel; and might so safely, had it Been all the worth of's car. Away to Britain Post I in this design. Well may you, sir, Remember me at court, where I was taught Of your chaste daughter the wide difference 'Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quench'd Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain Gan in your duller Britain operate Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent; And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd That I return'd with simular proof enough To make the noble Leonatus mad, By wounding his belief in her renown With tokens thus and thus; averring notes Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet- O cunning, how I got it!- nay, some marks Of secret on her person, that he could not But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon- Methinks I see him now-
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