By both your wills. Post. If you can make't apparent That you have tasted her in bed, my hand, And ring, is yours: If not, the foul opinion You had of her pure honour, gains, or loses, Your sword, or mine; or masterless leaves both To who shall find them.
Sir, my circumstances, Being so near the truth, as I will make them, Must first induce you to believe: whose strength I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not, You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find You need it not. Proceed.
Post. Iach. First, her bed-chamber (Where, I confess, I slept not; but, profess, Had that was well worth watching,) it was hang'd With tapestry of silk and silver; the story, Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for The press of boats, or pride: A piece of work So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive In workmanship, and value; which, I wonder'd, Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, Since the true life on't was
This is true; And this you might have heard of here, by me, Or by some other.
Iach. Must justify my knowledge.
Or do your honour injury. Iach. Is south the chamber; and the chimney-piece, Chaste Dian, bathing: never saw I figures So likely to report themselves: the cutter Was as another Nature, dumb; outwent her, Motion and breath left out.
For further satisfying, under her breast (Worthy the pressing,) lies a mole, right proud Of that most delicate lodging: By my life,
I kiss'd it; and it gave me present hunger To feed again, though full. You do remember This stain upon her?
Post. Ay, and it doth confirm Another stain, as big as hell can hold, Were there no more but it. Jach.
Will you hear more? Post. Spare your arithmetic: never count the turns ; Once, and a million!
If you will swear you have not done't, you lie ; And I will kill thee, if thou dost deny Thou hast made me cuckold.
I will deny nothing. Post. O, that I had her here, to tear her limb
I will go there, and do't; i'the court; before Her father:-I'll do something
The government of patience!-You have won: Let's follow him, and pervert the present wrath He hath against himself.
[Exeunt. Another room in the same. Enter Posthumus.
SCENE V.-The same.
Post. Is there no way for men to be, but women Must be half workers! We are bastards all; And that most venerable man, which I Did call my father, was I know not where When I was stamp'd; some coiner with his tools Made me a counterfeit: Yet my mother seem'd
(2) The badge; the token. 3 D
The Dian of that time: so doth my wife The nonpareil of this.-O vengeance, vengeance! Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain'd, And pray'd me, oft, forbearance: did it with A pudency' so rosy, the sweet view on't
Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her
As chaste as unsunn'd snow :-O, all the devils!- This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,-was't not ?- Or less, at first: Perchance he spoke not; but, Like a full-acorn'd boar, a German one, Cry'd oh! and mounted: found no opposition But what he look'd for should oppose, and she Should from encounter guard. Could I find out The woman's part in me! For there's no motion That tends to vice in man, but I affirm It is the woman's part: Be it lying, note it, The woman's; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers; Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, Nice longings, slanders, mutability,
All faults that may be nam'd, nay that hell knows, Why, hers, in part, or all; but, rather, all: For ev'n to vice
They are not constant, but are changing still One vice, but of a minute old, for one Not half so old as that. I'll write against them, Detest them, curse them :-Yet 'tis greater skill' In a true hate, to pray they have their will: The very devils cannot plague them better.
SCENE I.-Britain. A room of state in Cymbeline's palace. Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, and Lords, at one door; and at another, Caius Lucius, and Attendants.
Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with us?
Luc. When Julius Cæsar (whose remembrance yet
Live's in men's eyes; and will to ears, and tongues, Be theme, and hearing ever,) was in this Britain, And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, (Famous in Caesar's praises, no whit less Than in his feats deserving it,) for him,
And his succession, granted Rome a tribute,
From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping (Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas, Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd As easily 'against our rocks: for joy whereof, The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point (O, giglet fortune!) to master Cæsar's sword, Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright, And Britons strut with courage.
Clo. Coine, there's no more tribute to be paid: Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no more such Cæsar's: other of them have crooked noses; but, to owe such straight arms, none.
Cym. Son, let your mother end.
Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan: I do not say, I am one; but I have a hand-Why tribute? why should we pay tribute? If Cæsar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now.
Cym. You must know,
Till the injurious Romans did extort
This tribute from us, we were free: Caesar's am- bition
(Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch The sides o'the world,) against all colour, here Did put the yoke upon us; which to shake off, Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon Ourselves to be. We do say then to Cæsar, Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, which Ordain'd our laws; (whose use the sword of Cæsar Hath too much mangled; whose repair, and fran- chise,
Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, Though Rome be therefore angry ;) Mulmutius, Who was the first of Britain, which did put His brows within a golden crown, and call'd Himself a king.
I am sorry, Cymbeline, That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar (Cæsar that hath more kings his servants, than Thyself domestic officers,) thine enemy: Receive it from ine, then :--War, and confusion, In Cæsar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look For fury not to be resisted:-Thus defied, I thank thee for myself. Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius. Thy Cæsar knighted me; my youth I spent Much under him; of him I gather'd honour;
Yearly three thousand pounds; which by thee Which he, to seek of me again, perforce,
Ere such another Julius. Britain is
A world by it itself; and we will nothing pay, For wearing our own noses.
That opportunity, Which then they had to take from us, to resume We have again.-Remember, sir, my liege, The kings your ancestors; together with The natural bravery of your isle; which stands As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters; With sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats, But suck them up to the top-mast. A kind of con- quest
Cæsar made here; but made not here his brag, Of, came, and saw, and overcame: with shame (Tx årst that ever touch'd him,) he was carried (2) Strumpet.
Behoves me keep at utterance; I am perfect,* That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for Their liberties, are now in arms: a precedent Which not to read, would show the Britons cold: So Cæsar shall not find them.
Let proof speak. Make Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. pastime with us a day, or two, longer: If you seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in our salt-water girdle: if you beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the better for you; and there's an end.
Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he
All the remain is, welcome.
SCENE II.-Another room in the same. Enter Pisanio.
Pis. How! of adultery? Wherefore write you not What monster's her accuser?-Leonatus!
(3) Extremity of defiance, (4) Well informed.
O, master! what a strange infection Is fallen into thy ear? What false Italian (As poisonous-tongu'd, as handed,) hath prevail'd On thy too ready hearing?-Disloyal? No: She's punish'd for her truth; and undergoes, More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults As would take in' some virtue.-O, my master! Thy mind to her is now as low, as were Thy fortunes.-How! that I should murder her? Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I Have made to thy command?-I, her?-her blood? If it be so to do good service, never
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I, That I should seem to lack humanity,
So much as this fact comes to? Do't: the letter [Reading.
That I have sent her, by her own command Shall give thee opportunity :-O damn'd paper! Black as the ink that's on thee! senseless bauble, Art thou a feodary2 for this act, and look'st So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes. Enter Imogen.
I am ignorant in what I am commanded. Imo. How now, Pisanio?
Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord. Imo. Who? thy lord? that is my lord? Leonatus? O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer, That knew the stars, as I his characters; He'd lay the future open.-You good gods, Let what is here contain'd relish of love, Of my lord's health, of his content, yet not, That we two are asunder, let that grieve him,(Some griefs are med'cinable ;) that For it doth physic love;-of his content, All but in that!-Good wax, thy leave:-Bless'd be You bees, that make these locks of counsel! Lovers, And men in dangerous bonds, pray not alike; Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods! [Reads. Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as you, O the dearest of creatures, would not even renew me with your eyes. Take notice, that I am in Cambria, at Milford-Haven. What your own love will, out of this, advise you, follow. So, he wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your, increasing in love,
LEONATUS POSTHUMUS. O, for a horse with wings!-Hear'st thou, Pisanio? He is at Milford-Haven: Read, and tell me How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs May plod it in a week, why may not I Glide thither in a day?-Then, true Pisanio (Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord: who long'st,-
O, let me 'bate,-but not like me: yet long'st,- But in a fainter kind:-O, not like me; For mine's beyond beyond,) say, and speak thick,' (Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing, To the smothering of the sense,) how far it is To this same blessed Milford: And, by the way, Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as To inherit such a haven: But, first of all, How we may steal from hence; and, for the gap That we shall make in time, from our hence-going, And our return, to excuse :-but first, how get hence:
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands That run i'the clock's behalf-but this is foolery :--- Go, bid my woman feign a sickness; say, She'll home to her father: and provide me, presently, A riding-suit; no costlier than would fit A franklin's housewife.
Pis. Madam, you're best consider. Imo. I see before me, man, nor here, nor here, Nor what ensues; but have a fog in them, That I cannot look through. Away, I pr'ythee; Do as I bid thee: There's no more to say; Accessible is none but Milford way. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Wales. A mountainous country, with a cave. Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.
Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys: This
Hail, heaven! Bel. Now, for our mountain sport: Up to yon hill, Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Con sider, When you above perceive me like a crow, That it is place which lessens, and sets off. And you may then revolve what tales I have told you,
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war This service is not service, so being done, But being so allow'd: To apprehend thus, Draws us a profit from all things we see: And often, to our comfort, shall we find The sharded beetle in a safer hold Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life Is nobler, than attending for a check; Richer, than doing nothing for a babe; Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk: Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine, Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours."
Gui. Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledg'd,
Have never wing'd from view o'the nest; nor know
What air's from home. Haply, this life is best, If quiet life be best; sweeter to you, That have a sharper known; well corresponding With your stiff age; but, unto us, it is A cell of ignorance; travelling abed; A poison for a debtor, that not dares To stride a limit." Arv.
(5) Strut, walk proudly. (6) Scaly-winged. (7) i. e. Compared with ours.
(8) To overpass his bound.
When we are old as you? when we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December, how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing: We are beastly; subtle as the fox, for prey; Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat: Our valour is, to chace what flies; our cage We make a quire, as doth the prison bird, And sing our bondage freely.
Did you but know the city's usuries, And felt them knowingly: the art o'the court, As hard to leave, as keep; whose top to climb Is certain falling, or so slippery, that
The fear's as bad as falling: the toil of the war, A pain that only seems to seek out danger I'the name of fame, and honour; which dies i'the search;
And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph, As record of fair act; nay, many times, Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse, Must court'sy at the censure:-0, boys, this story The world may read in me: My body's mark'd With Roman swords: and my report was once First with the best of note: Cymbeline lov'd me; And when a soldier was the theme, my name Was not far off: Then was I as a tree, Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but in one night, A storm, or robbery, call it what you will, Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, And left me bare to weather.
Uncertain favour! Bel. My fault being nothing (as I have told you oft,)
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline, I was confederate with the Romans: so, Follow'd my banishment; and, this twenty years,
Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place
Was near at hand :-Ne'er long'd my mother so To see me first, as I have now:-Pisanio! Man! Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind, That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh
From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus, ́ Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd Beyond self-explication: Put thyself Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter? Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with A look untender? If it be summer news, Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st But keep that countenance still.-My husband's hand!
That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-crafted him, And he's at some hard point.-Speak, man; thy tongue
May take off some extremity, which to read Would be even mortal to me.
Please you, read; And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing The most disdain'd of fortune.
Imo. [Reads.] Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play
This rock, and these demesnes, have been my world:ed the strumpet in my bed; the testimonies where- Where I have liv'd at honest freedom; paid More pious debts to heaven, than in all The fore-end of my time.-But, up to the moun- tains;
This is not hunters' language:-He, that strikes The venison first, shall be the lord o'the feast; To him the other two shall minister; And we will fear no poison, which attends In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the val- leys. [Exeunt Gui. and Arv. How hard it is, to hide the sparks of nature! These boys know little, they are sons to the king; Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive, They think they are mine: and, though train'd up thus meanly
I'the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit The roofs of palaces; and nature prompts thein, In simple and low things to prince it, much Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,- The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom The king his father call'd Guiderius,-Jove! When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out Into my story: say,-Thus, mine enemy fell; And thus I set my foot on his neck; even then The princely blood flows in his cheek, re-sweats, Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in pos- ture
of lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises; from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part, thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away her life: I shall give thee opportunities at Milford-Haven: she hath my letter for the purpose: Where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal.
Pis. What shall I need to draw my sword? the
Hath cut her throat already.-No, 'tis slander; Whose edge is shaper than the sword; whose tongue
Out venoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world: kings, queens, and states, Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave This viperous slander enters.-What cheer, madam. Imo. False to his bed! What is it, to be false? To lie in watch there, and to think on him? To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge nature,
To break it with a fearful dream of him, And cry myself awake? That's false to his bed? Is it?
That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal, Imo. I false? Thy conscience witness ?—Iachimo, (Once Arviragus,) in as like a figure, Thou didst accuse him of incontinency; Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks, His own conceiving. Hark! the game is rous'd!-Thy favour's good enough.-Some jays of Italy, O Cymbeline! heaven, and my conscience, knows,
(2) Putto, in Italian, signifies both a jay and a whore.
Did scandal many a holy tear; to pity
From most true wretchedness: So, thou, Posthu- My purpose would prove well. It cannot be,
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 see'st 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 may'st be valiant in a better cause; But now thou seem'st a coward.
Pis. Hence, vile instrument! Thou shalt not damn my hand. Imo.
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 turned 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 wo.
And thou, Posthúmus, thou 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 tir'st on, how thy memory Will then be pang'd by me.-Pr'ythee, despatch: The lamb entreats the butcher: Where's thy knife? Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, When I desire it too.
But that my master is abus'd: Some villain, ay, and singular in his art, Hath done you both this cursed injury. Imo. Some Roman courtezan. Pis. 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.
Imo. 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?
Pis. If you'll back to the court,Imo. 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. Pis. If not at court, Then not in Britain must you bide. Imo.
Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night, Are they not but in Britain? I'the world's volume Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it; In a great pool, a swan's nest; Pr'ythee, think There's livers out of Britain.
Pis. You think of other place. The 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, to appear itself, must not yet be, But by self-danger; you should tread a course Pretty, and full of view: yea, haply, 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.
Imo. O, for such means! Though peril to my modesty, not death on't, I would adventure.
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 is pretty self,) to 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.
I see into thy end, and am almost A man already.
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