Than some, whose tailors are as dear, as yours,
Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's plea-
sure?
Clo. Your lady's person: is she ready?
Lady. Ay,
To keep her chamber.
Clo. There's gold for you; sell me your good report. Lady. How! my good name? or to report of you What I shall think is good? - The princessEnter IMOGEN.
Clo. Good-morrow, fairest sister! Your sweet hand!
Imo. Good-morrow, sir! You lay out too much
pains
For purchasing but trouble; the thanks I give,
Is telling you, that I am poor of thanks,
And scarce can spare them.
Clo. Still, I swear, I love you!
Imo. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me:
you swear still, your recompence is still
That I regard it not.
Clo. This is no answer.
Clo. His garment? Now, the devil
Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently!
Clo. His garment?
Imo. I am sprighted with a fool;
Frighted, and anger'd worse. - Go, bid my woman
Search for a jewel, that too casually
Hath left mine arm; it was thy master's; 'shrew me,
If I would lose it for a revenue
Of any king's in Europe. I do think,
I saw't this morning: confident I am,
Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it:
I hope it be not gone, to tell my lord
That I kiss aught but he.
Pis. 'Twill not be lost.
Imo. I hope so: go, and search!
Clo. You have abus'd me.
His meanest garment?
Imo. Ay; I said so, sir!
If you will make't an action, call witness to't.
Clo. I will inform your father.
Imo. Your mother too:
She's my good lady; and will conceive, I hope,
But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,
Imo. But that you shall not say I yield, being si-To the worst of discontent.
lent,
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me! i'faith,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy
To your best kindness; one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.
Clo. To leave you in your madness, 'twere my
I will not.
Imo. Fools are not mad folks.
Clo. Do you call me fool?
Imo. As I am mad, I do:
If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
You put me to forget a lady's manners,
By being so verbal and learn now, for all,
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
By the very truth of it, I care not for you;
And am so near the lack of charity,
(To accuse myself) I hate you: which I had rather
You felt, than make't my boast.
Obedience, which you owe your father. For
The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
(One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes,
With scraps o'the court,) it is no contract, none:
And though it be allow'd in meaner parties,
(Yet who, than he, more mean?) to knit their souls
(On whom there is no more dependency
But brats and beggary) in self-figur'd knot;
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
The consequence o'the crown; and must not soil
The precious note of it with a base slave,
A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth,
A pantler, not so eminent.
Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more,
But what thou art, besides, thou wert too base
To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough,
Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made
Comparative for your virtues, to be styl'd
The under-hangman of his kingdom; and hated
For being preferr'd so well.
Clo. I'll be reveng'd:
His meanest garment?-Well!
Rome. An apartment in PHILARIO'S
house.
Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO.
Post. Fear it net, sir: I would, I were so sure
To win the king, as I am bold, her honour
Will remain hers.
Phi. What means do you make to him?
Post. Not any; but abide the change of time;
Quake in the present winter's state, and wish
That warmer days would come. In these fear'd
hopes,
I barely gratify your love; they failing,
I must die much your debtor.
Phi. Your very goodness, and your company,
O'erpays all I can do. By this, your king
Hath heard of great Augustus. Caius Lucius
Will do his commission throughly: and, I think,
He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages,
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in their grief.
(Statist though I am none, nor like to be,)
That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
The legions, now in Gallia, sooner landed
In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
Are men more order'd, than when Julius Caesar
Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage
Worthy his frowning at: their discipline
(Now mingled with their courages) will make known
To their approvers, they are people, such
That mend upon the world.
Jach. If I have lost it,
I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
I'll make a journey twice as far, to enjoy
A second night of such sweet shortness, which
Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.
Post. The stone's too hard to come by.
Iach. Not a whit,
Your lady being so easy.
Post. Make not, sir,
Your loss your sport: I hope, you know, that we
Must not continue friends.
Iach. Good sir, we must,
If you keep covenant. Had I not brought
The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant
We were to question further: but I now
Profess myself the winner of her honour,
Together with your ring; and not the wronger
Of her, or you, having proceeded but
By both your wills.
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.
Tach. Sir, my circumstances,
Which you might from relation likewise reap;
Being, as it is, much spoke of.
Iach. The roof o'the chamber
With golden cherubins is fretted: her andirons
(I had forgot them,) were two winking Cupids
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
Depending on their brands.
Post. This is her honour!
Let it be granted, you have seen all this, (and praise
Be given to your remembrance,) the description
Of what is in her chamber, nothing saves
The wager you have laid.
Iach. Then, if you can, [Pulling out the bracelet.
Be pale; I beg but leave to air this jewel: see!-
And now 'tis up again. It must be married
To that your diamond; I'll keep them.
Post. Jove!-
Once more let me behold it. Is it that
Which I left with her?
Iach. Sir, (I thank her,) that.
She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet;
Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
And yet enrich'd it too. She gave it me, and said,
She priz'd it once.
Being so near the truth, as I will make them,
Must first induce you to believe: whose strength
I will confirm with oath; which, 1 doubt not,
You'll give me leave to spare, when you shall find
You need it not.
Post. Proceed!
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――
Post. May be, she pluck'd it off,
Iach. She writes so to you? doth she?
Post. O, no, no, no! 'tis true! Here, take this [Gives the ring.
It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
Kills me to look on't. - Let there be no honour,
Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; love,
Where there's another man. The vows of women,
Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,
Than they are to their virtues: which is nothing.-
O, above measure false!
Phi. Have patience, sir,
And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won:
It may be probable, she lost it; or,
Who knows, if one of her women, being corrupted,
Hath stolen it from her.
And so, I hope, he came by't. -Back my ring;-
Render to me some corporal sign about her,
More evident than this; for this was stolen.
Iach. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm!
Post. Hark you, he swears! by Jupiter he swears!
'Tis true;-nay, keep the ring-'tis true! I am sure,
She would not lose it: her attendants are
All sworn, and honourable. They induc'd to steal it!
And by a stranger?-No, he hath enjoy'd her:
The cognizance of her incontinency
Is this, she hath bought the name of whore that
dearly.-
There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell
Divide themselves between you!
Phi. Sir, be patient!
This is not strong enough to be believ'd
Of one persuaded well of-
Post. Never talk on't;
She hath been colted by him.
Iach. If you seek
For further satisfying, under her breast
(Worthy the pressing.) lies a mole, right proad
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; | Ere such another Julius. Britain is Once, and a million!
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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 even to vice
They are not constant, but are changing still
One vice, but of a minute old, for one
Not half so old as that. I'll write against them,
Detest them, curse them! Yet 'tis greater skill
In a true hate, to pray they have their will:
The very devils cannot plague them better.
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 Attend
Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us? Luc. When Julius Caesar (whose remembrance yet Lives in men's eyes: and will to ears, and tongues, Be theme, and hearing ever,) was in this Britain, And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, (Famous in Caesar's praises, no whit lessThan in his feats deserving it,) for him, And his succession, granted Rome a tribute, Yearly three thousand pounds; which by thee lately Is left untender'd.
Queen. And, to kill the marvel,
Shall be so ever.
Clo. There be many Caesars,
A world by itself; and we will nothing pay For wearing our own noses.
Queen. 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 conquest
Caesar made here: but made not here his brag
Of, came, and saw, and overcame with shame
(The first that ever touch'd him,) he was carried
From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping,
(Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas,
Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd
As easily 'gainst our rocks. For joy whereof,
The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point
(0, giglot fortune!) to master Caesar's sword,
Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright,
And Britons strut with courage.
Clo. Come, there's no more tribute to be paid. Our kingdom is stronger, than it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no more such Caesars; other of them may 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 Caesar 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 ambition,
(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 Caesar,
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, which
Ordain'd our laws; (whose use the sword of Caesar
Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise,
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.
Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline,
That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar
(Caesar, that hath more kings his servants, than
Thyself domestic officers,) thine enemy:
Receive it from me, then!-War, and confusion,
In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thre! look
For fury not to be resisted!-Thus defied,
thank thee for myself!'
Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius ! Thy Caesar knighted me: my youth I spent Much under him; of him I gather'd honour; Which he, to seek of me again, perforce, Behoves me keep at utterance; I am perfect, That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for Their liberties, are now in arms: a precedent, Which, not to read, would show the Britons cold: So Caesar shall not find them:
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you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the Why should excuse be born or e'er begot?
better for you; and there's an end.
We'll talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee, speak,
How many score of miles may we well ride
'Twixt hour and hour?
Cym. Iknow your master's pleasure, and he mine:
All the remain is, welcome!
SCENE II. Another room in the same.
Pis. How! of adultery? Wherefore write you not Could never go so slow: I have heard of riding wagers,
What monster's her accuser? - Leonatus!
O, master! what a strange infection
Is fallen into thy ear? What false Italian
(As poisonous tongue'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 too? Do't! The letter
[Reading.
That I have sent her, by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity. O damı'd paper!
Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless bauble,
Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes!
I am ignorant in what I am commanded.
Imo. How now, Pisanio?
Pis. One score, 'twixt sun and sun,
Madam, 's enough for you; and too much too.
Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, man,
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
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 gate
Instructs you how to adore the heavens; and bows
To morning's holy office: the gates of monarchs
Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet through
And keep their impious turbands on, without
Good-morrow to the sun.-Hail, thou fair heaven!
We house i'the rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.
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 un-
fledg'd,
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 is one of them,
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, should 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 wi-
shes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow,
and your, increasing in love. Leonatus Posthumus.
0, for a horse with wings!-Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
He is at Milford-Haven! Read, and tell me
How far 'tis hither. 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:
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 still age: but, unto us, it is
A cell of ignorance; travelling abed;
A prison for a debtor, that not dares
To stride a limit.
Arv. What should we speak of,
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: subtile as the fox, for prey;
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat:
Our valour is, to chase what flies; our cage
We make a quire, as doth the prison bird,
And sing our bondage freely.
Bel. How you speak!
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 o' 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: - -O, 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.
Gui. 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, This rock, and these demesnes, have been my world: 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 mountains; 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 valleys. [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 them,
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's neck; even then
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
Strains his young nerves, and puts himselfin posture
That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwell,
(Once, Arvirágus,) in as like a figure,
Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more
His own conceiving. Hark! the game is rous'd!
O Cymbeline! heaven, and my conscience, knows,
Thou didst unjustly banish me; whereon,
At three, and two years old, I stole these babes;
Thinking to bar thee of succession, as
Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,
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 ntender? 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-craftied 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.
Pis. Please you, read!
And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
The most disdain'd of fortune.
Imo. [Reads.] Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises; but 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 MilfordHaven; 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
paper
Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander,
Whose edge is sharper, than the sword; whose tongue
Outvenoms 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 na-
ture,
To break it with a fearful dream of him,
And cry myself awake? that's false to his bed?
Imo. I false? Thy conscience witness:- Iachimo, Thou didst accuse him of incontinency; Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks, Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy, Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him: Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion; And, for I am richer, than to hang by the walls, I must be ripp'd:—to pieces with me! -0, 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.
Pis. Good madam, hear me!
Imo. True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas,
Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their mother, Were, in his time, thought false: and Sinon's weep
And every day do honour to her grave: Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
They take for natural father. The game is up. [Exit.
SCENE IV. Near Milford-Haven.
Enter PISANIO and IMOGen.
Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse,
the place
Did scandal many a holy tear; 'took pity
From most true wretchedness. So thou, Posthúmus,
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,
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