Cymbeline

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Original text
Act III, Scene I
Enter in State, Cymbeline, Queene, Clotten, and Lords at
one doore, and at another, Caius, Lucius; and Attendants.

Cym.
Now say, what would Augustus Casar with vs?

Luc.
When Iulius Casar (whose remembrance yet
Liues in mens eyes, and will to Eares and Tongues
Be Theame, and hearing euer) was in this Britain,
And Conquer'd it, Cassibulan thine Vnkle
(Famous in Casars prayses, no whit lesse
Then in his Feats deseruing it) for him,
And his Succession, granted Rome a Tribute,
Yeerely three thousand pounds; which (by thee) lately
Is left vntender'd.

Qu.
And to kill the meruaile,
Shall be so euer.

Clot.
There be many Casars, / Ere such another Iulius:
Britaine's a world / By it selfe, and we will nothing pay
For wearing our owne Noses.

Qu.
That opportunity
Which then they had to take from's, to resume
We haue againe. Remember Sir, my Liege,
The Kings your Ancestors, together with
The naturall brauery of your Isle, which stands
As Neptunes Parke, ribb'd, and pal'd in
With Oakes vnskaleable, and roaring Waters,
With Sands that will not beare your Enemies Boates,
But sucke them vp to'th'Top-mast. A kinde of Conquest
Casar made heere, but made not heere his bragge
Of Came, and Saw, and Ouer-came: with shame
(The first that euer touch'd him) he was carried
From off our Coast, twice beaten: and his Shipping
(Poore ignorant Baubles) on our terrible Seas
Like Egge-shels mou'd vpon their Surges, crack'd
As easily 'gainst our Rockes. For ioy whereof,
The fam'd Cassibulan, who was once at point
(Oh giglet Fortune) to master Casars Sword,
Made Luds-Towne with reioycing-Fires bright,
And Britaines strut with Courage.

Clot.
Come, there's no more Tribute to be paid: our Kingdome
is stronger then it was at that time: and (as I
said) there is no mo such Casars, other of them may
haue crook'd Noses, but to owe such straite Armes,
none.

Cym.
Son, let your Mother end.

Clot.
We haue yet many among vs, can gripe as hard as
Cassibulan, I doe not say I am one: but I haue a hand.
Why Tribute? Why should we pay Tribute? If Casar
can hide the Sun from vs with a Blanket, or put the
Moon in his pocket, we will pay him Tribute for light:
else Sir, no more Tribute, pray you now.

Cym.
You must know,
Till the iniurious Romans, did extort
This Tribute from vs, we were free. Casars Ambition,
Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretch
The sides o'th'World, against all colour heere,
Did put the yoake vpon's; which to shake off
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
Our selues to be,
we do.
Say then to Casar,
Our Ancestor was that Mulmutius, which
Ordain'd our Lawes, whose vse the Sword of Casar
Hath too much mangled; whose repayre, and franchise,
Shall (by the power we hold) be our good deed,
Tho Rome be therfore angry. Mulmutius made our lawes
Who was the first of Britaine, which did put
His browes within a golden Crowne, and call'd
Himselfe a King.

Luc.
I am sorry Cymbeline,
That I am to pronounce Augustus Casar
(Casar, that hath moe Kings his Seruants, then
Thy selfe Domesticke Officers) thine Enemy:
Receyue it from me then. Warre, and Confusion
In Casars name pronounce I 'gainst thee: Looke
For fury, not to be resisted. Thus defide,
I thanke thee for my selfe.

Cym.
Thou art welcome Caius,
Thy Casar Knighted me; my youth I spent
Much vnder him; of him, I gather'd Honour,
Which he, to seeke of me againe, perforce,
Behooues me keepe at vtterance. I am perfect,
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for
Their Liberties are now in Armes: a President
Which not to reade, would shew the Britaines cold:
So Casar shall not finde them.

Luc.
Let proofe speake.

Clot.
His Maiesty biddes you welcome. Make pastime with
vs, a day, or two, or longer: if you seek vs afterwards
in other tearmes, you shall finde vs in our Salt-water-
Girdle: if you beate vs out of it, it is yours: if you fall in
the aduenture, our Crowes shall fare the better for you:
and there's an end.

Luc.
So sir.

Cym.
I know your Masters pleasure, and he mine:
All the Remaine, is welcome.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act III, Scene II
Enter Pisanio reading of a Letter.

Pis.
How? of Adultery? Wherefore write you not
What Monsters her accuse? Leonatus:
Oh Master, what a strange infection
Is falne into thy eare? What false Italian,
(As poysonous tongu'd, as handed) hath preuail'd
On thy too ready hearing? Disloyall? No.
She's punish'd for her Truth; and vndergoes
More Goddesse-like, then Wife-like; such Assaults
As would take in some Vertue. Oh my Master,
Thy mind to her, is now as lowe, as were
Thy Fortunes. How? That I should murther her,
Vpon the Loue, and Truth, and Vowes; which I
Haue made to thy command? I her? Her blood?
If it be so, to do good seruice, neuer
Let me be counted seruiceable. How looke I,
That I should seeme to lacke humanity,
So much as this Fact comes to?
Doo't: The Letter.
That I haue sent her, by her owne command,
Shall giue thee opportunitie. Oh damn'd paper,
Blacke as the Inke that's on thee: senselesse bauble,
Art thou a Fodarie for this Act; and look'st
So Virgin-like without? Loe here she comes.
I am ignorant in what I am commanded.
Enter Imogen.

Imo.
How now Pisanio?

Pis.
Madam, heere is a Letter from my Lord.

Imo.
Who, thy Lord? That is my Lord Leonatus?
Oh, learn'd indeed were that Astronomer
That knew the Starres, as I his Characters,
Heel'd lay the Future open. You good Gods,
Let what is heere contain'd, rellish of Loue,
Of my Lords health, of his content: yet not
That we two are asunder, let that grieue him;
Some griefes are medcinable, that is one of them,
For it doth physicke Loue, of his content,
All but in that. Good Wax, thy leaue: blest be
You Bees that make these Lockes of counsaile. Louers,
And men in dangerous Bondes pray not alike,
Though Forfeytours you cast in prison, yet
You claspe young Cupids Tables: good Newes Gods.
IVstice and your Fathers wrath (should he
take me in his Dominion) could not be so cruell to
me, as you: (oh the deerest of Creatures) would euen
renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in
Cambria at Milford-Hauen: what your owne Loue,
will out of this aduise you, follow. So he wishes you
all happinesse, that remaines loyall to his Vow, and
your encreasing in Loue.
Leonatus Posthumus.
Oh for a Horse with wings: Hear'st thou Pisanio?
He is at Milford-Hauen: Read, and tell me
How farre 'tis thither. If one of meane affaires
May plod it in a weeke, why may not I
Glide thither in a day? Then true Pisanio,
Who long'st like me, to see thy Lord; who long'st
(Oh let me bate) but not like me: yet long'st
But in a fainter kinde. Oh not like me:
For mine's beyond, beyond: say, and speake thicke
(Loues Counsailor should fill the bores of hearing,
To'th'smothering of the Sense) how farre it is
To this same blessed Milford. And by'th'way
Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as
T' inherite such a Hauen. But first of all,
How we may steale from hence: and for the gap
That we shall make in Time, from our hence-going,
And our returne, to excuse: but first, how get hence.
Why should excuse be borne or ere begot?
Weele talke of that heereafter. Prythee speake,
How many store of Miles may we well rid
Twixt houre, and houre?

Pis.
One score 'twixt Sun, and Sun,
Madam's enough for you: and too much too.

Imo.
Why, one that rode to's Execution Man,
Could neuer go so slow: I haue heard of Riding wagers,
Where Horses haue bin nimbler then the Sands
That run i'th'Clocks behalfe. But this is Foolrie,
Go, bid my Woman faigne a Sicknesse, say
She'le home to her Father; and prouide me presently
A Riding Suit: No costlier then would fit
A Franklins Huswife.

Pisa.
Madam, you're best consider.

Imo.
I see before me (Man) nor heere, not heere;
Nor what ensues but haue a Fog in them
That I cannot looke through. Away, I prythee,
Do as I bid thee: There's no more to say:
Accessible is none but Milford way.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act III, Scene III
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Aruiragus.

Bel.
A goodly day, not to keepe house with such,
Whose Roofe's as lowe as ours: Sleepe Boyes, this gate
Instructs you how t'adore the Heauens; and bowes you
To a mornings holy office. The Gates of Monarches
Are Arch'd so high, that Giants may iet through
And keepe their impious Turbonds on, without
Good morrow to the Sun. Haile thou faire Heauen,
We house i'th'Rocke, yet vse thee not so hardly
As prouder liuers do.

Guid.
Haile Heauen.

Aruir.
Haile Heauen.

Bela.
Now for our Mountaine sport, vp to yond hill
Your legges are yong: Ile tread these Flats. Consider,
When you aboue perceiue me like a Crow,
That it is Place, which lessen's, and sets off,
And you may then reuolue what Tales, I haue told you,
Of Courts, of Princes; of the Tricks in Warre.
This Seruice, is not Seruice; so being done,
But being so allowed. To apprehend thus,
Drawes vs a profit from all things we see:
And often to our comfort, shall we finde
The sharded-Beetle, in a safer hold
Then is the full-wing'd Eagle. Oh this life,
Is Nobler, then attending for a checke:
Richer, then doing nothing for a Babe:
Prouder, then rustling in vnpayd-for Silke:
Such gaine the Cap of him, that makes him fine,
Yet keepes his Booke vncros'd: no life to ours.

Gui.
Out of your proofe you speak: we poore vnfledg'd
Haue neuer wing'd from view o'th'nest; nor knowes not
What Ayre's from home. Hap'ly this life is best,
(If quiet life be best) sweeter to you
That haue a sharper knowne. Well corresponding
With your stiffe Age; but vnto vs, it is
A Cell of Ignorance: trauailing a bed,
A Prison, or a Debtor, that not dares
To stride a limit.

Arui.
What should we speake of
When we are old as you? When we shall heare
The Raine and winde beate darke December? How
In this our pinching Caue, shall we discourse
The freezing houres away? We haue seene nothing:
We are beastly; subtle as the Fox for prey,
Like warlike as the Wolfe, for what we eate:
Our Valour is to chace what flyes: Our Cage
We make a Quire, as doth the prison'd Bird,
And sing our Bondage freely.

Bel.
How you speake.
Did you but know the Citties Vsuries,
And felt them knowingly: the Art o'th'Court,
As hard to leaue, as keepe: whose top to climbe
Is certaine falling: or so slipp'ry, that
The feare's as bad as falling. The toyle o'th'Warre,
A paine that onely seemes to seeke out danger
I'th'name of Fame, and Honor, which dyes i'th'search,
And hath as oft a sland'rous Epitaph,
As Record of faire Act. Nay, many times
Doth ill deserue, by doing well: what's worse
Must curt'sie at the Censure. Oh Boyes, this Storie
The World may reade in me: My bodie's mark'd
With Roman Swords; and my report, was once
First, with the best of Note. Cymbeline lou'd me,
And when a Souldier was the Theame, my name
Was not farre off: then was I as a Tree
Whose boughes did bend with fruit. But in one night,
A Storme, or Robbery (call it what you will)
Shooke downe my mellow hangings: nay my Leaues,
And left me bare to weather.

Gui.
Vncertaine fauour.

Bel.
My fault being nothing (as I haue told you oft)
But that two Villaines, whose false Oathes preuayl'd
Before my perfect Honor, swore to Cymbeline,
I was Confederate with the Romanes: so
Followed my Banishment, and this twenty yeeres,
This Rocke, and these Demesnes, haue bene my World,
Where I haue liu'd at honest freedome, payed
More pious debts to Heauen, then in all
The fore-end of my time. But, vp to'th'Mountaines,
This is not Hunters Language; he that strikes
The Venison first, shall be the Lord o'th'Feast,
To him the other two shall minister,
And we will feare no poyson, which attends
In place of greater State: / Ile meete you in the Valleyes.
Exeunt.
How hard it is to hide the sparkes of Nature?
These Boyes know little they are Sonnes to'th'King,
Nor Cymbeline dreames that they are aliue.
They thinke they are mine, / And though train'd vp thus meanely
I'th' Caue, whereon the Bowe their thoughts do hit,
The Roofes of Palaces, and Nature prompts them
In simple and lowe things, to Prince it, much
Beyond the tricke of others. This Paladour,
The heyre of Cymbeline and Britaine, who
The King his Father call'd Guiderius. Ioue,
When on my three-foot stoole I sit, and tell
The warlike feats I haue done, his spirits flye out
Into my Story: say thus mine Enemy fell,
And thus I set my foote on's necke, euen then
The Princely blood flowes in his Cheeke, he sweats,
Straines his yong Nerues, and puts himselfe in posture
That acts my words. The yonger Brother Cadwall,
Once Aruiragus, in as like a figure
Strikes life into my speech, and shewes much more
His owne conceyuing. Hearke, the Game is rows'd,
Oh Cymbeline, Heauen and my Conscience knowes
Thou didd'st vniustly banish me: whereon
At three, and two yeeres old, I stole these Babes,
Thinking to barre thee of Succession, as
Thou refts me of my Lands. Euriphile,
Thou was't their Nurse, they took thee for their mother,
And euery day do honor to her graue:
My selfe Belarius, that am Mergan call'd
They take for Naturall Father. The Game is vp.
Exit.
Original text
Act III, Scene IV
Enter Pisanio and Imogen.

Imo.
Thou told'st me when we came frõ horse, ye place
Was neere at hand: Ne're long'd my Mother so
To see me first, as I haue now. Pisanio, Man:
Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind
That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh
From th'inward of thee? One, but painted thus
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond selfe-explication. Put thy selfe
Into a hauiour of lesse feare, ere wildnesse
Vanquish my stayder Senses. What's the matter?
Why tender'st thou that Paper to me, with
A looke vntender? If't be Summer Newes
Smile too't before: if Winterly, thou need'st
But keepe that count'nance stil. My Husbands hand?
That Drug-damn'd Italy, hath out-craftied him,
And hee's at some hard point. Speake man, thy Tongue
May take off some extreamitie, which to reade
Would be euen mortall to me.

Pis.
Please you reade,
And you shall finde me (wretched man) a thing
The most disdain'd of Fortune.

Imogen
reades.
THy Mistris (Pisanio) hath plaide the
Strumpet in my Bed: the Testimonies whereof, lyes
bleeding in me. I speak not out of weake Surmises,
but from proofe as strong as my greefe, and as certaine
as I expect my Reuenge. That part, thou (Pisanio)
must acte for me, if thy Faith be not tainted with the
breach of hers; let thine owne hands take away
her life: I shall giue thee opportunity at Milford Hauen.
She hath my Letter for the purpose; where,
if thou feare to strike, and to make mee certaine it is
done, thou art the Pander to her dishonour, and
equally to me disloyall.

Pis.
What shall I need to draw my Sword, the Paper
Hath cut her throat alreadie? No, 'tis Slander,
Whose edge is sharper then the Sword, whose tongue
Out-venomes all the Wormes of Nyle, whose breath
Rides on the posting windes, and doth belye
All corners of the World. Kings, Queenes, and States,
Maides, Matrons, nay the Secrets of the Graue
This viperous slander enters. What cheere, Madam?

Imo.
False to his Bed? What is it to be false?
To lye in watch there, and to thinke on him?
To weepe 'twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge Nature,
To breake it with a fearfull dreame of him,
And cry my selfe awake? That's false to's bed? Is it?

Pisa.
Alas good Lady.

Imo.
I false? Thy Conscience witnesse: Iachimo,
Thou didd'st accuse him of Incontinencie,
Thou then look'dst like a Villaine: now, me thinkes
Thy fauours good enough. Some Iay of Italy
(Whose mother was her painting) hath betraid him:
Poore I am stale, a Garment out of fashion,
And for I am richer then to hang by th'walles,
I must be ript: To peeces with me: Oh!
Mens Vowes are womens Traitors. All good seeming
By thy reuolt (oh Husband) shall be thought
Put on for Villainy; not borne where't growes,
But worne a Baite for Ladies.

Pisa.
Good Madam, heare me.

Imo.
True honest men being heard, like false Aneas,
Were in his time thought false: and Synons weeping
Did scandall many a holy teare: tooke pitty
From most true wretchednesse. So thou, Posthumus
Wilt lay the Leauen on all proper men;
Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and periur'd
From thy great faile: Come Fellow, be thou honest,
Do thou thy Masters bidding. When thou seest him,
A little witnesse my obedience. Looke
I draw the Sword my selfe, take it, and hit
The innocent Mansion of my Loue (my Heart:)
Feare not, 'tis empty of all things, but Greefe:
Thy Master is not there, who was indeede
The riches of it. Do his bidding, strike,
Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause;
But now thou seem'st a Coward.

Pis.
Hence vile Instrument,
Thou shalt not damne my hand.

Imo.
Why, I must dye:
And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
No Seruant of thy Masters. Against Selfe-slaughter,
There is a prohibition so Diuine,
That crauens my weake hand: Come, heere's my heart:
Something's a-foot: Soft, soft, wee'l no defence,
Obedient as the Scabbard. What is heere,
The Scriptures of the Loyall Leonatus,
All turn'd to Heresie? Away, away
Corrupters of my Faith, you shall no more
Be Stomachers to my heart: thus may poore Fooles
Beleeue false Teachers: Though those that are betraid
Do feele the Treason sharpely, yet the Traitor
Stands in worse case of woe.
And thou Posthumus, / That didd'st set vp
my disobedience 'gainst the King / My Father,
and makes me put into contempt the suites
Of Princely Fellowes, shalt heereafter finde
It is no acte of common passage, but
A straine of Rarenesse: and I greeue my selfe,
To thinke, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her,
That now thou tyrest on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me. Prythee dispatch,
The Lambe entreats the Butcher. Wher's thy knife?
Thou art too slow to do thy Masters bidding
When I desire it too.

Pis.
Oh gracious Lady:
Since I receiu'd command to do this businesse,
I haue not slept one winke.

Imo.
Doo't, and to bed then.

Pis.
Ile wake mine eye-balles first.

Imo.
Wherefore then
Didd'st vndertake it? Why hast thou abus'd
So many Miles, with a pretence? This place?
Mine Action? and thine owne? Our Horses labour?
The Time inuiting thee? The perturb'd Court
For my being absent? whereunto I neuer
Purpose returne. Why hast thou gone so farre
To be vn-bent? when thou hast 'tane thy stand,
Th'elected Deere before thee?

Pis.
But to win time
To loose so bad employment, in the which
I haue consider'd of a course: good Ladie
Heare me with patience.

Imo.
Talke thy tongue weary, speake:
I haue heard I am a Strumpet, and mine eare
Therein false strooke, can take no greater wound,
Nor tent, to bottome that. But speake.

Pis.
Then Madam,
I thought you would not backe againe.

Imo.
Most like,
Bringing me heere to kill me.

Pis.
Not so neither:
But if I were as wise, as honest, then
My purpose would proue well: it cannot be,
But that my Master is abus'd. Some Villaine,
I, and singular in his Art, hath done you both
This cursed iniurie.

Imo.
Some Roman Curtezan?

Pisa.
No, on my life:
Ile giue but notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody signe of it. For 'tis commanded
I should do so: you shall be mist at Court,
And that will well confirme it.

Imo.
Why good Fellow,
What shall I do the while? Where bide? How liue?
Or in my life, what comfort, when I am
Dead to my Husband?

Pis.
If you'l backe to'th'Court.

Imo.
No Court, no Father, nor no more adoe
With that harsh, noble, simple nothing:
That Clotten, whose Loue-suite hath bene to me
As fearefull as a Siege.

Pis.
If not at Court,
Then not in Britaine must you bide.

Imo.
Where then?
Hath Britaine all the Sunne that shines? Day? Night?
Are they not but in Britaine? I'th'worlds Volume
Our Britaine seemes as of it, but not in't:
In a great Poole, a Swannes-nest, prythee thinke
There's liuers out of Britaine.

Pis.
I am most glad
You thinke of other place: Th'Ambassador,
Lucius the Romane comes to Milford-Hauen
To morrow. Now, if you could weare a minde
Darke, as your Fortune is, and but disguise
That which t'appeare it selfe, must not yet be,
But by selfe-danger, you should tread a course
Pretty, and full of view: yea, happily, neere
The residence of Posthumus; so nie (at least)
That though his Actions were not visible, yet
Report should render him hourely to your eare,
As truely as he mooues.

Imo.
Oh for such meanes,
Though perill to my modestie, not death on't
I would aduenture.

Pis.
Well then, heere's the point:
You must forget to be a Woman: change
Command, into obedience. Feare, and Nicenesse
(The Handmaides of all Women, or more truely
Woman it pretty selfe) into a waggish courage,
Ready in gybes, quicke-answer'd, sawcie, and
As quarrellous as the Weazell: Nay, you must
Forget that rarest Treasure of your Cheeke,
Exposing it (but oh the harder heart,
Alacke no remedy) to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan: and forget
Your laboursome and dainty Trimmes, wherein
You made great Iuno angry.

Imo.
Nay be breefe?
I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already.

Pis.
First, make your selfe but like one,
Fore-thinking this. I haue already fit
('Tis in my Cloake-bagge) Doublet, Hat, Hose, all
That answer to them: Would you in their seruing,
(And with what imitation you can borrow
From youth of such a season) 'fore Noble Lucius
Present your selfe, desire his seruice: tell him
Wherein you're happy; which will make him know,
If that his head haue eare in Musicke, doubtlesse
With ioy he will imbrace you: for hee's Honourable,
And doubling that, most holy. Your meanes abroad:
You haue me rich, and I will neuer faile
Beginning, nor supplyment.

Imo.
Thou art all the comfort
The Gods will diet me with. Prythee away,
There's more to be consider'd: but wee'l euen
All that good time will giue vs. This attempt,
I am Souldier too, and will abide it with
A Princes Courage. Away, I prythee.

Pis.
Well Madam, we must take a short farewell,
Least being mist, I be suspected of
Your carriage from the Court. My Noble Mistris,
Heere is a boxe, I had it from the Queene,
What's in't is precious: If you are sicke at Sea,
Or Stomacke-qualm'd at Land, a Dramme of this
Will driue away distemper. To some shade,
And fit you to your Manhood: may the Gods
Direct you to the best.

Imo.
Amen: I thanke thee.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act III, Scene V
Enter Cymbeline, Queene, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords.

Cym.
Thus farre, and so farewell.

Luc.
Thankes, Royall Sir:
My Emperor hath wrote, I must from hence,
And am right sorry, that I must report ye
My Masters Enemy.

Cym.
Our Subiects (Sir)
Will not endure his yoake; and for our selfe
To shew lesse Soueraignty then they, must needs
Appeare vn-Kinglike.

Luc.
So Sir: I desire of you
A Conduct ouer Land, to Milford-Hauen.
Madam, all ioy befall your Grace, and you.

Cym.
My Lords, you are appointed for that Office:
The due of Honor, in no point omit:
So farewell Noble Lucius.

Luc.
Your hand, my Lord.

Clot.
Receiue it friendly: but from this time forth
I weare it as your Enemy.

Luc.
Sir, the Euent
Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.

Cym.
Leaue not the worthy Lucius, good my Lords
Till he haue crost the Seuern. Happines.
Exit Lucius, &c

Qu.
He goes hence frowning: but it honours vs
That we haue giuen him cause.

Clot.
'Tis all the better,
Your valiant Britaines haue their wishes in it.

Cym.
Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor
How it goes heere. It fits vs therefore ripely
Our Chariots, and our Horsemen be in readinesse:
The Powres that he already hath in Gallia
Will soone be drawne to head, from whence he moues
His warre for Britaine.

Qu.
'Tis not sleepy businesse,
But must be look'd too speedily, and strongly.

Cym.
Our expectation that it would be thus
Hath made vs forward. But my gentle Queene,
Where is our Daughter? She hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to vs hath tender'd
The duty of the day. She looke vs like
A thing more made of malice, then of duty,
We haue noted it. Call her before vs, for
We haue beene too slight in sufferance.

Qu.
Royall Sir,
Since the exile of Posthumus, most retyr'd
Hath her life bin: the Cure whereof, my Lord,
'Tis time must do. Beseech your Maiesty,
Forbeare sharpe speeches to her. Shee's a Lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are stroke;,
And strokes death to her.
Enter a Messenger.

Cym.
Where is she Sir? How
Can her contempt be answer'd?

Mes.
Please you Sir,
Her Chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer
That will be giuen to'th'lowd of noise, we make.

Qu.
My Lord, when last I went to visit her,
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close,
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmitie,
She should that dutie leaue vnpaide to you
Which dayly she was bound to proffer: this
She wish'd me to make knowne: but our great Court
Made me too blame in memory.

Cym.
Her doores lock'd?
Not seene of late? Grant Heauens, that which I
Feare, proue false.
Exit.

Qu.
Sonne, I say, follow the King.

Clot.
That man of hers, Pisanio, her old Seruant
I haue not seene these two dayes.

Qu.
Go, looke after:
Exit.
Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus,
He hath a Drugge of mine: I pray, his absence
Proceed by swallowing that. For he beleeues
It is a thing most precious. But for her,
Where is she gone? Haply dispaire hath seiz'd her:
Or wing'd with feruour of her loue, she's flowne
To her desir'd Posthumus: gone she is,
To death, or to dishonor, and my end
Can make good vse of either. Shee being downe,
I haue the placing of the Brittish Crowne.
Enter Cloten.
How now, my Sonne?

Clot.
'Tis certaine she is fled:
Go in and cheere the King, he rages, none
Dare come about him.

Qu.
All the better: may
This night fore-stall him of the comming day.
Exit Qu.

Clo.
I loue, and hate her: for she's Faire and Royall,
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Then Lady, Ladies, Woman, from euery one
The best she hath, and she of all compounded
Out-selles them all. I loue her therefore, but
Disdaining me, and throwing Fauours on
The low Posthumus, slanders so her iudgement,
That what's else rare, is choak'd: and in that point
I will conclude to hate her, nay indeede,
To be reueng'd vpon her. For, when Fooles
shall---
Enter Pisanio.
Who is heere? What, are you packing sirrah?
Come hither: Ah you precious Pandar, Villaine,
Where is thy Lady? In a word, or else
Thou art straightway with the Fiends.

Pis.
Oh, good my Lord.

Clo.
Where is thy Lady? Or, by Iupiter,
I will not aske againe. Close Villaine,
Ile haue this Secret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to finde it. Is she with Posthumus?
From whose so many waights of basenesse, cannot
A dram of worth be drawne.

Pis.
Alas, my Lord,
How can she be with him? When was she miss'd?
He is in Rome.

Clot.
Where is she Sir? Come neerer:
No farther halting: satisfie me home,
What is become of her?

Pis.
Oh, my all-worthy Lord.

Clo.
All-worthy Villaine,
Discouer where thy Mistris is, at once,
At the next word: no more of worthy Lord:
Speake, or thy silence on the instant, is
Thy condemnation, and thy death.

Pis.
Then Sir:
This Paper is the historie of my knowledge
Touching her flight.

Clo.
Let's see't: I will pursue her
Euen to Augustus Throne.

Pis.
Or this, or perish.
She's farre enough, and what he learnes by this,
May proue his trauell, not her danger.

Clo.
Humh.

Pis.
Ile write to my Lord she's dead: Oh Imogen,
Safe mayst thou wander, safe returne agen.

Clot.
Sirra, is this Letter true?

Pis.
Sir, as I thinke.

Clot.
It is Posthumus hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou
would'st not be a Villain, but do me true seruice:
vndergo those Imployments wherin I should haue
cause to vse thee with a serious industry, that is,
what villainy soere I bid thee do to performe it,
directly and truely, I would thinke thee an honest
man: thou should'st neither want my meanes for thy
releefe, nor my voyce for thy preferment.

Pis.
Well, my good Lord.

Clot.
Wilt thou serue mee? For since patiently and constantly
thou hast stucke to the bare Fortune of that
Begger Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of
gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt
thou serue mee?

Pis.
Sir, I will.

Clo.
Giue mee thy hand, heere's my purse. Hast any of thy
late Masters Garments in thy possession?

Pisan.
I haue (my Lord) at my Lodging, the same Suite he wore,
when he tooke leaue of my Ladie & Mistresse.

Clo.
The first seruice thou dost mee, fetch that Suite
hither, let it be thy first seruice, go.

Pis.
I shall my Lord.
Exit.

Clo.
Meet thee at Milford-Hauen: (I forgot to aske
him one thing, Ile remember't anon:) euen there, thou
villaine Posthumus will I kill thee. I would these
Garments were come. She saide vpon a time (the bitternesse
of it, I now belch from my heart) that shee
held the very Garment of Posthumus, in more respect,
then my Noble and naturall person; together with
the adornement of my Qualities. With that Suite vpon
my backe wil I rauish her: first kill him, and in her
eyes; there shall she see my valour, which wil then
be a torment to hir contempt. He on the ground,
my speech of insulment ended on his dead bodie,
and when my Lust hath dined (which, as I say, to
vex her, I will execute in the Cloathes that she so
prais'd:) to the Court Ile knock her backe, foot her
home againe. She hath despis'd mee reioycingly, and
Ile bee merry in my Reuenge.
Enter Pisanio.
Be those the Garments?

Pis.
I, my Noble Lord.

Clo.
How long is't since she went to Milford-Hauen?

Pis.
She can scarse be there yet.

Clo.
Bring this Apparrell to my Chamber, that is the second
thing that I haue commanded thee. The third is,
that thou wilt be a voluntarie Mute to my designe.
Be but dutious, and true preferment shall tender
it selfe to thee. My Reuenge is now at Milford, would
I had wings to follow it. Come, and be true.
Exit

Pis.
Thou bid'st me to my losse: for true to thee,
Were to proue false, which I will neuer bee
To him that is most true. To Milford go,
And finde not her, whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow
You Heauenly blessings on her: This Fooles speede
Be crost with slownesse; Labour be his meede.
Exit
Original text
Act III, Scene VI
Enter Imogen alone.

Imo.
I see a mans life is a tedious one,
I haue tyr'd my selfe: and for two nights together
Haue made the ground my bed. I should be sicke,
But that my resolution helpes me: Milford,
When from the Mountaine top, Pisanio shew'd thee,
Thou was't within a kenne. Oh Ioue, I thinke
Foundations flye the wretched: such I meane,
Where they should be releeu'd. Two Beggers told me,
I could not misse my way. Will poore Folkes lye
That haue Afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
A punishment, or Triall? Yes; no wonder,
When Rich-ones scarse tell true. To lapse in Fulnesse
Is sorer, then to lye for Neede: and Falshood
Is worse in Kings, then Beggers. My deere Lord,
Thou art one o'th'false Ones: Now I thinke on thee,
My hunger's gone; but euen before, I was
At point to sinke, for Food. But what is this?
Heere is a path too't: 'tis some sauage hold:
I were best not call; I dare not call: yet Famine
Ere cleane it o're-throw Nature, makes it valiant.
Plentie, and Peace breeds Cowards: Hardnesse euer
Of Hardinesse is Mother. Hoa? who's heere?
If any thing that's ciuill, speake: if sauage,
Take, or lend. Hoa? No answer? Then Ile enter.
Best draw my Sword; and if mine Enemy
But feare the Sword like me, hee'l scarsely looke on't.
Such a Foe, good Heauens.
Exit.
Original text
Act III, Scene VII
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Aruiragus.

Bel.
You Polidore haue prou'd best Woodman, and
Are Master of the Feast: Cadwall, and I
Will play the Cooke, and Seruant, 'tis our match:
The sweat of industry would dry, and dye
But for the end it workes too. Come, our stomackes
Will make what's homely, sauoury: Wearinesse
Can snore vpon the Flint, when restie Sloth
Findes the Downe-pillow hard. Now peace be heere,
Poore house, that keep'st thy selfe.

Gui.
I am throughly weary.

Arui.
I am weake with toyle, yet strong in appetite.

Gui.
There is cold meat i'th'Caue, we'l brouz on that
Whil'st what we haue kill'd, be Cook'd.

Bel.
Stay, come not in:
But that it eates our victualles, I should thinke
Heere were a Faiery.

Gui.
What's the matter, Sir?

Bel.
By Iupiter an Angell: or if not
An earthly Paragon. Behold Diuinenesse
No elder then a Boy.
Enter Imogen.

Imo.
Good masters harme me not:
Before I enter'd heere, I call'd, and thought
To haue begg'd, or bought, what I haue took: good troth
I haue stolne nought, nor would not, though I had found
Gold strew'd i'th'Floore. Heere's money for my Meate,
I would haue left it on the Boord, so soone
As I had made my Meale; and parted
With Pray'rs for the Prouider.

Gui.
Money? Youth.

Aru.
All Gold and Siluer rather turne to durt,
As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those
Who worship durty Gods.

Imo.
I see you're angry:
Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
Haue dyed, had I not made it.

Bel.
Whether bound?

Imo.
To Milford-Hauen.

Bel.
What's your name?

Imo.
Fidele Sir: I haue a Kinsman, who
Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford,
To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
I am falne in this offence.

Bel.
Prythee (faire youth)
Thinke vs no Churles: nor measure our good mindes
By this rude place we liue in. Well encounter'd,
'Tis almost night, you shall haue better cheere
Ere you depart; and thankes to stay, and eate it:
Boyes, bid him welcome.

Gui.
Were you a woman, youth,
I should woo hard, but be your Groome in honesty:
I bid for you, as I do buy.

Arui.
Ile make't my Comfort
He is a man, Ile loue him as my Brother:
And such a welcome as I'ld giue to him
(After long absence) such is yours. Most welcome:
Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst Friends.

Imo.
'Mongst Friends?
If Brothers: would it had bin so, that they
Had bin my Fathers Sonnes, then had my prize
Bin lesse, and so more equall ballasting
To thee Posthumus.

Bel.
He wrings at some distresse.

Gui.
Would I could free't.

Arui.
Or I, what ere it be,
What paine it cost, what danger: Gods!

Bel.
Hearke Boyes.

Imo.
Great men
That had a Court no bigger then this Caue,
That did attend themselues, and had the vertue
Which their owne Conscience seal'd them: laying by
That nothing-guift of differing Multitudes
Could not out-peere these twaine. Pardon me Gods,
I'ld change my sexe to be Companion with them,
Since Leonatus false.

Bel.
It shall be so:
Boyes wee'l go dresse our Hunt. Faire youth come in;
Discourse is heauy, fasting: when we haue supp'd
Wee'l mannerly demand thee of thy Story,
So farre as thou wilt speake it.

Gui.
Pray draw neere.

Arui.
The Night to'th'Owle, / And Morne to th'Larke lesse welcome.

Imo.
Thankes Sir.

Arui.
I pray draw neere.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act III, Scene VIII
Enter two Roman Senators, and Tribunes.

1. Sen.
This is the tenor of the Emperors Writ;
That since the common men are now in Action
'Gainst the Pannonians, and Dalmatians,
And that the Legions now in Gallia, are
Full weake to vndertake our Warres against
The falne-off Britaines, that we do incite
The Gentry to this businesse. He creates
Lucius Pro-Consull: and to you the Tribunes
For this immediate Leuy, he commands
His absolute Commission. Long liue Casar.

Tri.
Is Lucius Generall of the Forces?

2. Sen.
I.

Tri.
Remaining now in Gallia?

1. Sen.
With those Legions
Which I haue spoke of, whereunto your leuie
Must be suppliant: the words of your Commission
Will tye you to the numbers, and the time
Of their dispatch.

Tri.
We will discharge our duty.
Exeunt.
Modern text
Act III, Scene I
Enter in state, Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, and Lords at
one door, and at another, Caius Lucius and Attendants

CYMBELINE
Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us?

LUCIUS
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 conquered 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,
Yearly three thousand pounds; which – by thee – lately
Is left untendered.

QUEEN
And, to kill the marvel,
Shall be so ever.

CLOTEN
There be many Caesars ere such another Julius:
Britain's a world by itself, and we will nothing pay
for wearing our own noses.

QUEEN
That opportunity,
Which then they had to take from's, 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 th' topmast. 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 touched him – he was carried
From off our coast, twice beaten: and his shipping –
Poor ignorant baubles! – on our terrible seas,
Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, cracked
As easily 'gainst our rocks. For joy whereof
The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point –
O giglot fortune! – to master Caesar's sword,
Made Lud's town with rejoicing-fires bright,
And Britons strut with courage.

CLOTEN
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 moe such Caesars, other of them may
have crooked noses, but to owe such straight arms,
none.

CYMBELINE
Son, let your mother end.

CLOTEN
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.

CYMBELINE
You must know,
Till the injurious Romans did extort
This tribute from us, we were free. Caesar's ambition,
Which swelled so much that it did almost stretch
The sides o'th' world, against all colour here
Did put the yoke upon's; which to shake off
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
Ourselves to be.

CLOTEN and LORDS
We do.

CYMBELINE
Say then to Caesar,
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which
Ordained 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 made our laws,
Who was the first of Britain which did put
His brows within a golden crown, and called
Himself a king.

LUCIUS
I am sorry, Cymbeline,
That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar –
Caesar, that hath moe kings his servants than
Thyself domestic officers – thine enemy:
Receive it from me, then. War and confusion
In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
For fury, not to be resisted. Thus defied,
I thank thee for myself.

CYMBELINE
Thou art welcome, Caius.
Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent
Much under him; of him I gathered 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.

LUCIUS
Let proof speak.

CLOTEN
His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with
us a day or two, or 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.

LUCIUS
So, sir.

CYMBELINE
I know your master's pleasure, and he mine:
All the remain is ‘ Welcome.’
Exeunt
Modern text
Act III, Scene II
Enter Pisanio, with a letter

PISANIO
How? Of adultery? Wherefore write you not
What monster's her accuser? Leonatus!
O master, what a strange infection
Is fallen into thy ear! What false Italian –
As poisonous tongued as handed – hath prevailed
On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal? No.
She's punished 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?
(reading)
Do't: the letter
That I have sent her by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity. O damned 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.
Enter Innogen

INNOGEN
How now, Pisanio?

PISANIO
Madam, here is a letter from my lord.

INNOGEN
Who? Thy lord? That is my lord Leonatus!
O, learned 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 contained 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: blest 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 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 th' smothering of the sense – how far it is
To this same blessed Milford. And by th' way
Tell me how Wales was made so happy as
T' 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.
Why should excuse be born or ere begot?
We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee speak,
How many score of miles may we well rid
'Twixt hour, and hour?

PISANIO
One score 'twixt sun and sun,
Madam's enough for you: and too much too.

INNOGEN
Why, one that rode to's execution, man,
Could never go so slow: I have heard of riding wagers,
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
That run i'th' 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.

PISANIO
Madam, you're best consider.

INNOGEN
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 prithee,
Do as I bid thee: there's no more to say:
Accessible is none but Milford way.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act III, Scene III
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus

BELARIUS
A goodly day not to keep house with such
Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys: this gate
Instructs you how t' adore the heavens; and bows you
To a morning's holy office. The gates of monarchs
Are arched so high that giants may jet through
And keep their impious turbans on, without
Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!
We house i'th' rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.

GUIDERIUS
Hail, heaven!

ARVIRAGUS
Hail, heaven!

BELARIUS
Now for our mountain sport, up to yond hill!
Your legs are young: I'll tread these flats. Consider,
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 allowed. 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-winged eagle. O, this life
Is nobler than attending for a check:
Richer than doing nothing for a robe,
Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
Such gain the cap of him that makes him fine,
Yet keeps his book uncrossed: no life to ours.

GUIDERIUS
Out of your proof you speak: we poor unfledged,
Have never winged from view o'th' nest; nor know not
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 a-bed,
A prison, or a debtor that not dares
To stride a limit.

ARVIRAGUS
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: subtle 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 prisoned bird,
And sing our bondage freely.

BELARIUS
How you speak!
Did you but know the city's usuries,
And felt them knowingly: the art o'th' court,
As hard to leave as keep: whose top to climb
Is certain falling: or so slipp'ry that
The fear's as bad as falling: the toil o'th' war,
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
I'th' name of fame and honour, which dies i'th' search,
And hath as oft a sland'rous 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 marked
With Roman swords; and my report was once
First, with the best of note. Cymbeline loved 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.

GUIDERIUS
Uncertain favour!

BELARIUS
My fault being nothing – as I have told you oft –
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevailed
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline
I was confederate with the Romans: so
Followed my banishment, and this twenty years
This rock, and these demesnes, have been my world,
Where I have lived at honest freedom, paid
More pious debts to heaven than in all
The fore-end of my time. But up to th' mountains!
This is not hunter's language; he that strikes
The venison first shall be the lord o'th' 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 Guiderius and Arviragus
How hard it is to hide the sparks of Nature!
These boys know little they are sons to th' king,
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think they are mine, and though trained up thus meanly,
I'th' 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, who
The king his father called 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 himself in posture
That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,
Once Arviragus, in as like a figure
Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more
His own conceiving. Hark, the game is roused!
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 refts me of my lands. Euriphile,
Thou wast their nurse, they took thee for their mother,
And every day do honour to her grave:
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan called,
They take for natural father. The game is up.
Exit
Modern text
Act III, Scene IV
Enter Pisanio and Innogen

INNOGEN
Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place
Was near at hand: ne'er longed 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 th' inward of thee? One but painted thus
Would be interpreted a thing perplexed
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't be summer news,
Smile to't before: if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that count'nance still. My husband's hand?
That drug-damned 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.

PISANIO
Please you read;
And you shall find me – wretched man – a thing
The most disdained of fortune.

INNOGEN
(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 opportunity 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 pandar to her dishonour, and
equally to me disloyal.

PISANIO
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?

INNOGEN
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's bed, is it?

PISANIO
Alas, good lady!

INNOGEN
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 betrayed him:
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion,
And, for I am richer than to hang by th' walls,
I must be ripped – 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.

INNOGEN
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 perjured
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 mayst be valiant in a better cause;
But now thou seem'st a coward.

PISANIO
Hence, vile instrument!
Thou shalt not damn my hand.

INNOGEN
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 betrayed
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe.
And thou, Posthumus, 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 disedged by her
That now thou tirest on, how thy memory
Will then be panged by me. Prithee, dispatch:
The lamb 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 received command to do this business
I have not slept one wink.

INNOGEN
Do't, and to bed then.

PISANIO
I'll wake mine eye-balls out first.

INNOGEN
Wherefore then
Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abused
So many miles, with a pretence? This place?
Mine action, and thine own? Our horses' labour?
The time inviting thee? The perturbed 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 considered of a course: good lady,
Hear me with patience.

INNOGEN
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.

INNOGEN
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 abused: some villain,
Ay, and singular in his art, hath done you both
This cursed injury.

INNOGEN
Some Roman courtesan?

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 missed at court,
And that will well confirm it.

INNOGEN
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 –

INNOGEN
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.

INNOGEN
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
Tomorrow. 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, 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.

INNOGEN
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-answered, 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.

INNOGEN
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.

INNOGEN
Thou art all the comfort
The gods will diet me with. Prithee away,
There's more to be considered: 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 missed, 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-qualmed 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!

INNOGEN
Amen: I thank thee.
Exeunt severally
Modern text
Act III, Scene V
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 over land, 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 crossed 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 powers 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 looked 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 appeared
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tendered
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 an Attendant

QUEEN
Royal sir,
Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired
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.
Enter Attendant

CYMBELINE
Where is she, sir? How
Can her contempt be answered?

ATTENDANT
Please you, sir,
Her chambers are all locked, 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 prayed me to excuse her keeping close,
Whereto constrained by her infirmity,
She should that duty leave unpaid to you
Which daily she was bound to proffer: this
She wished me to make known: but our great court
Made me to blame in memory.

CYMBELINE
Her doors locked?
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 seized her:
Or, winged with fervour of her love, she's flown
To her desired 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.
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
(aside) 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 judgement
That what's else rare is choked: and in that point
I will conclude to hate her, nay indeed,
To be revenged upon her. For, when fools
Shall –
Enter Pisanio
Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?
Come hither: ah, you precious pandar! 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 missed?
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
Hum!

PISANIO
(aside)
I'll write to my lord she's dead: O Innogen,
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
praised – to the court I'll knock her back, foot her
home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly, and
I'll be merry in my revenge.
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 crossed with slowness; labour be his meed!
Exit
Modern text
Act III, Scene VI
Enter Innogen, in boy's clothes

INNOGEN
I see a man's life is a tedious one,
I have tired 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 showed thee,
Thou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think
Foundations fly the wretched: such, I mean,
Where they should be relieved. 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 any thing 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, to the cave
Modern text
Act III, Scene VII
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus

BELARIUS
You, Polydore, have proved best woodman, and
Are master of the feast: Cadwal and I
Will play the cook and servant, 'tis our match:
The sweat and 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 throughly 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 killed be cooked.

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!
Enter Innogen

INNOGEN
Good masters, harm me not:
Before I entered here, I called, and thought
To have begged or bought what I have took: good troth,
I have stolen nought, nor would not, though I had found
Gold strewed 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 reckoned, but of those
Who worship dirty gods.

INNOGEN
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?

INNOGEN
To Milford-Haven.

BELARIUS
What's your name?

INNOGEN
Fidele, sir: I have a kinsman who
Is bound for Italy; he embarked at Milford;
To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
I am fallen in this offence.

BELARIUS
Prithee, fair youth,
Think us no churls: nor measure our good minds
By this rude place we live in. Well encountered!
'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 do 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.

INNOGEN
'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
Hark, boys.
(whispering)

INNOGEN
Great men,
That had a court no bigger than this cave,
That did attend themselves, and had the virtue
Which their own conscience sealed them, laying by
That nothing-gift of differing multitudes,
Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods!
I'ld 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 supped
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.

INNOGEN
Thanks, sir.

ARVIRAGUS
I pray, draw near.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act III, Scene VIII
Enter two 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!

FIRST TRIBUNE
Is Lucius general of the forces?

SECOND SENATOR
Ay.

FIRST 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 despatch.

FIRST TRIBUNE
We will discharge our duty.
Exeunt
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