Page 15 of 119
Enter Cloten and the two Lords.
CLOTEN.
Was there ever man had such luck! When I kiss’d the jack, upon an upcast
to be hit away! I had a hundred pound on’t; and then a whoreson
jackanapes must take me up for swearing, as if I borrowed mine oaths of him,
and might not spend them at my pleasure.
FIRST LORD.
What got he by that? You have broke his pate with your bowl.
SECOND LORD.
[Aside.] If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have run
all out.
CLOTEN.
When a gentleman is dispos’d to swear, it is not for any standers-by to
curtail his oaths. Ha?
SECOND LORD.
No, my lord; [Aside.] nor crop the ears of them.
CLOTEN.
Whoreson dog! I gave him satisfaction. Would he had been one of my rank!
SECOND LORD.
[Aside.] To have smell’d like a fool.
CLOTEN.
I am not vex’d more at anything in th’ earth. A pox on’t! I
had rather not be so noble as I am; they dare not fight with me, because of the
Queen my mother. Every jackslave hath his bellyful of fighting, and I must go
up and down like a cock that nobody can match.
SECOND LORD.
[Aside.] You are cock and capon too; and you crow, cock, with your comb
on.
CLOTEN.
Sayest thou?
SECOND LORD.
It is not fit your lordship should undertake every companion that you give
offence to.
CLOTEN.
No, I know that; but it is fit I should commit offence to my inferiors.
SECOND LORD.
Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.
CLOTEN.
Why, so I say.
FIRST LORD.
Did you hear of a stranger that’s come to court tonight?
CLOTEN.
A stranger, and I not known on’t?
SECOND LORD.
[Aside.] He’s a strange fellow himself, and knows it not.
FIRST LORD.
There’s an Italian come, and, ’tis thought, one of Leonatus’
friends.
CLOTEN.
Leonatus? A banish’d rascal; and he’s another, whatsoever he be.
Who told you of this stranger?
FIRST LORD.
One of your lordship’s pages.
CLOTEN.
Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation in’t?
SECOND LORD.
You cannot derogate, my lord.
CLOTEN.
Not easily, I think.
SECOND LORD.
[Aside.] You are a fool granted; therefore your issues, being foolish,
do not derogate.
CLOTEN.
Come, I’ll go see this Italian. What I have lost today at bowls
I’ll win tonight of him. Come, go.
SECOND LORD.
I’ll attend your lordship.
[Exeunt Cloten and First Lord.]
That such a crafty devil as is his mother
Should yield the world this ass! A woman that
Bears all down with her brain; and this her son
Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart,
And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess,
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur’st,
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern’d,
A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer
More hateful than the foul expulsion is
Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act
Of the divorce he’d make! The heavens hold firm
The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshak’d
That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand
T’ enjoy thy banish’d lord and this great land!
[Exit.]
Enter Immogen in her bed, and a Lady attending.
IMOGEN.
Who’s there? My woman Helen?
LADY.
Please you, madam.
IMOGEN.
What hour is it?
LADY.
Almost midnight, madam.
IMOGEN.
I have read three hours then. Mine eyes are weak;
Fold down the leaf where I have left. To bed.
Take not away the taper, leave it burning;
And if thou canst awake by four o’ th’ clock,
I prithee call me. Sleep hath seiz’d me wholly.
[Exit Lady.]
To your protection I commend me, gods.
From fairies and the tempters of the night
Guard me, beseech ye!
[Sleeps. Iachimo comes from the trunk.]
IACHIMO.
The crickets sing, and man’s o’er-labour’d sense
Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
Did softly press the rushes ere he waken’d
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,
How bravely thou becom’st thy bed! fresh lily,
And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon’d,
How dearly they do’t! ’Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus. The flame o’ th’ taper
Bows toward her and would under-peep her lids
To see th’ enclosed lights, now canopied
Under these windows white and azure, lac’d
With blue of heaven’s own tinct. But my design
To note the chamber. I will write all down:
Such and such pictures; there the window; such
Th’ adornment of her bed; the arras, figures,
Why, such and such; and the contents o’ th’ story.
Ah, but some natural notes about her body
Above ten thousand meaner movables
Would testify, t’ enrich mine inventory.
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
And be her sense but as a monument,
Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off;
[Taking off her bracelet.]
As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!
’Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
As strongly as the conscience does within,
To th’ madding of her lord. On her left breast
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
I’ th’ bottom of a cowslip. Here’s a voucher
Stronger than ever law could make; this secret
Will force him think I have pick’d the lock and ta’en
The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?
Why should I write this down that’s riveted,
Screw’d to my memory? She hath been reading late
The tale of Tereus; here the leaf’s turn’d down
Where Philomel gave up. I have enough.
To th’ trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning
May bare the raven’s eye! I lodge in fear;
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.
[Clock strikes.]
One, two, three. Time, time!
[Exit into the trunk.]
Enter Cloten and Lords.
FIRST LORD.
Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that ever
turn’d up ace.
CLOTEN.
It would make any man cold to lose.
FIRST LORD.
But not every man patient after the noble temper of your lordship. You are most
hot and furious when you win.
CLOTEN.
Winning will put any man into courage. If I could get this foolish Imogen, I
should have gold enough. It’s almost morning, is’t not?
FIRST LORD.
Day, my lord.
CLOTEN.
I would this music would come. I am advised to give her music a mornings; they
say it will penetrate.
Enter Musicians.
Come on, tune. If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so. We’ll try with tongue too. If none will do, let her remain; but I’ll never give o’er. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consider.
SONG
Hark, hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings,
And Phbus ’gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic’d flow’rs that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes.
With everything that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise;
Arise, arise!
CLOTEN.
So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider your music the better; if
it do not, it is a vice in her ears which horsehairs and calves’ guts,
nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend.
[Exeunt Musicians.]
Enter Cymbeline and Queen.
SECOND LORD.
Here comes the King.
CLOTEN.
I am glad I was up so late, for that’s the reason I was up so early. He
cannot choose but take this service I have done fatherly.—Good morrow to
your Majesty and to my gracious mother.
CYMBELINE.
Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?
Will she not forth?
CLOTEN.
I have assail’d her with musics, but she vouchsafes no
notice.
CYMBELINE.
The exile of her minion is too new;
She hath not yet forgot him; some more time
Must wear the print of his remembrance on’t,
And then she’s yours.
QUEEN.
You are most bound to th’ King,
Who lets go by no vantages that may
Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
To orderly solicits, and be friended
With aptness of the season; make denials
Increase your services; so seem as if
You were inspir’d to do those duties which
You tender to her; that you in all obey her,
Save when command to your dismission tends,
And therein you are senseless.
CLOTEN.
Senseless? Not so.
Enter a Messenger.
MESSENGER.
So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
The one is Caius Lucius.
CYMBELINE.
A worthy fellow,
Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
But that’s no fault of his. We must receive him
According to the honour of his sender;
And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,
We must extend our notice. Our dear son,
When you have given good morning to your mistress,
Attend the Queen and us; we shall have need
T’ employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.
[Exeunt all but Cloten.]
CLOTEN.
If she be up, I’ll speak with her; if not,
Let her lie still and dream. By your leave, ho!
[Knocks.]
I know her women are about her; what
If I do line one of their hands? ’Tis gold
Which buys admittance (oft it doth) yea, and makes
Diana’s rangers false themselves, yield up
Their deer to th’ stand o’ th’ stealer; and ’tis
gold
Which makes the true man kill’d and saves the thief;
Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man. What
Can it not do and undo? I will make
One of her women lawyer to me, for
I yet not understand the case myself.
By your leave.
[Knocks.]
Enter a Lady.
LADY.
Who’s there that knocks?
CLOTEN.
A gentleman.
LADY.
No more?
CLOTEN.
Yes, and a gentlewoman’s son.
LADY.
That’s more
Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours
Can justly boast of. What’s your lordship’s pleasure?
CLOTEN.
Your lady’s person; is she ready?
LADY.
Ay,
To keep her chamber.
CLOTEN.
There is gold for you; sell me your good report.
LADY.
How? My good name? or to report of you
What I shall think is good? The Princess!
Enter Imogen.
CLOTEN.
Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand.
[Exit Lady.]
IMOGEN.
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.
CLOTEN.
Still I swear I love you.
IMOGEN.
If you but said so, ’twere as deep with me.
If you swear still, your recompense is still
That I regard it not.
CLOTEN.
This is no answer.
IMOGEN.
But that you shall not say I yield, being silent,
I would not speak. I pray you spare me. Faith,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy
To your best kindness; one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.
CLOTEN.
To leave you in your madness ’twere my sin;
I will not.
IMOGEN.
Fools are not mad folks.
CLOTEN.
Do you call me fool?
IMOGEN.
As I am mad, I do;
If you’ll be patient, I’ll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
You put me to forget a lady’s manners
By being so verbal; and learn now, for all,
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
By th’ very truth of it, I care not for you,
And am so near the lack of charity
To accuse myself I hate you; which I had rather
You felt than make’t my boast.
CLOTEN.
You sin against
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’ th’ court, it is no contract, none.
And though it be allowed in meaner parties
(Yet who than he more mean?) to knit their souls
(On whom there is no more dependency
But brats and beggary) in self-figur’d knot,
Yet you are curb’d from that enlargement by
The consequence o’ th’ crown, and must not foil
The precious note of it with a base slave,
A hilding for a livery, a squire’s cloth,
A pantler; not so eminent!
IMOGEN.
Profane fellow!
Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no 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.
CLOTEN.
The south fog rot him!
IMOGEN.
He never can meet more mischance than come
To be but nam’d of thee. His mean’st garment
That ever hath but clipp’d his body, is dearer
In my respect, than all the hairs above thee,
Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!
Enter Pisanio.
CLOTEN.
‘His garment’! Now the devil—
IMOGEN.
To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.
CLOTEN.
‘His garment’!
IMOGEN.
I am sprited with a fool;
Frighted, and ang’red worse. Go bid my 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.
PISANIO.
’Twill not be lost.
IMOGEN.
I hope so. Go and search.
[Exit Pisanio.]
CLOTEN.
You have abus’d me.
‘His meanest garment’!
IMOGEN.
Ay, I said so, sir.
If you will make ’t an action, call witness to ’t.
CLOTEN.
I will inform your father.
IMOGEN.
Your mother too.
She’s my good lady and will conceive, I hope,
But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,
To th’ worst of discontent.
[Exit.]
CLOTEN.
I’ll be reveng’d.
‘His mean’st garment’! Well.
[Exit.]
Enter Posthumus and Philario.
POSTHUMUS.
Fear it not, sir; I would I were so sure
To win the King as I am bold her honour
Will remain hers.
PHILARIO.
What means do you make to him?
POSTHUMUS.
Not any; but abide the change of time,
Quake in the present winter’s state, and wish
That warmer days would come. In these fear’d hopes
I barely gratify your love; they failing,
I must die much your debtor.
PHILARIO.
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’s commission throughly; and I think
He’ll grant the tribute, send th’ arrearages,
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in their grief.
POSTHUMUS.
I do believe
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 Csar
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.
Enter Iachimo.
PHILARIO.
See! Iachimo!
POSTHUMUS.
The swiftest harts have posted you by land,
And winds of all the corners kiss’d your sails,
To make your vessel nimble.
PHILARIO.
Welcome, sir.
POSTHUMUS.
I hope the briefness of your answer made
The speediness of your return.
IACHIMO.
Your lady
Is one of the fairest that I have look’d upon.
POSTHUMUS.
And therewithal the best; or let her beauty
Look through a casement to allure false hearts,
And be false with them.
IACHIMO.
Here are letters for you.
POSTHUMUS.
Their tenour good, I trust.
IACHIMO.
’Tis very like.
PHILARIO.
Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court
When you were there?
IACHIMO.
He was expected then,
But not approach’d.
POSTHUMUS.
All is well yet.
Sparkles this stone as it was wont, or is’t not
Too dull for your good wearing?
IACHIMO.
If I have lost it,
I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
I’ll make a journey twice as far t’ enjoy
A second night of such sweet shortness which
Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.
POSTHUMUS.
The stone’s too hard to come by.
IACHIMO.
Not a whit,
Your lady being so easy.
POSTHUMUS.
Make not, sir,
Your loss your sport. I hope you know that we
Must not continue friends.
IACHIMO.
Good sir, we must,
If you keep covenant. Had I not brought
The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant
We were to question farther; 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.
POSTHUMUS.
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.
IACHIMO.
Sir, my circumstances,
Being so near the truth as I will make them,
Must first induce you to believe; whose strength
I will confirm with oath; which I doubt not
You’ll give me leave to spare when you shall find
You need it not.
POSTHUMUS.
Proceed.
IACHIMO.
First, her bedchamber,
(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—
POSTHUMUS.
This is true;
And this you might have heard of here, by me
Or by some other.
IACHIMO.
More particulars
Must justify my knowledge.
POSTHUMUS.
So they must,
Or do your honour injury.
IACHIMO.
The chimney
Is south the chamber, and the chimneypiece
Chaste Dian bathing. Never saw I figures
So likely to report themselves. The cutter
Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her,
Motion and breath left out.
POSTHUMUS.
This is a thing
Which you might from relation likewise reap,
Being, as it is, much spoke of.
IACHIMO.
The roof o’ th’ 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.
POSTHUMUS.
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.
IACHIMO.
Then, if you can, [Shows the bracelet]
Be pale. I beg but leave to air this jewel. See!
And now ’tis up again. It must be married
To that your diamond; I’ll keep them.
POSTHUMUS.
Jove!
Once more let me behold it. Is it that
Which I left with her?
IACHIMO.
Sir (I thank her) that.
She stripp’d it from her arm; I see her yet;
Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
And yet enrich’d it too. She gave it me, and said
She priz’d it once.
POSTHUMUS.
May be she pluck’d it of
To send it me.
IACHIMO.
She writes so to you, doth she?
POSTHUMUS.
O, no, no, no! ’tis true. Here, take this too;
[Gives the ring.]
It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
Kills me to look on’t. Let there be no 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!
PHILARIO.
Have patience, sir,
And take your ring again; ’tis not yet won.
It may be probable she lost it, or
Who knows if one her women, being corrupted
Hath stol’n it from her?
POSTHUMUS.
Very true;
And so I hope he came by’t. Back my ring.
Render to me some corporal sign about her,
More evident than this; for this was stol’n.
IACHIMO.
By Jupiter, I had it from her arm!
POSTHUMUS.
Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.
’Tis true, nay, keep the ring, ’tis true. I am 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 thus dearly.
There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell
Divide themselves between you!
PHILARIO.
Sir, be patient;
This is not strong enough to be believ’d
Of one persuaded well of.
POSTHUMUS.
Never talk on’t;
She hath been colted by him.
IACHIMO.
If you seek
For further satisfying, under her breast
(Worthy the pressing) lies a mole, right proud
Of that most delicate lodging. By my life,
I kiss’d it; and it gave me present hunger
To feed again, though full. You do remember
This stain upon her?
POSTHUMUS.
Ay, and it doth confirm
Another stain, as big as hell can hold,
Were there no more but it.
IACHIMO.
Will you hear more?
POSTHUMUS.
Spare your arithmetic; never count the turns.
Once, and a million!
IACHIMO.
I’ll be sworn—
POSTHUMUS.
No swearing.
If you will swear you have not done’t, you lie;
And I will kill thee if thou dost deny
Thou’st made me cuckold.
IACHIMO.
I’ll deny nothing.
POSTHUMUS.
O that I had her here to tear her limb-meal!
I will go there and do’t, i’ th’ court, before
Her father. I’ll do something—
[Exit.]
PHILARIO.
Quite besides
The government of patience! You have won.
Let’s follow him and pervert the present wrath
He hath against himself.
IACHIMO.
With all my heart.
[Exeunt.]
Enter Posthumus.
POSTHUMUS.
Is there no way for men to be, but women
Must be half-workers? We are all bastards,
And that most venerable man which I
Did call my father was I know not where
When I was stamp’d. Some coiner with his tools
Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seem’d
The Dian of that time. So doth my wife
The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain’d,
And pray’d me oft forbearance; did it with
A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on’t
Might well have warm’d old Saturn; that I thought her
As chaste as unsunn’d snow. O, all the devils!
This yellow Iachimo in an hour, was’t not?
Or less; at first? Perchance he spoke not, but,
Like a full-acorn’d boar, a German one,
Cried “O!” 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;
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
All faults that man may name, nay, that hell knows,
Why, hers, in part or all; but rather all;
For even to 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.
[Exit.]
