Which then they had to take from us, to resume
We have again.-Remember, sir, my liege,
The kings your ancestors; together with
The natural bravery of your isle; which stands
As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in
With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters;
With sands, that will not bear your enemies' boats,
But suck them up to the top-mast. A kind of con-
quest
Cæsar made here; but made not here his brag
Of, came, and saw, and overcame with shame
(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,
crack'd
their surges,
Like egg shells mov'd upon
As easily 'gainst our rocks: For joy whereof,
The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point
(0, giglet fortune!) to master Cæsar'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 Cæsars; 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 Cæsar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now. Cym. You must know,
Till the injurious Romans did extort
This tribute from us, we were free: Cæsar'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 Cæsar,
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, which
Ordain'd our laws; (whose use the sword of Cæsar
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 Cæsar,
(Cæsar, that hath more kings his servants, than
Thyself domestic officers,) thine enemy:
Receive it from me, then :-War, and confusion,
In Cæsar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
For fury not to be resisted:-Thus defied,
I thank thee for myself.
Cym.
Thou art welcome, Caius.
Thy Cæsar knighted me; my youth I spent
Much under him; of him I gather'd honour;
Which he, to seek of me again, perforce,
Behoves me keep at utterance; I am perfeet,
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for
Their liberties, are now in arms: a precedent
Which, not to read, would show the Britons cold:
So Cesar shall not find them.
Luc. Let proof speak. Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day, or two, longer: If you seek us after wards 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. Luc. So, sir.
Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine: All the remain is, welcome. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.-Another Room in the same. Enter Pi-
sanio.
Pis. 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 tongu'd, as handed,) hath prevail'd
On thy too ready hearing?-Disloyal? No:
She's punish'd for her truth; and undergoes,
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
As would take in some virtue. O, my master!
Thy mind to her is now as low, as were
Thy fortunes.-How! that I should murder her?
Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I
Have made to thy command ?-I, her?-her blood?
If it be so to do good service, never
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
That I should seem to lack humanity,
So much as this faet comes to? Do't: The letter,
That I have sent her, by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity :-O damn'd paper!
Black as the ink that's on thee! senseless bauble,
Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.
Enter Imogen.
I am ignorant in what I am commanded.
Imo. How now, Pisanio?
Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
Ime. 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!
[Beads
Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take a
り in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as you, the dearest of creatures, would not even renew me viti your eyes. Take notice, that I am in Cambria, et Ni ford-Haven: What your own love will, out of this, f vise you, follow. So, he wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your, increasing in les. Leonatus Posthumus
O, for a horse with wings!-Hear'st thou, Pisanie?
He is at Milford-Haven: Read, and tell me
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
May plod it in a week, why may not I
Glide thither in a day?-Then, true Pisanio,
(Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who long'st-
O, let me 'bate,-but not like me :-yet long'st,-
But in a fainter kind :-O, not like me;
For mine's beyond beyond,) say, and speak thick,
(Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,
To the smothering of the sense) how far it is
To this same blessed Milford: And, by the way,
Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as
To inherit such a haven: But, first of all,
How we may steal from hence; and, for the gap
That we shall make in time, from our hence-going,
And our return, to excuse :-but first, how get hence:
Why should excuse be born or e'er begot?
We'll talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee, speak,
How many score of miles may we well ride
"Twixt hour and hour?
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,
Could never go so slow: I have heard of riding wagers,
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.
SCENE III-Wales. A mountainous country, with
a Cave.
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arvira-
gus.
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 you
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.
Hail, heaven!
Bel. Now, for our mountain sport: Up to yon bill,
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 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,
Have never wing'd from view o'the nest; nor know
What air's from home. Haply, this life is best,
If quiet life be best; sweeter to you,
That have a sharper known; well corresponding
With your stiff age: but, unto us, it is
A cell of ignorance; travelling abed;
A 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; 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 prison bird,
And sing our bondage freely.
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 of the war,
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
I' the name of fame and honour; which dies i' the
search;
And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph,
As record of fair act; nay, many times,
Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
Must court'sy at the censure:-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
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 his 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 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,
Thon wast their nurse; they took thee for their mother,
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.
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion;
And, for I am richer than to hang by the walla,
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 villany; not born, where't grows;
But worn, a bait for ladies.
Pis.
Good madam, hear me.
Imo. True honest men being heard, like false Eneas,
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 Jay the leaven on all proper men ;
Enter Pisanio Goodly, and gallant, shall be false, and perjur'd,
From thy great fail.-Come, fellow, be thou honest;
Do thou thy master's bidding: When thou see'st him
A little witness my obedience: Look!
Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place
Was near at hand:-Ne'er long'd my mother so
To see me first, as I have now:-Pisanio! Man!
Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind,
That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh
From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus,
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond self-explication: Put thyself
Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter?
Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with
A look untender? If it be summer news,
Smile to't before: if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that countenance still.-My husband's hand!
That drug-damn'd Italy hath out 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.
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 ; from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part, thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away her life: I shall give thee opportunities at Milford-Haven: she hath my letter for the purpose: Where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal.
Pis. What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper
Hath cut her throat already.-No, 'tis slander;
Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue
Out-venoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie
All corners of the world: kings, queens, and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters.-What cheer, madam?
Imo. False to his bed! what is it, to be false?
To lie in watch there, and to think on him?
To weep
'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge nature,
To break it with a fearful dream of him,
And ery myself awake? that's false to his bed?
Is it?
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I draw the sword myself: take it; and hit The innocent mansion of my love, my beart: Fear not; 'tis empty of all things, but grief: Thy master is not there; who was, indeed, The riches of it: Do his bidding; strike. Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause; But now thou seem'st a coward.
Thou shalt not damn my hand.
Ima.
Why, I must die;
And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
No servant of thy master's: Against self-slaughter
There is a prohibition so divine,
That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart;
Something's afore't:-Soft, soft; we'll no defence;
Obedient as the scabbard.-What is here?
The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus,
All turn'd to heresy? Away, away,
Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more
Be stomachers to my heart! Thus may poor fools
Believe false teachers: Though those that are betray'?
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 bereafter find
It is no act of common passage, but
A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself,
To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her,
That now thon tir'st on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.-Pr'ythee, despatch!
The lamb entreats the butcher: Where's thy knife?
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
When I desire it too.
Pis.
O gracious lady,
Since I receiv'd command to do this business,
1 have not slept one wink.
Imo.
Do't, and to bed then.
Pis. I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first.
Imo.
Wherefore then
Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd
So many miles, with a pretence? this place?
Mine action, and thine own? our horses' labour?
The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court,
For my being absent; whereunto I never
Purpose return? Why hast thou gone so far,
To be unbent, when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
The elected deer before thee?
But to win timo To lose so bad employment: in the which I have consider'd of a course; Good lady, Hear me with patience.
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I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded
I should do so: You shall be miss'd at court,
And that will well confirm it.
Imo.
Why, good fellow,
What shall I do the while? Where bide? How live?
Or in my life what comfort, when I am
Dead to my husband?
Pis.
If you'll back to the court,-
Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado
With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing;
That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me
As fearful as a siege.
Pis.
If not at court,
Then not in Britain must you bide.
Ims.
Where then? Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night, Are they not but in Britain? I'the world's volume Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it;
In a great pool, a swan's nest; Pr'ythee, think
There's livers out of Britain.
Pis.
I am most glad
You think of other place. The embassador,
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
To-morrow: Now if you could wear a mind
Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise
That, which, to appear itself, must not yet be,
But by self-danger; you should tread a course
Pretty, and full of view; yea, haply, wear
The residence of Posthumus: so nigh, at least,
That though his actions were not visible, yet
Report should render him hourly to your ear,
As truly as he moves.
Imo.
O, for such means!
Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,
I would adventure.
Well then, here's the point:
You must forget to be a woman; change
Command into obedience; fear, and niceness,
(The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
Woman its pretty self,) to a waggish courage:
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and
As quarrelous as the weasel: nay, you must
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart!
Alack, no remedy!) to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan; and forget
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
You made great Juno angry.
Imo.
Nay, be brief:
I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already.
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("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 are happy, (which you'll 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.
Imo.
Thou art all the comfort
The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away:
There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even
All that good time will give us: This attempt
I'm soldier to, and will abide it, with
A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee.
Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell; Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, Here is a box: I had it from the queen; What's in't is precious: if you are sick at sea, Or stomach-qualın'd at land, a dram of this Will drive away distemper.-To some shade, And fit you to your manhood:-May the gods Direct you to the best!
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Thanks, royal sir.
My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence;
And am right sorry, that I must report ye
My master's enemy.
Cym.
Our subjects, sir,
Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
Appear unkinglike.
Luc. So, sir, I desire of you
A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.-
Madam, all joy befal your grace, and you!
Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office;
The due of honour in no point omit :-
So, farewell, noble Lucius.
Luc. Your hand, my lord, Clo. Receive it friendly: but from this time fortla I wear it as your enemy. Luc.
Is yet to name the winner: Fare you well.
Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,
Till he have cross'd the Severn.-Happiness!
[Exeunt Lucius, and Lords.
Queen. He goes hence frowning: but it honours us,
That we have given him cause.
Clo.
"Tis all the better;
Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.
Cym. 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 bath in Gallia
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moveR
His war for Britain.
Queen.
'Tis not sleepy business;
But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly.
Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus,
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,
Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
The duty of the day: She looks us like
Cym. Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear, Prove false !
Queen. Son, I say, follow the king.
Clo. That man of her's, Pisanio, her old servant, I have not seen these two days.
Queen. Go, look after.- [Exit Cloten. Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus!He hath a drug of mine: I pray, his absence Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes It is a thing most precious. But for her, Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seiz'd her; Or, wing'd with fervour of her love she's flown To her desir'd Posthumus: Gone she is To death, or to dishonour; and my end Can make good use of either: She being down, I have the placing of the British crown.
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Clo. 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 chok'd; and, in that point,
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
To be reveng'd upon her. For, when fools
Enter Pisanio.
Shall-Who is here? What! are you packing, sirrah?
Come hither: Ah, you precious pander! Villain,
Where is thy lady! In a word; or else
Thou art straightway with the fiends.
Clo. 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?
Sir, as I think. Clo. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't.-Sirrah, if thou would'st 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 villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it, directly and truly, I would think thee an honest man: thou shouldest neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment,
Clo. 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. Wit thou serve me?
Clo. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast any of thy late master's garments in thy possession?
Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress. Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither: let it be thy first service; go.
Clo. 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 tor ment 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 ex ecute 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 res venge.
Re-enter Pisanio, with the Clothes. Be those the garments?
Pis. Ay, my noble lord.
Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven?
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