Cymbeline

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Original text
Act II, Scene I
Enter Clotten, and the two Lords.

Clot.
Was there euer man had such lucke? when I kist
the Iacke vpon an vp-cast, to be hit away? I had a hundred
pound on't: and then a whorson Iacke-an-Apes,
must take me vp for swearing, as if I borrowed mine
oathes of him, and might not spend them at my
pleasure.

1.
What got he by that? you haue broke his pate
with your Bowle.

2.

If his wit had bin like him that broke
it: it would haue run all out.

Clot.
When a Gentleman is dispos'd to sweare: it is not for
any standers by to curtall his oathes. Ha?

2.
No my Lord; nor crop the eares of them.

Clot.
Whorson dog: I gaue him satisfaction? would he
had bin one of my Ranke.

2.
To haue smell'd like a Foole.

Clot.
I am not vext more at any thing 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 Queene my Mother:
euery Iacke-Slaue hath his belly full of Fighting, and I
must go vp and downe like a Cock, that no body can
match.

2.
You are Cocke and Capon too, and you
crow Cock, with your combe on.

Clot.
Sayest thou?

2.
It is not fit you Lordship should vndertake
euery Companion, that you giue offence too.

Clot.
No, I know that: but it is fit I should commit offence
to my inferiors.

2.
I, it is fit for your Lordship onely.

Clot.
Why so I say.

1.
Did you heere of a Stranger that's come to Court
night?

Clot.
A Stranger, and I not know on't?

2.
He's a strange Fellow himselfe, and
knowes it not.

1.
There's an Italian come, and 'tis thought one
of Leonatus Friends.

Clot.
Leonatus? A banisht Rascall; and he's another,
whatsoeuer he be. Who told you of this Stranger?

1.
One of your Lordships Pages.

Clot.
Is it fit I went to looke vpon him? Is there no derogation
in't?

2.
You cannot derogate my Lord.

Clot.
Not easily I thinke.

2.

You are a Foole graunted, therefore your
Issues being foolish do not derogate.

Clot.
Come, Ile go see this Italian: what I haue lost to day
at Bowles, Ile winne to night of him. Come: go.

2.
Ile attend your Lordship.
Exit.
That such a craftie Diuell as is his Mother
Should yeild the world this Asse: A woman, that
Beares all downe with her Braine, and this her Sonne,
Cannot take two from twenty for his heart,
And leaue eighteene. Alas poore Princesse,
Thou diuine Imogen, what thou endur'st,
Betwixt a Father by thy Step-dame gouern'd,
A Mother hourely coyning plots: A Wooer,
More hatefull then the foule expulsion is
Of thy deere Husband. Then that horrid Act
Of the diuorce, heel'd make the Heauens hold firme
The walls of thy deere Honour. Keepe vnshak'd
That Temple thy faire mind, that thou maist stand
T'enioy thy banish'd Lord: and this great Land.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act II, Scene II
Enter Imogen, in her Bed, and a Lady.

Imo.
Who's there? My woman: Helene?

La.
Please you Madam.

Imo.
What houre is it?

Lady.
Almost midnight, Madam.

Imo.
I haue read three houres then: / Mine eyes are weake,
Fold downe the leafe where I haue left: to bed.
Take not away the Taper, leaue it burning:
And if thou canst awake by foure o'th'clock,
I prythee call me: Sleepe hath ceiz'd me wholly.
To your protection I commend me, Gods,
From Fayries, and the Tempters of the night,
Guard me beseech yee.
Sleepes. Iachimo from the Trunke.

Iach.
The Crickets sing, and mans ore-labor'd sense
Repaires it selfe by rest: Our Tarquine thus
Did softly presse the Rushes, ere he waken'd
The Chastitie he wounded. Cytherea,
How brauely thou becom'st thy Bed; fresh Lilly,
And whiter then the Sheetes: that I might touch,
But kisse, one kisse. Rubies vnparagon'd,
How deerely they doo't: 'Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the Chamber thus: the Flame o'th'Taper
Bowes toward her, and would vnder-peepe her lids.
To see th'inclosed Lights, now Canopied
Vnder these windowes, White and Azure lac'd
With Blew of Heauens owne tinct. But my designe.
To note the Chamber, I will write all downe,
Such, and such pictures: There the window, such
Th'adornement of her Bed; the Arras, Figures,
Why such, and such: and the Contents o'th'Story.
Ah, but some naturall notes about her Body,
Aboue ten thousand meaner Moueables
Would testifie, t'enrich mine Inuentorie.
O sleepe, thou Ape of death, lye dull vpon her,
And be her Sense but as a Monument,
Thus in a Chappell lying. Come off, come off;

As slippery as the Gordian-knot was hard.
'Tis mine, and this will witnesse outwardly,
As strongly as the Conscience do's within:
To'th'madding of her Lord. On her left brest
A mole Cinque-spotted: Like the Crimson drops
I'th'bottome of a Cowslippe. Heere's a Voucher,
Stronger then euer Law could make; this Secret
Will force him thinke I haue pick'd the lock, and t'ane
The treasure of her Honour. No more: to what end?
Why should I write this downe, that's riueted,
Screw'd to my memorie. She hath bin reading late,
The Tale of Tereus, heere the leaffe's turn'd downe
Where Philomele gaue vp. I haue enough,
To'th'Truncke againe, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, you Dragons of the night, that dawning
May beare the Rauens eye: I lodge in feare,
Though this a heauenly Angell: hell is heere.
Clocke strikes
One, two, three: time, time.
Exit.
Original text
Act II, Scene III
Enter Clotten, and Lords.

1.
Your Lordship is the most patient man in losse,
the most coldest that euer turn'd vp Ace.

Clot.
It would make any man cold to loose.

1.
But not euery man patient after the noble temper
of your Lordship; You are most hot, and furious
when you winne.
Winning will put any man into courage: if I could
get this foolish Imogen, I should haue Gold enough:
it's almost morning, is't not?

1
Day, my Lord.

Clot.
I would this Musicke would come: I am aduised to giue
her Musicke a mornings, they say it will penetrate.
Enter Musitians.
Come on, tune: If you can penetrate her with your
fingering, so: wee'l try with tongue too: if none will
do, let her remaine: but Ile neuer giue o're. First, a
very excellent good conceyted thing; after a wonderful
sweet aire, with admirable rich words to it, and
then let her consider.
SONG.
Hearke, hearke, the Larke at Heauens gate sings,
and Phobus gins arise,
His Steeds to water at those Springs
on chalic'd Flowres that lyes:
And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their Golden eyes
With euery thing that pretty is, my Lady sweet arise:
Arise, arise.
So, get you gone: if this pen trate, I will consider
your Musicke the better: if it do not, it is a voyce in her
eares which Horse-haires, and Calues-guts, nor the
voyce of vnpaued Eunuch to boot, can neuer amed.

2
Heere comes the King.

Clot.
I am glad I was vp so late, for that's the reason I was
vp so earely: he cannot choose but take this Seruice I
haue done, fatherly.
Enter Cymbaline, and Queene.
Good morrow to your Maiesty, and to my gracious
Mother.

Cym.
Attend you here the doore of our stern daughter
Will she not forth?

Clot.
I haue assayl'd her with Musickes, but she vouchsafes
no notice.

Cym.
The Exile of her Minion is too new,
She hath not yet forgot him, some more time
Must weare the print of his remembrance on't,
And then she's yours.

Qu.
You are most bound to'th'King,
Who let's go by no vantages, that may
Preferre you to his daughter: Frame your selfe
To orderly solicity, and be friended
With aptnesse of the season: make denials
Encrease your Seruices: so seeme, as if
You were inspir'd to do those duties which
You tender to her: that you in all obey her,
Saue when command to your dismission tends,
And therein you are senselesse.

Clot.
Senselesse? Not so.


Mes.
So like you (Sir) Ambassadors from Rome;
The one is Caius Lucius.

Cym.
A worthy Fellow,
Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
But that's no fault of his: we must receyue him
According to the Honor of his Sender,
And towards himselfe, his goodnesse fore-spent on vs
We must extend our notice: Our deere Sonne,
When you haue giuen good morning to your Mistris,
Attend the Queene, and vs, we shall haue neede
T'employ you towards this Romane. / Come our Queene.
Exeunt.

Clot.
If she be vp, Ile speake with her: if not
Let her lye still, and dreame: by your leaue hoa,
I know her women are about her: what
If I do line one of their hands, 'tis Gold
Which buyes admittance (oft it doth) yea, and makes
Diana's Rangers false themselues, yeeld vp
Their Deere to'th'stand o'th'Stealer: and 'tis Gold
Which makes the True-man kill'd, and saues the Theefe:
Nay, sometime hangs both Theefe, and True-man: what
Can it not do, and vndoo? I will make
One of her women Lawyer to me, for
I yet not vnderstand the case my selfe.
By your leaue.
Knockes.
Enter a Lady.

La.
Who's there that knockes?

Clot.
A Gentleman.

La.
No more.

Clot.
Yes, and a Gentlewomans Sonne.

La.
That's more
Then some whose Taylors are as deere as yours,
Can iustly boast of: what's your Lordships pleasure?

Clot.
Your Ladies person, is she ready?

La.
I,
to keepe her Chamber.

Clot.
There is Gold for you,
Sell me your good report.

La.
How, my good name? or to report of you
What I shall thinke is good. The Princesse.
Enter Imogen.

Clot.
Good morrow fairest, Sister your sweet hand.

Imo.
Good morrow Sir, you lay out too much paines
For purchasing but trouble: the thankes I giue,
Is telling you that I am poore of thankes,
And scarse can spare them.

Clot.
Still I sweare I loue you.

Imo.
If you but said so, 'twere as deepe with me:
If you sweare still, your recompence is still
That I regard it not.

Clot.
This is no answer.

Imo.
But that you shall not say, I yeeld being silent,
I would not speake. I pray you spare me, 'faith
I shall vnfold equall discourtesie
To your best kindnesse: one of your great knowing
Should learne (being taught) forbearance.

Clot.
To leaue you in your madnesse, 'twere my sin,
I will not.

Imo.
Fooles are not mad Folkes.

Clot.
Do you call me Foole?

Imo.
As I am mad, I do:
If you'l be patient, Ile no more be mad,
That cures vs both. I am much sorry (Sir)
You put me to forget a Ladies manners
By being so verball: and learne now, for all,
That I which know my heart, do heere pronounce
By th'very truth of it, I care not for you,
And am so neere the lacke of Charitie
To accuse my selfe, I hate you: which I had rather
You felt, then make't my boast.

Clot.
You sinne against
Obedience, which you owe your Father, for
The Contract you pretend with that base Wretch,
One, bred of Almes, 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 then he more meane) to knit their soules
(On whom there is no more dependancie
But Brats and Beggery) in selfe-figur'd knot,
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement, by
The consequence o'th'Crowne, and must not foyle
The precious note of it; with a base Slaue,
A Hilding for a Liuorie, a Squires Cloth,
A Pantler; not so eminent.

Imo.
Prophane Fellow:
Wert thou the Sonne of Iupiter, and no more,
But what thou art besides: thou wer't too base,
To be his Groome: thou wer't dignified enough
Euen to the point of Enuie. If'twere made
Comparatiue for your Vertues, to be stil'd
The vnder Hangman of his Kingdome; and hated
For being prefer'd so well.

Clot.
The South-Fog rot him.

Imo.
He neuer can meete more mischance, then come
To be but nam'd of thee. His mean'st Garment
That euer hath but clipt his body; is dearer
In my respect, then all the Heires aboue thee,
Were they all made such men: How now Pisanio?
Enter Pisanio,

Clot.
His Garments? Now the diuell.

Imo.
To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.

Clot.
His Garment?

Imo.
I am sprighted with a Foole,
Frighted, and angred worse: Go bid my woman
Search for a Iewell, that too casually
Hath left mine Arme: it was thy Masters. Shrew me
If I would loose it for a Reuenew,
Of any Kings in Europe. I do think,
I saw't this morning: Confident I am.
Last night 'twas on mine Arme; I kiss'd it,
I hope it be not gone, to tell my Lord
That I kisse aught but he.

Pis.
'Twill not be lost.

Imo.
I hope so: go and search.

Clot.
You haue abus'd me:
His meanest Garment?

Imo.
I, I said so Sir,
If you will make't an Action, call witnesse to't.

Clot.
I will enforme your Father.

Imo.
Your Mother too:
She's my good Lady; and will concieue, I hope
But the worst of me. So I leaue your Sir,
To'th'worst of discontent.
Exit.

Clot.
Ile be reueng'd:
His mean'st Garment? Well.
Exit.
Original text
Act II, Scene IV
Enter Posthumus, and Philario.

Post.
Feare it not Sir: I would I were so sure
To winne the King, as I am bold, her Honour
Will remaine her's.

Phil.
What meanes do you make to him?

Post.
Not any: but abide the change of Time,
Quake in the present winters state, and wish
That warmer dayes would come: In these fear'd hope
I barely gratifie your loue; they fayling
I must die much your debtor.

Phil.
Your very goodnesse, and your company,
Ore-payes all I can do. By this your King,
Hath heard of Great Augustus: Caius Lucius,
Will do's Commission throughly. And I think
Hee'le grant the Tribute: send th'Arrerages,
Or looke vpon our Romaines, whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in their griefe.

Post.
I do beleeue
(Statist though I am none, nor like to be)
That this will proue a Warre; and you shall heare
The Legion now in Gallia, sooner landed
In our not-fearing-Britaine, then haue tydings
Of any penny Tribute paid. Our Countrymen
Are men more order'd, then when Iulius Casar
Smil'd at their lacke of skill, but found their courage
Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline,
(Now wing-led with their courages) will make knowne
To their Approuers, they are People, such
That mend vpon the world.
Enter Iachimo.

Phi.
See Iachimo.

Post.
The swiftest Harts, haue posted you by land;
And Windes of all the Corners kiss'd your Sailes,
To make your vessell nimble.

Phil.
Welcome Sir.

Post.
I hope the briefenesse of your answere, made
The speedinesse of your returne.

Iachi.
Your Lady,
Is one of the fayrest that I haue look'd vpon

Post.
And therewithall the best, or let her beauty
Looke thorough a Casement to allure false hearts,
And be false with them.

Iachi.
Heere are Letters for you.

Post.
Their tenure good I trust.

Iach.
'Tis very like.

Post.
Was Caius Lucius in the Britaine Court,
When you were there?

Iach.
He was expected then,
But not approach'd.

Post.
All is well yet,
Sparkles this Stone as it was wont, or is't not
Too dull for your good wearing?

Iach.
If I haue lost it,
I should haue lost the worth of it in Gold,
Ile make a iourney twice as farre, t'enioy
A second night of such sweet shortnesse, which
Was mine in Britaine, for the Ring is wonne.

Post.
The Stones too hard to come by.

Iach.
Not a whit,
Your Lady being so easy.

Post.
Make note Sir
Your losse, your Sport: I hope you know that we
Must not continue Friends.

Iach.
Good Sir, we must
If you keepe Couenant: had I not brought
The knowledge of your Mistris home, I grant
We were to question farther; but I now
Professe my selfe the winner of her Honor,
Together with your Ring; and not the wronger
Of her, or you hauing proceeded but
By both your willes.

Post.
If you can mak't apparant
That yon haue tasted her in Bed; my hand,
And Ring is yours. If not, the foule opinion
You had of her pure Honour; gaines, or looses,
Your Sword, or mine, or Masterlesse leaue both
To who shall finde them.

Iach.
Sir, my Circumstances
Being so nere the Truth, as I will make them,
Must first induce you to beleeue; whose strength
I will confirme with oath, which I doubt not
You'l giue me leaue to spare, when you shall finde
You neede it not.

Post.
Proceed.

Iach.
First, her Bed-chamber
(Where I confesse I slept not, but professe
Had that was well worth watching) it was hang'd
With Tapistry of Silke, and Siluer, the Story
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
And Sidnus swell'd aboue the Bankes, or for
The presse of Boates, or Pride. A peece of Worke
So brauely done, so rich, that it did striue
In Workemanship, and Value, which I wonder'd
Could be so rarely, and exactly wrought
Since the true life on't was---

Post.
This is true:
And this you might haue heard of heere, by me,
Or by some other.

Iach.
More particulars
Must iustifie my knowledge.

Post.
So they must,
Or doe your Honour iniury.

Iach.
The Chimney
Is South the Chamber, and the Chimney-peece
Chaste Dian, bathing: neuer saw I figures
So likely to report themselues; the Cutter
Was as another Nature dumbe, out-went her,
Motion, and Breath left out.

Post.
This is a thing
Which you might from Relation likewise reape,
Being, as it is, much spoke of.

Iach.
The Roofe o'th'Chamber,
With golden Cherubins is fretted. Her Andirons
(I had forgot them) were two winking Cupids
Of Siluer, each on one foote standing, nicely
Depending on their Brands.

Post.
This is her Honor:
Let it be granted you haue seene all this (and praise
Be giuen to your remembrance) the description
Of what is in her Chamber, nothing saues
The wager you haue laid.

Iach.
Then if you can

Be pale, I begge but leaue to ayre this Iewell: See,
And now 'tis vp againe: it must be married
To that your Diamond, Ile keepe them.

Post.
Ioue----
Once more let me behold it: Is it that
Which I left with her?

Iach.
Sir (I thanke her) that
She stript it from her Arme: I see her yet:
Her pretty Action, did out-sell her guift,
And yet enrich'd it too: she gaue it me,
And said, she priz'd it once.

Post.
May be, she pluck'd it off
To send it me.

Iach.
She writes so to you? doth shee?

Post.
O no, no, no, 'tis true. Heere, take this too,

It is a Basiliske vnto mine eye,
Killes me to looke on't: Let there be no Honor,
Where there is Beauty: Truth, where semblance: Loue,
Where there's another man. The Vowes of Women,
Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,
Then they are to their Vertues, which is nothing:
O, aboue measure false.

Phil.
Haue patience Sir,
And take your Ring againe, 'tis not yet wonne:
It may be probable she lost it: or
Who knowes if one her women, being corrupted
Hath stolne it from her.

Post.
Very true,
And so I hope he came by't: backe my Ring,
Render to me some corporall signe about her
More euident then this: for this was stolne.

Iach.
By Iupiter, I had it from her Arme.

Post.
Hearke you, he sweares: by Iupiter he sweares.
'Tis true, nay keepe the Ring; 'tis true: I am sure
She would not loose it: her Attendants are
All sworne, and honourable: they induc'd to steale it?
And by a Stranger? No, he hath enioy'd her,
The Cognisance of her incontinencie
Is this: she hath bought the name of Whore, thus deerly
There, take thy hyre, and all the Fiends of Hell
Diuide themselues betweene you.

Phil.
Sir, be patient:
This is not strong enough to be beleeu'd
Of one perswaded well of.

Post.
Neuer talke on't:
She hath bin colted by him.

Iach.
If you seeke
For further satisfying, vnder her Breast
(Worthy her pressing) lyes a Mole, right proud
Of that most delicate Lodging. By my life
I kist it, and it gaue me present hunger
To feede againe, though full. You do remember
This staine vpon her?

Post.
I, and it doth confirme
Another staine, as bigge as Hell can hold,
Were there no more but it.

Iach.
Will you heare more?

Post.
Spare your Arethmaticke,
Neuer count the Turnes: Once, and a Million.

Iach.
Ile be sworne.

Post.
No swearing:
If you will sweare you haue not done't, you lye,
And I will kill thee, if thou do'st deny
Thou'st made me Cuckold.

Iach.
Ile deny nothing.

Post.
O that I had her heere, to teare her Limb-meale:
I will go there and doo't, i'th'Court, before
Her Father. Ile do something.
Exit.

Phil.
Quite besides
The gouernment of Patience. You haue wonne:
Let's follow him, and peruert the present wrath
He hath against himselfe.

Iach.
With all my heart.
Exeunt.
Enter Posthumus.

Post.
Is there no way for Men to be, but Women
Must be halfe-workers? We are all Bastards,
And that most venerable man, which I
Did call my Father, was, I know not where
When I was stampt. Some Coyner with his Tooles
Made me a counterfeit: yet my Mother seem'd
The Dian of that time: so doth my Wife
The Non-pareill of this. Oh Vengeance, Vengeance!
Me of my lawfull pleasure she restrain'd,
And pray'd me oft forbearance: did it with
A pudencie so Rosie, the sweet view on't
Might well haue warm'd olde Saturne; / That I thought her
As Chaste, as vn-Sunn'd Snow. Oh, all the Diuels!
This yellow Iachimo in an houre, was't not?
Or lesse; at first? Perchance he spoke not, but
Like a full Acorn'd Boare, a Iarmen on,
Cry'de oh, and mounted; found no opposition
But what he look'd for, should oppose, and she
Should from encounter guard. Could I finde out
The Womans part in me, for there's no motion
That tends to vice in man, but I affirme
It is the Womans part: be it Lying, note it,
The womans: Flattering, hers; Deceiuing, hers:
Lust, and ranke thoughts, hers, hers: Reuenges hers:
Ambitions, Couetings, change of Prides, Disdaine,
Nice-longing, Slanders, Mutability;
All Faults that name, nay, that Hell knowes, / Why hers,
in part, or all: but rather all. For euen to Vice
They are not constant, but are changing still;
One Vice, but of a minute old, for one
Not halfe so old as that. Ile write against them,
Detest them, curse them: yet 'tis greater Skill
In a true Hate, to pray they haue their will:
The very Diuels cannot plague them better.
Exit.
Modern text
Act II, Scene I
Enter Cloten and two Lords

CLOTEN
Was there ever man had such luck? When I kissed
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 disposed 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 give him satisfaction! Would he
had been one of my rank!

SECOND LORD
(aside)
To have smelt like a fool.

CLOTEN
I am not vexed more at any thing 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 Jack-slave 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 know not 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 banished 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 Innogen, what thou endur'st,
Betwixt a father by thy stepdame governed,
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'ld make. The heavens hold firm
The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshaked
That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand,
T' enjoy thy banished lord and this great land!
Exit
Modern text
Act II, Scene II
Innogen in her bed, and a Lady

INNOGEN
Who's there? My woman Helen?

LADY
Please you, madam.

INNOGEN
What hour is it?

LADY
Almost midnight, madam.

INNOGEN
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 seized 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'erlaboured sense
Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
Did softly press the rushes, ere he wakened
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 unparagoned,
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 laced
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 picked the lock, and ta'en
The treasure of her honour. No more: to what end?
Why should I write this down, that's riveted,
Screwed to my memory? She hath been reading late,
The tale of Tereus, here the leaf's turned 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!
Goes into the trunk. The scene closes
Modern text
Act II, Scene III
Enter Cloten and Lords

FIRST LORD
Your lordship is the most patient man in loss,
the most coldest that ever turned 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 Innogen, 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 Phoebus gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their golden eyes;
With every thing 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 horse-hairs, and calves'-guts, nor the
voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend.
Exeunt Musicians

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.
Enter Cymbeline and Queen
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 assailed 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 inspired 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 killed, 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!
Exit Lady
Enter Innogen

CLOTEN
Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand.

INNOGEN
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.

INNOGEN
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.

INNOGEN
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.

INNOGEN
Fools are not mad folks.

CLOTEN
Do you call me fool?

INNOGEN
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 fostered 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-figured knot,
Yet you are curbed 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.

INNOGEN
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 styled
The under-hangman of his kingdom; and hated
For being preferred so well.

CLOTEN
The south-fog rot him!

INNOGEN
He never can meet more mischance than come
To be but named of thee. His mean'st garment,
That ever hath but clipped 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 –

INNOGEN
To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.

CLOTEN
‘His garment!'

INNOGEN
I am sprited with a fool,
Frighted, and angered 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 kissed it:
I hope it be not gone to tell my lord
That I kiss aught but he.

PISANIO
'Twill not be lost.

INNOGEN
I hope so: go and search.
Exit Pisanio

CLOTEN
You have abused me:
‘ His meanest garment!’

INNOGEN
Ay, I said so, sir:
If you will make't an action, call witness to't.

CLOTEN
I will inform your father.

INNOGEN
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 revenged:
‘ His mean'st garment!’ Well.
Exit
Modern text
Act II, Scene IV
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 feared 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 legion now in Gallia sooner landed
In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
Are men more ordered than when Julius Caesar
Smiled at their lack of skill, but found their courage
Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline –
Now wing-led 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 kissed 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 the fairest that I have looked 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 approached.

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 leave 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 hanged
With tapestry of silk and silver, the story
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
And Cydnus swelled 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 wondered
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 chimney-piece,
Chaste Dian, bathing: never saw I figures
So likely to report themselves; the cutter
Was as another Nature, dumb; outwent her,
Motion and breath left out.

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,
Showing 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 stripped it from her arm: I see her yet:
Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
And yet enriched it too: she gave it me,
And said she prized it once.

POSTHUMUS
May be she plucked it off
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 of her women, being corrupted,
Hath stolen it from her?

POSTHUMUS
Very true,
And so, I hope, he came by't. Back my ring,
Render me some corporal sign about her
More evident than this: for this was stolen.

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 induced to steal it?
And by a stranger? No, he hath enjoyed 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 believed
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 her pressing – lies a mole, right proud
Of that most delicate lodging. By my life,
I kissed 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 stamped. Some coiner with his tools
Made me a counterfeit: yet my mother seemed
The Dian of that time: so doth my wife
The nonpareil of this. O vengeance, vengeance!
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrained
And prayed me oft forbearance: did it with
A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on't
Might well have warmed old Saturn; that I thought her
As chaste as unsunned 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-acorned boar, a German one,
Cried ‘ O!’ and mounted; found no opposition
But what he looked 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 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
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