The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works

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The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works Page 111

by William Shakespeare


  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)

  65

  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,

  70

  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 th’ mountains!

  This is not hunter’s language; he that strikes

  The venison first shall be the lord o’th’ feast,

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  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,

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  Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.

  They think they are mine, and though train’d 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

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  Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,

  The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who

  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

  90

  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,

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  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,

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  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:

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  Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call’d,

  They take for natural father. The game is up. Exit.

  3.4 Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN.

  IMOGEN

  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

  5

  From th’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?

  10

  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-damn’d Italy hath out-craftied him,

  15

  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 disdain’d of fortune.

  20

  IMOGEN [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

  25

  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.

  30

  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

  35

  All corners of the world. Kings, queens, and states,

  Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave

  This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam?

  IMOGEN False to his bed? What is it to be false?

  To lie in watch there, and to think on him?

  40

  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!

  IMOGEN I false? Thy conscience witness: Iachimo,

  45

  Thou didst accuse him of incontinency;

  Thou then look’dst like a villain: now, methinks,

  Thy favour’s good enough. Some jay of Italy

  (Whose mother was her painting) hath betray’d him:

  Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion,

  50

  And, for I am richer than to hang by th’ walls,

  I must be ripp’d: – 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,

  55

  But worn a bait for ladies.

  PISANIO Good madam, hear me.

  IMOGEN

  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

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  Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men;

  Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjur’d

  From thy great fail. Come fellow, be thou honest

  Do thou thy master’s bidding. When thou see’st him,

  A little witness my obedience. Look,

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  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.

  70

  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.

  IMOGEN Why, I must die:

  And if I do not by thy hand, thou art

  No servant of thy master’s. Against self-slaughter

  75<
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  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,

  80

  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’d

  Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor

  85

  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

  90

  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 thou tirest on, how thy memory

  Will then be pang’d by me. Prithee, dispatch:

  95

  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.

  IMOGEN Do’t, and to bed then.

  100

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

  IMOGEN 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

  105

  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

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  I have consider’d of a course: good lady,

  Hear me with patience.

  IMOGEN 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,

  115

  I thought you would not back again.

  IMOGEN 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 abus’d: some villain,

  120

  Ay, and singular in his art, hath done you both

  This cursed injury.

  IMOGEN Some Roman courtezan?

  PISANIO No, on my life:

  I’ll give but notice you are dead, and send him

  Some bloody sign of it. For ’tis commanded

  125

  I should do so: you shall be miss’d at court,

  And that will well confirm it.

  IMOGEN 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 –

  130

  IMOGEN 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.

  IMOGEN Where then?

  135

  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

  140

  You think of other place: th’ambassador,

  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, t’appear itself, must not yet be

  145

  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

 

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