Bows toward her, and would underpeep 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.
He writes in his tables
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;
As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard.
He takes the bracelet from her arm
‘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!
Exit into the trunk. ⌈The bed and trunk are removed⌉
2.3 Enter Cloten and the two 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 o’ 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.
⌈Music⌉
⌈MUSICIAN⌉ (sings)
Hark, hark, the lark at heaven gate sings,
And Phoebus gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaticed flowers 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 horse hairs and calves’ guts nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot can never amend.
Exeunt Musicians
Enter Cymbeline and the 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 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 out,
And then she’s yours.
QUEEN (to Cloten) 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 (to Cymbeline)
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.
⌈He knocks⌉
By your leave, ho!—
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
⌈Aside⌉ Than some whose tailors are as dear as
yours
Can justly boast of. (To him) What’s your lordship’s
pleasure?
CLOTEN
Your lady’s person. Is she ready?
LADY Ay.
⌈Aside⌉ 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?
Enter Innogen
The Princess.
⌈Exit⌉
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 cure 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 meanest 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 Pisanio)
To Dorothy, my woman, hie thee presently.
CLOTEN
His garment?
INNOGEN (to Pisanio) 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 meanest garment’? Well! Exit
2.4 Enter Posthumus and Filario
POSTHUMUS
Fear it not, sir. I would I were so sure
To win the King as I am bold her honour
Will remain hers.
FILARIO
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 seared hopes
I barely gratify your love; they failing,
I must die much your debtor.
FILARIO
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,
Ere 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 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 courage, will make known
To their approvers they are people such
That mend upon the world.
Enter Giacomo
FILARIO
See, Giacomo.
POSTHUMUS (to Giacomo)
The swiftest harts have posted you by land,
And winds of all the corners kissed your sails
To make your vessel nimble.
FILARIO (to Giacomo)
Welcome, sir.
POSTHUMUS (to Giacomo)
I hope the briefness of your answer made
The speediness of your return.
GIACOMO
Your lady is
One of the fair’st 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.
GIACOMO
Here are letters for you.
POSTHUMUS
Their tenor good, I trust.
GIACOMO
’Tis very like.
Posthumus reads the letters
⌈FILARIO⌉
Was Caius Lucius in the Briton court
When you were there?
GIACOMO
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?
GIACOMO
If I had 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.
POSTHUMOUS
The stone’s too hard to come by.
GIACOMO
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.
GIACOMO
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.
GIACOMO
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.
GIACOMO
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,
Such the true life on’t was.
POSTHUMUS
This is true,
And this you might have heard of here, by me
Or by some other.
GIACOMO
More particulars
Must justify my knowledge.
POSTHUMUS
So they must,
Or do your honour injury.
GIACOMO
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.
GIACOMO
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
The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works Page 384