The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  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