The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

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The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works Page 391

by William Shakespeare


  POSTHUMUS Thou shalt be then freer than a jailer; no bolts for the dead.

  JAILER (aside) Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to live, for all he be a Roman; and there be some of them, too, that die against their wills; so should I if I were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good. O, there were desolation of jailers and gallowses! I speak against my present profit, but my wish hath a preferment in’t. Exeunt

  5.6 ⌈Flourish. ⌉ Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio, and lords

  CYMBELINE (to Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus)

  Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made

  Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart

  That the poor soldier that so richly fought,

  Whose rags shamed gilded arms, whose naked breast

  Stepped before targs of proof, cannot be found.

  He shall be happy that can find him, if

  Our grace can make him so.

  BELARIUS

  I never saw

  Such noble fury in so poor a thing,

  Such precious deeds in one that promised naught

  But beggary and poor looks.

  CYMBELINE

  No tidings of him?

  PISANIO

  He hath been searched among the dead and living,

  But no trace of him.

  CYMBELINE

  To my grief I am

  The heir of his reward, which I will add

  (To Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus)

  To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain,

  By whom I grant she lives. ’Tis now the time

  To ask of whence you are. Report it.

  BELARIUS

  Sir,

  In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen.

  Further to boast were neither true nor modest,

  Unless I add we are honest.

  CYMBELINE

  Bow your knees.

  They kneel. He knights them

  Arise, my knights o’th’ battle. I create you

  Companions to our person, and will fit you

  With dignities becoming your estates.

  Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus rise.

  Enter Cornelius and Ladies

  There’s business in these faces. Why so sadly

  Greet you our victory? You look like Romans,

  And not o’th’ court of Britain.

  CORNELIUS

  Hail, great King!

  To sour your happiness I must report

  The Queen is dead.

  CYMBELINE

  Who worse than a physician

  Would this report become? But I consider

  By medicine life may be prolonged, yet death

  Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?

  CORNELIUS

  With horror, madly dying, like her life,

  Which being cruel to the world, concluded

  Most cruel to herself. What she confessed

  I will report, so please you. These her women

  Can trip me if I err, who with wet cheeks

  Were present when she finished.

  CYMBELINE Prithee, say.

  CORNELIUS

  First, she confessed she never loved you, only

  Affected greatness got by you, not you;

  Married your royalty, was wife to your place,

  Abhorred your person.

  CYMBELINE

  She alone knew this,

  And but she spoke it dying, I would not

  Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.

  CORNELIUS

  Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love

  With such integrity, she did confess

  Was as a scorpion to her sight, whose life,

  But that her flight prevented it, she had

  Ta’en off by poison.

  CYMBELINE

  O most delicate fiend!

  Who is’t can read a woman? Is there more?

  CORNELIUS

  More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had

  For you a mortal mineral which, being took,

  Should by the minute feed on life, and, ling‘ring,

  By inches waste you. In which time she purposed

  By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to

  O’ercome you with her show; and in fine,

  When she had fit you with her craft, to work

  Her son into th’adoption of the crown;

  But failing of her end by his strange absence,

  Grew shameless-desperate, opened in despite

  Of heaven and men her purposes, repented

  The evils she hatched were not effected; so

  Despairing died.

  CYMBELINE

  Heard you all this, her women?

  ⌈LADIES⌉

  We did, so please your highness.

  CYMBELINE

  Mine eyes

  Were not in fault, for she was beautiful;

  Mine ears that heard her flattery, nor my heart

  That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious

  To have mistrusted her. Yet, O my daughter,

  That it was folly in me thou mayst say,

  And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!

  Enter Lucius, Giacomo, Soothsayer, and other Roman prisoners, Posthumus behind, and Innogen dressed as a man, all guarded by Briton soldiers

  Thou com’st not, Caius, now for tribute. That

  The Britons have razed out, though with the loss

  Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit

  That their good souls may be appeased with slaughter

  Of you, their captives, which ourself have granted.

  So think of your estate.

  LUCIUS

  Consider, sir, the chance of war. The day

  Was yours by accident. Had it gone with us,

  We should not, when the blood was cool, have

  threatened

  Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods

  Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives

  May be called ransom, let it come. Sufficeth

  A Roman with a Roman’s heart can suffer.

  Augustus lives to think on’t; and so much

  For my peculiar care. This one thing only

  I will entreat:He presents Innogen to Cymbeline my boy, a Briton born,

  Let him be ransomed. Never master had

  A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,

  So tender over his occasions, true,

  So feat, so nurse-like; let his virtue join

  With my request, which I’ll make bold your highness

  Cannot deny. He hath done no Briton harm,

  Though he have served a Roman. Save him, sir,

  And spare no blood beside.

  CYMBELINE

  I have surely seen him.

  His favour is familiar to me. Boy,

  Thou hast looked thyself into my grace,

  And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore,

  To say ‘Live, boy’. Ne‘er thank thy master. Live,

  And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt

  Fitting my bounty and thy state, I’ll give it,

  Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner

  The noblest ta’en.

  INNOGEN

  I humbly thank your highness.

  LUCIUS

  I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad,

  And yet I know thou wilt.

  INNOGEN

  No, no. Alack,

  There’s other work in hand. I see a thing

  Bitter to me as death. Your life, good master,

  Must shuffle for itself.

  LUCIUS

  The boy disdains me.

  He leaves me, scorns me. Briefly die their joys

  That place them on the truth of girls and boys.

  Why stands he so perplexed?

  CYMBELINE (to I
nnogen) What wouldst thou, boy?

  I love thee more and more; think more and more

  What’s best to ask. Know‘st him thou look’st on?

  Speak, no

  Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin, thy friend?

  INNOGEN

  He is a Roman, no more kin to me

  Than I to your highness, who, being born your vassal,

  Am something nearer.

  CYMBELINE

  Wherefore ey’st him so?

  INNOGEN

  I’ll tell you, sir, in private, if you please

  To give me hearing.

  CYMBELINE

  Ay, with all my heart,

  And lend my best attention. What’s thy name?

  INNOGEN

  Fidele, sir.

  CYMBELINE Thou’rt my good youth, my page.

  I’ll be thy master. Walk with me, speak freely.

  Cymbeline and Innogen speak apart

  BELARIUS (aside to Guiderius and Arviragus)

  Is not this boy revived from death?

  ARVIRAGUS

  One sand another

  Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad

  Who died, and was Fidele. What think you?

  GUIDERIUS The same dead thing alive.

  BELARIUS

  Peace, peace, see further. He eyes us not. Forbear.

  Creatures may be alike. Were’t he, I am sure

  He would have spoke to us.

  GUIDERIUS

  But we see him dead.

  BELARIUS

  Be silent; let’s see further.

  PISANIO (aside)

  It is my mistress.

  Since she is living, let the time run on

  To good or bad.

  CYMBELINE (to Innogen) Come, stand thou by our side,

  Make thy demand aloud. (To Giacomo) Sir, step you

  forth.

  Give answer to this boy, and do it freely,

  Or, by our greatness and the grace of it,

  Which is our honour, bitter torture shall

  Winnow the truth from falsehood.

  (To Innogen)

  On, speak to him.

  INNOGEN

  My boon is that this gentleman may render

  Of whom he had this ring.

  POSTHUMUS (aside) What’s that to him?

  CYMBELINE (to Giacomo)

  That diamond upon your finger, say,

  How came it yours?

  GIACOMO

  Thou’lt torture me to leave unspoken that

  Which to be spoke would torture thee.

  CYMBELINE

  How, me?

  GIACOMO

  I am glad to be constrained to utter that

  Torments me to conceal. By villainy

  I got this ring; ‘twas Leonatus’ jewel,

  Whom thou didst banish; and, which more may

  grieve thee,

  As it doth me, a nobler sir ne’er lived

  ’Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord?

  CYMBELINE

  All that belongs to this.

  GIACOMO That paragon thy daughter,

  For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits

  Quail to remember-give me leave, I faint.

  CYMBELINE

  My daughter? What of her? Renew thy strength.

  I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will

  Than die ere I hear more. Strive, man, and speak.

  GIACOMO

  Upon a time-unhappy was the clock

  That struck the hour-it was in Rome-accursed

  The mansion where-‘twas at a feast-O, would

  Our viands had been poisoned, or at least

  Those which I heaved to head!—the good Posthumus—

  What should I say?—he was too good to be

  Where ill men were, and was the best of all

  Amongst the rar’st of good ones-sitting sadly,

  Hearing us praise our loves of Italy

  For beauty that made barren the swelled boast

  Of him that best could speak; for feature laming

  The shrine of Venus or straight-pitched Minerva,

  Postures beyond brief nature; for condition,

  A shop of all the qualities that man

  Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving,

  Fairness which strikes the eye—

  CYMBELINE

  I stand on fire.

  Come to the matter.

  GIACOMO

  All too soon I shall,

  Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus,

  Most like a noble lord in love and one

  That had a royal lover, took his hint,

  And not dispraising whom we praised—therein

  He was as calm as virtue-he began

  His mistress’ picture, which by his tongue being made,

  And then a mind put in’t, either our brags

  Were cracked of kitchen-trulls, or his description

  Proved us unspeaking sots.

  CYMBELINE

  Nay, nay, to th’ purpose.

  GIACOMO

  Your daughter’s chastity-there it begins.

  He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams

  And she alone were cold, whereat I, wretch,

  Made scruple of his praise, and wagered with him

  Pieces of gold ‘gainst this which then he wore

  Upon his honoured finger, to attain

  In suit the place of ’s bed and win this ring

  By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight,

  No lesser of her honour confident

  Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring—

  And would so had it been a carbuncle

  Of Phoebus’ wheel, and might so safely had it

  Been all the worth of ’s car. Away to Britain

  Post I in this design. Well may you, sir,

  Remember me at court, where I was taught

  Of your chaste daughter the wide difference

  ’Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quenched

  Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain

  Gan in your duller Britain operate

  Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent.

  And, to be brief, my practice so prevailed

  That I returned with simular proof enough

  To make the noble Leonatus mad

  By wounding his belief in her renown

  With tokens thus and thus; averring notes

  Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet—

  O cunning, how I got it!—nay, some marks

  Of secret on her person, that he could not

  But think her bond of chastity quite cracked,

  I having ta’en the forfeit. Whereupon—

  Methinks I see him now—

  POSTHUMUS (coming forward) Ay, so thou dost,

  Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool,

  Egregious murderer, thief, anything

  That’s due to all the villains past, in being,

  To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,

  Some upright justicer! Thou, King, send out

  For torturers ingenious. It is I

  That all th‘abhorrèd things o’th’ earth amend

  By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,

  That killed thy daughter—villain-like, I lie:

  That caused a lesser villain than myself,

  A sacrilegious thief, to do’t. The temple

  Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.

  Spit and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set

  The dogs o‘th’ street to bay me. Every villain

  Be called Posthumus Leonatus, and

  Be ‘villain’ less than ’twas! O Innogen!

  My queen, my life, my wife, O Innogen,

  Innogen, Innogen!

  INNOGEN (approaching him) Peace, my lord. Hear, hear.

  POSTHUMUS

  Shall ’s have a play of this? Thou scornful page,

  There lie thy pa
rt.

  He strikes her down

  PISANIO (coming forward) O gentlemen, help!

  Mine and your mistress! O my lord Posthumus,

  You ne’er killed Innogen till now. Help, help!

  (To Innogen) Mine honoured lady.

  CYMBELINE

  Does the world go round?

  POSTHUMUS

  How comes these staggers on me?

  PISANIO (to Innogen)

  Wake, my mistress.

  CYMBELINE

  If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me

  To death with mortal joy.

  PISANIO (to Innogen) How fares my mistress?

  INNOGEN O, get thee from my sight!

  Thou gav’st me poison. Dangerous fellow, hence.

  Breathe not where princes are.

  CYMBELINE

  The tune of Innogen.

  PISANIO

  Lady, the gods throw stones of sulphur on me if

  That box I gave you was not thought by me

  A precious thing. I had it from the Queen.

  CYMBELINE

  New matter still.

  INNOGEN

  It poisoned me.

  CORNELIUS

  O gods!

  I left out one thing which the Queen confessed

  (To Pisanio) Which must approve thee honest. ’If Pisanio

  Have‘, said she, ‘given his mistress that confection

  Which I gave him for cordial, she is served

  As I would serve a rat.’

  CYMBELINE What’s this, Cornelius?

  CORNELIUS

  The Queen, sir, very oft importuned me

  To temper poisons for her, still pretending

  The satisfaction of her knowledge only

  In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs

  Of no esteem. I, dreading that her purpose

  Was of more danger, did compound for her

  A certain stuff which, being ta‘en, would cease

  The present power of life, but in short time

  All offices of nature should again

  Do their due functions. (To Innogen) Have you ta’en

  of it?

  INNOGEN

  Most like I did, for I was dead.

  BELARIUS (aside to Guiderius and Arviragus) My boys,

  There was our error.

  GUIDERIUS

  This is sure Fidele.

  INNOGEN (to Posthumus)

  Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?

  Think that you are upon a lock, and now

  Throw me again.

  She throws her arms about his neck

  POSTHUMUS

  Hang there like fruit, my soul,

  Till the tree die.

  CYMBELINE (to Innogen) How now, my flesh, my child?

  What, mak’st thou me a dullard in this act?

  Wilt thou not speak to me?

  INNOGEN (kneeling)

 

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