Complete Plays, The

by William Shakespeare

Moulded the stuff so fair,

  That he deserved the praise o’ the world,

  As great Sicilius’ heir.

  First Brother

  When once he was mature for man,

  In Britain where was he

  That could stand up his parallel;

  Or fruitful object be

  In eye of Imogen, that best

  Could deem his dignity?

  Mother

  With marriage wherefore was he mock’d,

  To be exiled, and thrown

  From Leonati seat, and cast

  From her his dearest one,

  Sweet Imogen?

  Sicilius Leonatus

  Why did you suffer Iachimo,

  Slight thing of Italy,

  To taint his nobler heart and brain

  With needless jealosy;

  And to become the geck and scorn

  O’ th’ other’s villany?

  Second Brother

  For this from stiller seats we came,

  Our parents and us twain,

  That striking in our country’s cause

  Fell bravely and were slain,

  Our fealty and Tenantius’ right

  With honour to maintain.

  First Brother

  Like hardiment Posthumus hath

  To Cymbeline perform’d:

  Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,

  Why hast thou thus adjourn’d

  The graces for his merits due,

  Being all to dolours turn’d?

  Sicilius Leonatus

  Thy crystal window ope; look out;

  No longer exercise

  Upon a valiant race thy harsh

  And potent injuries.

  Mother

  Since, Jupiter, our son is good,

  Take off his miseries.

  Sicilius Leonatus

  Peep through thy marble mansion; help;

  Or we poor ghosts will cry

  To the shining synod of the rest

  Against thy deity.

  First Brother

  Second Brother

  Help, Jupiter; or we appeal,

  And from thy justice fly.

  Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. The Apparitions fall on their knees

  Jupiter

  No more, you petty spirits of region low,

  Offend our hearing; hush! How dare you ghosts

  Accuse the thunderer, whose bolt, you know,

  Sky-planted batters all rebelling coasts?

  Poor shadows of Elysium, hence, and rest

  Upon your never-withering banks of flowers:

  Be not with mortal accidents opprest;

  No care of yours it is; you know ’tis ours.

  Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift,

  The more delay’d, delighted. Be content;

  Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift:

  His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.

  Our Jovial star reign’d at his birth, and in

  Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade.

  He shall be lord of lady Imogen,

  And happier much by his affliction made.

  This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein

  Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine:

  And so, away: no further with your din

  Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.

  Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.

  Ascends

  Sicilius Leonatus

  He came in thunder; his celestial breath

  Was sulphurous to smell: the holy eagle

  Stoop’d as to foot us: his ascension is

  More sweet than our blest fields: his royal bird

  Prunes the immortal wing and cloys his beak,

  As when his god is pleased.

  All

  Thanks, Jupiter!

  Sicilius Leonatus

  The marble pavement closes, he is enter’d

  His radiant root. Away! and, to be blest,

  Let us with care perform his great behest.

  The Apparitions vanish

  Posthumus Leonatus

  [Waking] Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot

  A father to me; and thou hast created

  A mother and two brothers: but, O scorn!

  Gone! they went hence so soon as they were born:

  And so I am awake. Poor wretches that depend

  On greatness’ favour dream as I have done,

  Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve:

  Many dream not to find, neither deserve,

  And yet are steep’d in favours: so am I,

  That have this golden chance and know not why.

  What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one!

  Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment

  Nobler than that it covers: let thy effects

  So follow, to be most unlike our courtiers,

  As good as promise.

  Reads

  ‘When as a lion’s whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.’

  ’Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen

  Tongue and brain not; either both or nothing;

  Or senseless speaking or a speaking such

  As sense cannot untie. Be what it is,

  The action of my life is like it, which

  I’ll keep, if but for sympathy.

  Re-enter First Gaoler

  First Gaoler

  Come, sir, are you ready for death?

  Posthumus Leonatus

  Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.

  First Gaoler

  Hanging is the word, sir: if you be ready for that, you are well cooked.

  Posthumus Leonatus

  So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish pays the shot.

  First Gaoler

  A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments, fear no more tavern-bills; which are often the sadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth: you come in flint for want of meat, depart reeling with too much drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain both empty; the brain the heavier for being too light, the purse too light, being drawn of heaviness: of this contradiction you shall now be quit. O, the charity of a penny cord! It sums up thousands in a trice: you have no true debitor and creditor but it; of what’s past, is, and to come, the discharge: your neck, sir, is pen, book and counters; so the acquittance follows.

  Posthumus Leonatus

  I am merrier to die than thou art to live.

  First Gaoler

  Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the tooth-ache: but a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would change places with his officer; for, look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go.

  Posthumus Leonatus

  Yes, indeed do I, fellow.

  First Gaoler

  Your death has eyes in ’s head then; I have not seen him so pictured: you must either be directed by some that take upon them to know, or do take upon yourself that which I am sure you do not know, or jump the after inquiry on your own peril: and how you shall speed in your journey’s end, I think you’ll never return to tell one.

  Posthumus Leonatus

  I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them the way I am going, but such as wink and will not use them.

  First Gaoler

  What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the best use of eyes to see the way of blindness! I am sure hanging’s the way of winking.

  Enter a Messenger

  Messenger

  Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to t
he king.

  Posthumus Leonatus

  Thou bring’st good news; I am called to be made free.

  First Gaoler

  I’ll be hang’d then.

  Posthumus Leonatus

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

  Exeunt Posthumus Leonatus and Messenger

  First Gaoler

  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 gaolers and gallowses! I speak against my present profit, but my wish hath a preferment in ’t.

  Exeunt

  SCENE V. CYMBELINE’S TENT.

  Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio, Lords, Officers, and Attendants

  Cymbeline

  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

  Stepp’d before larges 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 promises nought

  But beggary and poor looks.

  Cymbeline

  No tidings of him?

  Pisanio

  He hath been search’d among the dead and living,

  But no trace of him.

  Cymbeline

  To my grief, I am

  The heir of his reward;

  To Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus

  which I will add

  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.

  Arise my knights o’ the battle: I create you

  Companions to our person and will fit you

  With dignities becoming your estates.

  Enter Cornelius and Ladies

  There’s business in these faces. Why so sadly

  Greet you our victory? you look like Romans,

  And not o’ the 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 prolong’d, 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 confess’d

  I will report, so please you: these her women

  Can trip me, if I err; who with wet cheeks

  Were present when she finish’d.

  Cymbeline

  Prithee, say.

  Cornelius

  First, she confess’d she never loved you, only

  Affected greatness got by you, not you:

  Married your royalty, was wife to your place;

  Abhorr’d 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 lingering

  By inches waste you: in which time she purposed,

  By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to

  O’ercome you with her show, and in time,

  When she had fitted you with her craft, to work

  Her son into the adoption of the crown:

  But, failing of her end by his strange absence,

  Grew shameless-desperate; open’d, in despite

  Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented

  The evils she hatch’d were not effected; so

  Despairing died.

  Cymbeline

  Heard you all this, her women?

  First Lady

  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, Iachimo, the Soothsayer, and other Roman Prisoners, guarded; Posthumus Leonatus behind, and Imogen

  Thou comest 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.

  Caius 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 threaten’d

  Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods

  Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives

  May be call’d 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; my boy, a Briton born,

  Let him be ransom’d: 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 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 look’d 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.

  Imogen

  I humbly thank your highness.

  Caius Lucius

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

  And yet I know thou wilt.

  Imogen

  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.

  Caius Lucius

  The boy disdain
s me,

  He leaves me, scorns me: briefly die their joys

  That place them on the truth of girls and boys.

  Why stands he so perplex’d?

  Cymbeline

  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,

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

  Imogen

  He is a Roman; no more kin to me

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

  Am something nearer.

  Cymbeline

  Wherefore eyest him so?

  Imogen

  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?

  Imogen

  Fidele, sir.

  Cymbeline

  Thou’rt my good youth, my page;

  I’ll be thy master: walk with me; speak freely.

  Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart

  Belarius

  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 saw 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 and Imogen come forward

  Cymbeline

  Come, stand thou by our side;

  Make thy demand aloud.

  To Iachimo

  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. On, speak to him.

  Imogen

  My boon is, that this gentleman may render

  Of whom he had this ring.

  Posthumus Leonatus

  [Aside] What’s that to him?

  Cymbeline

  That diamond upon your finger, say

  How came it yours?

  Iachimo

  Thou’lt torture me to leave unspoken that

  Which, to be spoke, would torture thee.

  Cymbeline

  How! me?

  Iachimo

  I am glad to be constrain’d to utter that

  Which torments me to conceal. By villany

  I got this ring: ’twas Leonatus’ jewel;

  Whom thou didst banish; and — which more may grieve thee,