Ah, but some description of her distinguishing marks
would be proof which enriched my list more than
ten thousand bits of furniture.
O sleep, you imitator of death, lie heavy upon her,
let her be only as conscious as an effigy,
lying in a chapel. Come off, come off;
[taking off her bracelet]
that was as easy as the Gordian knot was hard.
It's mine, and this will give outward proof
which will be the match of the inward proof
which will enrage her lord. On her left breast
there's a five spotted mole: it's like the red spots
at the bottom of a cowslip. His proof,
stronger than the law could ever ask for; this secret
will force him to think that I have picked the lock and taken
the treasure of her honour. That's enough, why would you need more?
Why should I write this down, now it's riveted,
screwed to my memory? She has been recently reading
the tale of Tereus, the page is turned down
where Philomel gave in. I have enough:
back to the trunk, and I'll shut the lid.
Hurry, you dragons of the night, bring
the sunrise to the raven's eye! I hide in fear;
though she is a heavenly angel, I am surrounded by hell. [clock strikes]
one, two, three: it's time, time!
Enter CLOTEN and LORDS
FIRST LORD.
Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the
most
coldest that ever turn'd up ace.
Your lordship is the calmest man ever to face a loss,
the coolest to ever roll a one.
CLOTEN.
It would make any man cold to lose.
Any man would be cold when he loses.
FIRST LORD.
But not every man patient after the noble temper of
your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win.
But not every man would be able to follow the noble example
of your lordship.You are very hot and raging when you win.
CLOTEN.
Winning will put any man into courage. If I could get
this
foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough. It's almost
morning,
is't not?
Anyone can be brave when he wins.If I could get this
foolish Imogen, I will have enough money.It's almost morning, isn't it?
FIRST LORD.
Day, my lord.
It's day, my lord.
CLOTEN.
I would this music would come. I am advised to give her
music a 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.
I wish those musicians would come.I have been told to give her
music in the mornings; they say that will get through to her.
Come on, tune up.If you can get through to her with your music
we'll try singing too.If nothing works she can stay there, but I'll
never give in.First we'll have a beautifully written piece, then a
lovely sweet song, with splendid rich words to it - and then let her think about it.
SONG
Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic'd flow'rs that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes.
With everything that pretty bin,
My lady sweet, arise;
Arise, arise!
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
horsehairs and calves' guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch
to
boot, can never amend.
Exeunt musicians
Listen, listen!The lark is singing at heaven's gate,
and the sun begins to rise,
to water his horses at the pools
that stand in the cups of the flowers;
and winking marigolds begin
to open their golden eyes.
My sweet lady, arise
with everything else that's beautiful,
arise, arise!
So, off you go.If this gets through to her, I will think more of your music;
if it doesn't, there's a fault in her ears that your strings and bows, nor the voice of the treble, can't cure.
Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN
SECOND LORD.
Here comes the King.
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.
I am glad I was up so late, because that meant I was up early.
He can't help but think well of me for this.
Good day to your majesty and to my gracious mother.
CYMBELINE.
Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?
Will she not forth?
Are you waiting at the door of my obstinate daughter?
Will she not come out?
CLOTEN.
I have assail'd her with musics, but she vouchsafes no
notice.
I have tried her with music, but she takes 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.
Her favourite's exile is too recent;
she hasn't yet forgotten him; some more time
is needed to erase his memory,
and then she'll be yours.
QUEEN.
You are most bound to th' King,
Who lets go by no vantages that may
Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
To orderly soliciting, and be friended
With aptness of the season; make denials
Increase your services; so seem as if
You were inspir'd 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.
You should be very grateful to the King,
who misses no opportunity of advancing
your cause with his daughter. Prepare yourself
to be patient and polite,
let time take its course; make rejection
make you work harder; look as if
love is inspiring you to do things for her;
show her that you obey her in all things,
except when her orders involve rejecting you,
and you just should ignore them.
CLOTEN.
Senseless? Not so.
Enter a MESSENGER
Ignorant? I'm not.
MESSENGER.
So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
The one is Caius Lucius.
If you please, sir, here are some ambassadors from Rome;
one of them 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
A good fellow,
even if he's come now on an angry errand;
but that's not his fault. We must welcome him
in a way which fits the honour of the one who sent him;
and we must treat him well for his own sake in recognition
of the kindnesses he has done us in the past. My dear son,
when you have said good morning to your mistress,
wait on the Queen and me; we shall be needing you
in our dealings with this Roman. Come, my queen.
CLOTEN.
If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
Let her lie still and dream. By your leave, ho! [Knocks]
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 kill'd 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
If she's up, I'll speak with her; if not
let her lie still and dream. Excuse me, hello!
I know she has her women with her; what
if I bribed one of them? It's gold
which buys entrance; it often does–yes and makes
Diana's gamekeepers false, so that they give up
their deer to the poacher; and its gold
which gets the honest man killed and saves the thief;
sometimes it gets them both hanged. What
is there it can't do or undo? I will make
one of her women my employee, for
I don't really understand the job myself.
Excuse me!
LADY.
Who's there that knocks?
Who's that knocking?
CLOTEN.
A gentleman.
A gentleman.
LADY.
No more?
Is that all?
CLOTEN.
Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.
A gentlewoman's son as well.
LADY.
That's more
Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours
Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's pleasure?
That's more
than some can say, even if they wear clothes which are
as expensive as yours. What can I do for your lordship?
CLOTEN.
Your lady's person; is she ready?
Is your lady up and dressed?
LADY.
Ay,
To keep her chamber.
Yes,
dressed for staying in her room.
CLOTEN.
There is gold for you; sell me your good report.
I have gold for you; sell me your good report.
LADY.
How? My good name? or to report of you
What I shall think is good? The Princess!
Enter IMOGEN
What's that? Sell the good report people give me,
or give you a good report? Here's the Princess!
CLOTEN.
Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand.
Exit LADY
Good morning, fairest sister. Give me your sweet hand.
IMOGEN.
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.
Good morning, sir. You are taking too much trouble
to only get trouble. All the thanks I can give
is to tell you that I don't have much thanks to give,
I can hardly spare any.
CLOTEN.
Still I swear I love you.
Still, I swear I love you.
IMOGEN.
If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me.
If you swear still, your recompense is still
That I regard it not.
If you just said so, instead of swearing, it would all be the same to me.
If you carry on swearing, your reward will still be
that I pay no attention.
CLOTEN.
This is no answer.
This is not an answer.
IMOGEN.
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.
I wouldn't say anything, if it wasn't for the fact that you
would take my silence as agreement. Please leave me alone.
I promise that I will be just as impolite
to anything you do; someone of your great knowledge
should see what's going on and learn to back off.
CLOTEN.
To leave you in your madness 'twere my sin;
I will not.
It would be a sin for me to leave you in this foolishness;
I will not.
IMOGEN.
Fools are not mad folks.
Fools are not mad men.
CLOTEN.
Do you call me fool?
Are you calling me a fool?
IMOGEN.
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.
I do, because I'm mad;
if you wait a bit, I won't be mad any more;
then we'll both be cured. I'm very sorry, sir,
that you've made me forget the manners of a lady
through being so talkative; now, learn once and for all
what I'm going to say, I who knows what's in my heart:
the absolute truth is that I do not care for you
and in fact I could almost say
that I hate you; I'd rather
you had noticed it, so I wouldn't have to say it.
CLOTEN.
You sin against
Obedience, which you owe your father. For
The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
One bred of alms and foster'd 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-figur'd knot,
Yet you are curb'd 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!
You are sinning against
obedience, which you owe to your father.
The marriage you claim you have with that low wretch–
>
a person brought up on charity and fed with cold dishes,
the scraps of the court–that is no marriage.
Although lower class people are allowed–
but who could be lower than him?–To join their souls–
the only people who depend on them
are brats and beggars–and make their own choices,
you do not have that freedom of choice
because of your royal status, which you must not
soil with a low-down slave,
a worthless fellow who should wear a servant's uniform,
be a butler or a squire's valet–not even that!
IMOGEN.
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 styl'd
The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
For being preferr'd so well.
Vulgar fellow!
If you were the son of Jupiter, with none
of your bad qualities, you would be too low
to be his groom. You would be high enough,
even so people would be jealous of you,
if the gap between you was such that if he
was the King then you would be
the deputy hangman of his kingdom, and people
wouldhate you, thinking you were overpromoted.
CLOTEN.
The south fog rot him!
May the southern fog rot him!
IMOGEN.
He never can meet more mischance than come
To be but nam'd of thee. His mean'st garment
That ever hath but clipp'd his body is dearer
In my respect than all the hairs above thee,
The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) Page 504