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The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)

Page 504

by William Shakespeare

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 himr />
  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,

 

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