The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated)
Page 518
CORNELIUS.
Hail, great King!
To sour your happiness I must report
The Queen is dead.
Hail, great King!
To spoil your happiness I must tell you
that the Queen is dead.
CYMBELINE.
Who worse than a physician
Would this report become? But I consider
By med'cine'life may be prolong'd, yet death
Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?
Who is worse than a doctor,
to give this report?But I think
that life can be prolonged with medicine, but death
will get the doctor as well.How did she die?
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.
Horribly, dying madly, as she lived;
She was cruel to the world, and in the end
was cruel to herself.If you please, I'll tell
you what she confessed; these women of hers
can correct me if I go wrong, they were there,
weeping, when she met her end.
CYMBELINE.
Prithee say.
Please tell me.
CORNELIUS.
First, she confess'd she never lov'd you; only
Affected greatness got by you, not you;
Married your royalty, was wife to your place;
Abhorr'd your person.
Firstly, she admitted she never loved you; she only
liked the greatness she could get through you, not you;
she married your royalty, she was a wife to your position;
she hated you as a person.
CYMBELINE.
She alone knew this;
And but she spoke it dying, I would not
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.
She was the only one who knew this;
if she hadn't said it as she died, I wouldn't
believe that she had said it.Carry on.
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.
Your daughter, whom she took in hand and pretended
to love so deeply, she admitted
was like a scorpion to her; it was only
her flight which stopped her taking
her life with poison.
CYMBELINE.
O most delicate fiend!
Who is't can read a woman? Is there more?
The dainty devil!
Can anyone understand women?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 purpos'd,
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 th' 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.
More, sir, and worse.She confessed she had
a lethal chemical for you which, when you took it,
would take your life minute by minute, and you would hang on,
wasting by inches.At that time she intended,
through vigils, weeping, tenderness and kissing, to
overcome any suspicions; and in time,
when she had worked her efforts on you, she would
have persuaded you to resign the crown to her son;
but as she couldn't achieve this due to his mysterious absence,
she became shameless and desperate, and despite
heaven and men listening she admitted her plans,
regretted that the evils she had plotted hadn't happened, and,
in despair, she died.
CYMBELINE.
Heard you all this, her women?
Did you hear all this, you women?
LADY.
We did, so please your Highness.
If you please, your highness, we did.
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 behind, and IMOGEN
Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that
The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one, whose kinsmen have made suit
That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted;
So think of your estate.
My eyes
were not at fault, for she was beautiful;
My ears were, that listened to her flattery; and my heart
that thought she was what she appeared to be.I would
have been vicious to have mistrusted her; but, oh my daughter!
You can tell me I was stupid,
and show you felt it.May heaven mend everything!
You haven't come for tribute now, Caius; the
Britons have put a stop to that, though with the loss
of many brave men, whose kinsmen have asked
that their good souls may be revenged by the slaughter
of you, our prisoners, and I have agreed to this;
so prepare your souls.
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'll make bold your Highness
Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm
Though he have serv'd a Roman. Save him, sir,
And spare no blood beside.
Think, sir, about the luck of war.You won
the day by chance; if we had won,
we should not, in cold blood, have threatened
our prisoners with the sword.But since the gods
insist on this, that nothing but our lives
will pay the price, let it happen.A Roman
with a Roman's heart can endure this.
Augustus is alive to consider it, and that's enough
for me.I will just ask one thing; please ransom
my boy, who was born British.No master ever had
such a kind page, so dutiful, hardworking,
so careful over his duties, honest,
loyal, nurturing; add his virtue to my request,
which I'll be so bold as to say your Highness
can't deny.He has done no harm to any Briton,
although he has served a Roman.Save him, sir,
and you can kill the rest.
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.
I'm sure I've seen him;
his face is familiar to me.Boy,
your looks have inspired my forgiveness,
which belongs to me.I don't know why
I say, 'Live, boy.' You don't need to thank your master.Live;
and ask Cymbeline for any favour you want,
if it's suitable for me to give and you to receive, I'll give it;
even if you ask for the life of the noblest
prisoner we have captured.
IMOGEN.
I humbly thank your Highness.
I humbly thank your highness.
LUCIUS.
I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad,
And yet I know thou wilt.
I won't tell you to ask for me to be spared, good lad,
although I know you will.
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.
No, no!Alas,
I have other things to think of.I can see a thing
as bitter to me as death; your life, good master,
must fend 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 perplex'd?
The boy rejects me,
he leaves me, he spurns me.They will soon lose their happiness
who rely on the loyalty of girls and boys.
Why is he so confused?
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?
What do you want, boy?
I love you more and more;think more and more
what the best thing to ask is.Do you know the one you're looking at?Say,
do you want him to live?Is he your family?Your friend?
IMOGEN.
He is a Roman, no more kin to me
Than I to your Highness; who, being born your vassal,
Am something nearer.
He is a Roman, no more related to me
than I am to your Highness; as I was born your subject
I am actually closer to you.
CYMBELINE.
Wherefore ey'st him so?
Why are you eying him like that?
IMOGEN.
I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please
To give me hearing.
I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you'd be kind enough
to listen to me.
CYMBELINE.
Ay, with all my heart,
And lend my best attention. What's thy name?
Certainly, and I'll give you my best
attention.What's your name?
IMOGEN.
Fidele, sir.
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]
You are my good boy, my page;
I'll be your master.Walk with me, say what you want.
BELARIUS.
Is not this boy reviv'd from death?
Hasn't this boy come back from the dead?
ARVIRAGUS.
One sand another
Not more resembles- that sweet rosy lad
Who died and was Fidele. What think you?
They're as alike as two
grains of sand - that sweet rosy lad who died
and was Fidele.What do you think?
GUIDERIUS.
The same dead thing alive.
The same thing that was dead is 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.
Be quiet!Think about it, he doesn't look at us.Stop it.
Men can look the same; if it was him, I am sure
he would have spoken to us.
GUIDERIUS.
But we saw him dead.
But we saw him dead.
BELARIUS.
Be silent; let's see further.
Be quiet; let's see what develops.
PISANIO.
[Aside] It is my mistress.
Since she is living, let the time run on
To good or bad. [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN advance]
It is my mistress.
Since she is alive, let time run on,
to good or bad.
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.
Come and stand by my side;
speak your demand out loud.[To Iachimo] Sir, step forward;
answer this boy, and do so fully,
or I swear by my greatness and the grace of it,
which is my honour, bitter torture will
get the truth out of you.Go on, speak to him.
IMOGEN.
My boon is that this gentleman may render
Of whom he had this ring.
My request is that this gentleman tells me
where he got this ring from.
POSTHUMUS.
[Aside] What's that to him?
Why does he care?
CYMBELINE.
That diamond upon your finger, say
How came it yours?
That diamond on your finger, how
did you come by it?
IACHIMO.
Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that
Which to be spoke would torture thee.
You would torture me to stop me saying
something that it would torture you to hear.
CYMBELINE.
How? me?
What?Me?
IACHIMO.
I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that
Which 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 liv'd
'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord?
I am glad to be forced to say something
which it torments me to conceal.I got this ring
through villainy; it belonged to Leonatus,
whom you exiled; and - which may grieve you more,
as it does me, a nobler gentleman never
lived on earth.Do you want to hear more, my lord?
CYMBELINE.
All that belongs to this.
Everything about it.
IACHIMO.
That paragon, thy daughter,
For whom my heart drops b
lood and my false spirits
Quail to remember- Give me leave, I faint.
That perfect girl, your daughter,
the thought of whom makes my heart bleed and my false spirits
quiver to remember - excuse me, I'm 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.
My daughter?What about her?Pull yourself together;
I would rather you lived forever rather than
die before I hear more.Try, man, speak.
IACHIMO.
Upon a time- unhappy was the clock
That struck the hour!- was in Rome- accurs'd
The mansion where!- 'twas at a feast- O, would
Our viands had been poison'd, or at least
Those which I heav'd 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 swell'd boast
Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming
The shrine of Venus or straight-pight 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-
Once upon a time - what an unhappy time it was!-
I was in Rome - curse the mansion I was in!- at a feast -
oh, I wish our food had been poisoned, or at least
the ones I ate! - the good Posthumus -
what should I say?He was too good to be