Act I. Scene II.


The Same. A Public Place.
   
 
Enter CLOTEN and two Lords.
   
  First Lord.  Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the violence of action hath made you reek as a sacrifice. Where air comes out, air comes in; there’s none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.   
  Clo.  If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him?      4
  Sec. Lord.  [Aside.] No faith; not so much as his patience.   
  First Lord.  Hurt him! his body’s a passable carcass if he be not hurt; it is a throughfare for steel if it be not hurt.   
  Sec. Lord.  [Aside.] His steel was in debt; it went o’ the backside the town.   
  Clo.  The villain would not stand me.      8
  Sec. Lord.  [Aside.] No; but he fied forward still, toward your face.   
  First Lord.  Stand you! You have land enough of your own; but he added to your having, gave you some ground.   
  Sec. Lord.  [Aside.] As many inches as you have oceans. Puppies!   
  Clo.  I would they had not come between us.     12
  Sec. Lord.  [Aside.] So would I till you had measured how long a fool you were upon the ground.   
  Clo.  And that she should love this fellow and refuse me!   
  Sec. Lord.  [Aside.] If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damned.   
  First Lord.  Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go not together; she’s a good sign, but I have seen small reflection of her wit.     16
  Sec. Lord.  [Aside.] She shines not upon fools, lest the reflection should hurt her.   
  Clo.  Come, I’ll to my chamber. Would there had been some hurt done!   
  Sec. Lord.  [Aside.] I wish not so; unless it had been the fall of an ass, which is no great hurt.   
  Clo.  You’ll go with us?     20
  First Lord.  I’ll attend your lordship.   
  Clo.  Nay, come, let’s go together.   
  Sec. Lord.  Well, my lord.  [Exeunt.

Act I. Scene III.


A Room in CYMBELINE’S Palace.
   
 
Enter IMOGEN and PISANIO.
   
  Imo.  I would thou grew’st unto the shores of the haven,   
And question’dst every sail: if he should write,      4
And I not have it, ’twere a paper lost,   
As offer’d mercy is. What was the last   
That he spake to thee?   
  Pis.        It was his queen, his queen!      8
  Imo.  Then wav’d his handkerchief?   
  Pis.        And kiss’d it, madam.   
  Imo.  Senseless linen, happier therein than I!   
And that was all?     12
  Pis.        No, madam; for so long   
As he could make me with this eye or ear   
Distinguish him from others, he did keep   
The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,     16
Still waving, as the fits and stirs of ’s mind   
Could best express how slow his soul sail’d on,   
How swift his ship.   
  Imo.        Thou shouldst have made him     20
As little as a crow, or less, ere left   
To after-eye him.   
  Pis.        Madam, so I did.   
  Imo.  I would have broke mine eye-strings, crack’d them, but     24
To look upon him, till the diminution   
Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle,   
Nay, follow’d him, till he had melted from   
The smallness of a gnat to air, and then     28
Have turn’d mine eye, and wept. But, good Pisanio,   
When shall we hear from him?   
  Pis.        Be assur’d, madam,   
With his next vantage.     32
  Imo.  I did not take my leave of him, but had   
Most pretty things to say; ere I could tell him   
How I would think on him at certain hours   
Such thoughts and such, or I could make him swear     36
The shes of Italy should not betray   
Mine interest and his honour, or have charg’d him,   
At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,   
To encounter me with orisons, for then     40
I am in heaven for him; or ere I could   
Give him that parting kiss which I had set   
Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father,   
And like the tyrannous breathing of the north     44
Shakes all our buds from growing.   
 
Enter a Lady.
   
  Lady.        The queen, madam,   
Desires your highness’ company.     48
  Imo.  Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch’d.   
I will attend the queen.   
  Pis.        Madam, I shall.  [Exeunt.

Act I. Scene IV.


Rome. A Room in PHILARIO’S House.
   
 
Enter PHILARIO, IACHIMO, a Frenchman, a Dutchman, and a Spaniard.
   
  Iach.  Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain; he was then of a crescent note, expected to prove so worthy as since he hath been allowed the name of; but I could then have looked on him without the help of admiration, though the catalogue of his endowments had been tabled by his side and I to peruse him by items.   
  Phi.  You speak of him when he was less furnished than now he is with that which makes him both without and within.      4
  French.  I have seen him in France: we had very many there could behold the sun with as firm eyes as he.   
  Iach.  This matter of marrying his king’s daughter,—wherein he must be weighed rather by her value than his own,—words him, I doubt not, a great deal from the matter.   
  French.  And then, his banishment.   
  Iach.  Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this lamentable divorce under her colours are wonderfully to extend him; be it but to fortify her judgment, which else an easy battery might lay flat, for taking a beggar without less quality. But how comes it, he is to sojourn with you? How creeps acquaintance?      8
  Phi.  His father and I were soldiers together; to whom I have been often bound for no less than my life. Here comes the Briton: let him be so entertained amongst you as suits, with gentlemen of your knowing, to a stranger of his quality.   
 
Enter POSTHUMUS.
   
I beseech you all, be better known to this gentleman, whom I commend to you, as a noble friend of mine; how worthy he is I will leave to appear hereafter, rather than story him in his own hearing.   
  French.  Sir, we have known together in Orleans.     12
  Post.  Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies, which I will be ever to pay and yet pay still.   
  French.  Sir, you o’er-rate my poor kindness. I was glad I did atone my countryman and you; it had been pity you should have been put together with so mortal a purpose as then each bore, upon importance of so slight and trivial a nature.   
  Post.  By your pardon, sir, I was then a young traveller; rather shunned to go even with what I heard than in my every action to be guided by others’ experiences; but, upon my mended judgment,—if I offend not to say it is mended,—my quarrel was not altogether slight.   
  French.  Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords, and by such two that would by all likelihood have confounded one the other, or have fallen both.     16
  Iach.  Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference?   
  French.  Safely, I think. ’Twas a contention in public, which may, without contradiction, suffer the report. It was much like an argument that fell out last night, where each of us fell in praise of our country mistresses; this gentleman at that time vouching—and upon warrant of bloody affirmation—his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant, qualified, and less attemptable, than any the rarest of our ladies in France.   
  Iach.  That lady is not now living, or this gentleman’s opinion by this worn out.   
  Post.  She holds her virtue still and I my mind.     20
  Iach.  You must not so far prefer her ’fore ours of Italy.   
  Post.  Being so far provoked as I was in France, I would abate her nothing, though I profess myself her adorer, not her friend.   
  Iach.  As fair and as good—a kind of hand-in-hand comparison—had been something too fair and too good for any lady in Britain. If she went before others I have seen, as that diamond of yours outlustres many I have beheld, I could not but believe she excelled many; but I have not seen the most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady.   
  Post.  I praised her as I rated her; so do I my stone.     24
  Iach.  What do you esteem it at?   
  Post.  More than the world enjoys.   
  Iach.  Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, or she’s outprized by a trifle.   
  Post.  You are mistaken; the one may be sold, or given; or if there were wealth enough for the purchase, or merit for the gift; the other is not a thing for sale, and only the gift of the gods.     28
  Iach.  Which the gods have given you?   
  Post.  Which, by their graces, I will keep.   
  Iach.  You may wear her in title yours, but, you know, strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. Your ring may be stolen, too; so your brace of unprizeable estimations, the one is but frail and the other casual; a cunning thief, or a that way accomplished courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last.   
  Post.  Your Italy contains none so accomplished a courtier to convince the honour of my mistress, if, in the holding or loss of that, you term her frail. I do nothing doubt you have store of thieves; notwithstanding I fear not my ring.     32
  Phi.  Let us leave here, gentlemen.   
  Post.  Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I thank him, makes no stranger of me; we are familiar at first.   
  Iach.  With five times so much conversation I should get ground of your fair mistress, make her go back, even to the yielding, had I admittance and opportunity to friend.   
  Post.  No, no.     36
  Iach.  I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to your ring, which, in my opinion, o’ervalues it something; but I make my wager rather against your confidence than her reputation; and, to bar your offence herein too, I durst attempt it against any lady in the world.   
  Post.  You are a great deal abused in too bold a persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain what you’re worthy of by your attempt.   
  Iach.  What’s that?   
  Post.  A repulse; though your attempt, as you call it, deserves more,—a punishment too.     40
  Phi.  Gentlemen, enough of this; it came in too suddenly; let it die as it was born, and, I pray you, be better acquainted.   
  Iach.  Would I had put my estate and my neighbour’s on the approbation of what I have spoke!   
  Post.  What lady would you choose to assail?   
  Iach.  Yours; whom in constancy you think stands so safe. I will lay you ten thousand ducats to your ring, that, commend me to the court where your lady is, with no more advantage than the opportunity of a second conference, and I will bring from thence that honour of hers which you imagine so reserved.     44
  Post.  I will wage against your gold, gold to it: my ring I hold dear as my finger; ’tis part of it.   
  Iach.  You are afraid, and therein the wiser. If you buy ladies’ flesh at a million a dram, you cannot preserve it from tainting. But I see you have some religion in you, that you fear.   
  Post.  This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a graver purpose, I hope.   
  Iach.  I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo what’s spoken, I swear.     48
  Post.  Will you? I shall but lend my diamond till your return. Let there be covenants drawn between ’s: my mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness of your unworthy thinking; I dare you to this match. Here’s my ring.   
  Phi.  I will have it no lay.   
  Iach.  By the gods, it is one. If I bring you no sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats are yours; so is your diamond too: if I come off, and leave her in such honour as you have trust in, she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are yours; provided I have your commendation for my more free entertainment.   
  Post.  I embrace these conditions; let us have articles betwixt us. Only, thus far you shall answer: if you make your voyage upon her and give me directly to understand that you have prevailed, I am no further your enemy; she is not worth our debate: if she remain unseduced,—you not making it appear otherwise,—for your ill opinion, and the assault you have made to her chastity, you shall answer me with your sword.     52
  Iach.  Your hand; a covenant. We will have these things set down by lawful counsel, and straight away for Britain, lest the bargain should catch cold and starve. I will fetch my gold and have our two wagers recorded.   
  Post.  Agreed.  [Exeunt POSTHUMUS and IACHIMO.   
  French.  Will this hold, think you?   
  Phi.  Signior Iachimo will not from it. Pray, let us follow ’em.  [Exeunt.     56

Act I. Scene V.


Britain. A Room in CYMBELINE’S Palace.
   
 
Enter QUEEN, Ladies, and CORNELIUS.
   
  Queen.  Whiles yet the dew’s on ground, gather those flowers:   
Make haste; who has the note of them?      4
  First Lady.        I, madam.   
  Queen.  Dispatch.  [Exeunt Ladies.   
Now, Master doctor, have you brought those drugs?   
  Cor.  Pleaseth your highness, ay; here they are, madam:  [Presenting a small box.      8
But I beseech your Grace, without offence,—   
My conscience bids me ask,—wherefore you have   
Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds,   
Which are the movers of a languishing death,     12
But though slow, deadly?   
  Queen.        I wonder, doctor,   
Thou ask’st me such a question: have I not been   
Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn’d me how     16
To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so   
That our great king himself doth woo me oft   
For my confections? Having thus far proceeded,—   
Unless thou think’st me devilish,—is’t not meet     20
That I did amplify my judgment in   
Other conclusions? I will try the forces   
Of these thy compounds on such creatures as   
We count not worth the hanging,—but none human,—     24
To try the vigour of them and apply   
Allayments to their act, and by them gather   
Their several virtues and effects.   
  Cor.        Your highness     28
Shall from this practice but make hard your heart;   
Besides, the seeing these effects will be   
Both noisome and infectious.   
  Queen.        O! content thee.     32
 
Enter PISANIO.
   
[Aside.] Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him   
Will I first work: he’s for his master,   
And enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio!     36
Doctor, your service for this time is ended;   
Take your own way.   
  Cor.        [Aside.] I do suspect you, madam;   
But you shall do no harm.     40
  Queen.        [To PISANIO.] Hark thee, a word.   
  Cor.  [Aside.] I do not like her. She doth think she has   
Strange lingering poisons; I do know her spirit,   
And will not trust one of her malice with     44
A drug of such damn’d nature. Those she has   
Will stupify and dull the sense awhile;   
Which first, perchance, she’ll prove on cats and dogs,   
Then afterward up higher; but there is     48
No danger in what show of death it makes,   
More than the locking-up the spirits a time,   
To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool’d   
With a most false effect; and I the truer,     52
So to be false with her.   
  Queen.        No further service, doctor,   
Until I send for thee.   
  Cor.        I humbly take my leave.  [Exit.     56
  Queen.  Weeps she still, sayst thou? Dost thou think in time   
She will not quench, and let instructions enter   
Where folly now possesses? Do thou work:   
When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son,     60
I’ll tell thee on the instant thou art then   
As great as is thy master; greater, for   
His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name   
Is at last gasp; return he cannot, nor     64
Continue where he is; to shift his being   
Is to exchange one misery with another,   
And every day that comes comes to decay   
A day’s work in him. What shalt thou expect,     68
To be depender on a thing that leans,   
Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends,   
So much as but to prop him?  [The QUEEN drops the box; PISANIO takes it up.   
Thou tak’st up     72
Thou know’st not what; but take it for thy labour:   
It is a thing I made, which hath the king   
Five times redeem’d from death; I do not know   
What is more cordial: nay, I prithee, take it;     76
It is an earnest of a further good   
That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how   
The case stands with her; do ’t as from thyself.   
Think what a chance thou changest on, but think     80
Thou hast thy mistress still, to boot, my son,   
Who shall take notice of thee. I’ll move the king   
To any shape of thy preferment such   
As thou’lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly,     84
That set thee on to this desert, am bound   
To load thy merit richly. Call my women;   
Think on my words.  [Exit PISANIO.   
A sly and constant knave,     88
Not to be shak’d; the agent for his master,   
And the remembrancer of her to hold   
The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that   
Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her     92
Of leigers for her sweet, and which she after,   
Except she bend her humour, shall be assur’d   
To taste of too.   
 
Re-Enter PISANIO and Ladies.
     96
So, so;—well done, well done.   
The violets, cowslips, and the prime-roses   
Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio:   
Think on my words.  [Exeunt QUEEN and Ladies.    100
  Pis.        And shall do:   
But when to my good lord I prove untrue,   
I’ll choke myself; there’s all I’ll do for you.  [Exit.   

Act I. Scene VI.


The Same. Another Room in the Palace.
   
 
Enter IMOGEN.
   
  Imo.  A father cruel, and a step-dame false;   
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady,      4
That hath her husband banish’d: O! that husband,   
My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated   
Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol’n,   
As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable      8
Is the desire that’s glorious: bless’d be those,   
How mean so’er, that have their honest wills,   
Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie!   
 
Enter PISANIO and IACHIMO.
     12
  Pis.  Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome,   
Comes from my lord with letters.   
  Iach.        Change you, madam?   
The worthy Leonatus is in safety,     16
And greets your highness dearly.  [Presents a letter.   
  Imo.        Thanks, good sir:   
You are kindly welcome.   
  Iach.  [Aside.] All of her that is out of door most rich!     20
If she be furnish’d with a mind so rare,   
She is alone the Arabian bird, and I   
Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!   
Arm me, audacity, from head to foot!     24
Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;   
Rather, directly fly.   
  Imo.  He is one of the noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your truest  [LEONATOS.   
So far I read aloud;     28
But even the very middle of my heart   
Is warm’d by the rest, and takes it thankfully.   
You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I   
Have words to bid you; and shall find it so     32
In all that I can do.   
  Iach.        Thanks, fairest lady.   
What! are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes   
To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop     36
Of sea and land, which can distinguish ’twixt   
The fiery orbs above and the twinn’d stones   
Upon the number’d beach? and can we not   
Partition make with spectacles so precious     40
’Twixt fair and foul?   
  Imo.        What makes your admiration?   
  Iach.  It cannot be i’ the eye; for apes and monkeys   
’Twixt two such shes would chatter this way and     44
Contemn with mows the other; nor i’ the judgment,   
For idiots in this case of favour would   
Be wisely definite; nor i’ the appetite;   
Sluttery to such neat excellence oppos’d     48
Should make desire vomit emptiness,   
Not so allur’d to feed.   
  Imo.  What is the matter, trow?   
  Iach.        The cloyed will,—     52
That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub   
Both fill’d and running,—ravening first the lamb,   
Longs after for the garbage.   
  Imo.        What, dear sir,     56
Thus raps you? are you well?   
  Iach.        Thanks, madam, well.   
[To PISANIO.] Beseech you, sir,   
Desire my man’s abode where I did leave him;     60
He’s strange and peevish.   
  Pis.        I was going, sir,   
To give him welcome.  [Exit.   
  Imo.  Continues well my lord his health, beseech you?     64
  Iach.  Well, madam.   
  Imo.  Is he dispos’d to mirth? I hope he is.   
  Iach.  Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there   
So merry and so gamesome: he is call’d     68
The Briton reveller.   
  Imo.        When he was here   
He did incline to sadness, and oft-times   
Not knowing why.     72
  Iach.        I never saw him sad.   
There is a Frenchman his companion, one,   
An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves   
A Gallian girl at home; he furnaces     76
The thick sighs from him, whiles the jolly Briton—   
Your lord, I mean—laughs from ’s free lungs, cries, ‘O!   
Can my sides hold, to think that man, who knows   
By history, report, or his own proof,     80
What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose   
But must be, will his free hours languish for   
Assured bondage?’   
  Imo.        Will my lord say so?     84
  Iach.  Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter:   
It is a recreation to be by   
And hear him mock the Frenchman; but, heavens know,   
Some men are much to blame.     88
  Imo.        Not he, I hope.   
  Iach.  Not he; but yet heaven’s bounty towards him might   
Be us’d more thankfully. In himself, ’tis much;   
In you,—which I account his beyond all talents,—     92
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound   
To pity too.   
  Imo.        What do you pity, sir?   
  Iach.  Two creatures, heartily.     96
  Imo.        Am I one, sir?   
You look on me: what wrack discern you in me   
Deserves your pity?   
  Iach.        Lamentable! What!    100
To hide me from the radiant sun and solace   
I’ the dungeon by a snuff!   
  Imo.        I pray you, sir,   
Deliver with more openness your answers    104
To my demands. Why do you pity me?   
  Iach.  That others do,   
I was about to say, enjoy your—But   
It is an office of the gods to venge it,    108
Not mine to speak on ’t.   
  Imo.        You do seem to know   
Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you,—   
Since doubting things go ill often hurts more    112
Than to be sure they do; for certainties   
Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing,   
The remedy then born,—discover to me   
What both you spur and stop.    116
  Iach.        Had I this cheek   
To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,   
Whose every touch, would force the feeler’s soul   
To the oath of loyalty; this object, which    120
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,   
Firing it only here; should I—damn’d then—   
Slaver with lips as common as the stairs   
That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands    124
Made hard with hourly falsehood,—falsehood, as   
With labour;—then by-peeping in an eye,   
Base and illustrous as the smoky light   
That’s fed with stinking tallow; it were fit    128
That all the plagues of hell should at one time   
Encounter such revolt.   
  Imo.        My lord, I fear,   
Has forgot Britain.    132
  Iach.        And himself. Not I,   
Inclin’d to this intelligence, pronounce   
The beggary of his change; but ’tis your graces   
That from my mutest conscience to my tongue    136
Charms this report out.   
  Imo.        Let me hear no more.   
  Iach.  O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart   
With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady    140
So fair,—and fasten’d to an empery   
Would make the great’st king double,—to be partner’d   
With tom-boys hir’d with that self-exhibition   
Which your own coffers yield! with diseas’d ventures    144
That play with all infirmities for gold   
Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil’d stuff   
As well might poison poison! Be reveng’d;   
Or she that bore you was no queen, and you    148
Recoil from your great stock.   
  Imo.        Reveng’d!   
How should I be reveng’d? If this be true,—   
As I have such a heart, that both mine ears    152
Must not in haste abuse,—if it be true,   
How should I be reveng’d?   
  Iach.        Should he make me   
Live like Diana’s priest, betwixt cold sheets,    156
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps,   
In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.   
I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,   
More noble than that runagate to your bed,    160
And will continue fast to your affection,   
Still close as sure.   
  Imo.        What ho, Pisanio!   
  Iach.  Let me my service tender on your lips.    164
  Imo.  Away! I do condemn mine ears that have   
So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,   
Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not   
For such an end thou seek’st; as base as strange.    168
Thou wrong’st a gentleman, who is as far   
From thy report as thou from honour, and   
Solicit’st here a lady that disdains   
Thee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio!    172
The king my father shall be made acquainted   
Of thy assault; if he shall think it fit,   
A saucy stranger in his court to mart   
As in a Romish stew and to expound    176
His beastly mind to us, he hath a court   
He little cares for and a daughter who   
He not respects at all. What ho, Pisanio!   
  Iach.  O happy Leonatus! I may say:    180
The credit that thy lady hath of thee   
Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness   
Her assur’d credit. Blessed live you long!   
A lady to the worthiest sir that ever    184
Country call’d his; and you his mistress, only   
For the most worthiest fit. Give me your pardon.   
I have spoken this, to know if your affiance   
Were deeply rooted, and shall make your lord    188
That which he is, new o’er; and he is one   
The truest manner’d; such a holy witch   
That he enchants societies into him;   
Half all men’s hearts are his.    192
  Imo.        You make amends.   
  Iach.  He sits ’mongst men like a descended god:   
He hath a kind of honour sets him off,   
More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,    196
Most mighty princess, that I have adventur’d   
To try your taking of a false report; which hath   
Honour’d with confirmation your great judgment   
In the election of a sir so rare,    200
Which you know cannot err. The love I bear him   
Made me to fan you thus; but the gods made you,   
Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.   
  Imo.  All’s well, sir. Take my power i’ the court for yours.    204
  Iach.  My humble thanks. I had almost forgot   
To entreat your Grace but in a small request,   
And yet of moment too, for it concerns   
Your lord, myself, and other noble friends,    208
Are partners in the business.   
  Imo.        Pray, what is ’t?   
  Iach.  Some dozen Romans of us and your lord,   
The best feather of our wing, have mingled sums    212
To buy a present for the emperor;   
Which I, the factor for the rest, have done   
In France; ’tis plate of rare device, and jewels   
Of rich and exquisite form; their values great;    216
And I am something curious, being strange,   
To have them in safe stowage. May it please you   
To take them in protection?   
  Imo.        Willingly;    220
And pawn mine honour for their safety: since   
My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them   
In my bedchamber.   
  Iach.        They are in a trunk,    224
Attended by my men; I will make bold   
To send them to you, only for this night;   
I must aboard to-morrow.   
  Imo.        O! no, no.    228
  Iach.  Yes, I beseech, or I shall short my word   
By lengthening my return. From Gallia   
I cross’d the seas on purpose and on promise   
To see your Grace.    232
  Imo.        I thank you for your pains;   
But not away to-morrow!   
  Iach.        O! I must, madam:   
Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please    236
To greet your lord with writing, do ’t to-night:   
I have outstood my time, which is material   
To the tender of our present.   
  Imo.        I will write.    240
Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept,   
And truly yielded you. You’re very welcome.  [Exeunt.   

Act II. Scene I.


Britain. Before CYMBELINE’S Palace.
   
 
Enter CLOTEN and two Lords.
   
  Clo.  Was there ever man had such luck! when I kissed the jack, upon an up-cast to be hit away! I had a hundred pound on ’t; and then a whoreson jackanapes must take me up for swearing, as if I borrowed mine oaths of him and might not spend them at my pleasure.   
  First Lord.  What got he by that? You have broke his pate with your bowl.      4
  Sec. Lord.  [Aside.] If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have run all out.   
  Clo.  When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths, ha?   
  Sec. Lord.  No, my lord; [Aside.] nor crop the ears of them.   
  Clo.  Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction! Would he had been one of my rank!      8
  Sec. Lord.  [Aside.] To have smelt like a fool.   
  Clo.  I am not vexed more at any thing in the earth. A pox on ’t! I had rather not be so noble as I am. They dare not fight with me because of the queen my mother. Every Jack-slave hath his bellyful of fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that nobody can match.   
  Sec. Lord.  [Aside.] You are cock and capon too; and you crow, cock, with your comb on.   
  Clo.  Sayest thou?     12
  Sec. Lord.  It is not fit your lordship should undertake every companion that you give offence to.   
  Clo.  No, I know that; but it is fit I should commit offence to my inferiors.   
  Sec. Lord.  Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.   
  Clo.  Why, so I say.     16
  First Lord.  Did you hear of a stranger that’s come to court to-night?   
  Clo.  A stranger, and I not know on ’t!   
  Sec. Lord.  [Aside.] He’s a strange fellow himself, and knows it not.   
  First Lord.  There’s an Italian come; and ’tis thought, one of Leonatus’ friends.     20
  Clo.  Leonatus! a banished rascal; and he’s another, whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?   
  First Lord.  One of your lordship’s pages.   
  Clo.  Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation in ’t?   
  First Lord.  You cannot derogate, my lord.     24
  Clo.  Not easily, I think.   
  Sec. Lord.  [Aside.] You are a fool, granted; therefore your issues, being foolish, do not derogate.   
  Clo.  Come, I’ll go see this Italian. What I have lost to-day at bowls I’ll win to-night of him. Come, go.   
  Sec. Lord.  I’ll attend your lordship.  [Exeunt CLOTEN and First Lord.     28
That such a crafty devil as is his mother   
Should yield the world this ass! a woman that   
Bears all down with her brain, and this her son   
Cannot take two from twenty for his heart     32
And leave eighteen. Alas! poor princess,   
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur’st   
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern’d,   
A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer     36
More hateful than the foul expulsion is   
Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act   
Of the divorce he’d make. The heavens hold firm   
The walls of thy dear honour; keep unshak’d     40
That temple, thy fair mind; that thou mayst stand,   
To enjoy thy banish’d lord and this great land!  [Exit.

Act II. Scene II.


A Bedchamber; in one part of it a Trunk.
   
 
IMOGEN reading in her bed; a Lady attending.
   
  Imo.  Who’s there? my woman Helen?   
  Lady.        Please you, madam.      4
  Imo.  What hour is it?   
  Lady.        Almost midnight, madam.   
  Imo.  I have read three hours then; mine eyes are weak;   
Fold down the leaf where I have left; to bed:      8
Take not away the taper, leave it burning,   
And if thou canst awake by four o’ the clock,   
I prithee, call me. Sleep has seized me wholly.  [Exit Lady.   
To your protection I commend me, gods!     12
From fairies and the tempters of the night   
Guard me, beseech ye!  [Sleeps. IACHIMO comes from the trunk.   
  Iach.  The crickets sing, and man’s o’erlabour’d sense   
Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus     16
Did softly press the rushes ere he waken’d   
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,   
How bravely thou becom’st thy bed! fresh lily,   
And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!     20
But kiss: one kiss! Rubies unparagon’d,   
How dearly they do’t! ’Tis her breathing that   
Perfumes the chamber thus; the flame of the taper   
Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids,     24
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied   
Under these windows, white and azure lac’d   
With blue of heaven’s own tinct. But my design,   
To note the chamber: I will write all down:     28
Such and such pictures; there the window; such   
Th’ adornment of her bed; the arras, figures,   
Why, such and such; and the contents o’ the story.   
Ah! but some natural notes about her body,     32
Above ten thousand meaner moveables   
Would testify, to enrich mine inventory.   
O sleep! thou ape of death, lie dull upon her;   
And be her senses but as a monument     36
Thus in a chapel lying. Come off, come off;—  [Taking off her bracelet.   
As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!   
’Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,   
As strongly as the conscience does within,     40
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast   
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops   
I’ the bottom of a cowslip: here’s a voucher;   
Stronger than ever law could make: this secret     44
Will force him think I have pick’d the lock and ta’en   
The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?   
Why should I write this down, that’s riveted,   
Screw’d to my memory? She hath been reading late     48
The tale of Tereus; here the leaf’s turn’d down   
Where Philomel gave up. I have enough:   
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.   
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning     52
May bare the raven’s eye! I lodge in fear;   
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.  [Clock strikes.   
One, two, three: time, time!  [Goes into the trunk. The scene closes.   

Act II. Scene III.


An Ante-chamber adjoining IMOGEN’S Apartments.
   
 
Enter CLOTEN and Lords.
   
  First Lord.  Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that ever turned up ace.   
  Clo.  It would make any man cold to lose.      4
  First Lord.  But not every man patient after the noble temper of your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win.   
  Clo.  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?   
  First Lord.  Day, my lord.   
  Clo.  I would this music would come. I am advised to give her music o’ mornings; they say it will penetrate.      8
 
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.   
 
SONG.
   Hark! hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings,
     And Phœbus ’gins arise,
   His steeds to water at those springs
     On chalic’d flowers that lies;
   And winking Mary-buds begin
     To ope their golden eyes:
   With every thing that pretty is,
     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 horse-hairs and calves’-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend.  [Exeunt Musicians.     12
  Sec. Lord.  Here comes the king.   
  Clo.  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.   
 
Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN.
   
Good morrow to your majesty and to my gracious mother.     16
  Cym.  Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?   
Will she not forth?   
  Clo.  I have assail’d her with musics, but she vouchsafes no notice.   
  Cym.  The exile of her minion is too new,     20
She hath not yet forgot him; some more time   
Must wear the print of his remembrance out,   
And then she’s yours.   
  Queen.        You are most bound to the king,     24
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     28
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,     32
And therein you are senseless.   
  Clo.        Senseless! not so.   
 
Enter a Messenger.
   
  Mess.  So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;     36
The one is Caius Lucius.   
  Cym.        A worthy fellow,   
Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;   
But that’s no fault of his: we must receive him     40
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,     44
Attend the queen and us; we shall have need   
To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.  [Exeunt all but CLOTEN.   
  Clo.  If she be up, I’ll speak with her; if not,   
Let her lie still, and dream. By your leave, ho!  [Knocks.     48
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     52
Their deer to the stand o’ the 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     56
One of her women lawyer to me, for   
I yet not understand the case myself.   
By your leave.  [Knocks.   
 
Enter a Lady.
     60
  Lady.  Who’s there, that knocks?   
  Clo.        A gentleman.   
  Lady.        No more?   
  Clo.  Yes, and a gentlewoman’s son.     64
  Lady.        [Aside.] That’s more   
Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours   
Can justly boast of. What’s your lordship’s pleasure?   
  Clo.  Your lady’s person: is she ready?     68
  Lady.        Ay,   
To keep her chamber.   
  Clo.  There’s gold for you; sell me your good report.   
  Lady.  How! my good name? or to report of you     72
What I shall think is good?—The princess!   
 
Enter IMOGEN.
   
  Clo.  Good morrow, fairest; sister, your sweet hand.  [Exit Lady.   
  Imo.  Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains     76
For purchasing but trouble; the thanks I give   
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks   
And scarce can spare them.   
  Clo.        Still, I swear I love you.     80
  Imo.  If you but said so, ’twere as deep with me:   
If you swear still, your recompense is still   
That I regard it not.   
  Clo.        This is no answer.     84
  Imo.  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     88
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.   
  Clo.  To leave you in your madness, ’twere my sin:   
I will not.   
  Imo.  Fools cure not mad folks.     92
  Clo.        Do you call me fool?   
  Imo.  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,     96
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 the very truth of it, I care not for you;    100
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.   
  Clo.        You sin against    104
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’ the court, it is no contract, none;    108
And though it be allow’d in meaner parties—   
Yet who than he more mean?—to knit their souls—   
On whom there is no more dependancy   
But brats and beggary—in self-figur’d knot;    112
Yet you are curb’d from that enlargement by   
The consequence o’ the crown, and must not soil   
The precious note of it with a base slave,   
A hilding for a livery, a squire’s cloth,    116
A pantler, not so eminent.   
  Imo.        Profane fellow!   
Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more   
But what thou art besides, thou wert too base    120
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    124
For being preferr’d so well.   
  Clo.        The south-fog rot him!   
  Imo.  He never can meet more mischance than come   
To be but nam’d of thee. His meanest garment    128
That ever hath but clipp’d his body, is dearer   
In my respect than all the hairs above thee,   
Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!   
 
Enter PISANIO.
    132
  Clo.  ‘His garment!’ Now, the devil—   
  Imo.  To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently,—   
  Clo.  ‘His garment!’   
  Imo.        I am sprighted with a fool,    136
Frighted, and anger’d worse. Go, bid my woman   
Search for a jewel that too casually   
Hath left mine arm; it was thy master’s, ’shrew me   
If I would lose it for a revenue    140
Of any king’s in Europe. I do think   
I saw ’t this morning; confident I am   
Last night ’twas on mine arm, I kiss’d it;   
I hope it be not gone to tell my lord    144
That I kiss aught but he.   
  Pis.        ’Twill not be lost.   
  Imo.  I hope so; go, and search.  [Exit PISANIO.   
  Clo.        You have abus’d me:    148
‘His meanest garment!’   
  Imo.        Ay, I said so, sir:   
If you will make ’t an action, call witness to ’t.   
  Clo.  I will inform your father.    152
  Imo.        Your mother too:   
She’s my good lady, and will conceive, I hope,   
But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,   
To the worst of discontent.  [Exit.    156
  Clo.        I’ll be reveng’d.   
‘His meanest garment!’ Well.  [Exit.

Act II. Scene IV.


Rome. A Room in PHILARIO’S House.
   
 
Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO.
   
  Post.  Fear it not, sir; I would I were so sure   
To win the king as I am bold her honour      4
Will remain hers.   
  Phi.        What means do you make to him?   
  Post.  Not any, but abide the change of time,   
Quake in the present winter’s state and wish      8
That warmer days would come; in these sear’d hopes,   
I barely gratify your love; they failing,   
I must die much your debtor.   
  Phi.  Your very goodness and your company     12
O’erpays all I can do. By this, your king   
Hath heard of great Augustus; Caius Lucius   
Will do ’s commission throughly, and I think   
He’ll grant the tribute, send the arrearages,     16
Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance   
Is yet fresh in their grief.   
  Post.        I do believe—   
Statist though I am none, nor like to be—     20
That this will prove a war; and you shall hear   
The legions now in Gallia sooner landed   
In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings   
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen     24
Are men more order’d than when Julius Cæsar   
Smil’d at their lack of skill, but found their courage   
Worthy his frowning at: their discipline,—   
Now winged,—with their courage will make known     28
To their approvers they are people such   
That mend upon the world.   
  Phi.        See! Iachimo!   
 
Enter IACHIMO.
     32
  Post.  The swiftest harts have posted you by land,   
And winds of all the corners kiss’d your sails,   
To make your vessel nimble.   
  Phi.        Welcome, sir.     36
  Post.  I hope the briefness of your answer made   
The speediness of your return.   
  Iach.        Your lady   
Is one of the fairest that I have look’d upon.     40
  Post.  And therewithal the best; or let her beauty   
Look through a casement to allure false hearts   
And be false with them.   
  Iach.        Here are letters for you.     44
  Post.  Their tenour good, I trust.   
  Iach.        ’Tis very like.   
  Phi.  Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court   
When you were there?     48
  Iach.        He was expected then,   
But not approach’d.   
  Post.        All is well yet.   
Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or is’t not     52
Too dull for your good wearing?   
  Iach.        If I have lost it,   
I should have lost the worth of it in gold.   
I’ll make a journey twice as far to enjoy     56
A second night of such sweet shortness which   
Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.   
  Post.  The stone’s too hard to come by.   
  Iach.        Not a whit,     60
Your lady being so easy.   
  Post.        Make not, sir,   
Your loss your sport: I hope you know that we   
Must not continue friends.     64
  Iach.        Good sir, we must,   
If you keep covenant. Had I not brought   
The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant   
We were to question further, but I now     68
Profess myself the winner of her honour,   
Together with your ring; and not the wronger   
Of her or you, having proceeded but   
By both your wills.     72
  Post.        If you can make’t apparent   
That you have tasted her in bed, my hand   
And ring is yours; if not, the foul opinion   
You had of her pure honour gains or loses     76
Your sword or mine or masterless leaves both   
To who shall find them.   
  Iach.        Sir, my circumstances   
Being so near the truth as I will make them,     80
Must first induce you to believe: whose strength   
I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not,   
You’ll give me leave to spare, when you shall find   
You need it not.     84
  Post.        Proceed.   
  Iach.        First, her bedchamber,—   
Where I confess I slept not, but profess   
Had that was well worth watching,—it was hang’d     88
With tapestry of silk and silver; the story   
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,   
And Cydnus swell’d above the banks, or for   
The press of boats or pride; a piece of work     92
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive   
In workmanship and value; which I wonder’d   
Could be rarely and exactly wrought,   
Since the true life on ’t was—     96
  Post.        This is true;   
And this you might have heard of here, by me,   
Or by some other.   
  Iach.        More particulars    100
Must justify my knowledge.   
  Post.        So they must,   
Or do your honour injury.   
  Iach.        The chimney    104
Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece   
Chaste Dian bathing; never saw I figures   
So likely to report themselves; the cutter   
Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her,    108
Motion and breath left out.   
  Post.        This is a thing   
Which you might from relation likewise reap,   
Being, as it is, much spoke of.    112
  Iach.        The roof o’ the chamber   
With golden cherubins is fretted; her andirons—   
I had forgot them—were two winking Cupids   
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely    116
Depending on their brands.   
  Post.        This is her honour!   
Let it be granted you have seen all this,—and praise   
Be given to your remembrance,—the description    120
Of what is in her chamber nothing saves   
The wager you have laid.   
  Iach.        Then, if you can,   
Be pale: I beg but leave to air this jewel; see!  [Showing the bracelet.    124
And now ’tis up again; it must be married   
To that your diamond; I’ll keep them.   
  Post.        Jove!   
Once more let me behold it. Is it that    128
Which I left with her?   
  Iach.        Sir,—I thank her,—that:   
She stripp’d it from her arm; I see her yet;   
Her pretty action did outsell her gift,    132
And yet enrich’d it too. She gave it me, and said   
She priz’d it once.   
  Post.        May be she pluck’d it off   
To send it me.    136
  Iach.        She writes so to you, doth she?   
  Post.  O! no, no, no, ’tis true. Here, take this too;  [Gives the ring.   
It is a basilisk unto mine eye,   
Kills me to look on ’t. Let there be no honour    140
Where there is beauty; truth where semblance; love   
Where there’s another man; the vows of women   
Of no more bondage be to where they are made   
Than they are to their virtues, which is nothing.    144
O! above measure false.   
  Phi.        Have patience, sir,   
And take your ring again; ’tis not yet won:   
It may be probable she lost it; or    148
Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted,   
Hath stol’n it from her?   
  Post.        Very true;   
And so I hope he came by ’t. Back my ring.    152
Render to me some corporal sign about her,   
More evident than this; for this was stol’n.   
  Iach.  By Jupiter, I had it from her arm.   
  Post.  Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.    156
’Tis true; nay, keep the ring; ’tis true: I am sure   
She would not lose it; her attendants are   
All sworn and honourable; they induc’d to steal it!   
And by a stranger! No, he hath enjoy’d her;    160
The cognizance of her incontinency   
Is this; she hath bought the name of whore thus dearly.   
There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell   
Divide themselves between you!    164
  Phi.        Sir, be patient:   
This is not strong enough to be believ’d   
Of one persuaded well of—   
  Post.        Never talk on ’t;    168
She hath been colted by him.   
  Iach.        If you seek   
For further satisfying, under her breast,   
Worthy the pressing, lies a mole, right proud    172
Of that most delicate lodging: by my life,   
I kiss’d it, and it gave me present hunger   
To feed again, though full. You do remember   
This stain upon her?    176
  Post.        Ay, and it doth confirm   
Another stain, as big as hell can hold,   
Were there no more but it.   
  Iach.        Will you hear more?    180
  Post.  Spare your arithmetic; never count the turns;   
Once, and a million!   
  Iach.        I’ll be sworn,—   
  Post.        No swearing.    184
If you will swear you have not done’t, you lie;   
And I will kill thee if thou dost deny   
Thou’st made me cuckold.   
  Iach.        I’ll deny nothing.    188
  Post.  O! that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal.   
I will go there and do ’t, i’ the court, before   
Her father. I’ll do something—  [Exit.   
  Phi.        Quite besides    192
The government of patience! You have won:   
Let’s follow him, and pervert the present wrath   
He hath against himself.   
  Iach.        With all my heart.  [Exeunt.    196

Act II. Scene V.


The Same. Another Room in the Same.
   
 
Enter POSTHUMUS.
   
  Post.  Is there no way for men to be, but women   
Must be half-workers? We are all bastards; all,      4
And that most venerable man which I   
Did call my father was I know not where   
When I was stamp’d; some coiner with his tools   
Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seem’d      8
The Dian of that time; so doth my wife   
The nonpareil of this. O! vengeance, vengeance;   
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain’d   
And pray’d me oft forbearance; did it with     12
A pudency so rosy the sweet view on ’t   
Might well have warm’d old Saturn; that I thought her   
As chaste as unsunn’d snow. O! all the devils!   
This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,—was ’t not?     16
Or less—at first?—perchance he spoke not, but   
Like a full-acorn’d boar, a German one,   
Cried ‘O!’ and mounted; found no opposition   
But what he look’d for should oppose and she     20
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out   
The woman’s part in me! For there’s no motion   
That tends to vice in man but I affirm   
It is the woman’s part; be it lying, note it,     24
The woman’s; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;   
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;   
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,   
Nice longing, slanders, mutability,     28
All faults that man may name, nay, that hell knows,   
Why, hers, in part, or all; but rather, all;   
For even to vice   
They are not constant, but are changing still     32
One vice but of a minute old for one   
Not half so old as that. I’ll write against them,   
Detest them, curse them. Yet ’tis greater skill   
In a true hate to pray they have their will:     36
The very devils cannot plague them better.  [Exit.