The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (moboreader .TXT) 📕

SCENE VI.

Britain. The palace

Enter IMOGEN alone

IMOGEN. A father cruel and a stepdame false; A foolish suitor to a wedded lady

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 Is the desire that’s glorious. Blessed be those, How mean soe’er, that have their honest wills, Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie!

Enter PISANIO and IACHIMO

PISANIO. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome Comes from my lord with letters.

IACHIMO. Change you, madam?

The worthy Leonatus is in safety,

And greets your Highness dearly. [Presents a letter]

IMOGEN. Thanks, good sir.

You’re kindly welcome.

IACHIMO. [Aside] All of her that is out of door most rich!

If she be furnish’d with a mind so rare, She is alone th’ Arabian bird, and I

Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!

Arm me, audacity, from head to foot!

Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight; Rather, directly fly.

IMOGEN. [Reads] ‘He is one of the noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your trust. LEONATUS.’

So far I read aloud;

But even the very middle of my heart

Is warm’d by th’ rest and takes it thankfully.

You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I

Have words to bid you; and shall find it so In all that I can do.

IACHIMO. Thanks, fairest lady.

What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes To see this vaulted arch and the rich crop 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 ‘Twixt fair and foul?

IMOGEN. What makes your admiration?

IACHIMO. It cannot be i’ th’ eye, for apes and monkeys, ‘Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way and Contemn with mows the other; nor i’ th’ judgment, For idiots in this case of favour would Be wisely definite; nor i’ th’ appetite; Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos’d, Should make desire vomit emptiness,

Not so allur’d to feed.

IMOGEN. What is the matter, trow?

IACHIMO. The cloyed will—

That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub Both fill’d and running-ravening first the lamb, Longs after for the garbage.

IMOGEN. What, dear sir,

Thus raps you? Are you well?

IACHIMO. Thanks, madam; well.- Beseech you, sir, Desire my man’s abode where I did leave him.

He’s strange and peevish.

PISANIO. I was going, sir,

To give him welcome. Exit IMOGEN. Continues well my lord? His health beseech you?

IACHIMO. Well, madam.

IMOGEN. Is he dispos’d to mirth? I hope he is.

IACHIMO. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there So merry and so gamesome. He is call’d The Britain reveller.

IMOGEN. When he was here

He did incline to sadness, and oft-times Not knowing why.

IACHIMO. 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

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, What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose But must be-will’s free hours languish for Assured bondage?’

IMOGEN. Will my lord say so?

IACHIMO. 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.

IMOGEN. Not he, I hope.

IACHIMO. 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.

Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound To pity too.

IMOGEN. What do you pity, sir?

IACHIMO. Two creatures heartily.

IMOGEN. Am I one, sir?

You look on me: what wreck discern you in me Deserves your pity?

IACHIMO. Lamentable! What,

To hide me from the radiant sun and solace I’ th’ dungeon by a snuff?

IMOGEN. I pray you, sir,

Deliver with more openness your answers To my demands. Why do you pity me?

IACHIMO. That others do,

I was about to say, enjoy your-But

It is an office of the gods to venge it, Not mine to speak on’t.

IMOGEN. You do seem to know

Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you-Since doubting things go ill often hurts more 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.

IACHIMO. Had I this cheek

To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch, Whose every touch, would force the feeler’s soul To th’ oath of loyalty; this object, which Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, Fixing it only here; should I, damn’d then, Slaver with lips as common as the stairs That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands Made hard with hourly falsehood-falsehood as With labour; then by-peeping in an eye Base and illustrious as the smoky light That’s fed with stinking tallow-it were fit That all the plagues of hell should at one time Encounter such revolt.

IMOGEN. My lord, I fear,

Has forgot Britain.

IACHIMO. 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 Charms this report out.

IMOGEN. Let me hear no more.

IACHIMO. O dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart With pity that doth make me sick! A lady So fair, and fasten’d to an empery,

Would make the great’st king double, to be partner’d With tomboys hir’d with that self exhibition Which your own coffers yield! with diseas’d ventures 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 Recoil from your great stock.

IMOGEN. Reveng’d?

How should I be reveng’d? If this be true-As I have such a heart that both mine ears Must not in haste abuse-if it be true, How should I be reveng’d?

IACHIMO. Should he make me

Live like Diana’s priest betwixt cold sheets, 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, And will continue fast to your affection, Still close as sure.

IMOGEN. What ho, Pisanio!

IACHIMO. Let me my service tender on your lips.

IMOGEN. 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.

Thou wrong’st a gentleman who is as far From thy report as thou from honour; and Solicits here a lady that disdains

Thee and the devil alike.- What ho, Pisanio!-

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

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!

IACHIMO. O happy Leonatus! I may say

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 Country call’d his! and you his mistress, only For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.

I have spoke this to know if your affiance Were deeply rooted, and shall make your lord 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.

IMOGEN. You make amends.

IACHIMO. He sits ‘mongst men like a descended god: He hath a kind of honour sets him of

More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry, 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,

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.

IMOGEN. All’s well, sir; take my pow’r i’ th’ court for yours.

IACHIMO. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot T’ entreat your Grace but in a small request, And yet of moment too, for it concerns Your lord; myself and other noble friends Are partners in the business.

IMOGEN. Pray what is’t?

IACHIMO. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord-The best feather of our wing-have mingled sums 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; And I am something curious, being strange, To have them in safe stowage. May it please you To take them in protection?

IMOGEN. Willingly;

And pawn mine honour for their safety. Since My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them In my bedchamber.

IACHIMO. They are in a trunk,

Attended by my men. I will make bold

To send them to you only for this night; I must aboard tomorrow.

IMOGEN. O, no, no.

IACHIMO. Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word By length’ning my return. From Gallia I cross’d the seas on purpose and on promise To see your Grace.

IMOGEN. I thank you for your pains.

But not away tomorrow!

IACHIMO. O, I must, madam.

Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please To greet your lord with writing, do’t tonight.

I have outstood my time, which is material ‘To th’ tender of our present.

IMOGEN. I will write.

Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept And truly yielded you. You’re very welcome. Exeunt

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ACT II. SCENE I.

Britain. Before CYMBELINE’S palace

Enter CLOTEN and the two LORDS

CLOTEN. Was there ever man had such luck! When I kiss’d 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.

SECOND LORD. [Aside] If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have run all out.

CLOTEN. When a gentleman is dispos’d to swear, it is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths. Ha?

SECOND LORD. No, my lord; [Aside] nor crop the ears of them.

CLOTEN. Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction? Would he had been one of my rank!

SECOND LORD. [Aside] To have smell’d like a fool.

CLOTEN. I am not vex’d more at anything in th’ 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 jackslave hath his bellyful of