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

Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.

CYMBELINE. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords, Till he have cross’d the Severn. Happiness!

Exeunt LUCIUS and LORDS

QUEEN. He goes hence frowning; but it honours us That we have given him cause.

CLOTEN. ‘Tis all the better;

Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

CYMBELINE. Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness.

The pow’rs that he already hath in Gallia Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves His war for Britain.

QUEEN. ‘Tis not sleepy business,

But must be look’d to speedily and strongly.

CYMBELINE. Our expectation that it would be thus Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen, Where is our daughter? She hath not appear’d Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender’d The duty of the day. She looks us like A thing more made of malice than of duty; We have noted it. Call her before us, for We have been too slight in sufferance. Exit a MESSENGER

QUEEN. Royal sir,

Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir’d Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord, ‘Tis time must do. Beseech your Majesty, Forbear sharp speeches to her; she’s a lady So tender of rebukes that words are strokes, And strokes death to her.

Re-enter MESSENGER

CYMBELINE. Where is she, sir? How

Can her contempt be answer’d?

MESSENGER. Please you, sir,

Her chambers are all lock’d, and there’s no answer That will be given to th’ loud of noise we make.

QUEEN. My lord, when last I went to visit her, She pray’d me to excuse her keeping close; Whereto constrain’d by her infirmity

She should that duty leave unpaid to you Which daily she was bound to proffer. This She wish’d me to make known; but our great court Made me to blame in memory.

CYMBELINE. Her doors lock’d?

Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear Prove false! Exit QUEEN. Son, I say, follow the King.

CLOTEN. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, I have not seen these two days.

QUEEN. Go, look after. Exit CLOTEN

Pisanio, thou that stand’st so for Posthumus!

He hath a drug of mine. I pray his absence Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes It is a thing most precious. But for her, Where is she gone? Haply despair hath seiz’d her; Or, wing’d with fervour of her love, she’s flown To her desir’d Posthumus. Gone she is To death or to dishonour, and my end

Can make good use of either. She being down, I have the placing of the British crown.

Re-enter CLOTEN

How now, my son?

CLOTEN. ‘Tis certain she is fled.

Go in and cheer the King. He rages; none Dare come about him.

QUEEN. All the better. May

This night forestall him of the coming day! Exit CLOTEN. I love and hate her; for she’s fair and royal, And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite Than lady, ladies, woman. From every one The best she hath, and she, of all compounded, Outsells them all. I love her therefore; but Disdaining me and throwing favours on The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment That what’s else rare is chok’d; and in that point I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed, To be reveng’d upon her. For when fools Shall-Enter PISANIO

Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?

Come hither. Ah, you precious pander! Villain, Where is thy lady? In a word, or else Thou art straightway with the fiends.

PISANIO. O good my lord!

CLOTEN. Where is thy lady? or, by JupiterI will not ask again. Close villain,

I’ll have this secret from thy heart, or rip Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?

From whose so many weights of baseness cannot A dram of worth be drawn.

PISANIO. Alas, my lord,

How can she be with him? When was she miss’d?

He is in Rome.

CLOTEN. Where is she, sir? Come nearer.

No farther halting! Satisfy me home

What is become of her.

PISANIO. O my all-worthy lord!

CLOTEN. All-worthy villain!

Discover where thy mistress is at once, At the next word. No more of ‘worthy lord’!

Speak, or thy silence on the instant is Thy condemnation and thy death.

PISANIO. Then, sir,

This paper is the history of my knowledge Touching her flight. [Presenting a letter]

CLOTEN. Let’s see’t. I will pursue her

Even to Augustus’ throne.

PISANIO. [Aside] Or this or perish.

She’s far enough; and what he learns by this May prove his travel, not her danger.

CLOTEN. Humh!

PISANIO. [Aside] I’ll write to my lord she’s dead. O Imogen, Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!

CLOTEN. Sirrah, is this letter true?

PISANIO. Sir, as I think.

CLOTEN. It is Posthumus’ hand; I know’t. Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service, undergo those employments wherein I should have cause to use thee with a serious industry-that is, what villainy soe’er I bid thee do, to perform it directly and truly-I would think thee an honest man; thou shouldst neither want my means for thy relief nor my voice for thy preferment.

PISANIO. Well, my good lord.

CLOTEN. Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serve me?

PISANIO. Sir, I will.

CLOTEN. Give me thy hand; here’s my purse. Hast any of thy late master’s garments in thy possession?

PISANIO. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.

CLOTEN. The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither. Let it be thy first service; go.

PISANIO. I shall, my lord. Exit CLOTEN. Meet thee at Milford Haven! I forgot to ask him one thing; I’ll remember’t anon. Even there, thou villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these garments were come. She said upon a time-the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart-that she held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect than my noble and natural person, together with the adornment of my qualities.

With that suit upon my back will I ravish her; first kill him, and in her eyes. There shall she see my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and when my lust hath dined-which, as I say, to vex her I will execute in the clothes that she so prais’d-to the court I’ll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath despis’d me rejoicingly, and I’ll be merry in my revenge.

Re-enter PISANIO, with the clothes Be those the garments?

PISANIO. Ay, my noble lord.

CLOTEN. How long is’t since she went to Milford Haven?

PISANIO. She can scarce be there yet.

CLOTEN. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second thing that I have commanded thee. The third is that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be but duteous and true, preferment shall tender itself to thee. My revenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to follow it! Come, and be true. Exit PISANIO. Thou bid’st me to my loss; for true to thee Were to prove false, which I will never be, To him that is most true. To Milford go, And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow, You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool’s speed Be cross’d with slowness! Labour be his meed! Exit

SCENE VI.

Wales. Before the cave of BELARIUS

Enter IMOGEN alone, in boy’s clothes

IMOGEN. I see a man’s life is a tedious one.

I have tir’d myself, and for two nights together Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick But that my resolution helps me. Milford, When from the mountain-top Pisanio show’d thee, Thou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean, Where they should be reliev’d. Two beggars told me I could not miss my way. Will poor folks lie, That have afflictions on them, knowing ‘tis A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder, When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness Is sorer than to lie for need; and falsehood Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord!

Thou art one o’ th’ false ones. Now I think on thee My hunger’s gone; but even before, I was At point to sink for food. But what is this?

Here is a path to’t; ‘tis some savage hold.

I were best not call; I dare not call. Yet famine, Ere clean it o’erthrow nature, makes it valiant.

Plenty and peace breeds cowards; hardness ever Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who’s here?

If anything that’s civil, speak; if savage, Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I’ll enter.

Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy But fear the sword, like me, he’ll scarcely look on’t.

Such a foe, good heavens! Exit into the cave Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS

BELARIUS. You, Polydore, have prov’d best woodman and Are master of the feast. Cadwal and I Will play the cook and servant; ‘tis our match.

The sweat of industry would dry and die But for the end it works to. Come, our stomachs Will make what’s homely savoury; weariness Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth Finds the down pillow hard. Now, peace be here, Poor house, that keep’st thyself!

GUIDERIUS. I am thoroughly weary.

ARVIRAGUS. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.

GUIDERIUS. There is cold meat i’ th’ cave; we’ll browse on that Whilst what we have kill’d be cook’d.

BELARIUS. [Looking into the cave] Stay, come not in.

But that it eats our victuals, I should think Here were a fairy.

GUIDERIUS. What’s the matter, sir?

BELARIUS.. By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not, An earthly paragon! Behold divineness No elder than a boy!

Re-enter IMOGEN

IMOGEN. Good masters, harm me not.

Before I enter’d here I call’d, and thought To have begg’d or bought what I have took. Good troth, I have stol’n nought; nor would not though I had found Gold strew’d i’ th’ floor. Here’s money for my meat.

I would have left it on the board, so soon As I had made my meal, and parted

With pray’rs for the provider.

GUIDERIUS. Money, youth?

ARVIRAGUS. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt, As ‘tis no better reckon’d but of those Who worship dirty gods.

IMOGEN. I see you’re angry.

Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should Have died had I not made it.

BELARIUS. Whither bound?

IMOGEN. To Milford Haven.

BELARIUS. What’s your name?

IMOGEN. Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who Is bound for Italy; he embark’d at Milford; To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, I am fall’n in this offence.

BELARIUS. Prithee, fair youth,

Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds By this rude place we live in. Well encounter’d!

‘Tis almost night; you shall have better cheer Ere you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it.

Boys, bid him welcome.

GUIDERIUS. Were you a woman, youth,

I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty I bid for you as I’d buy.

ARVIRAGUS. I’ll make’t my comfort

He is a man. I’ll love him as my brother; And such a welcome as I’d give to him After long absence, such is yours. Most welcome!

Be sprightly, for you fall ‘mongst friends.

IMOGEN. ‘Mongst friends,

If brothers. [Aside] Would it had been so that they Had been my father’s sons! Then