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 upcast 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 gave 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 fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that nobody can match.

SECOND LORD. [ Aside. ] You are cock and capon too; and you crow, cock, with your comb on.

CLOTEN. Sayest thou?

SECOND LORD. It is not fit your lordship should undertake every companion that you give offence to.

CLOTEN. No, I know that; but it is fit I should commit offence to my inferiors.

SECOND LORD. Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.

CLOTEN. Why, so I say.

FIRST LORD. Did you hear of a stranger that’s come to court tonight?

CLOTEN. A stranger, and I not known on’t?

SECOND 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.

CLOTEN. Leonatus? A banish’d rascal; and he’s another, whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?

FIRST LORD. One of your lordship’s pages.

CLOTEN. Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation in’t?

SECOND LORD. You cannot derogate, my lord.

CLOTEN. Not easily, I think.

SECOND LORD. [ Aside. ] You are a fool granted; therefore your issues, being foolish, do not derogate.

CLOTEN. Come, I’ll go see this Italian. What I have lost today at bowls I’ll win tonight of him. Come, go.

SECOND LORD. I’ll attend your lordship.

[ Exeunt Cloten and First Lord . ]

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, 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 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 That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand T’ enjoy thy banish’d lord and this great land!

[ Exit. ]

SCENE II. Britain. Imogen’s bedchamber in Cymbeline’s palace; a trunk in one corner.

Enter Imogen in her bed, and a Lady attending.

IMOGEN. Who’s there? My woman Helen?

LADY. Please you, madam.

IMOGEN. What hour is it?

LADY. Almost midnight, madam.

IMOGEN. I have read three hours then. Mine eyes are weak; Fold down the leaf where I have left. To bed. Take not away the taper, leave it burning; And if thou canst awake by four o’ th’ clock, I prithee call me. Sleep hath seiz’d me wholly.

[ Exit Lady . ]

To your protection I commend me, gods. From fairies and the tempters of the night Guard me, beseech ye!

[ Sleeps. Iachimo comes from the trunk. ]

IACHIMO. The crickets sing, and man’s o’er-labour’d sense Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus 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! But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon’d, How dearly they do’t! ’Tis her breathing that Perfumes the chamber thus. The flame o’ th’ taper Bows toward her and would under-peep her lids To see th’ 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: Such and such pictures; there the window; such Th’ adornment of her bed; the arras, figures, Why, such and such; and the contents o’ th’ story. Ah, but some natural notes about her body Above ten thousand meaner movables Would testify, t’ enrich mine inventory. O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her! And be her sense but as a monument, 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, To th’ madding of her lord. On her left breast A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops I’ th’ bottom of a cowslip. Here’s a voucher Stronger than ever law could make; this secret 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 The tale of Tereus; here the leaf’s turn’d down Where Philomel gave up. I have enough. To th’ trunk again, and shut the spring of it. Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning 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!

[ Exit into the trunk. ]

SCENE III. Cymbeline’s palace. 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 turn’d up ace.

CLOTEN. It would make any man cold to lose.

FIRST LORD. But not every man patient after the noble temper of your lordship. You are most hot and furious 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?

FIRST LORD. 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.

SONG

Hark, hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings, And Phœbus ’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 is, My lady sweet, arise; Arise, arise!

CLOTEN. 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 . ]

Enter Cymbeline and Queen .

SECOND LORD. 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.

CYMBELINE. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter? Will she not forth?

CLOTEN. I have assail’d her with musics, but she vouchsafes 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 on’t, And then she’s 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 solicits, 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.

CLOTEN. Senseless? Not so.

Enter a Messenger .

MESSENGER. So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome; The one is Caius Lucius.

CYMBELINE. A worthy fellow, Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; But that’s no fault of his. We must receive him 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 . ]

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 .

LADY. Who’s there that knocks?

CLOTEN. A gentleman.

LADY. No more?

CLOTEN. Yes, and a gentlewoman’s son.

LADY. That’s more Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours Can justly boast of. What’s your lordship’s pleasure?

CLOTEN. Your lady’s person; is she ready?

LADY. Ay, To keep her chamber.

CLOTEN. There is 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 .

CLOTEN. Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand.

[ Exit Lady . ]

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.

CLOTEN. 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.

CLOTEN. This is no 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.

CLOTEN. To leave you in your madness ’twere my sin; I will not.

IMOGEN. Fools are not mad folks.

CLOTEN. Do you call me 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.

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!

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.

CLOTEN. The south 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, Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!

Enter Pisanio .

CLOTEN. ‘His garment’! Now the devil—

IMOGEN. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.

CLOTEN. ‘His garment’!

IMOGEN. I am sprited with a fool; Frighted, and ang’red 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 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 That I kiss aught but he.

PISANIO. ’Twill not be lost.

IMOGEN. I hope so. Go and search.

[ Exit Pisanio . ]

CLOTEN. You have abus’d me. ‘His meanest garment’!

IMOGEN. Ay, I said so, sir. If you will make ’t an action, call witness to ’t.

CLOTEN. I will inform your father.

IMOGEN. Your mother too. She’s my good lady and will conceive, I hope, But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir, To th’ worst of discontent.

[ Exit. ]

CLOTEN. I’ll be reveng’d. ‘His mean’st garment’! Well.

[ Exit. ]

SCENE IV. Rome. Philario’s house.

Enter Posthumus and Philario .

POSTHUMUS. Fear it not, sir; I would I were so sure To win the King as I am bold her honour Will remain hers.

PHILARIO. What means do you make to him?

POSTHUMUS. Not any; but abide the change of time, Quake in the present winter’s state, and wish That warmer days would come. In these fear’d hopes I barely gratify your love; they failing, I must die much your debtor.

PHILARIO. Your very goodness and your company 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 th’ arrearages, Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance Is yet fresh in their grief.

POSTHUMUS. I do believe Statist though I am none, nor like to be, 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 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 mingled with their courages, will make known To their approvers they are people such That mend upon the world.

Enter Iachimo .

PHILARIO. See! Iachimo!

POSTHUMUS. The swiftest harts have posted you by land, And winds of all the corners kiss’d your sails, To make your vessel nimble.

PHILARIO. Welcome, sir.

POSTHUMUS. I hope the briefness of your answer made The speediness of your return.

IACHIMO. Your lady Is one of the fairest that I have look’d upon.

POSTHUMUS. And therewithal the best; or let her beauty Look through a casement to allure false hearts, And be false with them.

IACHIMO. Here are letters for you.

POSTHUMUS. Their tenour good, I trust.

IACHIMO. ’Tis very like.

PHILARIO. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court When you were there?

IACHIMO. He was expected then, But not approach’d.

POSTHUMUS. All is well yet. Sparkles this stone as it was wont, or is’t not Too dull for your good wearing?

IACHIMO. If I have lost it, I should have lost the worth of it in gold. I’ll make a journey twice as far t’ enjoy A second night of such sweet shortness which Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.

POSTHUMUS. The stone’s too hard to come by.

IACHIMO. Not a whit, Your lady being so easy.

POSTHUMUS. Make not, sir, Your loss your sport. I hope you know that we Must not continue friends.

IACHIMO. Good sir, we must, If you keep covenant. Had I not brought The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant We were to question farther; but I now 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.

POSTHUMUS. 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 Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both To who shall find them.

IACHIMO. Sir, my circumstances, Being so near the truth as I will make them, 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.

POSTHUMUS. Proceed.

IACHIMO. First, her bedchamber, (Where I confess I slept not, but profess Had that was well worth watching) it was hang’d 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 So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive In workmanship and value; which I wonder’d Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, Since the true life on’t was—

POSTHUMUS. This is true; And this you might have heard of here, by me Or by some other.

IACHIMO. More particulars Must justify my knowledge.

POSTHUMUS. So they must, Or do your honour injury.

IACHIMO. The chimney Is south the chamber, and the chimneypiece Chaste Dian bathing. Never saw I figures So likely to report themselves. The cutter Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her, Motion and breath left out.

POSTHUMUS. This is a thing Which you might from relation likewise reap, Being, as it is, much spoke of.

IACHIMO. The roof o’ th’ chamber With golden cherubins is fretted; her andirons (I had forgot them) were two winking Cupids Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely Depending on their brands.

POSTHUMUS. This is her honour! Let it be granted you have seen all this, and praise Be given to your remembrance; the description Of what is in her chamber nothing saves The wager you have laid.

IACHIMO. Then, if you can, [ Shows the bracelet ] Be pale. I beg but leave to air this jewel. See! And now ’tis up again. It must be married To that your diamond; I’ll keep them.

POSTHUMUS. Jove! Once more let me behold it. Is it that Which I left with her?

IACHIMO. Sir (I thank her) that. She stripp’d it from her arm; I see her yet; Her pretty action did outsell her gift, And yet enrich’d it too. She gave it me, and said She priz’d it once.

POSTHUMUS. May be she pluck’d it off To send it me.

IACHIMO. She writes so to you, doth she?

POSTHUMUS. 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 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. O, above measure false!

PHILARIO. Have patience, sir, And take your ring again; ’tis not yet won. It may be probable she lost it, or Who knows if one her women, being corrupted Hath stol’n it from her?

POSTHUMUS. Very true; And so I hope he came by’t. Back my ring. Render to me some corporal sign about her, More evident than this; for this was stol’n.

IACHIMO. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm!

POSTHUMUS. Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears. ’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. 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!

PHILARIO. Sir, be patient; This is not strong enough to be believ’d Of one persuaded well of.

POSTHUMUS. Never talk on’t; She hath been colted by him.

IACHIMO. If you seek For further satisfying, under her breast (Worthy the pressing) lies a mole, right proud 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?

POSTHUMUS. Ay, and it doth confirm Another stain, as big as hell can hold, Were there no more but it.

IACHIMO. Will you hear more?

POSTHUMUS. Spare your arithmetic; never count the turns. Once, and a million!

IACHIMO. I’ll be sworn—

POSTHUMUS. No swearing. 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.

IACHIMO. I’ll deny nothing.

POSTHUMUS. O that I had her here to tear her limb-meal! I will go there and do’t, i’ th’ court, before Her father. I’ll do something—

[ Exit. ]

PHILARIO. Quite besides The government of patience! You have won. Let’s follow him and pervert the present wrath He hath against himself.

IACHIMO. With all my heart.

[ Exeunt. ]

SCENE V. Rome. Another room in Philario’s house.

Enter Posthumus .

POSTHUMUS. Is there no way for men to be, but women Must be half-workers? We are all bastards, 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 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 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? 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 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, 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, 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 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: The very devils cannot plague them better.

[ Exit. ]