Cymbeline (Folger Shakespeare Library Series)

ACT 1

Scene 1

Enter two Gentlemen.

FIRST GENTLEMAN

You do not meet a man but frowns. Our bloods

No more obey the heavens than our courtiers'

Still seem as does the King's.

SECOND GENTLEMAN But what's the matter?

FIRST GENTLEMAN

His daughter, and the heir of 's kingdom, whom

He purposed to his wife's sole son — a widow

That late he married — hath referred herself

Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. She's wedded,

Her husband banished, she imprisoned. All

Is outward sorrow, though I think the King

Be touched at very heart.

SECOND GENTLEMAN None but the King?

FIRST GENTLEMAN

He that hath lost her, too. So is the Queen,

That most desired the match. But not a courtier,

Although they wear their faces to the bent

Of the King's looks, hath a heart that is not

Glad at the thing they scowl at.

SECOND GENTLEMAN And why so?

FIRST GENTLEMAN

He that hath missed the Princess is a thing

Too bad for bad report, and he that hath her —

I mean, that married her, alack, good man!

And therefore banished — is a creature such

As, to seek through the regions of the earth

For one his like, there would be something failing

In him that should compare. I do not think

So fair an outward and such stuff within

Endows a man but he.

SECOND GENTLEMAN You speak him far.

FIRST GENTLEMAN

I do extend him, sir, within himself,

Crush him together rather than unfold

His measure duly.

SECOND GENTLEMAN What's his name and birth?

FIRST GENTLEMAN

I cannot delve him to the root. His father

Was called Sicilius, who did join his honor

Against the Romans with Cassibelan,

But had his titles by Tenantius, whom

He served with glory and admired success,

So gained the sur-addition Leonatus;

And had, besides this gentleman in question,

Two other sons, who in the wars o' th' time

Died with their swords in hand. For which their father,

Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow

That he quit being; and his gentle lady,

Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased

As he was born. The King he takes the babe

To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,

Breeds him and makes him of his bedchamber,

Puts to him all the learnings that his time

Could make him the receiver of, which he took

As we do air, fast as 'twas ministered,

And in 's spring became a harvest; lived in court —

Which rare it is to do — most praised, most loved,

A sample to the youngest, to th' more mature

A glass that feated them, and to the graver

A child that guided dotards. To his mistress,

For whom he now is banished, her own price

Proclaims how she esteemed him; and his virtue

By her election may be truly read

What kind of man he is.

SECOND GENTLEMAN I honor him

Even out of your report. But pray you tell me,

Is she sole child to th' King?

FIRST GENTLEMAN His only child.

He had two sons — if this be worth your hearing,

Mark it — the eldest of them at three years old,

I' th' swathing clothes the other, from their nursery

Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in knowledge

Which way they went.

SECOND GENTLEMAN  How long is this ago?

FIRST GENTLEMAN  Some twenty years.

SECOND GENTLEMAN

That a king's children should be so conveyed,

So slackly guarded, and the search so slow

That could not trace them!

FIRST GENTLEMAN Howsoe'er 'tis strange,

Or that the negligence may well be laughed at,

Yet is it true, sir.

SECOND GENTLEMAN  I do well believe you.

FIRST GENTLEMAN

We must forbear. Here comes the gentleman,

The Queen and Princess.

They exit.

Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen.

QUEEN

No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter,

After the slander of most stepmothers,

Evil-eyed unto you. You're my prisoner, but

Your jailer shall deliver you the keys

That lock up your restraint. — For you, Posthumus,

So soon as I can win th' offended king,

I will be known your advocate. Marry, yet

The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good

You leaned unto his sentence with what patience

Your wisdom may inform you.

POSTHUMUS Please your Highness,

I will from hence today.

QUEEN You know the peril.

I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying

The pangs of barred affections, though the King

Hath charged you should not speak together. She exits.

IMOGEN O,

Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant

Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,

I something fear my father's wrath, but nothing —

Always reserved my holy duty — what

His rage can do on me. You must be gone,

And I shall here abide the hourly shot

Of angry eyes, not comforted to live

But that there is this jewel in the world

That I may see again. [She weeps.]

POSTHUMUS My queen, my mistress!

O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause

To be suspected of more tenderness

Than doth become a man. I will remain

The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth.

My residence in Rome at one Philario's,

Who to my father was a friend, to me

Known but by letter; thither write, my queen,

And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,

Though ink be made of gall.

Enter Queen.

QUEEN Be brief, I pray you.

If the King come, I shall incur I know not

How much of his displeasure. [Aside.] Yet I'll move him

To walk this way. I never do him wrong

But he does buy my injuries, to be friends,

Pays dear for my offenses. [She exits.]

POSTHUMUS Should we be taking leave

As long a term as yet we have to live,

The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu.

IMOGEN  Nay, stay a little!

Were you but riding forth to air yourself,

Such parting were too petty. Look here, love:

This diamond was my mother's. [She offers a

ring.] Take it, heart,

But keep it till you woo another wife

When Imogen is dead.

POSTHUMUS How, how? Another?

You gentle gods, give me but this I have,

And cere up my embracements from a next

With bonds of death. [He puts the ring on his finger.]

Remain, remain thou here,

While sense can keep it on. — And sweetest, fairest,

As I my poor self did exchange for you

To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles

I still win of you. For my sake, wear this.

[He offers a bracelet.]

It is a manacle of love. I'll place it

Upon this fairest prisoner. [He puts it on her wrist.]

IMOGEN O the gods!

When shall we see again?

Enter Cymbeline and Lords.

POSTHUMUS Alack, the King.

CYMBELINE

Thou basest thing, avoid hence, from my sight!

If after this command thou fraught the court

With thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away!

Thou 'rt poison to my blood.

POSTHUMUS The gods protect you,

And bless the good remainders of the court.

I am gone. He exits.

IMOGEN There cannot be a pinch in death

More sharp than this is.

CYMBELINE O disloyal thing

That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st

A year's age on me.

IMOGEN I beseech you, sir,

Harm not yourself with your vexation.

I am senseless of your wrath. A touch more rare

Subdues all pangs, all fears.

CYMBELINE Past grace? Obedience?

IMOGEN

Past hope and in despair; that way past grace.

CYMBELINE

That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!

IMOGEN

O, blessèd that I might not! I chose an eagle

And did avoid a puttock.

CYMBELINE

Thou took'st a beggar, wouldst have made my throne

A seat for baseness.

IMOGEN No, I rather added

A luster to it.

CYMBELINE O thou vile one!

IMOGEN Sir,

It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus.

You bred him as my playfellow, and he is

A man worth any woman, overbuys me

Almost the sum he pays.

CYMBELINE

What, art thou mad?

IMOGEN

Almost, sir. Heaven restore me! Would I were

A neatherd's daughter, and my Leonatus

Our neighbor shepherd's son. [She weeps.]

CYMBELINE

Thou foolish thing!

Enter Queen.

They were again together. You have done

Not after our command. Away with her

And pen her up.

QUEEN

Beseech your patience. — Peace,

Dear lady daughter, peace. — Sweet sovereign,

Leave us to ourselves, and make yourself some comfort

Out of your best advice.

CYMBELINE

Nay, let her languish

A drop of blood a day, and being aged

f0 Die of this folly. He exits, <with Lords.>

QUEEN

Fie, you must give way.

Enter Pisanio.

Here is your servant. — How now, sir? What news?

PISANIO

My lord your son drew on my master.

QUEEN Ha?

No harm, I trust, is done?

PISANIO

There might have been,

But that my master rather played than fought

And had no help of anger. They were parted

By gentlemen at hand.

QUEEN I am very glad on 't.

IMOGEN

Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part

To draw upon an exile. O, brave sir!

I would they were in Afric both together,

Myself by with a needle, that I might prick

The goer-back. — Why came you from your master?

PISANIO

On his command. He would not suffer me

To bring him to the haven, left these notes

Of what commands I should be subject to

When 't pleased you to employ me.

QUEEN, [to Imogen] This hath been

Your faithful servant. I dare lay mine honor

He will remain so.

PISANIO

I humbly thank your Highness.

QUEEN, [to Imogen]

Pray, walk awhile.

IMOGEN, [to Pisanio] About some half hour hence,

Pray you, speak with me. You shall at least

Go see my lord aboard. For this time leave me.

They exit.