Cymbeline (1982) - full transcript

[dramatic music]

[orchestral music]

[Man] 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.

[Woman] But what's the matter?

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.

None but the king?

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.

And why so?

He that hath missed the princess

is a thing too bad for bad report,

and he that hath her, I
mean, that married her,

alas good man, and therefore banished,



is a creature such as,

to seek through the regions
of the earth for one his like,

there should 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.

You speak him far.

I do extend him, ma'am, within himself,

crush him together, rather
than unfold his measure duly.

What's his name and birth?

I cannot delve him to the root.

His father was called Sicilius,

that 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'the 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.
-[gasps]

Breeds him, and makes
him of his bed-chamber.

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.

Sample to the youngest,

to the more mature, a
glass that feated them,

and to the graver, a
child that guided dotards.

For 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.

I honor him even out of your report.

But pray you tell me, is
she sole child to the king?

His only child.

He had two sons, if this be
worth your hearing, mark it,

the eldest of them at three years old,

I'the swathing-clothes the other,

from their nursery were stolen,

and to this hour no guess in
knowledge which way they went.

How long is this ago?

Some twenty years.

That a king's children
should be so conveyed,

so slackly guarded,

and the search so slow
that could not trace them!

Howsoe'er 'tis strange,

or that the negligence
may well be laughed at,

yet is it true.

I do well believe you.

[soft music]

No!

Be assured you shall
not find me, daughter,

after the manner of most
stepmothers, evil-eyed unto you.

You're my prisoner but,

your gaoler shall deliver you the keys

that lock up your restraint.

For you Posthumus, so soon as
I can win the 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.

Please your highness, I
will from hence today.

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.

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 shots of angry eyes,

not comforted to live,

but that there is this jewel in the world

that I may see again.

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.

Be brief, I pray you.

If the king come,

I shall incur I know not,
how much of his displeasure.

Should we be taking leave,
as long a term as yet,

we have to live,

the loathness to depart would grow.

Adieu!

Nay, stay a little.

Were you but riding forth to air yourself,

this parting were too petty.

[soft music]

Look here love, this
diamond was my mother's,

take it, heart, but keep it
till you woo another wife,

when Innogen is dead.

How, how another?

You gentle gods, give me but this I have,

and sear up my embracements
from a next with bonds of death!

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,

it is a manacle of love,

I'll place it upon this fairest prisoner.

O the gods!

When shall we see again?

Alack, the king!

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!

The gods protect you,

and bless the good
remainders of the court!

I'm gone.

There cannot be a pinch in
death more sharp than this is.

O disloyal thing,

that shouldst repair my youth, thou

heap'st a year's age on me!

I beseech you sir,

Harm not yourself with your vexation,

I am senseless of your wrath.

Past grace, obedience?

Past hope, and in despair,
that way past grace.

That mightst have had
the sole son of my queen!

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

and did avoid a puttock.

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

a seat for baseness.

No, I rather added a lustre to it.

O thou vile one!

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.

What, art thou mad?

Almost, sir, heaven restore me!

I Would I were a neat-herd's daughter,

and my Leonatus our
neighbor-shepherd's son!

Thou art foolish thing!

They were again together,

you've done not after our command.

Away with her

-and pen her up.
-Beseech your patience,

peace!

Dear lady daughter, peace!

O sweet sovereign, leave us to ourselves,

and make yourself some comfort
out of your best advice.

Nay, let her languish
a drop of blood a day,

and being aged die of this folly.

Fie!

You must give way.

[footsteps]

Here comes your servant,
how now, sir? What news?

My lord your son drew on my master.

Ha! No harm I trust is done?

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.

I'm very glad on't.

Why came you from your master?

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.

Some half-hour hence, I
pray you, speak with me,

you shall, at least,
go see my lord aboard.

For this time leave me.

If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it.

Have I hurt him?

No, faith, not so much as his patience.

Hurt him?

His body's a passable
carcass, if he be not hurt.

It is a throughfare for
steel, if it be not hurt.

The villain would not stand me.

No, but he fled forward
still, toward your face.

Stand you?

You have land enough of your own,

but he added to your having,
gave you some ground.

I would they had not come between us,

and that she should love
this fellow, and refuse me!

Sir, as I told you always,

her beauty and her brain go not together.

But she's a good sign but,

I have seen small reflection of her wit.

She shines not upon fools,

lest the reflection should hurt her.

Come, I'll to my chamber.

Would there had been some hurt done!

I would thou grew'st unto
the shores o'the haven,

and question'dst every sail.

If he should write, and I not have it,

'twere a paper lost as offered mercy is.

What was the last that he spake to thee?

It was, his queen, his queen!

Then waved his handkerchief?

-And kissed it, madam.
-[sighs]

Senseless linen, happier therein than I!

And that was all?

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,

still waving, as the fits
and stirs of hiss mind

could best express how
slow his soul sailed on.

How swift his ship.

Thou shouldst have made
him as little as a crow,

or less, ere left to after-eye him.

Madam, so I did.

I would have broke mine eye-strings,

cracked them, but to look upon him,

till the diminution of space

had pointed him as sharp as my needle,

nay have followed him,

till he had melted from the
smallness of a gnat, to air,

and then, have turned mine eye, and wept.

But, good Pisanio, when
shall we hear from him?

Be assured, madam, with his next vantage.

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 made him swear

the shes of Italy should
not betray mine interest,

or his honor,

or have charged him,

at the sixth hour of morn,
at noon, at midnight,

to encounter me with orisons,

for then I am in heaven for him,

or ere I could give him that parting kiss,

set betwixt two charming words,

comes in my father,

and like the tyrannous
breathing of the north,

shakes all our buds from growing.

[creaks]

The queen, madam, desires
your highness' company.

Those things I bid you
do, get them dispatched.

I will attend the queen.

Madam, I shall.

[soft music]

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 then 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.

You speak of him when
he was less furnished

than now he is with that which makes him

both without and within.

I have seen him in France.

We had very many there
could behold the sun

with as firm eyes as he.

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.

And then his banishment.

Ay, and the approbation of those that weep

this lamentable divorce under her colors

are wonderfully to extend him,

or be it but to fortify her judgment,

which else an easy battery might lay flat,

for taking a beggar without less quality.

How comes it he is to sojourn with you?

How creeps acquaintance?

His father and I were soldiers together,

to whom I have been often
bound for no less than my life.

And here comes the Briton,
let him be so entertained

amongst you as suits, with
gentlemen of your knowing,

to a stranger of his quality.

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.

Sir, we have known together in Orleans.

Since when I have been
debtor to you for courtesies

which I will be ever to
pay, and yet pay still.

Oh sir, you o'errate 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.

Oh by your pardon, sir,

I was then a young traveler,

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.

Can we, with manners, ask
what was the difference?

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--
-Chaste?

Constant, qualified and less attemptable

than any the rarest of
our ladies in France.

That lady is not now living,

or else this gentleman's
opinion, by this, worn out.

She holds her virtue still, and I my mind.

You must not so far prefer
her 'fore ours of Italy.

Being so far provoked as I was in France,

I would abate her nothing,

though I profess myself
her adorer, not her friend.

Aah, as fair, and as good,

a kind of hand-in-hand comparison,

had been something too fair and too good

for any lady in Briton.

If she went before others I have seen,

as that diamond of yours
outlustres many I have beheld,

I could not believe she excelled many.

But I have not seen the most
precious diamond that is,

nor you the lady.

I praised her as I rated
her, so do I my stone.

What do you esteem it at?

More than the world enjoys.

Either your unparagoned mistress is dead,

or she's outprized by a trifle.

No you are mistaken.

The one may be sold or given,

if there were wealth
enough for the purchase,

or merit for the gift.

The other is not a thing for sale,

and is only the gift of the gods.

Oh, which the gods have given you?

Which by their graces I will keep.

You may wear her in title
yours, but you know,

strange fowl light upon neighboring ponds.

Your ring may be stolen too,

so your brace of unprizable estimations,

the one is but frail and the other casual,

a cunning thief or a, that
way, accomplished courtier,

could hazard the winning
both of first and last.

Your Italy contains none
so accomplished a courtier

to convince the honor of my mistress,

if in the holding or loss
of that, you term her frail.

I nothing doubt you have store of thieves,

notwithstanding, I fear not my ring.

Let us leave here, gentlemen.

Sir, with all my heart.

This sir, worthy signior, I thank him,

makes no stranger of me,
we are familiar at first.

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.
-No, no.

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 offense herein too,

I durst attempt it against
any lady in the world.

You are a great deal abused
in too bold a persuasion.

Gentlemen, enough of this,
it came in too suddenly,

let it die as it was born,

and I pray you be better acquainted.

Would I had put my
estate and my neighbor's

upon the approbation of what I have spoke!

What lady would you choose to assail?

Yours, whom in constancy
you think stands so safe.

I will lay you ten thousand
ducats to your ring,

commend me to the court
where your lady is,

and with no more advantage

than the opportunity
of a second conference,

and I will bring from
thence that honor of hers,

you imagine so reserved.

I will wage against your gold, gold to it.

My ring I hold dear as my
finger, 'tis part of it.

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.

This is but a custom in your tongue.

You bear a graver purpose I hope.

I'm the master of my speeches,

and I would undergo
what's spoken, I swear.

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.

I will have it no lay.

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 honor

as you have trust in, she
your jewel, that your jewel,

and my gold are yours, provided
I have your commendation

for my more free entertainment.

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 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.

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.

Now master doctor, have
you brought those drugs?

Pleaseth your highness,
I, here they are, madam.

But I beseech your grace,

without offense my conscience bids me ask,

wherefore you have commanded of me

these most poisonous compounds,

which are the movers
of a languishing death,

but though slow, deadly.

I wonder, doctor, thou
ask'st me such a question.

Have I not been thy pupil long?

Hast thou not learned
me how to make perfumes?

Distill, 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 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, to try the vigor of them,

and apply allayments to their acts,

and by them gather their
several virtues, and effects.

Your highness shall from this practice

but make hard your heart.

Besides, the seeing these
effects will be both noisome

and infectious.

O, content thee.

[footsteps]

Here comes a flattering rascal,

upon him will I first work.

I do not like her.

She doth think she has
strange ling'ring poisons.

I do know her spirit, and will
not trust one of her malice

with a drug of such damned nature.

Those she has, will stupefy
and dull the sense awhile,

which first, perchance,
she'll prove on cats and dogs,

then afterward up higher.

But there is no danger in
what show of death it makes,

more than the locking
up the spirits a time,

to be more fresh, reviving.

Weeps she still, say'st 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,

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
continue where he is.

To shift his being is to
exchange one misery for another,

and every day that comes comes
to decay a day's work in him.

What canst thou expect,

to be depender on a thing that leans?

That cannot be new built,
nor has no friends,

so much as but to prop him?

[soft music]

Thou tak'st up thou know'st not what.

But take it for thy labor.

It is a thing I made,

which hath the king five
times redeemed from death.

I do not know what is more cordial,

nay, I prithee take it,

it is an earnest of a farther
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 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,
put thee on to this desert,

am bound to load thy merit richly.

Call my women.

Think on my words.

[footsteps]

A sly and constant knave,

not to be shaked.

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
Of liegers to her sweet,

[soft music]

and which she after,
except she bend her humor,

shall be assured to taste of too.

[soft music]

A father cruel, and a stepdame false.

A foolish suitor to a wedded lady,

that hath her husband banished.

Oh, that husband,

My supreme crown of grief.

And those repeated Vexations of it.

Had I been thief-stolen,
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!

Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome,

comes from my lord with letters.

[footsteps]

Change you madam.

The worthy Leonatus is in safety,

and greets your highness dearly.

Thank you sir, you're kindly welcome.

[paper rustles]

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 warmed by the rest

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.

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 twinned stones
upon the numbered beach,

and can we not Partition?

Make with spectacles so
precious 'Twixt fair, and foul?

What makes your admiration?

It cannot be i'the eye,

for apes and monkeys 'Twixt two such shes,

would chatter this way and
contemn with mows the other,

Nor i'the judgment for idiots
in this case of favour,

would be wisely definite,

nor i'the appetite for sluttery,

to such neat excellence opposed

should make desire vomit
emptiness, not so allured to feed.

What is the matter, trow?

The cloyed will.

That satiate yet unsatisfied desire,

that tub both filled and running,

ravening first the lamb
longs after for the garbage.

What dear sir, thus raps you?

Are you well?

[footsteps]

Thanks madam, well.

Beseech you sir,

desire my man's abode
where I did leave him,

he's strange and peevish.

I was going sir, to give him welcome.

Continues well my lord, his
health hath beseech you?

Well, madam.

Is he disposed to mirth?

I hope that he is.

Exceeding pleasant,

none a stranger there so
merry and so gamesome.

He is called the Briton reveler.

When he was here, he
did incline to sadness,

and oft-times, not knowing why.

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 thick sighs from him.

whiles the jolly Briton,

your lord, I mean, laughs from free lungs,

cries oh, can my sides
hold, to think that man,

who knows by history
report, or his own proof,

what woman is.

Yeah, what she cannot choose but must be,

will's free hours languish
for assured bondage?'

Will my lord say so?

Aye madam, with his eyes
in flood with laughter.

It's a recreation to be by and
hear him mock the Frenchman,

but heavens knows, some
men are much to blame.

Not he, I hope.

Not he.

But yet heaven's bounty towards him

might be used more thankfully.

In himself 'tis much.

In you, which I account
his, beyond all talents,

and whilst I am bound to
wonder, I am bound to pity too.

What do you pity, sir?

Two creatures heartily.

Am I one, sir, you look on me.

what wreck discern you
in me deserves your pity?

Lamentable.

What?

To hide me from the radiant sun,

and solace I'the dungeon by a snuff?

I pray you, sir, deliver
with more openness

your answers to my demands,
why do you pity me?

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.

You do seem to know something of me,

or what concerns me, I 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.

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 takes prisoner

the wild motion of mine
eye fixing it only here,

oh should I damned 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 labor.

Then by-peeping in an eye,

base and illustrous 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.

My lord, I fear hath forgot Britain.

And himself.

Not I, inclined to this intelligence,

pronounce the beggary of his change.

'Tis your graces,

that from my mutest
conscience to my tongue

charms this report out.

Let me hear no more.

O dearest soul, your
cause doth strike my heart

with pity that doth make me sick!

A lady so fair, and fastened to an empery

would make the great'st king double,

to be partnered with tomboys
hired with that self exhibition

which your own coffers yield!

With diseased ventures,

that play with all infirmities for gold,

which rottenness can lend
Nature such boiled stuff,

as well might poison poison, be revenged.

Or she that bore you was no queen,

and you recoil from your great stock.

Revenged!

How should I be revenged?

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 revenged?

Should he make me live
like Diana's priest,

betwixt cold sheets,

whiles he is vaulting variable
ramps in your despite, hmm

upon your purse?

Revenge it.

I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,

oh more noble than that
runagate to your bed,

and I will continue
fast to your affection,

still close as sure.

What ho, Pisanio!

Oh, let me my service tender on your lips.

[gasps]

Away,

[breaths heavily]

I do condemn mine ears, that
have so long attended thee.

If thou wert honorable,

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 honor,

and solicits here a lady
who disdains both thee,

and the devil alike, what ho, Pisanio!

The king my father shall be
made acquainted of thy assault.

If he 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 respects not.

-What ho, Pisanio!
-O happy Leonatus!

I may say, the credit
thy lady hath of thee

deserves thy trust, and
thy most perfect goodness,

her assured credit, blessed live you long!

A lady to the worthiest sir
that ever country called 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 mannered.

Such a holy witch that he
enchants societies into him.

Half all men's hearts are his.

You make amends.

Ho he sits 'mongst men
like a descended god.

He hath a kind of honor sets him off,

more than a mortal seeming.

Be not angry, most mighty princess,

that I have adventured to try
your taking of a false report,

which hath honored 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 have made you,
unlike all others, chaffless.

Pray, your pardon.

All's well, sir.

Take my power i'the court for yours.

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 friends

are partners in the business.

Pray, what is't?

[footsteps]

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 jewel 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?

Willingly sir, and pawn
mine honor for their safety,

since my lord hath interest in them,

I will keep them in my bedchamber.

They are in a trunk, attended by my men.

I will make bold to send
them to you, for this night,

for I must abroad tomorrow.

-O, no, no.
-Oh yes, I must,

or I shall short my word
by length'ning my return.

From Gallia I crossed the seas on purpose

and on promise to see your grace.

I thank you for your pains.

[soft music]

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,

but I must go up and down

like a cock, that nobody can match.

Sayest thou?

It is not fit your
lordship should undertake

every companion that you give offense to.

No, I know that.

But it is fit I should commit
offense to my inferiors.

Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.

Why, so I say.

Did you hear of a stranger
that's come to court tonight?

A stranger, and I know not on't?

There's an Italian come,

and 'tis thought one of Leonatus' friends.

Leonatus?

A banished rascal, and he's
another, whatsoever he be.

Who told you of this stranger?

One of your lordship's pages.

Is it fit I went to look upon him?

Is there no derogation in it?

You cannot derogate, my lord.

Not easily, I think.

Come, I'll go see this Italian.

Come, go.

I'll attend your lordship.

[footsteps]

[sighs]

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.

[thunder]

[gasps]

Who's there?

My woman Helen?

Please you, madam.

[thunder]

What hour is't?

Almost midnight, madam.

I've 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'the clock,

I prithee call me.

Sleep hath seized me wholly.

To your protection I commend me, gods.

From fairies and the
tempters of the night,

guard me, beseech ye!

[thunder]

[crickets chirp]

[thunder]

The crickets sing,

and man's o'erlaboured sense
repairs itself by rest.

[breaths heavily]

Our Tarquin thus did softly
press the rushes, ere he wakened

the chastity he wounded.

Cytherea, how bravely
thou becom'st thy bed!

Fresh lily, and whiter than the sheets!

Oh that I might touch!

But kiss,

one kiss!

Rubies unparagoned, how dearly they do it.

Oh 'tis her breathing that
perfumes the chamber thus.

The flame o'the taper bows toward her,

and would under-peep her lids,
to see the enclosed lights,

now canopied under these windows,

white and azure laced with
blue of heaven's own tinct.

But my design to note the chamber.

I will write all down.

[pencil scratches]

Such, and such pictures.

There the window, such
the 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

above ten thousand meaner movables

would testify, to enrich mine inventory.

O sleep,

thou ape of death, lie dull upon her,

and be her sense but as a
monument, in a chapel lying.

Come off, come off.

As slippery as the Gordian
knot was hard, 'tis mine,

oh and this will witness outwardly,

as strongly as the conscience does within,

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 will force him
think I have picked the lock,

and ta'en the treasure of her honor.

No more.

To what end, why should I write this down,

that's riveted, screwed to my memory?

She hath been reading late,

the tale of Tereus,

here the leaf's turned down
where Philomel gave up.

I have enough.

To 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.

[gong strikes]

One,

[gong strikes]

two,

-[gong strikes]
-three.

Time.

[thunder]

Time!

[birds chirp]

It's almost morning, is't not?

Day, my lord.

I'll advise to give this
foolish of her music a mornings,

they say it will penetrate.

Come on, tune.

-[soft music]
-If you can penetrate her

with your fingering, so,
we'll try with tongue too.

[dramatic music]

♪ Hark, hark, hark, hark ♪

♪ Ha ha ha ha, ha ha hark ♪

♪ Hark, hark the lark
at heaven's gate sings ♪

♪ And Phoebus, and Phoebus gins to rise ♪

♪ And Phoebus gins, gins to rise ♪

♪ And Phoebus gins to rise ♪

♪ And winking Mary-buds begin
to ope their golden eyes, ♪

♪ Begin to ope their eyes ♪

♪ With every thing that pretty is, ♪

♪ My lady sweet, my sweet arise ♪

♪ My lady sweet arise ♪

♪ Arise, arise! ♪

♪ My lady sweet, arise,
arise, arise, arise ♪

♪ My lady sweet, my lady sweet arise ♪

-[knocks]
-Attend you here

the door of our stern daughter?

Will she not forth?

I have assailed her with musics,

but she vouchsafes no notice.

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,

then she's yours.

You are most bound to the king,

who lets go by no vantages
that might prefer you

to his daughter.

[footsteps]

So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome,

the one is Caius Lucius.

A worthy fellow,

albeit he comes on angry purpose now,

it's no fault of his.

My dear son,

when you have given good
morning to your mistress,

attend the queen and us,

we shall have need to employ
you towards this Roman.

Come, our queen.

If she be up, I'll speak with her.

If not, let her lie still, and dream.

[knocks]

By your leave, ho!

Good morrow, fairest
sister, your sweet hand.

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.

But still I swear I love you.

If you but said so,
'twere as deep with me.

If you swear still,

your recompense is still
that I regard it not.

This is no answer.

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.

To leave you in your madness,
'twere my sin, I will not.

Fools care not mad folks.

Do you call me fool?

As I am mad I do.

If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad,

that cures us both.

I'm sorry, sir, you put me
to forget a lady's manners,

by being so verbal.

Now learn, for all, that
I, which know my heart,

do here pronounce, by 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.

You sin against obedience,
which you owe your father,

for the contract you pretend
with that base wretch,

one bred of alms, and
fostered with cold dishes,

with scraps o'the court,
t'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-figured knot,

yet you are curbed from that enlargement,

by the consequence o'the crown,

and must not foil the precious
note of it with a base slave,

a hilding for a livery,
squire's cloth, a pantler,

not so eminent.

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 styled

the under-hangman of his kingdom,

and he be hated for
being preferred so well.

The south-fog rot him!

He cannot meet with more mischance

than come to be but named of thee.

His mean'st garment,

which ever hath but clipped his body,

is dearer in my respect,

than all the hairs above thee,
were they all made such men.

How now, Pisanio!

"His garment!" Now, the devil-

To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.

-"His garment!"
-I am sprited with a fool,

I'm frighted, and angered worse.

Go bid my woman search for a jewel,

which too casually hath left mine arm,

it was thy master's, oh 'shrew me,

if I would lose it for a
revenue of any king's in Europe!

I do think I saw't this morning,

[claps]

confident I am, last night
'twas on mine arm, I kissed it.

I hope it be not gone to tell my lord

that I kiss aught but he.

-'Twill not be lost.
-I hope so, go and search.

You have abused me.

"His meanest garment!"

Ay, I said so.

If you will make't an action
on't, call witness to't.

I will inform your father.

Haha, your mother too.

She's my good lady,

and will I hope conceive,
but the worst of me.

So, I leave you, sir, to
the worst of discontent.

[door bangs]

I'll be revenged,

"His mean'st garment!"

Well.

-[soft music]
-Fear it not, sir.

I would I were so sure to
win the king as I am bold

her honor will remain hers.

What means do you make to him?

Not any.

But abide the change of time,

quake in the present winter's state,

and wish that warmer days would come.

In these feared hopes, I
barely gratify your love,

they failing, I must die much your debtor.

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 arrearages,

or look upon our Romans,

whose remembrance is yet
fresh in their grief.

I do believe, statist though
I'm none, nor like to be,

that this will prove a war,

and you shall hear the
legion now in Gallia

sooner landed in our not-fearing Britain

than have tidings of
any penny tribute paid.

Our countrymen are men more
ordered than when Julius Caesar

smiled 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.

See, Iachimo!

[footsteps]

The swiftest harts have
posted you by land,

and winds of all the
corners kissed your sails,

to make your vessel nimble.

Welcome, sir.

I hope the briefness of your answer

made the speediness of your return.

Your lady, is one the fairest
that I have looked upon--

And therewithal the best,

or let her beauty look through a casement

to allure false hearts,
and be false with them.

Here are letters for you.

Their tenor good, I trust.

'Tis very like.

Was Caius Lucius in the Britain
court when you were there?

He was expected then, but not approached.

All is well yet.

Sparkles this stone as it was wont,

or is't not too dull
for your good wearing?

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 a second night
of such sweet shortness

as was mine in Britain,

for the ring is won.

The stone's too hard to come by.

Not a whit, your lady being so easy.

Make not, sir, your loss your sport.

I hope you know that we
must not continue friends.

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 honor,

together with your ring;

and not the wronger of her or you,

having proceeded but by both your wills.

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 honor

gains, or loses, your sword, or mine,

or masterless leave both
to who shall find them.

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.

Proceed.

First, her bedchamber, where,
I confess, I slept not,

but had that was well worth watching,

it was hanged with tapestry
of silk and silver,

the story, Proud Cleopatra,
when she met her Roman,

and Cydnus swelled 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 wondered could be so
rarely and exactly wrought,

-since the true life on't--
-This is true.

And this you might have heard of here,

by me or by some other.

More particulars must
justify my knowledge.

So they must, or do your honor injury.

The chimney is south the chamber,

the chimney-piece, 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.

This is a thing which
you might from relation

likewise reap, being,
as it is, much spoke of.

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
depending on their brands.

This is her honor!

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.

Then, if you can, be pale,

I beg but leave to air this jewel, see?

Now 'tis up again,

it must be married to that
your diamond, I'll keep them.

Jove!

Once more let me behold it.

Is it that which I left with her?

Sir, I thank her, that

she stripped it from her arm.

I see her yet.

Her pretty action did outsell her gift,

and yet enriched it too, she gave it me,

and said she prized it once.

May be she plucked it off to send it me.

She writes so to you, doth she?

No.

No.

No, 'tis true.

Here, take this too,

It is a basilisk unto mine eye,

kills me to look on't.

Let there be no honor
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, oh, above measure false!

Have patience, sir, and
take your ring again,

'tis not yet won.

It may be probable she lost it,

or, who knows if one of
her women, being corrupted,

hath stolen it from her?

Very true,

and so, I hope, he came
by't, back my ring,

render me some corporal sign about her

more evident than this,
for this was stolen.

By Jupiter, I had it from her arm.

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 honorable.

Were they induced to
steal it, by a stranger?

No, he hath enjoyed 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--

Sir, be patient!

This is not strong enough to be believed

or one persuaded well of.

Never talk on't, she
hath been colted by him.

If you seek for further
satisfying, under her breast,

worthy the pressing, lies a mole,

right proud of that most delicate lodging,

I kissed it, and

it gave me present hunger
to feed again, though full.

You do remember this stain upon her?

Ay, and it doth contain another stain,

as big as hell can hold,
were there no more but it.

-Will you hear more?
-Spare your arithmetic,

never count the turns.

-Once, and a million!
-I'll be sworn-

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.

I'll deny nothing.

O, that I had her here,

to tear her limb-meal!

I will go there and do't, i' court,

before her father.

I'll do something.

[thuds]

[footsteps]

Quite besides the government of patience!

You have won.

Let's follow him,

and pervert the present wrath
he hath against himself.

With all my heart.

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 stamped.

Some coiner with his tools

made me a counterfeit,

yet my mother seemed
the Dian of that time,

so doth my wife the nonpareil of this.

O vengeance, vengeance!

Me of my lawful pleasure she restrained

and prayed me oft forbearance,

did it with a pudency so rosy,

the sweet view on't might
well have warmed old Saturn,

that I thought her as
chaste as unsunned 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-acorned boar,

a German one, cried ' O!' and mounted,

found no opposition but what he looked 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.

Now say,

what would Augustus Caesar with us?

When Julius Caesar,

whose remembrance yet lives in men's eyes,

and will to ears and tongues
be theme and hearing ever,

was in this Britain and conquered it,

Cassibelan, thine uncle,
Famous in Caesar's praises,

no whit less than in
his feats deserving it,

for him, and his succession,

granted Rome a tribute,
yearly three thousand pounds,

which, by thee, lately is left untendered.

And, to kill the marvel, shall be so ever.

There be many Caesars
ere such another Julius.

Britain's a world by itself,

and we will nothing pay
for wearing our own noses.

That opportunity,

which then they had to take
from's, to resume we have again.

Remember, sir, my liege,
the kings your ancestors,

together with the natural
bravery of your isle,

which stands as Neptune's park,

ribbed and paled in with rocks unscaleable

and roaring waters,

with sands that will not
bear your enemies' boats,

but suck them up to topmast.

A kind of conquest Caesar made here,

but made not here his brag

of "Came, and saw, and, overcame,"

with shame, the first
that ever touched him,

he was driven from off
our coast, twice beaten.

And his shipping, poor ignorant baubles,

on our terrible seas,

like eggshells moved upon their surges,

cracked as easily 'gainst our rocks.

For joy whereof the famed Cassibelan,

who was once at point, oh giglot fortune,

to master Caesar's sword,

made Lud's town with
rejoicing-fires bright,

and Britons strut with courage.

Come, there's no more tribute to be paid.

Our kingdom is stronger
than it was at that time,

and, as I said, there
is no more such Caesars,

other of them may have crooked noses,

but to owe such straight arms, none.

Son, let your mother end.

We have yet many among us can
gripe as hard as Cassibelan.

I do not say I am one, but I have a hand.

Why tribute?

Why should we pay tribute?

If Caesar can hide the sun
from us with a blanket,

or put the moon in his pocket,

we will pay him tribute for light,

else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now.

You must know,

till the injurious Romans did
extort this tribute from us,

we were free.

Caesar's ambition,

which swelled so much
that it did almost stretch

the sides of the world,
against all color here

did put the yoke upon's,
which to shake off

becomes a warlike people, whom
we reckon ourselves to be.

I am sorry, Cymbeline,

that I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar,

Caesar, that hath more kings his servants

than thyself domestic
officers, thine enemy.

Receive it from me, then.

War and confusion in Caesar's
name pronounce I 'gainst thee.

Look for fury, not to be resisted.

Thus defied, I thank thee for myself.

How?

Of adultery?

Wherefore write you not
what monster's her accuser?

Leonatus!

O master, what a strange
infection is fallen into thy ear!

What false Italian, as
poisonous tongued as handed,

hath prevailed on thy too ready hearing?

Disloyal?

No.

She's punished for her truth,

and undergoes more
goddess-like than wife-like,

such assaults as would
take in some virtue.

O my master, thy mind to her

is now as low as were

thy fortunes.

How,

that I should murder her?

[paper rustles]

Upon the love and truth and vows

that I have made to thy command?

I, her,

her blood?

If it be so to do good service,

never let me be counted serviceable.

How look I, that I should
seem to lack humanity

so much as this fact comes to?

[paper rustles]

Do it.

The letter that I have
sent her by her own command

shall give thee opportunity.

O damned paper!

Black as the ink that's on thee!

Senseless bauble,

art thou a feodary for
this act, and look'st

so virgin-like without?

Oh, here she comes.

I am ignorant in what I am commanded.

How now, Pisanio?

Madam, here is a letter from my lord.

Justice,

and your father's wrath, should
he take me in his dominion,

could not be so cruel to me, as you,

O the dearest of creatures,

would even renew me with your eyes.

Take notice that I am in

Cambria at Milford-Haven,

what your own love will out
of this advise you, follow.

So he wishes you all happiness,

that remains loyal to his vow,
and your increasing in love.

Leonatus Posthumus.

[sobs]

O, for a horse with wings!

Hear'st thou, Pisanio?

He is at Milford-Haven.

Read, and tell me how far 'tis thither.

If one of mean affairs
may plod it in a week,

why may not I glide thither in a day?

Prithee speak,

how many score of miles may we well ride

'twixt hour, and hour?

One score 'twixt sun and
sun, madam's enough for you,

and too much too.

Why, one that rode to's execution,

man could never go so slow.

But this is foolery.

Go, bid my woman feign a sickness,

say she'll home to her father,

and provide me presently a riding-suit,

no costlier than would fit
a franklin's housewife.

Madam, you're best consider.

I see before me, man,

nor here, nor here, nor what
ensues, but have a fog in them,

I cannot see through.

Away, I prithee, do as I bid
thee, there's no more to say,

Accessible is none but Milford way.

[soft music]

A goodly day not to keep house with such

whose roof's as low as ours!

Stoop, boys.

This gate instructs you
how to adore the heavens,

and bows you to a morning's holy office.

The gates of monarchs are arched so high

that giants may jet through

and keep their impious turbans on,

without good morrow to the sun.

-Hail heaven.
-Hail, thou fair heaven!

Now for our mountain sport,

up to the hill, your legs are young,

I'll tread these flats.

Consider, when you above
perceive me like a crow,

that it is place which
lessens and sets off,

and you may then revolve
what tales I have told you

of courts, of princes,
of the tricks of war.

Out of your proof you speak.

We poor unfledged, have never
winged from view o'the nest,

nor know not what air's from home.

Haply this life is best,
if quiet life be best,

sweeter to you that have a sharper known,

well corresponding with your stiff age,

but unto us it is a cell of ignorance,

traveling a-bed, a prison,
for a debtor that not dares

to stride a limit.

What should we speak of
when we are old as you?

When we shall hear the rain
and wind beat dark December?

How in this our pinching
cave shall we discourse

the freezing hours away?

We have seen nothing.

We are beastly.

How you speak!

Did you but know the city's
usuries and felt them knowingly.

The art o'the court, as
hard to leave as keep,

whose top to climb is certain falling,

or so slippery that the
fear's as bad as falling,

the toil o'the war.

O boys, this story the
world may read in me.

My body's marked with Roman swords,

and my report was once
first, with the best of note.

Cymbeline loved me,

and when a soldier was the
theme, my name was not far off.

Then was I as a tree whose
boughs did bend with fruit.

But in one night, a storm,

or robbery, call it what you will,

shook down my mellow
hangings, nay, my leaves,

and left me bare to weather.

Uncertain favour!

My fault being nothing,
as I have told you oft,

but that two villains,

whose false oaths prevailed
before my perfect honor,

swore to Cymbeline that I was
confederate with the Romans.

So followed my banishment,

and this twenty years this
cell, and these demesnes,

have been my world.

But up to the mountains, this
is not hunter's language.

[door opens]

[footsteps]

How hard it is to hide
the sparks of nature.

These boys know little
they are sons to the king,

nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.

They think they are mine.

This Polydore, heir to
Cymbeline and Britain,

who the king his father
called Guiderius, Jove!

When on my three-foot stool I sit,

and tell the warlike feats I have done,

his spirits fly out into my story.

Say "Thus mine enemy fell,

"and thus I set my foot on's neck",

even then the princely
blood flows in his cheek,

he sweats, strains his young nerves,

and puts himself in
posture that acts my words.

The younger brother, Cadwal,

once Arviragus,

in as like a figure strikes
life into my speech,

and shows much more his own conceiving.

Hark, the game is roused.

O Cymbeline,

heaven and my conscience knows

thou didst unjustly banish me,

whereon, at three and two
years old, I stole these babes,

thinking to bar thee of succession

as thou refts me of my lands.

Euriphile, thou wast their nurse,

they took thee for their mother,

and every day do honor to her grave.

[distant dog barks]

Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan called,

they take for natural father.

[distant dog barks]

The game is up.

[soft music]

Where is Posthumus?

What is in thy mind that
makes thee stare thus?

One but painted thus would be interpreted

a thing perplexed beyond self-explication.

What's the matter man?

Why tender'st thou that paper
to me, with a look untender?

[paper rustles]

My husband's hand!

That drug-damned Italy
hath outcraftied him,

and he's at some hard point.

Speak, man, thy tongue may
take off some extremity,

which to read would be even mortal to me.

Please you read,

and you shall find me,
wretched man, a thing

the most disdained of fortune.

Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath
played the strumpet in my bed.

The testimonies whereof
lie bleeding in me.

I speak not out of weak surmises,

but from proof as strong as my grief,

and as certain as I expect my revenge.

That part thou, Pisanio, must act for me,

if thy faith be not tainted
with the breach of hers,

let thine own hands take away her life.

[birds caw]

I shall give thee
opportunity at Milford-Haven.

She hath my letter for the purpose,

where, if thou fear to strike,

and to make me certain it is done,

thou art the pander to her dishonor,

and equally to me disloyal.

What shall I need to draw my sword?

The paper hath cut her throat already.

False to his bed?

What is it to be false?

To lie in watch there,
and to think on him?

To weep 'twixt clock and clock?

If sleep charge, nature to break it

with a fearful dream of him,

and cry myself awake, that's
false to's bed, is it?

-Alas, good lady!
-I false?

Thy conscience witness, Iachimo,

thou didst accuse him of incontinency,

then thou look'dst like a villain.

Now, methinks, thy favor's good enough.

Some jay of Italy,

whose mother was her
painting, hath betrayed him.

Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion,

for I am richer than to hang by the walls,

I must be ripped, to pieces with me!

[sobs]

Men's vows are women's traitors!

[sobs]

All good seeming, by
thy revolt, O husband,

shall be thought put on for villainy,

not born where't grows,
but worn a bait for ladies.

-Good madam, hear me.
-Come, fellow,

be thou honest, do thou
thy master's bidding.

When next thou see'st him, a
witness my obedience, look,

I draw the sword myself, take it,

and hit the innocent mansion
of my love, my heart.

Fear not, 'tis empty of
all things, but grief,

Thy master is not there, who
was indeed the riches of it.

Do his bidding, strike.

Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause,

but now thou seem'st a coward.

Hence, vile instrument!

Thou shalt not damn my hand.

Why?

[sobs]

I must die.

And if I do not by thy hand,

thou art no servant of thy master's.

Come, here's my heart,

There's something's afore't,

we'll no defense,
obedient as the scabbard.

What's here?

The scriptures of the loyal
Leonatus, turned all to heresy?

[paper crumbles]

Away, away!

Corrupters of my faith!

You shall no more be
stomachers to my heart.

Thus may poor fools
believe false teachers.

Though those that are betrayed
do feel the treason sharply,

yet the traitor stands
in worse case of woe.

And thou, Posthumus,

come, strike!

The lamb entreats the butcher.

Where's thy knife?

Thou art too slow to
do thy master's bidding

when I desire it too.

O gracious lady.

Since I received command
to do this business

I have not slept one wink.

Do't, and to bed then.

I'll wake mine eye-balls out first.

Wherefore then didst undertake it?

Why hast thou abused so
many miles, with a pretense?

But to win time to lose so bad employment,

in the which I have
considered of a course.

Good madam, hear me with patience.

Talk thy tongue weary.

I have heard I am a strumpet,

and mine ear, therein false struck,

can take no greater wound,
nor tent, to bottom that.

But speak.

It cannot be but that my master is abused.

Some villain, ay, and singular in his art,

hath done you both this cursed injury.

-Some Roman courtesan?
-No, on my life.

I'll give but notice you are dead,

and send him some bloody sign of it,

for 'tis commanded I should do so.

You shall be missed at court,
and that will well confirm it.

What shall I do the while?

Where bide, how live?

Lucius the Roman, comes to
Milford-Haven tomorrow, now,

if you could wear a mind
dark, as your fortune is,

and but disguise that
which, to appear itself,

must not yet be but by self-danger,

you should tread a course
pretty, and full of view,

yea, haply near the
residence of Posthumus.

O, for such means, I would adventure!

Well then, here's the point.

You must forget to be a woman.

Change command into obedience,

fear and niceness, into a waggish courage.

I see into thy end,

and am almost a man already.

First, make yourself but like one.

Fore-thinking this, I have already fit.

'Tis in my cloak-bag, doublet, hat, hose,

all that answer to them.

'Fore noble Lucius, present
yourself, desire his service,

tell him wherein you're
happy, for he's honorable,

and will, with joy, embrace you.

Thou art all the comfort
the gods will diet me with.

This attempt I am soldier to,

and will abide it with a prince's courage.

Away, I prithee.

Well, madam, we must
take a short farewell,

lest being missed,

I be suspected of your
carriage from the court.

My noble mistress, here is a box,

(soft music))

I had it from the queen,

what's in't is precious.

If you are sick at sea, or
stomach-qualmed at land,

a dram of this will drive away distemper.

To some shade, and fit
you to your manhood.

May the gods direct you to the best!

Amen.

I thank thee.

[soft music]

Thus far, and so farewell.

Thanks, royal sir.

My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence,

and am right sorry that I must
report ye My master's enemy.

Our subjects, sir, will
not endure his yoke,

and for ourself to show
less sovereignty than they,

must needs appear unkinglike.

So, sir, I desire of
you a conduct over land,

to Milford-Haven.

Madam, all joy befall your grace, and you!

My lords, you are
appointed for that office,

the due of honor in no point omit.

So farewell, noble Lucius.

Your hand, my lord.

Receive it friendly,

but from this time forth,
I wear it as your enemy.

Sir, the event is yet to name the winner.

Fare you well.

Leave not the worthy
Lucius, good my lords,

till he have crossed the Severn.

Happiness!

[footsteps]

He goes hence frowning,

but it honors us that
we have given him cause.

'Tis all the better,

your valiant Britons
have their wishes in it.

Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor

how it goes here.

Fits us therefore ripely our
chariots and our horsemen

be in readiness.

The powers that he already hath in Gallia

will soon be drawn to head,

from whence he moves his war for Britain.

'Tis not sleepy business,

but must be looked to
speedily, and strongly.

Our expectation that it would be thus

hath made us forward.

But, my gentle queen,
where is our daughter?

She hath not appeared
before the Roman, nor to us

hath tendered 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, we've
been too slight in sufferance.

Royal sir, since the exile of Posthumus,

most retired hath her life been.

The cure whereof, my
lord, 'tis time must do.

Beseech your majesty,

-[knocks]
-forbear sharp speeches to her.

She's a lady so tender of
rebukes that words are strokes,

and strokes death to her.

Where is she, how can
her contempt be answered?

Please you, sir, her
chambers are all locked,

and there's no answer

that will be given to the
loud of noise we make.

My lord, when last I went to visit her,

she prayed me to excuse her keeping close,

whereto constrained by her infirmity,

she should that duty leave unpaid to you

which daily she was bound to proffer.

This she wished me to make known,

but our great court made
me to blame in memory.

Doors locked?

Not seen of late?

Grant heavens, that
which I fear prove false!

[footsteps]

Son, I say, follow the king.

That man of hers,
Pisanio, her old servant,

I have not seen these two days.

Go, look after.

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 seized her.

Or, winged with fervor of her love,

she's flown to her desired Posthumus.

Gone she is, to death, or to dishonor,

and my end can make good use of either.

She being down,

I have the placing of the British crown.

How now, my son?

'Tis certain she is fled.

Go in and cheer the king, he rages,

none dare come about him.

All the better.

May this night forestall
him of the coming day!

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 favors on the low Posthumus,

slanders so her judgment, that
what's else rare is choked.

And in that point I will
conclude to hate her,

nay indeed, to be revenged upon her,

for, when fools shall...

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.

O, good my lord!

Where is thy lady?

Is she with Posthumus?

From whose so many weights of baseness

cannot a dram of worth be drawn.

O, my all-worthy lord!

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.

Then, sir,

[gasps]

-[paper rustles]
-this paper

is the history of my
knowledge touching her flight.

Let's see't.

I will pursue her even
to Augustus' throne.

I'll write to my lord she's dead.

O Innogen, safe mayst thou
wander, safe return again!

Sirrah, is this letter true?

Sir, as I think.

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.

Well, my good lord.

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?

Sir, I will.

Give me thy hand, here's my purse.

Hast any of thy late master's
garments in thy possession?

I have my lord, at my lodging

the same suit he wore

when he took leave of
my lady and mistress.

The first service thou dost
me, fetch that suit hither,

let it be thy first service, go.

I shall, my lord.

[paper rustles]

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.

[footsteps]

Be those the garments?

Ay, my noble lord.

Oh How long is it since
she went to Milford-Haven?

She can scarce be there yet.

Bring this apparel to my chamber,

that is the second thing
that I have commanded thee.

The--

Third?

Third, is that thou wilt be a
voluntary mute to my design.

Thou bid'st me to my loss.

For true to thee were to prove
false, which I will never be.

[dramatic music]

How fit his garments serve me!

Why should his mistress

who was made by him that made
the tailor, not be fit too?

I dare speak it to myself,

for it is not vainglory for
a man and his glass to confer

in his own chamber.

The lines of my body are
as well drawn as his,

though less young, more strong,
not beneath him in fortunes,

beyond him in the advantage of the time,

above him in birth, alike
conversant in general services,

and more remarkable in single oppositions,

yet this imperseverant thing
loves him in my despite.

What mortality is!

Stay, come not in, but
that it eats our victuals,

I should think here were a fairy.

What's the matter, sir?

Shh, by Jupiter, an angel, or,
if not, an earthly paragon!

Good masters, harm me not.

Good troth, I have stolen nought,

nor would not, though I had
found gold strewed i'the floor.

Here's money for my meat,

[footsteps]

I would have left it on the board,

so soon as I had made my meal,

and parted with pray'rs for the provider.

Money, youth?

All gold and silver rather turn to dirt,

as 'tis no better reckoned,

but of those who worship dirty gods.

I see you're angry.

Know, if you kill me for my fault,

I should have died had I not made it.

Whither bound?

To Milford-Haven.

What's your name?

Fidele, sir.

I have a kinsman who is bound for Italy,

he embarked at Milford,
to whom being going,

almost spent with hunger, I
am fallen in this offense.

I Prithee, fair youth, think us no churls,

nor measure our good minds by
this rude place we live in.

Well encountered, 'tis almost night,

you shall have better
cheer ere you depart,

and thanks to stay and eat it.

Boys, bid him welcome.

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!

The night to the owl and morn
to the lark less welcome.

Posthumus, thy head,

which now is growing upon thy shoulders,

shall within this hour be
off, thy mistress enforced,

thy garments cut to
pieces before thy face.

And all this done, spurn
her home to her father,

who may, haply, be a little
angry for my so rough usage.

But my mother, having
power of his testiness,

shall turn all into my commendations.

Out, sword, and to a sore purpose!

Fortune, put them into my hands!

You are not well.

Remain here in the cell, we'll
come to you after hunting.

Brother, stay here.

Are we not brothers?

So man and man should be,

but clay and clay differs in dignity,

whose dust is all alike.

I'm very sick.

Go you to hunting, I'll abide with him.

So sick I am not, yet I am not well,

but not so citizen a wanton
as to seem to die ere sick.

So please you, leave me here,
stick to your journal course,

the breach of custom is breach of all.

I am ill, but your being
by me cannot amend me.

Society is no comfort to one not sociable.

I am not very sick,
since I can reason of it.

Pray you, trust me here,
I'll rob none but myself,

and let me die, stealing so poorly.

Brother, farewell.

I wish ye sport.

You health, so please you, sir.

These are kind creatures.

Gods,

what lies have I heard?

Our courtiers say all's
savage but at court,

oh experience, thou disprov'st report!

The imperious seas breed monsters,

for the dish poor tributary
rivers as sweet fish.

I am sick still, heartsick.

Pisanio,

I'll now taste of thy drug.

I cannot find those runagates,

that villain hath mocked me.

I am faint.

[thuds]

[birds caw]

[groans]

What slave art thou?

Thou art a robber, a
law-breaker, a villain?

Yield thee, thief.

To who, to thee?

What art thou?

Have not I an arm as big
as thine, a heart as big?

Thy words I grant are bigger,

for I wear not my dagger in my mouth.

Say what thou art, why
I should yield to thee.

Thou villain base, know'st
me not by my clothes?

Thou art some fool, I
am loath to beat thee.

Thou injurious thief, hear
but my name, and tremble.

What's thy name?

Cloten, thou villain.

Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name,

I cannot tremble at it,

were it Toad, or Adder,
Spider, 'twould move me sooner.

To thy further fear, nay,
to thy mere confusion,

thou shalt know I am son to the queen.

I am sorry for't, not seeming
so worthy as thy birth.

Art not afeard?

Those that I reverence,
those I fear, the wise,

at fools I laugh, not fear them.

Die the death.

[soft music]

Yield, rustic mountaineer.

What hast thou done?

I am perfect what, cut
off one Cloten's head,

son to the queen, after his own report,

who called me traitor, mountaineer,

and swore, with his own
single hand he'ld take us in,

displace our heads where,
thank the gods, they grow,

and set them on Lud's town.

We are all undone.

Why, worthy father,

what have we to lose, but that
he swore to take, our lives?

The law protects not us,

then why should we be tender,

to let an arrogant piece
of flesh threat us,

play judge, and executioner, all himself,

for we do fear the law?

What company discover you abroad?

No single soul can we set eye on,

but in all safe reason he
must have some attendants.

So on good ground we fear,

if we do fear this body hath a tail

more perilous than the head.

Let ordinance come as the gods foresay it,

howsoe'er, my brother hath done well.

I had no mind to hunt this day.

The boy Fidele's sickness
did make my way long forth.

With his own sword, which he
did wave against my throat,

I have ta'en his head from him.

I'll throw't into the creek.

and tell the fishes he's
the queen's son, Cloten.

That's all, I reck.

I fear 'twill be revenged.

Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done it,

though valor becomes thee well enough.

Would I had done't, so the
revenge alone pursued me.

Well, 'tis done.

We'll hunt no more this day,

nor seek for danger
where there's no profit.

I prithee, to our cell.

Poor sick Fidele.

I'll willingly to him,

to gain his color I'd let a
parish of such Clotens blood,

and praise myself for charity.

O thou goddess, thou divine Nature,

thou thyself thou blazon'st
in these two princely boys.

'Tis wonder that an invisible
instinct should frame them

to royalty unlearn'd, honor untaught,

civility not seen from other,

valor that wildly grows in them,

yet yields a crop as if it had been sowed.

Where's my brother?

I have sent Cloten's
clotpoll down the stream,

in embassy to his mother, his
body's hostage for his return.

[Solemn music]

My ingenious instrument,

Hark, Polydore, it sounds.

Yet what occasion hath
Cadwal now to give it motion?

Hark!

Is he at home?

He went hence even now.

What does he mean?

Since death of my dear'st
mother it did not speak before.

All solemn things should answer
solemn accidents the matter.

The bird is dead that
we have made so much on.

I had rather have skipped

from sixteen years of age to sixty,

to have turned my leaping
time into a crutch,

than have seen this.

O melancholy, who ever yet
could sound thy bottom,

find the ooze, to show what
coast thy sluggish care

might'st easil'est harbor in?

How found you him?

Stark, as you see.

Thus smiling, as some
fly had tickled slumber,

not as death's dart, being laughed at.

His right cheek reposing on a cushion.

Where?

O'the floor, his arms thus leagued,

I thought he slept,

and put my clouted
brogues from off my feet,

whose rudeness answered my steps too loud.

Why, he but sleeps.

If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed.

[solemnly music]

♪ Fear no more the heat o'the sun ♪

♪ Nor the furious winter's rages ♪

♪ Thou thy worldly task has done ♪

♪ Home art gone, home art
gone, and ta'en thy wages ♪

♪ Golden lads and girls all must ♪

♪ As chimney-sweepers, come to dust ♪

♪ Fear no more the frown o'the great ♪

♪ Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ♪

♪ Care no more to clothe and eat ♪

♪ To thee the reed is as the oak ♪

♪ The sceptre, learning, physic ♪

♪ Must all follow this and come to dust ♪

♪ Fear no more the lightning flash ♪

♪ Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ♪

♪ Fear not slander, censure rash ♪

♪ Thou hast finished joy and moan. ♪

♪ All lovers young, all lovers must ♪

♪ Consign to thee and come to dust. ♪

No exorciser harm thee!

Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

♪ Ghost unlaid forbear thee ♪

♪ Nothing ill, nothing
ill, come near thee ♪

♪ Quiet consummation have ♪

♪ And renowned be thy grave ♪

Great griefs, I see, medicine the less,

for Cloten is quite forgot.

He was a queen's son, my boys,

and though he came our enemy, remember,

he was paid for that.

Though mean and mighty, rotting
together, share one dust,

yet reverence, that angel of the world,

doth make distinction of
place 'tween high, and low.

Our foe was princely,

and though you took his
life, as being our foe,

yet bury him, as a prince.

Pray you, fetch him hither.

Thersites' body is as good as
Ajax', when neither are alive.

Yes sir, to Milford-Haven,
which is the way?

I thank you.

By yond bush?

Pray, how far 'tis thither?

[gasps]

'Ods pittikins, have I gone,
can it be three of mile yet?

I have gone all night.

I'll lie down and sleep.

But, soft, no bedfellow.

Oh the gods and goddesses!

These are flowers of the
pleasures of the world,

this bloody man, the care on't.

I hope I dream.

For so I thought I was a cell keeper,

and cook to honest creatures.

But 'tis not so.

'Twas but a bolt of
nothing, shot at nothing,

which the brain makes of fumes.

Our very eyes are sometimes
like our judgements, blind.

Good faith, I tremble still with fear,

if there be yet left in heaven

as small a drop of pity as a wren's eye,

feared gods, a part of it!

The dream's here still.

Even when I wake it is without me,

as within me, not imagined, felt.

A headless man?

The garments of Posthumus?

I know the shape of's leg.

This is his hand.

His foot Mercurial,

his Martial thigh, the brawns of Hercules.

But his Jovial face,
murder in heaven, how?

'Tis gone.

Pisanio,

all curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,

and mine to boot, be darted on thee!

Thou, conspired with that
irregulous devil, Cloten,

hast here cut off my lord.

To write, and read be
henceforth treacherous!

Damned Pisanio,

hath with his forged
letters, damned Pisanio,

from this most bravest vessel of the world

struck the main-top!

O Posthumus, alas!

Where is thy head?

Where's that, ay me, where's that?

Pisanio might have
killed thee at the heart,

and left this head on.

How should this be, Pisanio?

'Tis he and Cloten,

malice and lucre in them
have laid this woe here.

O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!

The drug he gave me,

which he said was precious
and cordial to me,

have I not found it
murd'rous to the senses?

That confirms it home.

This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten.

Oh!

Give color to my pale
cheek with thy blood,

that we the horrider may seem

to those who chance to find us.

O, my lord!

My lord!

Now say,

what have you dreamed of
late of this war's purpose?

Last night the very
gods showed me a vision,

I fast, and prayed for their intelligence,

thus, I saw Jove's bird the Roman eagle,

winged from the spongy south
to this part of the west,

there vanished in the sunbeams,

which portends,

unless my sins abuse my divination,

success to the Roman host.

Dream often so, and never false.

Again, bring me word how 'tis with her.

[groans]

A fever with the absence of her son,

a madness, of which her life's in danger.

Heavens, how deeply you
at once do touch me!

Innogen, the great part
of my comfort gone.

My queen, upon a desperate bed,

and when at a time when
fearful wars do point at me.

Her son gone, so needful for this present,

it strikes me, past the hope of comfort.

So please your majesty,

the Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,

are landed on your coast,

with a supply of Roman
gentlemen, by the Senate sent.

Now for the counsel of
my son and queen, I'm,

I'm amazed with matter.

Good my liege, your preparation

can affront no less than what you hear of.

Come more, for more you're ready.

The want is but to put
those powers in motion

that long to move.

I thank you.

[groans]

Let's withdraw.

I heard no letter from my master

since I wrote him Innogen
was slain, 'tis strange.

Nor hear I from my
mistress, who did promise

to yield me often, tidings.

Neither know I, what is betid to Cloten,

but remain perplexed in all.

The heavens still must work,

wherein I am false, I am honest,

not true, to be true.

These present wars shall
find I love my country,

even to the note o'the
king, or I'll fall in them.

All other doubts,

by time, let them be cleared.

Fortune brings in some
boats that are not steered.

Yea, bloody cloth,

I'll keep thee, for I wished
thou shouldst be Coloured thus.

You married ones, if each of
you should take this course,

how many must murder wives
much better than themselves

for wrying, but a little?

Oh Pisanio,

every good servant does not all commands,

no bond, but to do just ones.

Gods, if you should have
ta'en vengeance on my faults,

I never had lived to put on this.

So had you saved the
noble Innogen, to repent,

and struck me, wretch,
more worth your vengeance.

But alack, you snatch some
hence for little faults,

that's love, to have them fall no more.

You some permit to second ills
with ills, each elder worse,

and make them dread it,
to the doers' thrift.

But Innogen is your own,

do your best wills, and
make me blest to obey.

I am brought hither,
among the Italian gentry,

and to fight against my lady's kingdom,

'tis enough that, Britain,
I have killed thy mistress.

Peace, I'll give no wound to thee.

Let's see the boy's face.

He's alive, my lord.

He'll then instruct us of this body.

Young one, inform us of thy fortunes,

for it seems they crave to be demanded.

Who is this thou mak'st thy bloody pillow?

How came't, who is't, what art thou?

I'm nothing, or if not,
nothing to be were better.

I may wander from east to
occident, try many, serve truly,

all good.

Never find such another master.

'Lack, good youth.

Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining

than thy master in bleeding.

Thy name?

Fidele, sir.

Thou dost approve thyself the very same.

Thy name well fits thy
faith; thy faith thy name.

Wilt take thy chance with me?

I will not say thou shalt
be so well mastered,

but be sure no less beloved.

I'll follow, sir.

So please you entertain me.

Ay, good youth, and rather
father thee than master thee.

[sobs]

I'll disrobe me of these Italian weeds,

and suit myself as does a Briton peasant.

So I'll fight against
the part I come with.

So I'll die for thee, O Innogen,

even for whom my life,
is every breath, a death,

and thus, unknown, pitied, nor hated,

to the face of peril,
myself I'll dedicate.

[thunder]

Let me make men know more valor
in me than my habits show.

Gods, put the strength
of the Leonati in me!

To shame the guise o'the world,
I will begin the fashion,

less without, and more within.

The noise is round about us.

-Let us from it.
-What pleasure, sir,

find we in life, to lock it
from action and adventure.

Nay, what hope have we in hiding us?

Sons, we'll higher to the
mountains, there secure us.

To the king's party there's no going.

This is, sir, a doubt in such a time

neither becoming you, nor satisfying us.

It is not likely

that when they hear
the Roman horses neigh,

behold their quartered fires,

have both their eyes and ears
so cloyed importantly as now,

that they will waste
their time upon our note,

to know from whence we are.

O, I am known of many in the army,

many years, though Cloten
then but young, you see,

hath not wore him from my remembrance.

[footsteps]

Pray, sir, to the army, I
and my brother are not known,

yourself, so out of
thought has so o'ergrown,

cannot be questioned.

By this sun that shines I'll thither.

What thing is't that I
never did see man die,

scarce ever looked on blood,
say that of coward hares,

hot goats, and venison!

Never bestrid a horse,

save one that had a rider like myself,

who ne'er wore rowel,
nor iron on his heel!

I am ashamed to look upon the holy sun,

to have the benefit of his blest beams,

remaining so long a poor unknown.

By heavens, I'll go.

If you will bless me,
sir, and give me leave,

I'll take the better care.

But if you will not, the
hazard therefore due fall on me

by the hands of Romans!

So say I, amen.

No reason I,

since of your lives you
set so slight a valuation,

should reserve my
cracked one to more care.

Have with you, boys!

If in your country wars you chance to die,

that is my bed too, lads, there I'll lie.

[thunder]

Cam'st thou from where
they made the stand?

I did, though you it seems
come from the fliers.

I did.

No blame be to you, sir,

for all was lost, but
that the heavens fought.

The king himself, of his wings
destitute, the army broken,

and but the backs of Britons

seen all flying through a straight lane,

the enemy full-hearted,

lolling the tongue with slaught'ring,

having work more plentiful
than tools to doit,

struck down some mortally,

some slightly touched, some
falling merely through fear,

that the strait pass was dammed
with dead men, hurt behind,

and cowards living to die
with lengthened shame.

Where was this lane?

Close by the battle, ditched,
and walled with turf,

which gave advantage
to an ancient soldier,

an honest one, I warrant,

who deserved so long a breeding
as his white beard came to,

in doing this for's country.

Athwart the lane,

he, with two striplings, lads
more like to run the country,

base than to commit such slaughter,

with faces fit for masks,

or rather fairer than those for
preservation cased, or shame

made good the passage,
cried to those that fled,

"Our Britain's hearts
die flying, not our men,

"to darkness fleet souls
that fly backwards, stand,

"or we are Romans,

"and will give you that like
beasts which you shun beastly,

"and may save but to look back in frown,

"stand, stand", these three.

Three thousand confident,

in act as many, for three
performers are the file

when all the rest do
nothing, with this word,

"Stand, stand",

accommodated by the place,

more charming, with their own nobleness,

which could have turned
a distaff to a lance,

gilded pale looks, part
shame, part spirit renewed,

that some turned coward, but
by example, oh, a sin in war,

damned in the first beginners,

'gan to look the way that they did,

and to grin like lions upon
the pikes of the hunters.

-This was strange chance.
-Yes.

A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.

Nay, do not wonder at it?

You are made rather to
wonder at the things you hear

than to work any.

Will you rhyme upon't,
and vent it for a mockery?

Here is one.

Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,

preserved the Britons,
was the Romans' bane.

-Nay, be not angry, sir.
-'Lack, to what end?

Who dares not stand his
foe, I'll be his friend.

For if he'll do as he is made to do,

I know he'll quickly
fly my friendship too.

[kisses]

You've put me into rhyme.

Farewell, you're angry.

[laughs]

Still going?

This is a lord!

O noble misery,

to be in the field, and
ask "What news?" of me!

Today, how many would
have given their honors

to have saved their carcasses?

Took heel to do it, and yet died too!

I, in mine own woe charmed,

could not find death where
I did hear him groan,

nor feel him where he struck.

Being an ugly monster,

'tis strange he hides him in fresh cups,

soft beds, sweet words,

or hath more ministers than
we that draw his knives

in the war.

Well, I will find him.

For being now a favorer to the Briton,

no more a Briton, I have resumed
again the part I came in.

Fight I will no more, but
yield me to the veriest hind

that shall once touch my shoulder.

Great the slaughter is
here made by the Roman,

great the answer be Britons must take.

For me, my ransom's death.

On either side I come to spend my breath,

which neither here I'll
keep nor bear again,

but end it by some means for Innogen.

[Captain] Stand, who's there?

A Roman!

[Captain] Lay hands on him.

[groans]

Dog.

[latch locks]

You shall not now be stol'n,
you have locks upon you.

[laughs]

Most welcome bondage,

for thou art a way, I think to liberty.

Yet am I better than one
that's sick o'the gout,

since he had rather groan so in perpetuity

than be cured by the
sure physician, death,

who is the key to unbar these locks.

My conscience,

thou art fettered more
than my shanks and wrists,

you good gods,

give me the penitent
instrument to pick that bolt,

then free for ever.

Is't enough I am sorry?

So children temporal fathers do appease,

gods are more full of mercy.

Must I repent, I cannot do
it better than in gyves,

desired more than constrained,

to satisfy, if of my
freedom 'tis the mainport,

take no stricter render of me than my all.

I know you are more clement than vile men,

who of their broken debtors take a third,

a sixth, a tenth,

letting them thrive
again on their abatement,

that's not my desire.

For Innogen's dear life, take mine,

and though 'tis not so dear,
yet 'tis a life, you coined it.

'Tween man and man they
weigh not every stamp,

though light, take pieces
for the figure's sake,

you rather, mine being
yours, and so, great powers,

if you will take this
audit, take this life,

and cancel these cold bonds.

[solemnly music]

O Innogen,

I'll speak to thee in silence.

[solemnly music]

No more thou thunder-master

show thy spite on mortal flies.

With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,

that thy adulteries rates and revenges.

Hath my poor boy, done aught but well,

whose face I never knew?

I died, while in the womb he
stayed, attending nature's law.

Lucina lent not me her aid,
but took me in my throes,

that from me was Posthumus ripped,

came crying 'mongst his foes,

a thing of pity!

With marriage wherefore was he mocked

to be exiled, and thrown
from Leonati seat,

and cast from her his
dearest one, sweet Innogen?

Why did you suffer Iachimo,
slight thing of Italy,

to taint his nobler heart and
brain with needless jealousy,

and to become the geck and
scorn o'the other's villainy?

Since, Jupiter, our son is
good, take off his miseries.

Peep through thy marble mansion, help,

or we poor ghosts will cry to
the shining synod of the rest

against thy deity.

Help, Jupiter, or we appeal,
and from thy justice fly.

-[thunders]
-No more,

you petty spirits of region
low, offend our hearing.

Hush!

How dare you ghosts accuse the thunderer,

whose bolt, you know, sky-planted,

batters all rebelling coasts?

Poor shadows of Elysium,

hence, and rest upon your
never-withering banks of flowers.

Be not with mortal accidents opprest,

no care of yours it
is, you know 'tis ours,

whom best I love I cross,

to make my gift, the
more delayed, delighted.

Be content, your low-laid
son our godhead will uplift.

His comforts thrive, his
trials well are spent.

Our Jovial star reigned at his birth,

and in our temple was he married.

Rise, and fade.

He shall be lord of lady Innogen,

and happier much by his affliction made.

This tablet, lay upon his breast,

wherein our pleasure his
full fortune doth confine,

and so away.

No farther with your
din express impatience,

lest you stir up mine.

[solemnly music]

Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire,

and begot a father to me,

and thou hast created a
mother, and two brothers.

But, O scorn!

Gone!

They went hence so soon as they were born.

And so I am awake.

Poor wretches, that depend
on greatness' favour,

dream as I have done,
wake, and find nothing.

But, alas, I swerve.

Many dream not to find, neither deserve,

and yet are steeped in favors, so am I,

that have this golden
chance, and know not why.

What fairies haunt this ground?

A book?

O rare one,

be not, as is our fangled world,

a garment nobler than that it covers.

Let thy effects so follow, to
be most unlike our courtiers,

as good as promise.

[paper rustles]

When as lions, well
shall to himself unknown,

without seeking find,

and be embraced by a piece of tender air,

and when from a stately cedar
shall be lopped branches,

which, being dead many
years, shall after revive,

be jointed to the old
stock, and freshly grow,

then shall Posthumus end his miseries,

Britain be fortunate, and
flourish in peace and plenty.

'Tis still a dream.

Or else such stuff as madmen
tongue, and brain not,

either both, or nothing,
or senseless speaking,

or a speaking such as sense cannot untie.

Be what it is,

the action of my life is like it,

which I'll keep, if but for sympathy.

Come, sir, are you ready for death?

Over roasted rather, ready long ago.

Hanging is the word, sir,

if you be ready for that,
you are well cooked.

So, if I prove a good
repast to the spectators,

the dish pays the shot.

A heavy reckoning for you sir,

but the comfort is, you shall
be called to no more payments,

fear no more tavern-bills,

which are often the sadness of parting,

as the procuring of mirth.

Oh, of this contradiction
you shall now be quit.

Oh, the charity of a penny cord!

[bangs]

[Messenger] Knock off his manacles,

bring your prisoner to the king.

Thou bring'st good news, I
am called to be made free.

I'll be hanged then.

Stand by my side,

you whom the gods have made
preservers of my throne.

Woe is my heart that the poor
soldier that so richly fought,

whose rags shamed gilded arms,

whose naked breast stepped
before targes of proof,

cannot be found.

He shall be happy that can find him,

if our grace can make him so.

I never saw such noble
fury in so poor a thing,

such precious deeds

in one that promised nought
but beggary and poor looks.

No tidings of him?

He hath been searched
among the dead and living,

but no trace of him.

To my grief, I am the heir of his reward,

which I will add to you,

the liver, heart, and brain of Britain,

by whom, I grant, she lives.

'Tis now the time to
ask of whence you are.

Report it.

Sir, in Cambria are we
born, and gentlemen.

Further to boast were
neither true nor modest,

unless I add we are honest.

Bow your knees.

Arise my knights o'the battle.

I create you companions to
our person, and will fit you

with estates becoming to your dignities.

There's business in these faces,

why so sadly greet you our victory?

You look like Romans, not
o'the court of Britain.

Hail, great king!

To sour your happiness, I
must report the queen is dead.

Who worse than a physician
would this report become?

But I consider, by med'cine
life may be prolonged,

yet death will seize the doctor too.

How ended she?

With horror, madly dying, like her life,

which, being cruel to the world,

concluded most cruel to herself.

What she confessed I will
report, so please you.

These her women can trip me, if I err,

who with wet cheeks were
present when she finished.

Prithee say.

First, she confessed she never loved you,

only affected greatness
got by you, not you.

Married your royalty,
was wife to your place.

Abhorred your person.

She alone knew this.

But she spoke it dying,

I would not believe
her lips in opening it.

Proceed.

Your daughter,

whom she bore in hand to
love with such integrity,

she did confess was as
a scorpion to her sight,

whose life, but that
her flight prevented it,

she had ta'en off by poison.

O most delicate fiend!

Who is't can read a woman?

Is there more?

More, sir, and worse.

She did confess she had
for you a mortal mineral,

which, being took, should by the minute,

feed on life and lingering
by inches waste you.

In which time, she purposed by watching,

weeping, tendance, kissing,

to o'ercome you with her show,

and in time, when she had
fitted you with her craft,

to work her son into the
adoption of the crown.

Heard you all this, her women?

We did, so please your highness.

Mine eyes were not in fault,
for she was beautiful,

mine ears that heard her flattery,

nor my heart that thought
her like her seeming.

It had been vicious to
have mistrusted her,

yet, oh my daughter,

that it was folly in me, thou mayst say,

and prove it in thy feeling.

[distant footsteps]

Heaven mend all!

[soft music]

Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute.

Consider, sir, the chance of war,

the day Was yours by accident.

Had it gone with us, we should
not, when the blood was cool,

have threatened our
prisoners with the sword.

But since the gods will have it thus,

that nothing but our lives
may be called ransom,

let it come.

Sufficeth a Roman with a
Roman's heart can suffer.

Augustus lives to think on't,

and so much for my peculiar care.

This one thing only I will entreat,

my boy, a Briton born,
let him be ransomed.

Never master had a page so
kind, so duteous, diligent,

so tender over his occasions, true,

so feat, so nurse-like.

Let his virtue join with my request,

which I'll make bold your
highness cannot deny.

He hath done no Briton harm,
though he have served a Roman.

Save him, sir, and spare no blood beside.

I have surely seen him.

His favour is familiar to me.

Boy,

now hast looked thyself
into my grace, art mine own.

I know not why, wherefore,
to say, live boy,

ne'er thank thy master, live,

and ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,

fitting my bounty, and
thy state, I'll give it.

Yea, though thou do demand a
prisoner, the noblest ta'en.

I humbly thank your highness.

I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad,

and yet I know thou wilt.

No, no alack,

there's other work in hand, I
see a thing bitter as death.

Your life, good master,
must shuffle for itself.

The boy disdains me, he
leaves me, scorns the,

briefly die their joys

that place them on the
truth of girls and boys.

What wouldst thou, boy, speak?

Know'st thou him thou look'st
on, is he thy kin, thy friend?

He is a Roman, no more kin to
me than I to your highness,

who being born your vassal,
am something nearer.

Wherefore ey'st him so?

I'll tell you, sir, in private,

if you please you give me hearing.

Ay, with all my heart, and
lend my best attention.

What's thy name?

Fidele, sir.

Thou'rt my good youth, my
page, I'll be thy master,

walk with me, speak freely.

Is not this boy revived from death?

One sand another not more
resembles that sweet rosy lad,

who died, and was Fidele!

What think you?

The same dead thing alive.

Peace, peace, see further,
he eyes us not, forbear,

It is my mistress.

Since she is living, let the
time run on, to good, or bad.

Stand thou by our side,
make thy demand aloud.

Sir, step you forth,

give answer to this boy, and do it freely,

or, by our greatness and the
grace of it which is our honor

bitter torture shall winnow
the truth from falsehood.

On, speak to him.

My boon is, that this gentleman

should render of whom he had this ring.

What's that to him?

That diamond upon your finger,
say, how came it yours?

Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken

that which, to be spoke,
would torture thee.

How, me?

I'm glad to be constrained

to utter that which
torments me to conceal.

By villainy I got this ring,

'twas Leonatus' jewel,
whom thou didst banish,

and, which more may grieve
thee, as it doth me,

a nobler sir ne'er lived
'twixt sky and ground,

wilt thou hear more, my lord?

All that belongs to this.

Paragon, thy daughter,

for whom my heart drops blood,

and my false spirits quail to remember,

give me leave, I faint.

My daughter, what of her?

Renew thy strength,

I had rather thou shouldst
live, while nature will,

than die ere I hear more.

Strive, man, and speak.

Upon a time, unhappy was the
clock that struck the hour.

It was in Rome, accursed
the mansion where.

'Twas at a feast,

oh, our viands had been poisoned,

or at least those which I heaved to head,

the good Posthumus, what should I say?

He was too good to be where ill men were,

and was the best of all amongst
the rar'st of good ones,

sitting sadly, hearing us
praise our loves of Italy

for beauty, that made barren
the swelled boast of him

that best could speak,

for feature, laming the shrine of Venus,

or straight-pight Minerva,
postures, beyond brief nature.

Oh for condition, a shop

of all the qualities
that man loves woman for,

besides that hook of wiving,

fairness, which strikes the eye.

I stand on fire, come to the matter.

All too soon I shall, unless
thou wouldst grieve quickly.

This Posthumus, most
like a noble lord in love

and one that had a royal
lover, took his hint,

and, not dispraising whom we praised,

therein he was as calm as virtue,

he began his mistress' picture,

which, by his tongue, being
made, and then a mind put in't,

either our brags were
craked of kitchen-trulls,

or his description proved
us unspeaking sots.

Nay, nay, to the purpose.

Your daughter's chastity,

[soft music]

there it begins,

he spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams,

and she alone were cold,

whereat I, wretch, made
scruple of his praise,

and wagered with him pieces
of gold, 'gainst this,

which he then wore upon
his honored finger,

to attain in suit the place of's bed,

and win this ring by
hers and mine adultery.

He, true knight, no lesser of her honor

confident than I did truly
find her, stakes this ring,

and would so, had it been a
carbuncle of Phoebus' wheel,

and might so safely, had it
been all the worth of's car.

Away to Britain post I in this design,

well may you, sir, remember me at court,

where I was taught of your chaste daughter

the wide difference 'twixt
amorous and villainous.

Being thus quenched of hope, not longing,

mine Italian brain 'gan
in your duller Britain

operate, oh, most vilely,
for my vantage, excellent.

And to be brief,

my practice so prevailed, that
I returned with similar proof

enough to make the noble Leonatus mad,

by wounding his belief in
her renown, with tokens thus,

thus, averring notes of
chamber-hanging, pictures,

this her bracelet.

O cunning, how I got it,

nay, some marks of secret on her person,

that he could not but
think her bond of chastity

quite cracked, I having ta'en the forfeit,

Whereupon, methinks I see him now.

Ay, so thou dost, Italian fiend!

Ay me, most credulous fool,

egregious murderer, thief,

any thing that's due to
all the villains past,

in being, to come.

Oh, give me cord, or knife, or poison,

some upright justicer!

Thou, king, send out
for torturers ingenious,

it is I that all the
abhorred things o'the earth

amend by being worse than they.

I am Posthumus, that killed thy daughter.

Villain-like, I lie,

that caused a lesser villain than myself,

a sacrilegious thief, to do it.

The temple of virtue was she,

yea, and she herself,

spit, and throw stones,

cast mire upon me, set the
dogs o'the street to bay me,

every villain be called
Posthumus Leonatus,

and be villainy less than 'twas.

Oh Innogen!

My queen, my life, my wife,

Oh Innogen, Innogen, Innogen!

[sobs]

Oh peace, my lord, hear, hear.

Shall's have a play of this?

Thou scornful page, there lie thy part.

O, gentlemen, help!

Mine and your mistress,
oh, my lord Posthumus!

You ne'er killed Innogen
till now, help, help!

Mine honored lady!

The world go round?

How comes these staggers on me?

Wake, my mistress!

If this be so, the gods do
mean to strike me to death

with mortal joy.

How fares my mistress?

O, get thee from my sight,
thou gav'st me poison,

dangerous fellow, hence,
breathe not where princes are.

The tune of Innogen!

Lady, may the gods throw
stones of sulphur on me,

if that box I gave you
was not thought by me

a precious thing, I had it from the queen.

It poisoned me.

O gods, I left out one thing
which the queen confessed,

which must approve thee honest.

"If Pisanio have," said she,

"given his mistress that confection

"which I gave him for cordial,

"she is served as I would serve a rat."

Have you ta'en of it?

Most like I did, for I was dead.

My boys, there was our error.

This is sure Fidele.

Why did you throw your
wedded lady from you?

Think that you are upon a
rock, and now throw me again.

Hang there like a fruit,
my soul, till the tree die.

How now, my flesh, my child?

What, mak'st thou me
a dullard in this act?

Wilt thou not speak to me?

Your blessing, sir.

My tears that fall prove
holy water on thee.

Innogen, thy mother's dead.

I'm sorry for't.

Oh, she was naught,

and long of her it is that
we meet here so strangely.

But her son is gone, we
know not how, nor where.

My lord, now fear is from
me, I'll speak troth.

Lord Cloten, upon my lady's missing,

came to me with his sword drawn,

foamed at the mouth, and swore,

if I discovered not
which way she was gone,

it was my instant death.

By accident,

I had a feigned letter of my
master's then in my pocket,

which directed him to
seek her on the mountains

near to Milford, where, in a frenzy,

in my master's garments,
which he enforced from me,

away he posts with unchaste purpose,

and with oath to violate my lady's honor,

what became of him I further know not.

Let me end the story.

I slew him there.

Marry, the gods forfend!

I would not thy good deeds

should from my lips pluck
a hard sentence, prithee,

valiant youth, deny't again.

I have spoke it, and I did it.

He was a prince.

A most incivil one.

The wrongs he did me
were nothing prince-like,

for he did provoke me with language

that would make me spurn the
sea, if it could so roar to me.

I cut off's head, and am right
glad he is not standing here

to tell this tale of mine.

I am sorrow for thee,

by thine own tongue thou art condemned,

and must endure our law.

Bind the offender, take
him from our presence.

Stay, sir king.

This man is better than the man he slew,

as well descended as thyself,
and hath more of thee merited

than a band of Clotens had ever scar for.

Let his arms alone, they
were not born for bondage.

Why, old soldier.

Wilt thou undo the worth
thou art unpaid for

by tasting of our wrath?

How of descent as good as we?

In that he spake too far.

And thou shalt die for't.

We will die all three,

but I will prove that two on's

are as good as I have given out him.

My boys, I must for mine own
part unfold a dangerous speech,

though haply well for you.

Your danger's ours.

And our good his.

I'll have at it then, by leave.

Thou hadst, great king, a
subject, who was called Belarius.

What of him?

He is a banished traitor.

He it is that hath assumed this age,

indeed a banished man, I
know not how a traitor.

Take him hence, the whole
world shall not save him.

Not too hot, first pay me
for the nursing of thy sons,

and let it be confiscate all,
so soon as I have received it.

Nursing of my sons?

I am too blunt, and saucy.

Here's my knee,

ere I arise I will prefer my sons,

then spare not the old father, mighty sir,

these two young gentlemen

who call me father and
think they are my sons,

are not of mine,

they are the issue of
your loins, my liege,

and blood of your begetting.

My issue?

So sure as you your father's.

I, old Morgan, am that Belarius,
whom you sometime banished.

These gentle princes,
for such and so they are,

these twenty years have I trained up,

those arts they have, as
I could put into them.

My breeding was, sir,
as your highness knows,

their nurse, Euriphile,
whom for the theft I wedded,

stole these children upon my banishment.

I moved her to't, having
received the punishment before

for that which I did then.

Beaten for loyalty excited me to treason.

Their dear loss, the
more of you 'twas felt,

the more it shaped unto
my end of stealing them.

But gracious sir,

here are your sons again,

and I must lose the sweet'st
companions in the world.

The benediction of these covering heavens

fall on their heads like dew,

for they are worthy to
inlay heaven with stars.

Thou weep'st, and speak'st.

The service that you three have done

is more unlike than this thou tell'st.

I lost my children.

If these be they,

I know not how to wish
a pair of worthier sons.

Be pleased awhile,

this gentleman, whom I call Polydore,

most worthy prince,

as yours, is true Guiderius.

This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,

your younger princely son,

he, sir, was lapped in
a most curious mantle,

wrought by the hand of his queen mother,

which for more probation
I can with ease produce.

Guiderius had upon his neck a mole,

a sanguine star.

It was a mark of wonder.

This is he, who hath upon
him still that natural stamp.

It was wise nature's end, in the donation

to be his evidence now.

Oh, what am I?

A mother to the birth of three?

Ne'er mother rejoiced deliverance more.

Blest pray you be,

that, after this strange
starting from your orbs,

you may reign in them now!

Oh Innogen, thou hast
lost by this a kingdom.

No, my lord, I have got two worlds by't.

O my gentle brothers, have we thus met?

Never say hereafter but
I am truest speaker.

You called me brother,
when I was but your sister.

I you brothers,

when ye were so indeed.

Did you e'er meet?

Ay, my good lord.

And at first meeting loved,

Oh rare instinct!

[soft music]

See, Posthumus anchors upon Innogen,

and she, like harmless
lightning. throws her eye on him,

her brothers, me, her master,

hitting each object with a joy.

Let's quit this ground,

and smoke the temple with our sacrifices.

Thou art my brother, so
we'll hold thee ever.

My good master, I will yet do you service.

Happy be you!

The forlorn soldier who so nobly fought,

he would have well becomed this place,

and graced the thankings of a king.

I am, sir, the soldier that
did company these three

in poor beseeming.

'Twas a fitment for the
purpose I then followed.

That I was he, speak, Iachimo.

I had you down, and might
have made you finish.

I am down again.

But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,

as then your force did.

Take that life, beseech you,

which I so often owe.

But first, take back your ring,

and here the bracelet
of the truest princess

that ever swore her faith.

Kneel not to me.

The power that I have
on you, is to spare you.

The malice towards you, to forgive you.

Live, and deal with others better.

Nobly doomed!

We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law.

Pardon's the word to all.

You holp us, sir, as you did mean indeed

to be our brother, joyed
are we that you are.

Your servant, princes.

Good my lord of Rome, call
forth your soothsayer.

[footsteps]

As I slept, methought great Jupiter,

upon his eagle backed, appeared to me,

with other spritely shows
of mine own kindred.

When I waked, I found
this label on my bosom,

whose containing is so
from sense in hardness,

that I can make no collection of it.

Let her show her skill
in the construction.

Read, and declare the meaning.

When as a lion's whelp

shall, to himself unknown,
without seeking find,

and be embraced by a piece of tender air,

and when from a stately cedar
shall be lopped branches,

which, being dead many
years, shall after revive,

be jointed to the old
stock, and freshly grow,

then shall Posthumus end his miseries,

Britain be fortunate, and
flourish in peace and plenty.

Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp,

The fit and apt construction
of thy name, being Leo-natus,

doth impart so much.

The piece of tender air,
thy virtuous daughter,

whom we call mollis aer, and
mollis aer we term it mulier,

which mulier I divine Is
this most constant wife,

who even now, answering
the letter of the oracle,

unknown to you, unsought,

were clipped about with
this most tender air.

This hath some seeming.

The lofty cedar, royal
Cymbeline, personates thee,

and thy lopped branches
point thy two sons forth,

whom, by Belarius stol'n,
for many years thought dead,

are now revived, to the
majestic cedar joined,

whose issue promises
Britain peace and plenty.

Well, my peace we will begin.

And Caius Lucius,

although the victor, we submit to Caesar,

and to the Roman empire,

promising to pay our wonted tribute,

from the which we were
dissuaded by our wicked queen,

whom heavens in justice
both on her, and hers,

have laid most heavy hand.

The fingers of the powers above

do tune the harmony of this peace.

The vision, which I made known to Lucius

ere the stroke of yet
this scarce-cold battle,

at this instant is full accomplished.

For the Roman eagle,

from south to west on wing soaring aloft,

lessened herself and in
the beams o'the the sun

so vanished, which foreshadowed
our princely eagle,

the imperial Caesar,

should again unite his favour
with the radiant Cymbeline,

who shines here in the west.

Laud we the gods, and
let our crooked smokes

climb to their nostrils
from our blest altars.

[soft music]