SCENE I.-Britain. A Room of State in CYMBELINE'S
Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, and LORDS, at one door; and at another, CAIUS LUCIUS and Attendants.
Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with us?
Luc. When Julius Cæsar (whose remembrance yet
Lives in men's eyes; and will to ears, and tongues,
Be theme, and hearing ever) was in this Britain,
And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle
(Famous in Cæsar'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 untender'd.
Queen. And, to kill the marvel,
Shall be so ever.
Clo. There be many Cæsars,
Ere such another Julius. Britain is
A world by itself; and we will nothing pay,
For wearing our own noses.
Queen. That opportunity,
Which then they had to take from us, 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 the top-mast. A kind of conquest
Cæsar made here; but made not here his brag
Of, came, and saw, and overcame: with shame
(The first that ever touch'd him), he was carried
From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping,
(Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas,
Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crack'd
As easily 'gainst our rocks: for joy whereof,
The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point
(O giglot* fortune!) to master Cæsar's sword,
Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright,
And Britons strut with courage.
Clo. 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 Cæsars: other of them may have crooked noses; but, to owe such straight arms, none.
Cym. Son, let your mother end.
Clo. 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 Cæsar 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.
Cym. You must know,
Till the injurious Romans did extort
This tribute from us, we were free: Cæsar's ambition
(Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretch
The sides o' the world), against all colour,* here
Did put the yoke upon us; which to shake off,
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
Ourselves to be. We do say then to Cæsar,
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius, which
Ordain'd our laws (whose use the sword of Cæsar
Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise,
Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
Though Rome be therefore angry); Mulmutius,
Who was the first of Britain, which did put
His brows within a golden crown, and call'd
Himself a king.
Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline,
That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar
(Cæsar, that hath more kings his servants, than
Thyself domestic officers), thine enemy:
Receive it from me, then :-War, and confusion,
In Cæsar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
For fury not to be resisted:-Thus defied,
I thank thee for myself.
Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius.
Thy Cæsar knighted me; my youth I spent
Much under him; of him I gather'd honour;
Which he, to seek of me again, perforce,
Behoves me keep at utterance; I am perfect, t
That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for
Their liberties, are now in arms: a precedent
Which, not to read, would show the Britons cold:
So Cæsar shall not find them.
Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day or two longer: If you seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in our salt-water_girdle: if you beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the better for you; and there's an end.
Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine: All the remain is, welcome.
SCENE II-Another Room in the same.
Pis. 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 tongue'd, as handed) hath prevail a
On thy too ready hearing ?-Disloyal? No:
She's punish'd 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 hert is now as low, as were
Thy fortunes.-How! that I should murder her?
Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which 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?
That I have sent her by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity :-O damn'd 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? Lo, here she comes.
Enter IMOGEN.
I am ignorant in what I am commanded. §
Imo. How now, Pisanio?
Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
Imo. Who? thy lord? that is my lord? Leonatus ?
O learn'd indeed were that astronomer,
That knew the stars, as I his characters;
He'd lay the future open.-You, good gods,
Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
Of my lord's health, of his content,-yet not,
That we two are asunder, let that grieve him-
(Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them,
For it doth physic love)-of his content,
All but in that-Good wax, thy leave:-Bless'd be,
You bees, that make these locks of counsel! Lovers,
And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike;
Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
You clasp young Cupid's tables.-Good news, gods!
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 not 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.
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?-Then, true Pisanio
(Who long'st like me, to see thy lord; who long'st,—
* Conquer.
# Confederate.
† As compared with hers.
§ I. e. unskilled in murder.
O, let me 'bate, but not like me :-yet long'st,-
But in a fainter kind :-O, not like me;
For mine's beyond beyond), say, and speak thick*
(Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,
To the smothering of the sense), how far it is
To this same blessed Milford: And, by the way,
Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as
To inherit such a haven: But first of all,
How we may steal from hence; and, for the gap
That we shall make in time, from our hence-going,
And our return, to excuse :-but first, how get hence:
Why should excuse be born or e'er begot? +
We'll talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee, speak,
How many score of miles may we well ride
"Twixt hour and hour?
Pis. One score, 'twixt sun and sun,
Madam, 's enough for you; and too much too.
Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, man,
Could never go so slow: I have heard of riding wagers,
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
That run i' the clock's behalf:-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.
Pis. Madam, you're best consider.
Imo. I see before me, man, nor here, nor here,
Nor what ensues; but have a fog in them,
That I cannot look through. Away, I pr'ythee;
Do as I bid thee: There's no more to say;
Accessible is none but Milford way.
SCENE III.-Wales. A mountainous Country, with a Cave.
Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.
Bel. 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 morning's holy office: The gates of monarchs
Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet§ through
And keep their impious turbans on, without
Good morrow to the sun.-Hail, thou fair heaven!
We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.
Gui. Hail, heaven!
Arv. Hail, heaven!
Bel. Now, for our mountain sport: Up to yon 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,
+ Why invent an excuse before its occasion has arisen.
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
This service is not service, so being done,
But being so allow'd: To apprehend thus
Draws us a profit from all things we see:
And often, to our comfort, shall we find
The sharded* beetle in a safer hold
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. Ọ, this life
Is nobler, than attending for a check;+
Richer, than doing nothing for a babe;
Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
Such gain the cap of him that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours. §
Gui. Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledged,
Have never wing'd 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; travelling abed;
A prison for a debtor, that not dares
To stride a limit.||
Arv. 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; subtle as the fox, for prey;
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat:
Our valour is, to chase what flies; our cage
We make a quire, as doth the prison bird,
And sing our bondage freely.
Bel. 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 of the war,
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
I' the name of fame, and honour; which dies i' the search;
And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph,
As record of fair act; nay, many times,
Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
Must court'sey at the censure:-O, boys, this story
The world may read in me: My body 's mark'd
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,
*Scaly-winged.
I. e. having charge of a ward.
Overpass his bound.
I. e. a command at court.
I. e. compared with ours.
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