The Illustrated Works of Shakespeare/Illustrated Works of Shakespeare, The (1990)(Animated Pixels)[!][CDTV-PC].iso/shakes/text/27/05_05

Text File | 1991-04-10 | 25KB | 734 lines

Cymbeline's Tent.
 Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO,
 LORDS, OFFICERS, and ATTENDANTS.

Cymbeline    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.

Belarius                                        I never saw
    Such noble fury in so poor a thing;
    Such precious deeds in one that promised naught
    But beggary and poor looks.

Cymbeline                                            No tidings of him?

Pisanio    He hath been searched among the dead and living,
    But no trace of him.

Cymbeline                                To my grief, I am
    The heir of his reward,
    [To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS.]
                                    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.

Belarius                                            Sir,
    In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen.
    Further to boast were neither true nor modest,
    Unless I add we are honest.

Cymbeline                                    Bow your knees.
                                                    [They kneel.
    Arise my knights o'th' battle. I create you
    Companions to our person, and will fit you
    With dignities becoming your estates.

                       Enter CORNELIUS and LADIES.

    There's business in these faces. Why so sadly
    Greet you our victory? You look like Romans,
    And not o'th' court of Britain.

Cornelius                                            Hail, great king!
    To sour your happiness I must report
    The queen is dead.

Cymbeline                                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?

Cornelius    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.

Cymbeline                                            Prithee say.

Cornelius    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.

Cymbeline                                She alone knew this;
    And, but she spoke in dying, I would not
    Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.

Cornelius    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.

Cymbeline                                O most delicate fiend!
    Who is't can read a woman? Is there more?

Cornelius    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 ling'ring,
    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 th' adoption of the crown.
    But, failing of her end by his strange absence,
    Grew shameless-desperate, opened, in despite
    Of heaven and men, her purposes, repented
    The evils she hatched were not effected; so
    Despairing died.

Cymbeline                            Heard you all this, her women?

Ladies    We did, so please your highness.

Cymbeline                                            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, O my daughter,
    That it was folly in me thou mayst say,
    And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!

    Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the SOOTHSAYER, and other ROMAN PRISONERS,
           guarded by SOLDIERS; POSTHUMUS behind, and INNOGEN.

    Thou comest not, Caius, now for tribute; that
    The Britons have razed out, though with the loss
    Of many a bold one; whose kinsman have made suit
    That their good souls may be appeased with slaughter
    Of you their captives, which ourself have granted.
    So think of your estate.

Lucius    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.

Cymbeline                                    I have surely seen him;
    His favour is familiar to me. Boy,
    Thou hast looked thyself into my grace,
    And 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.

Innogen                            I humbly thank your highness.

Lucius    I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad,
    And yet I know thou wilt.

Innogen                                        No, no; alack,
    There's other work in hand. I see a thing
    Bitter to me as death. Your life, good master,
    Must shuffle for itself.

Lucius                                    The boy disdains me;
    He leaves me, scorns me. Briefly die their joys
    That place them on the truth of girls and boys.
    Why stands he so perplexed?

Cymbeline                                        What wouldst thou, boy?
    I love thee more and more; think more and more
    What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? Speak,
    Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin, thy friend?

Innogen    He is a Roman, no more kin to me
    Than I to your highness; who, being born your vassal,
    Am something nearer.

Cymbeline                            Wherefore ey'st him so?

Innogen    I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please
    To give me hearing.

Cymbeline                                Ay, with all my heart,
    And lend my best attention. What's thy name?

Innogen    Fidele, sir.

Cymbeline                    Thou'rt my good youth, my page;
    I'll be thy master. Walk with me; speak freely.
                                [CYMBELINE and INNOGEN converse apart.

Belarius    Is not this boy revived from death?

Arviragus                                            One sand another
    Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad
    Who died, and was Fidele. What think you?

Guiderius    The same dead thing alive.

Belarius    Peace, peace; see further. He eyes us not; forbear.
    Creatures may be alike. Were't he, I am sure
    He would have spoke to us.

Guiderius                                        But we saw him dead.

Belarius    Be silent; let's see further.

Pisanio                        [Aside.]            It is my mistress.
    Since she is living, let the time run on
    To good or bad.
                                 [CYMBELINE and INNOGEN come forward.

Cymbeline                            Come, stand thou by our side;
    Make thy demand aloud. [To IACHIMO.] 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 honour, bitter torture shall
    Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him.

Innogen    My boon is that this gentleman may render
    Of whom he had this ring.

Posthumus    [Aside.]                    What's that to him?

Cymbeline    That diamond upon your finger, say
    How came it yours?

Iachimo    Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that
    Which to be spoke would torture thee.

Cymbeline                                            How, me?

Iachimo    I am 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?

Cymbeline    All that belongs to this.

Iachimo                                    That paragon, thy daughter,
    For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
    Quail to remember - Give me leave, I faint.

Cymbeline    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.

Iachimo    Upon a time - unhappy was the clock
    That struck the hour - it was in Rome - accursed
    The mansion where - 'twas at a feast - O, would
    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; for condition,
    A shop of all the qualities that man
    Loves woman for, besides that hook of wiving,
    Fairness which strikes the eye-

Cymbeline                                        I stand on fire.
    Come to the matter.

Iachimo                                    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 cracked of kitchen-trulls, or his description
    Proved us unspeaking sots.

Cymbeline                                        Nay, nay, to th' purpose.

Iachimo    Your daughter's chastity - 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 then he wore
    Upon his honoured 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 honour 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
    Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent.
    And, to be brief, my practice so prevailed
    That I returned with simular proof enough
    To make the noble Leonatus mad
    By wounding his belief in her renown
    With tokens thus and 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-

Posthumus                    [Advancing.]    Ay, so thou dost,
    Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool,
    Egregious murderer, thief, anything
    That's due to all the villains past, in being,
    To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
    Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out
    For torturers ingenious. It is I
    That all the abhorrd things o'th' 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't. The temple
    Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
    Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
    The dogs o'th' street to bay me; every villain
    Be called Posthumus Leonatus, and
    Be villainy less than 'twas! O Innogen!
    My queen, my life, my wife! O Innogen,
    Innogen, Innogen!

Innogen                            Peace, my lord; hear, hear-

Posthumus    Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page,
    There lie thy part.
                                         [He strikes her and she falls.

Pisanio                                O, gentlemen, help!
    Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus!
    You ne'er killed Innogen till now. Help, help!
    Mine honoured lady!

Cymbeline                                    Does the world go round?

Posthumus    How comes these staggers on me?

Pisanio                                            Wake, my mistress!

Cymbeline    If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
    To death with mortal joy.

Pisanio                                How fares my mistress?

Innogen    O, get thee from my sight;
    Thou gavest me poison. Dangerous fellow, hence!
    Breathe not where princes are.

Cymbeline                                        The tune of Innogen!

Pisanio    Lady,
    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.

Cymbeline    New matter still.

Innogen                                It poisoned me.

Cornelius                                            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'.

Cymbeline                                What's this, Cornelius?

Cornelius    The queen, sir, very oft importuned me
    To temper poisons for her, still pretending
    The satisfaction of her knowledge only
    In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs
    Of no esteem. I, dreading that her purpose
    Was of more danger, did compound for her
    A certain stuff, which being ta'en would cease
    The present power of life, but in short time
    All offices of nature should again
    Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?

Innogen    Most like I did, for I was dead.

Belarius                                            My boys,
    There was our error.

Guiderius                                This is sure Fidele.

Innogen    [To POSTHUMUS.]
    Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?
    Think that you are upon a rock, and now
    Throw me again.
                                                    [Embracing him.
Posthumus                        Hang there like fruit, my soul,
    Till the tree die!

Cymbeline                                How now, my flesh, my child?
    What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act?
    Wilt thou not speak to me?

Innogen                        [Kneeling.]        Your blessing, sir.

Belarius    [To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS.]
    Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not;
    You had a motive for't.

Cymbeline                                    My tears that fall
    Prove holy water on thee! Innogen,
    Thy mother's dead.

Innogen                            I am sorry for't, my lord.

Cymbeline    O, she was naught, and long of her it was
    That we meet here so strangely; but her son
    Is gone, we know not how nor where.

Pisanio                                            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 feignd 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 honour. What became of him
    I further know not.

Guiderius                                Let me end the story:
    I slew him there.

Cymbeline                        Marry, the gods forfend!
    I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
    Pluck a hard sentence. Prithee, valiant youth,
    Deny't again.

Guiderius                    I have spoke it, and I did it.

Cymbeline    He was a prince.

Guiderius    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.

Cymbeline                                        I am sorry for thee.
    By thine own tongue thou art condemned, and must
    Endure our law. Thou'rt dead.

Innogen                                    That headless man
    I thought had been my lord.

Cymbeline                                        Bind the offender,
    And take him from our presence.

Belarius                                            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. [To the GUARD.] Let his arms alone,
    They were not born for bondage.

Cymbeline                                        Why, old soldier,
    Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for
    By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
    As good as we?

Arviragus                        In that he spake too far.

Cymbeline    And thou shalt die for't.

Belarius                                        We will die all three;
    But I will prove that two on's are as good
    As I have given out him. My sons, I must
    For mine own part unfold a dangerous speech,
    Though haply well for you.

Arviragus                                    Your danger's ours.

Guiderius    And our good his.

Belarius                            Have at it then, by leave.
    Thou hadst, great king, a subject who
    Was called Belarius.

Cymbeline                                What of him? He is
    A banished traitor.

Belarius                            He it is that hath
    Assumed this age; indeed a banished man;
    I know not how a traitor.

Cymbeline                                    Take him hence,
    The whole world shall not save him.

Belarius                                            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.

Cymbeline                                Nursing of my sons?

Belarius    I am too blunt and saucy. Here's my knee.
                                                    [Kneels.
    Ere I arise I will prefer my sons;
    Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
    These two young gentlemen that call me father
    And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
    They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
    And blood of your begetting.

Cymbeline                                        How, my issue?

Belarius    So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
    Am that Belarius whom you sometime banished.
    Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment
    Itself, and all my treason; that I suffered
    Was all the harm I did. 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
    Two of 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.

Cymbeline                                    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.

Belarius                                        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 th' hand
    Of his queen mother, which for more probation
    I can with ease produce.

Cymbeline                                    Guiderius had
    Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
    It was a mark of wonder.

Belarius                                        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.

Cymbeline                                            O, 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! O Innogen,
    Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.

Innogen                                            No, my lord,
    I have got two worlds by't. O my gentle brothers,
    Have we thus met? O, 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.

Cymbeline                                Did you e'er meet?

Arviragus    Ay, my good lord.

Guiderius                            And at first meeting loved,
    Continued so until we thought he died.

Cornelius    By the queen's dram she swallowed.

Cymbeline                                            O rare instinct!
    When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgement
    Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
    Distinction should be rich in. Where? How lived you?
    And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
    How parted with your brothers? How first met them?
    Why fled you from the court? - And whither? These,
    And your three motives to the battle, with
    I know not how much more, should be demanded,
    And all the other by-dependances,
    From chance to chance; but nor the time nor place
    Will serve our long inter'gatories. 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; the counterchange
    Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground,
    And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.
    [To BELARIUS.]
    Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever.

Innogen    You are my father too, and did relieve me
    To see this gracious season.

Cymbeline                                        All o'erjoyed,
    Save these in bonds. Let them be joyful too,
    For they shall taste our comfort.

Innogen                                            My good master,
    I will yet do you service.

Lucius                                    Happy be you!

Cymbeline    The forlorn soldier that so nobly fought,
    He would have well become this place, and graced
    The thankings of a king.

Posthumus                                        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.

Iachimo                    [Kneeling.]    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 your ring first,
    And here the bracelet of the truest princess
    That ever swore her faith.

Posthumus                                        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.

Cymbeline                                    Nobly doomed!
    We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
    Pardon's the word to all.

Arviragus                [To POSTHUMUS.]    You holp us, sir,
    As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
    Joyed are we that you are.

Posthumus    Your servant, princes. Good my lord of Rome,
    Call forth your soothsayer. 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 him show
    His skill in the construction.

Lucius                                            Philarmonus!

Soothsayer    Here, my good lord.

Lucius                                Read, and declare the meaning.

Soothsayer    [Reads.]    "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 import so much.
    [To CYMBELINE.]
    The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
    Which 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.

Cymbeline                                    This hath some seeming.

Soothsayer    The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
    Personates thee; and thy lopped branches point
    Thy two sons forth, who, by Belarius stol'n,
    For many years thought dead, are now revived,
    To the most majestic cedar joined, whose issue
    Promises Britain peace and plenty.

Cymbeline                                            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.

Soothsayer    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'th' sun
    So vanished; which foreshowed our princely eagle,
    Th' imperial Caesar, should again unite
    His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
    Which shines here in the west.

Cymbeline                                            Laud we the gods;
    And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
    From our blest altars. Publish we this peace
    To all our subjects. Set we forward; let
    A Roman and a British ensign wave
    Friendly together; so through Lud's Town march;
    And in the temple of great Jupiter
    Our peace we'll ratify, seal it with feasts.
    Set on there! Never was a war did cease,
    Ere bloody hands were washed, with such a peace.
                                                    [Exeunt.