Act I, Scene i:
Britain. The garden of Cymbeline's palace.
Britain. The garden of Cymbeline's palace.
| FIRST GENTLEMAN: |
| You do not meet a man but frowns. Our bloods |
| No more obey the heavens than our courtiers |
| Still seem as does the King. |
| SECOND GENTLEMAN: |
| But what's the matter? |
| FIRST GENTLEMAN: |
| His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom |
| He purpos'd to his wife's sole son—a widow |
| That late he married—hath referr'd herself |
| Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. She's wedded, |
| Her husband banish'd, she imprison'd; all |
| Is outward sorrow; though I think the King |
| Be touch'd at very heart. |
| SECOND GENTLEMAN: |
| None but the King? |
| FIRST GENTLEMAN: |
| He that hath lost her too; so is the Queen, |
| That most desir'd the match: but not a courtier, |
| Although they wear their faces to the bent |
| Of the King's looks, hath a heart that is not |
| Glad at the thing they scowl at. |
| SECOND GENTLEMAN: |
| And why so? |
| FIRST GENTLEMAN: |
| He that hath miss'd the Princess is a thing |
| Too bad for bad report; and he that hath her— |
| I mean, that married her, alack, good man! |
| And therefore banish'd—is a creature such |
| As, to seek through the regions of the earth |
| For one his like, there would be something failing |
| In him that should compare. I do not think |
| So fair an outward and such stuff within |
| Endows a man but he. |
| SECOND GENTLEMAN: |
| You speak him far. |
| FIRST GENTLEMAN: |
| I do extend him, sir, within himself; |
| Crush him together rather than unfold |
| His measure duly. |
| SECOND GENTLEMAN: |
| What's his name and birth? |
| FIRST GENTLEMAN: |
| I cannot delve him to the root. His father |
| Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour |
| Against the Romans with Cassibelan, |
| But had his titles by Tenantius whom |
| He serv'd with glory and admir'd success, |
| So gain'd 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, deceas'd |
| As he was born. The King he takes the babe |
| To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus, |
| 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 minist'red, |
| And in's spring became a harvest; liv'd in court— |
| Which rare it is to do—most prais'd, most lov'd, |
| A sample to the youngest, to the more mature |
| A glass that feated them, and to the graver |
| A child that guided dotards; to his mistress, |
| For whom he now is banish'd—her own price |
| Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue; |
| By her election may be truly read |
| What kind of man he is. |
| SECOND GENTLEMAN: |
| I honour him |
| Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me, |
| Is she sole child to the King? |
| FIRST GENTLEMAN: |
| His only child. |
| He had two sons,—if this be worth your hearing, |
| Mark it—the eldest of them at three years old, |
| I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery |
| Were stolen, and to this hour no guess in knowledge |
| Which way they went. |
| SECOND GENTLEMAN: |
| How long is this ago? |
| FIRST GENTLEMAN: |
| SECOND GENTLEMAN: |
| That a king's children should be so convey'd, |
| So slackly guarded, and the search so slow, |
| That could not trace them! |
| FIRST GENTLEMAN: |
| Howsoe'er 'tis strange, |
| Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, |
| Yet is it true, sir. |
| SECOND GENTLEMAN: |
| I do well believe you. |
| FIRST GENTLEMAN: |
| We must forbear; here comes the gentleman, |
| The Queen, and Princess. |
| [Exeunt.] |
| [Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS, and IMOGEN.] |
| QUEEN: |
| No, be assur'd you shall not find me, daughter, |
| After the slander of most stepmothers, |
| Evil-ey'd 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 lean'd unto his sentence with what patience |
| Your wisdom may inform you. |
| POSTHUMUS: |
| Please your Highness, |
| I will from hence to-day. |
| QUEEN: |
| You know the peril. |
| I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying |
| The pangs of barr'd affections, though the King |
| Hath charg'd you should not speak together. |
| [Exit.] |
| IMOGEN: |
| O dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant |
| Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband, |
| I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing— |
| Always reserv'd my holy duty—what |
| His rage can do on me. You must be gone; |
| And I shall here abide the hourly shot |
| Of angry eyes, not comforted to live, |
| But that there is this jewel in the world |
| That I may see again. |
| POSTHUMUS: |
| My queen! my mistress! |
| O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause |
| To be suspected of more tenderness |
| Than doth become a man. I will remain |
| The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth. |
| My residence in Rome at one Philario's, |
| Who to my father was a friend, to me |
| Known but by letter; thither write, my queen, |
| And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, |
| Though ink be made of gall. |
| [Re-enter QUEEN.] |
| QUEEN: |
| Be brief, I pray you. |
| If the King come, I shall incur I know not |
| How much of his displeasure. |
| [Aside.] |
| Yet I'll move him |
| To walk this way. I never do him wrong |
| But he does buy my injuries, to be friends; |
| Pays dear for my offences. |
| [Exit.] |
| POSTHUMUS: |
| Should we be taking leave |
| As long a term as yet we have to live, |
| The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu! |
| IMOGEN: |
| Nay, stay a little. |
| Were you but riding forth to air yourself, |
| Such parting were too petty. Look here, love; |
| This diamond was my mother's. Take it, heart; |
| But keep it till you woo another wife, |
| When Imogen is dead. |
| POSTHUMUS: |
| How, how! another? |
| You gentle gods, give me but this I have, |
| And cere up my embracements from a next |
| With bonds of death! Remain, remain thou here |
| [Putting on the ring.] |
| 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. |
| [Putting a bracelet upon her arm.] |
| IMOGEN: |
| O the gods! |
| When shall we see again? |
| [Enter CYMBELINE and LORDS.] |
| POSTHUMUS: |
| Alack, the King! |
| CYMBELINE: |
| Thou basest thing, avoid! Hence, from my sight! |
| If after this command thou fraught the court |
| With thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away! |
| Thou'rt poison to my blood. |
| POSTHUMUS: |
| The gods protect you! |
| And bless the good remainders of the court! |
| I am gone. |
| [Exit.] |
| IMOGEN: |
| There cannot be a pinch in death |
| More sharp than this is. |
| CYMBELINE: |
| O disloyal thing, |
| That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st |
| A year's age on me! |
| IMOGEN: |
| I beseech you, sir, |
| Harm not yourself with your vexation. |
| I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare |
| Subdues all pangs, all fears. |
| CYMBELINE: |
| Past grace? obedience? |
| IMOGEN: |
| Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace. |
| CYMBELINE: |
| That mightst have had the sole son of my queen! |
| IMOGEN: |
| O blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle, |
| And did avoid a puttock. |
| CYMBELINE: |
| Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne |
| A seat for baseness. |
| IMOGEN: |
| No; I rather added |
| A lustre to it. |
| CYMBELINE: |
| O thou vile one! |
| IMOGEN: |
| Sir, It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus. |
| You bred him as my playfellow, and he is |
| A man worth any woman; overbuys me |
| Almost the sum he pays. |
| CYMBELINE: |
| What, art thou mad? |
| IMOGEN: |
| Almost, sir; heaven restore me! Would I were |
| A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus |
| Our neighbour shepherd's son! |
| [Re-enter QUEEN.] |
| CYMBELINE: |
| —They were again together; you have done |
| Not after our command. Away with her, |
| And pen her up. |
| QUEEN: |
| Beseech your patience. Peace, |
| Dear lady daughter, peace! Sweet sovereign, |
| Leave us to ourselves, and make yourself some comfort |
| Out of your best advice. |
| CYMBELINE: |
| Nay, let her languish |
| A drop of blood a day; and, being aged, |
| Die of this folly! |
| [Exeunt CYMBELINE and LORDS.] |
| [Enter PISANIO.] |
| QUEEN: |
| Fie! you must give way. |
| Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news? |
| PISANIO: |
| My lord your son drew on my master. |
| QUEEN: |
| Ha! No harm, I trust, is done? |
| PISANIO: |
| There might have been, |
| But that my master rather play'd than fought |
| And had no help of anger. They were parted |
| By gentlemen at hand. |
| QUEEN: |
| I am very glad on't. |
| IMOGEN: |
| Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part |
| To draw upon an exile. O brave sir! |
| I would they were in Afric both together; |
| Myself by with a needle, that I might prick |
| The goer-back. Why came you from your master? |
| PISANIO: |
| On his command. He would not suffer me |
| To bring him to the haven; left these notes |
| Of what commands I should be subject to, |
| When't pleas'd you to employ me. |
| QUEEN: |
| This hath been |
| Your faithful servant. I dare lay mine honour |
| He will remain so. |
| PISANIO: |
| I humbly thank your Highness. |
| QUEEN: |
| Pray, walk a while. |
| IMOGEN: |
| About some half-hour hence, |
| I Pray you, speak with me; you shall at least |
| Go see my lord aboard. For this time leave me. |
| [Exeunt.] |
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