Cymbeline's Palace.
Enter Cloten, and two lords.
Cloten.
Was there ever man had such luck! when I
kiss'd the Jack upon an up-cast, to be hit
away! I had an hundred pound on't; and
then a whorson jack-an-apes must take me up for
swearing, as if I borrowed mine oaths of him, and
might not spend them at my pleasure.
1 Lord.
What got he by that? you have broke his
pate with your bowl.
2 Lord.
If his wit had been like him that broke it,
it would have run all out.
[aside.
Clot.
When a gentleman is dispos'd to swear, it is
not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths. Ha?
2 Lord.
No, my lord: nor crop the ears of them.
[aside.
-- 368 --
Clot.
Whorson dog! I give him satisfaction? would,
he had been one of my Rank.
2 Lord.
To have smelt like a fool.—
[aside.
Clot.
I am not vext more at any thing in the earth,
—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 belly full of
fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that
no body can match.
2 Lord.
You are a cock and a capon too; and you
crow, cock, with your comb on.
[aside.
Clot.
Say'st thou?
2 Lord.
It is not fit your lordship should undertake
every companion, that you give offence to.
Clot.
No, I know that; but it is fit I should commit
offence to my inferiors.
2 Lord.
Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.—
Clot.
Why, so I say.
1 Lord.
Did your hear of a stranger that's come to
Court to night?
Clot.
A stranger, and I not know on't?
2 Lord.
He's a strange fellow himself, and knows it
not.
[aside.
1 Lord.
There's an Italian come, and, 'tis thought,
one of Leonatus's friends.
Clot.
Leonatus! a banish'd rascal; and he's another,
whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?
1 Lord.
One of your lordship's pages.
Clot.
Is it fit I went to look upon him? is there no
derogation in't?
2 Lord.
You cannot derogate, my Lord.
Clot.
Not easily, I think.
2 Lord.
You are a fool granted, therefore your issues
being foolish do not derogate.
[aside.
Clot.
Come, I'll go see this Italian: what I have
lost to day at bowls, I'll win to night of him. Come;
go.
2 Lord.
I'll attend your lordship.
[Exit Clot.
That such a crafty devil, as is his mother,
Should yield the world this ass!—a woman, that
-- 369 --
Bears all down with her brain; and this her son
Cannot take two from twenty for his heart,
And leave eighteen.—Alas, poor Princess,
Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur'st!
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern'd,
A mother hourly coining plots; a wooer,
(12) note
More hateful than the foul expulsion is
Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act
Of the divorce he'ld make.—The heav'ns hold firm
The walls of thy dear Honour; keep unshak'd
That Temple thy fair Mind; that thou may'st stand
T' enjoy thy banish'd Lord, and this great Land!
[Exeunt.
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
