Britaine.
Enter two Gentlemen.
1 Gentleman.
1 note
You do not meet a man, but frowns: Our brows
No more obey the heavens than our courtiers;
But seem, as does the King's.
2 Gent.
But what's the matter?
-- 230 --
1 Gent.
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.
2 Gent.
None but the King?
1 Gent.
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 look) but hath a heart that is
Glad at the thing they scoul at.
2 Gent.
And why so?
1 Gent.
He that hath miss'd the Princess, is a thing
Too bad for bad report: and, he that hath her,
(I mean that marry'd 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 him.
-- 231 --
2 Gent.
2 noteYou speak him far.
1 Gent.
3 note
I don't extend him, Sir: Within himself
Crush him together, rather than unfold
His measure fully.
2 Gent.
What's his name and birth?
1 Gent.
I cannot delve him to the root: his father
Was called Sicillius, 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' th' time,
Dy'd 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 theam, deceas'd,
As he was born. The King, he takes the babe
To his protection, calls him Posthumus,
Breeds him, and makes him of his bed-chamber:
-- 232 --
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 ministred.
His spring became a harvest: liv'd in Court
(Which rare it is to do,) most prais'd, most lov'd,
A sample to the young'st; to th' more mature,
A glass that featur'd 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.
2 Gent.
I honour him, ev'n out of your report.
But tell me, is she sole child to the King?
1 Gent.
His only child.
He had two sons, (if this be worth your hearing
Mark it;) the eldest of them at three years old,
I' th' swathing cloaths the other, from their nursery
Were stol'n; and to this hour, no guess in knowledge
Which way they went.
2 Gent.
How long is this ago?
1 Gent.
Some twenty years.
2 Gent.
That a King's children should be so convey'd,
So slackly guarded, and the search so slow
That could not trace them,—
1 Gent.
Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,
Yet is it true, Sir.
2 Gent.
I do well believe you.
1 Gent.
We must forbear. Here comes the Gentleman,
The Queen, and Princess.
[Exeunt.
-- 233 --
SCENE II.
Enter the Queen, Posthumus, Imogen, and attendants.
Queen.
No, be assur'd, you shall not find me, daughter,
After the slander of most step-mothers,
I'll-ey'd unto you: You're my pris'ner, but
Your goaler shall deliver you the keys
That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,
So soon as I can win th' 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.
Post.
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.
Imo.
Dissembling courtesie! 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.
Post.
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 loyall'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
-- 234 --
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—yet I'll move him
[Aside.
To walk this way; I never do him wrong,
But he does buy my injuries: to be friends,
Pays dear for my offences.
[Exit.
Post.
Should we be taking leave,
As long a term as yet we have to live,
The lothness to depart would grow:—adieu!
Imo.
Nay, stay a little—
Were you but riding forth to air your self,
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.
Post.
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,
[Putting on the ring.
While sense can keep thee 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
[Putting a bracelet on her arm.
Upon this fairest pris'ner.
Imo.
O, the Gods!
When shall we see again?
-- 235 --
SCENE III.
Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.
Post.
Alack, the King!—
Cym.
Thou basest Thing, avoid; hence, from my sight:
If, after this Command, thou fraught the Court
With thy unworthiness, thou dy'st. Away!
Thou'rt poison to my blood.
Post.
The Gods protect you,
And bless the good remainders of the Court!
I'm gone.
[Exit.
Imo.
There cannot be a pinch in death
More sharp than this is.
Cym.
4 note
O disloyal thing,
That should'st repair my youth, thou heap'st
A yare age on me.
Imo.
I beseech you, Sir,
Harm not your self with your Vexation;
I'm senseless of your wrath; 5 notea touch more rare
Subdues all pangs, all fears.
Cym.
Past grace? obedience?
-- 236 --
Imo.
Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.
Cym.
Thou might'st have had the sole son of my Queen.
Imo.
O, blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle,
And did avoid a puttock.
Cym.
Thou took'st a beggar; would'st have made my Throne
A Seat for Baseness.
Imo.
No, I rather added
A lustre to it.
Cym.
O thou vile one!
Imo.
Sir,
It is your fault, that I have lov'd Posthumus:
You bred him as my play-fellow; and he is
A man, worth any woman; over-buys me
Almost the sum he pays.
Cym.
What!—art thou mad?
Imo.
Almost, Sir; heav'n restore me! 'would I were
A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus
Our neighbour-shepherd's son!
Enter Queen.
Cym.
Thou foolish Thing;—
They were again together, you have done
[To the Queen.
Not after our Command. Away with her,
And pen her up.
Queen.
Beseech you patience; peace,
Dear lady daughter, peace. Sweet Sovereign,
Leave us t'our selves, and make your self some comfort
Out of your best advice.
Cym.
Nay, let her languish
A drop of blood a-day; and, being aged,
Die of this folly.
[Exit.
-- 237 --
Enter Pisanio.
Queen.
Fie, you must give way:
Here is your servant. How now, Sir? what news?
Pis.
My lord your son drew on my master.
Queen.
Hah!
No harm, I trust, is done?
Pis.
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'm very glad on't.
Imo.
Your son's my father's friend, he takes his part.
To draw upon an exile: O brave Sir!—
I would they were in Africk both together,
Myself by with a needle, that I might prick
The goer-back. Why came you from your master?
Pis.
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.
Pis.
I humbly thank your Highness.
Queen.
Pray, walk a while.
Imo.
About some half hour hence, pray you, speak with me;
You shall, at least, go see my Lord aboard.
From this time leave me.—
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Enter Cloten, and two Lords.
1 Lord.
Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt;
the violence of action hath made you reek as a sacrifice.
Where air comes out, air comes in: there's
none abroad so wholsom as That you vent.
-- 238 --
Clot.
If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it—
Have I hurt him?
2 Lord.
No, faith: Not so much as his patience.
[Aside.
1 Lord.
Hurt him? his body's a passable carkass, if
he be not hurt. It is a thorough-fare for steel, if it
be not hurt.
2 Lord.
His steel was in debt, it went o' th'backside
the town.
[Aside.
Clot.
The villain would not stand me.
2 Lord.
No, but he fled forward still, towards your
face.
[Aside.
1 Lord.
Stand you? you have land enough of your
own; but he added to your Having, gave you some
ground.
2 Lord.
As many inches as you have oceans, puppies!
[Aside.
Clot.
I would, they had not come between us.
2 Lord.
So would I, 'till you had measur'd how
long a fool you were upon the ground.
[Aside.
Clot.
And that she should love this fellow, and refuse
me!—
2 Lord.
If it be a sin to make a true election, she's
damn'd.
[Aside.
1 Lord.
Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and
her brain go not together. 6 note
She's a good Shine, but
I have seen small reflection of her wit.
2 Lord.
She shines not upon fools, lest the reflection
should hurt her.
[Aside.
Clot.
Come, I'll to my chamber: 'would, there
had been some hurt done!
2 Lord.
I wish not so; unless it had been the fall
of an ass, which is no great hurt.
[Aside.
-- 239 --
Clot.
You'll go with us?
1 Lord.
I'll attend your Lordship.
Clot.
Nay, come, let's go together.
2 Lord.
Well, my Lord.
[Exeunt.
SCENE V.
Imogen's Apartment.
Enter Imogen, and Pisanio.
Imo.
I would, thou grew'st unto the shores o'th' haven,
And question'd'st every sail: if he should write,
And I not have it, 7 note
'twere a paper lost
As offer'd mercy is. What was the last
That he spake with thee?
Pis.
'Twas, His Queen, his Queen!
Imo.
Then wav'd his handkerchief?
Pis.
And kiss'd it, Madam.
Imo.
Senseless linnen, happier therein than I!
And that was all?
Pis.
No, Madam; 8 note
for so long
-- 240 --
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's mind
Could best express how slow his soul sail'd on,
How swift his ship.
Imo.
Thou should'st have made him
As little as a crow, or less, ere left
To after-eye him.
Pis.
Madam, so I did.
&plquo;Imo.
&plquo;I would have broke mine eye-strings; crackt 'em, but
&plquo;To look upon him; 9 note
'till the diminution
&plquo;Of's space had pointed him sharp as my needle;
&plquo;Nay, follow'd him, till he had melted from
&plquo;The smallness of a gnat, to air; and then
&plquo;Have turn'd mine eye, and wept.—But, good Pisanio,&prquo;
When shall we hear from him?
Pis.
Be assur'd, Madam,
With his next vantage.
Imo.
I did not take my leave of him, but had
&wlquo;Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him,
&wlquo;How I would think on him, at certain hours,
&wlquo;Such thoughts, and such; or, I could make him swear,
&wlquo;The She's of Italy should not betray
&wlquo;Mine interest, and his honour; or have charg'd him,
&wlquo;At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,
-- 241 --
&wlquo;T'encounter me with Orisons; (for then
&wlquo;I am in heaven for him;) 1 note
or ere I could
&wlquo;Give him that parting kiss, which I had set
&wlquo;Betwixt two charming words, 2 note
comes in my Father;
-- 242 --
&wlquo;And, like the tyrannous breathing of the North,
&wlquo;Shakes all our buds from blowing.&wrquo;
Enter a Lady.
Lady.
The Queen, Madam,
Desires your Highness' company.
Imo.
Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd.
I will attend the Queen.
Pis.
Madam, I shall.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Changes to Rome.
Enter Philario, Iachimo, and a French man.
Iach.
Believe it, Sir, I have seen him in Britaine;
he was then of a crescent Note; expected to
prove so worthy, as since he has been allowed the
name of. But I could then have look'd 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.
Phil.
You speak of him when he was less furnish'd,
than now he is, with That which makes him both
without and within.
French.
I have seen him in France; we had very
many there, could behold the sun with as firm eyes as
he.
Iach.
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.
French.
And then his banishment—
Iach.
Ay, and the approbations of those, that weep
this lamentable divorce under her colours, are wonderfully
to extend him; be it but to fortifie her Judgment,
which else an easie battery might lay flat, for
-- 243 --
taking a beggar without more quality. But how
comes it, he is to sojourn with you? how creeps acquaintance?
Phil.
His father and I were soldiers together, to
whom I have been often bound for no less than my
life.
Enter Posthumus.
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.
French.
Sir, we have been known together in Orleans.
Post.
Since when I have been debtor to you for
courtesies, which I will be ever to pay, and yet pay
still.
French.
Sir, you o'er-rate 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.
Post.
By your pardon, Sir, I was then a young traveller;
rather shun'd 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.
French.
Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of
swords; and by such two, that would by all likelihood
have confounded one the other, or have faln
both.
Iach.
Can we with manners ask, what was the difference?
-- 244 --
French.
Safely, I think; 'twas a contention in publick,
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, chast, constant, qualified,
and less attemptable than any the rarest of our ladies
in France.
Iach.
That Lady is not now living; or this Gentleman's
opinion, by this, worn out.
Post.
She holds her virtue still, and I my mind.
Iach.
You must not so far prefer her, 'fore ours of
Italy.
Post.
Being so far provok'd, as I was in France, I
would abate her nothing; tho' I profess my self her
adorer, not her friend.
Iach.
As fair, and as good, a kind of hand-in-hand
comparison, had been something too fair and too good
for any Lady in Britany. 3 noteIf she went before others
I have seen, as that diamond of yours out-lusters many
I have beheld, I could believe, she excelled many;
but I have not seen the most precious diamond that
is, nor you the Lady.
Post.
I prais'd her, as I rated her: so do I my stone.
Iach.
What do you esteem it at?
Post.
More than the world enjoys.
Iach.
Either your unparagon'd Mistress is dead, or
she's out-priz'd by a trifle.
-- 245 --
Post.
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 only the gift of the Gods.
Iach.
Which the Gods have given you:—
Post.
Which, by their graces, I will keep.
Iach.
You may wear her in title yours; but, you
know, strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds.
Your ring may be stoln too; so, of your brace of unprizeable
estimations, the one is but frail and the other
casual. A cunning thief, or a that-way-accomplish'd
courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and
last.
Post.
Your Italy contains none so accomplish'd a
Courtier 4 noteto convince the honour of my mistress; if
in the holding or loss of that, you term her frail, I do
nothing doubt, you have store of thieves, notwithstanding
I fear not my ring.
Phil.
Let us leave here, Gentlemen.
Post.
Sir, with all my heart. This worthy Signior,
I thank him, makes no stranger of me; we are familiar
at first.
Iach.
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.
Post.
No, no.—
Iach.
I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my
estate to your ring, which, in my opinion, o'er-values
it something: but I make my wager rather against
your confidence, than her reputation: And to bar your
offence herein too, I durst attempt it against any Lady
in the world.
Post.
You are a great deal abus'd in too bold a perswasion;
-- 246 --
and, I doubt not, you'd sustain what you're
worthy of, by your attempt.
Iach.
What's That?
Post.
A repulse; though your attempt, as you call
it, deserves more; a punishment too.
Phil.
Gentlemen, enough of this; it came in too
suddenly, let it die as it was born; and I pray you, be
better acquainted.
Iach.
'Would, I had put my estate and my neighbour's,
on th' approbation of what I have spoke.
Post.
What Lady would you chuse to assail?
Iach.
Yours; who in constancy, you think, stands
so safe. I will lay you ten thousand ducats to your ring,
that, commend me to the Court where your Lady is,
with no more advantage than the opportunity of a second
conference, I will bring from thence that honour
of hers, which you imagine so reserv'd.
Post.
I will wage against your gold, gold to it: 5 note
my
ring I hold dear as my finger, 'tis part of it.
Iach.
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.
Post.
This is but a custom in your tongue; you
bear a graver purpose, I hope.
Iach.
I am the master of my Speeches, and would
undergo what's spoken, I swear.
Post.
Will you? I shall but lend my diamond 'till
your Return; let there be covenants drawn between
us. My Mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness of
your unworthy thinking. I dare you to this match;
here's my ring.
-- 247 --
Phil.
I will have it no Lay.
Iach.
By the Gods it is one. 6 note
If I bring you sufficient
testimony that I have enjoy'd the dearest bodily
part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats are
mine; so is your diamond too. If I come off, and
leave her in such honour as you have trust in, she
your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are yours;
provided, I have your commendation, for my more
free entertainment.
Post.
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 prevail'd, I am no further your
enemy, she is not worth our debate. If she remain
unseduc'd, you not making it appear otherwise; for
your ill opinion, and th' assault you have made to her
chastity, you shall answer me with your sword.
Iach.
Your hand, a covenant; we will have these
things set down by lawful counsel, and straight away
for Britaine, lest the bargain should catch cold, and
starve. I will fetch my gold, and have our two wagers
recorded.
-- 248 --
Post.
Agreed.
[Exeunt Posthumus and Iachimo.
French.
Will this hold, think you?
Phil.
Signior Iachimo will not from it.
Pray, let us follow 'em.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VII.
Changes to Cymbeline's Palace in Britaine.
Enter Queen, Ladies, and Cornelius with a Viol.
Queen.
While yet the dew's on ground, gather those flowers:
Make haste.—Who has the note of them?
1 Lady.
I, Madam.
Queen.
Dispatch.
[Exeunt Ladies.
Now, master Doctor, you have brought those drugs?
Cor.
Pleaseth your Highness, ay; here they are, Madam;
But I beseech your Grace, without offence,
(My conscience bids me ask) wherefore you have
Commanded of me these most pois'nous compounds?
Which are the movers of a languishing death;
But, though slow, deadly.
Queen.
I do wonder, Doctor,
Thou ask'st me such a question; have I not been
Thy pupil long? hast thou not learn'd me how
To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so,
That our great King himself doth woo me oft
For my confections? having thus far proceeded,
(Unless thou think'st me dev'lish,) is't not meet
That I did amplifie 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 vigour of them, and apply
Allayments to their act; and by them gather
Their sev'ral virtues and effects.
-- 249 --
Cor.
Your Highness
Shall from this practice but make hard your heart;
Besides, the seeing these effects will be
Both noysome and infectious.
Queen.
O, content thee.
Enter Pisanio.
Here comes a flatt'ring rascal, upon him
[Aside.
Will I first work; he's for his master's sake
An enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio?
Doctor, your service for this time is ended;
Take your own way.
Cor.
I do suspect you, Madam:
[Aside.
But you shall do no harm.
Queen.
Hark thee, a word.—
[To Pisanio.
Cor.
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 damn'd nature. Those, she has,
Will stupifie and dull the sense a while;
Which first, perchance, she'll prove on cats and dogs,
Then afterwards up higher; but there is
No danger in what shew of death it makes,
More than the locking up the spirits a time,
To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd
With a most false effect; and I the truer,
So to be false with her.
Queen.
No further service, Doctor,
Until I send for thee.
Cor.
I humbly take my leave.
[Exit.
Queen.
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
-- 250 --
His fortunes all lye 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 with another;
And every day, that comes, comes to decay
A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect,
To be depender on a thing that leans?
Who cannot be new built, and has no friends,
So much as but to prop him?—Thou tak'st up
[Pisanio looking on the Viol.
Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour;
It is a thing I make, which hath the King
Five times redeem'd from death; I do not know
What is more cordial. Nay, I pr'ythee, 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 chancest 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,
That set thee on to this desert, am bound
To load thy merit richly. Call my women—
[Exit Pisanio.
Think on my words—A sly and constant knave,
Not to be shak'd; the agent for his master;
And the remembrancer of her, to hold
The hand fast to her Lord.—I've giv'n him That,
Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her
Of leidgers for her sweet; and which she, after,
Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd
To taste of too.
Enter Pisanio, and Ladies.
So, so; well done, well done;
The violets, cowslips, and the primroses,
-- 251 --
Bear to my closet; fare thee well, Pisanio,
Think on my words.
[Exeunt Queen and Ladies.
Pis.
And shall do:
But when to my good Lord I prove untrue,
I'll choak myself; there's all I'll do for you.
[Exit.
SCENE VIII.
Changes to Imogen's Apartments.
Enter Imogen alone.
Imo.
A father cruel, and a Stepdame false,
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady,
That hath her husband banish'd—O, that husband!
My supream crown of grief, 8 note
and those repeated
Vexations of it—Had I been thief-stoln,
As my two brothers, happy! 9 note
but most miserable
Is the desire, that's glorious. 1 note
Bless'd be those,
How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills,
Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? fie!
-- 252 --
Enter Pisanio, and Iachimo.
Pis.
Madam, a noble Gentleman of Rome
Comes from my Lord with letters.
Iach.
Change you, Madam?
The worthy Leonatus is in safety,
And greets your Highness dearly.
Imo.
Thanks, good Sir,
You're kindly welcome.
Iach.
All of her, that is out of door, most rich!
If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare,
[Aside.
She is alone th' Arabian bird; and I
Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
Arm me, Audacity, from head to foot:
Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight,
Rather directly fly.
Imogen reads.
He is one of the noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am
most infinitely tyed. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you
value your trust.
Leonatus.
So far I read aloud:
But even the very middle of my heart
Is warm'd by th' rest, and 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,
Iach.
Thanks, fairest Lady—
What! are men mad? hath nature given them eyes
To see this vaulted arch, 2 note
and the rich cope
Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
The fiery orbs above, and the twinn'd stones
-- 253 --
3 note
Upon th' humbl'd beach? and can we not
Partition make with spectacles so precious
'Twixt fair and foul.
Imo.
What makes your admiration?
Iach.
It cannot be i' th' eye; (for apes and monkeys,
'Twixt two such she's, would chatter this way, and
Contemn with mowes the other:) Nor i' th' judgment;
For Ideots, in this case of favour, would
Be wisely definite: Nor i' th' appetite:
Slutt'ry, to such neat excellence oppos'd,
4 note
Should make desire vomit emptiness,
Not so allur'd to feed.
Imo.
What is the matter, trow?
Iach.
The cloyed will,
That satiate, yet unsatisfy'd desire, (that tub
Both fill'd and running;) ravening first the lamb,
Longs after for the garbage—
Imo.
What, dear Sir,
Thus raps you? are you well?
Iach.
Thanks, Madam, well—'Beseech you, Sir,
[To Pisanio.
Desire my man's abode, where I did leave him;
5 note
He's strange, and peevish.
Pis.
I was going, Sir,
-- 254 --
To give him welcome.
Imo.
Continues well my Lord
His health, 'beseech you?
Iach.
Well, Madam.
Imo.
Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope, he is.
Iach.
Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there
So merry, and so gamesome; he is call'd
The Britaine Reveller.
Imo.
When he was here,
He did incline to sadness, and oft times
Not knowing why.
Iach.
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
The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton,
(Your Lord, I mean,) laughs from's free lungs, cries Oh!—
Can my sides hold, to think, that man, who knows
By history, report, or his own proof,
What woman is, yea, what she cannot chuse
But must be, will his free hours languish out
For assur'd bondage?
Imo.
Will my Lord say so?
Iach.
Ay, Madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter.
It is a recreation to be by,
And hear him mock the Frenchman: but heav'n knows,
Some men are much to blame.
Imo.
Not he, I hope.
Iach.
Not he. But yet heav'n's bounty tow'rds him might
Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
In you, whom I count his, beyond all talents;
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
To pity too.
-- 255 --
Imo.
What do you pity, Sir?
Iach.
Two creatures heartily.
Imo.
Am I one, Sir?
You look on me; what wreck discern you in me,
Deserves your pity
Iach.
Lamentable! what!
To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace
I' th' dungeon by a snuff?
Imo.
I pray you, Sir,
Deliver with more openness your answers
To my demands. Why do you pity me?
Iach.
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.
Imo.
You do seem to know
Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you,
(Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more
Than to be sure they do; for certainties
Or are past remedies, or timely knowing,
The remedy then born;) discover to me
What both you spur and stop.
Iach.
Had I this cheek
To bath my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
Whose ev'ry touch would force the feeler's soul
To th' oath of loyalty; this object, which
Takes pris'ner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here; should I, (damn'd them note,)
Slaver with lips, as common as the stairs
That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly falshood, as with labour;
Then glad myself by peeping in an eye,
Base and unlustrous as the smoaky light
That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit,
That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter such revolt.
-- 256 --
Imo.
My Lord, I fear,
Has forgot Britaine.
Iach.
And himself. Not I,
Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce
The beggary of this change; but 'tis your graces,
That from my mutest conscience, to my tongue,
Charms this report out.
Imo.
Let me hear no more.
Iach.
Oh dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart
With pity, that doth make me sick. A Lady
So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,
Would make the great'st King double! to be partner'd
With tomboys, hir'd with that self-exhibition
Which your own coffers yield!—with diseas'd ventures,
That play with all infirmities for gold,
Which rottenness lends nature! such boyl'd stuff,
As well might poison Poison! Be reveng'd;
Or she, that bore you, was no Queen, and you
Recoil from your great stock.
Imo.
Reveng'd!
How should I be reveng'd, if this be true?
(As I have such a heart, that both mine ears
Must not in haste abuse;) if it be true,
How shall I be reveng'd?
Iach.
Should he make me
Live like Diana's Priest, betwixt cold sheets?
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps
In your despight, upon your purse? Revenge it:—
I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,
More noble than that runagate to your bed;
And will continue fast to your affection,
Still close, as sure.
Imo.
What ho, Pisanio!—
Iach.
Let me my service tender on your lips.
Imo.
Away!—I do condemn mine ears, that have
-- 257 --
So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,
Thou would'st 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 honour; and
Sollicit'st here a Lady, that disdains
Thee, and the Devil alike. What ho, Pisanio!—
The King my father shall be made acquainted
Of thy assault; if he shall 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 whom
He not respects at all. What ho, Pisanio!
Iach.
O happy Leonatus, I may say;
The credit, that thy Lady hath of thee,
Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness
Her assur'd credit! blessed live you long,
A Lady to the worthiest Sir, that ever
Country call'd 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-manner'd, such a holy witch,
That he enchants societies into him:
Half all men's hearts are his.
Imo.
You make amends.
Iach.
He sits 'mong men, like a descended God:
He hath a kind of honour sets him off,
More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,
Most mighty Princess, that I have adventur'd
To try your taking of a false report; which hath
Honour'd 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 made you,
-- 258 --
Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.
Imo.
All's well, Sir; take my pow'r i' th' court for yours.
Iach.
My humble thanks; I had almost forgot
T' intreat your Grace but in a small request,
And yet of moment too, for it concerns
Your Lord; myself, and other noble friends
Are partners in the business.
Imo.
Pray, what is't?
Iach.
Some dozen Romans of us, and your Lord,
(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 jewels
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?
Imo.
Willingly;
And pawn mine honour for their safety. Since
My Lord hath int'rest in them, I will keep them
In my bed-chamber.
Iach.
They are in a trunk,
Attended by my men: I will make bold
To send them to you, only for this night;
I must aboard to morrow.
Imo.
O no, no.
Iach.
Yes, I beseech you: or I shall short my word,
By length'ning my return. From Gallia,
I cross'd the seas on purpose, and on promise
To see your Grace.
Imo.
I thank you for your pains;
But not away to morrow?
Iach.
O, I must, Madam.
Therefore, I shall beseech you, if you please
To greet your lord with writing, do't to night.
I have outstood my time, which is material
-- 259 --
To th' tender of our present.
Imo.
I will write:
Send your trunk to me, it shall safe be kept,
And truly yielded you: You're very welcome.
[Exeunt.
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
