ASCII text placed in the public domain by Moby Lexical Tools, 1992.
SGML markup by Jon Bosak, 1992-1994.
XML version by Jon Bosak, 1996-1999.
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Enter CLOTEN and two Lords
there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.
If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him?
backside the town.
The villain would not stand me.
Aside As many inches as you have oceans. Puppies!
I would they had not come between us.
a fool you were upon the ground.
And that she should love this fellow and refuse me!
reflection should hurt her.
Come, I'll to my chamber. Would there had been some
of an ass, which is no great hurt.
You'll go with us?
I'll attend your lordship.
Nay, come, let's go together.
Enter CLOTEN and two Lords
Was there ever man had such luck! when I kissed the
jack, upon an up-cast to be hit away! I had a
hundred pound on't: and then a whoreson jackanapes
must take me up for swearing; as if I borrowed mine
oaths of him and might not spend them at my pleasure.
it would have run all out.
When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is not for
any standers-by to curtail his oaths, ha?
nor crop the ears of them.
Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction?
Would he had been one of my rank!
Aside To have smelt like a fool.
I am not vexed 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 bellyful of
fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that
nobody can match.
cock, with your comb on.
companion that you give offence to.
No, I know that: but it is fit I should commit
offence to my inferiors.
Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.
Why, so I say.
Did you hear of a stranger that's come to court to-night?
A stranger, and I not know on't!
Leonatus! a banished rascal; and he's another,
whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?
One of your lordship's pages.
Is it fit I went to look upon him? is there no
You cannot derogate, my lord.
Not easily, I think.
issues, being foolish, do not derogate.
Come, I'll go see this Italian: what I have lost
to-day at bowls I'll win to-night of him. Come, go.
Enter CLOTEN and Lords
most coldest that ever turned up ace.
It would make any man cold to lose.
your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win.
Winning will put any man into courage. If I could
get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough.
It's almost morning, is't not?
Day, my lord.
I would this music would come: I am advised to give
her music o' mornings; they say it will penetrate.
Enter Musicians Come on; tune: if you can penetrate her with your
fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: if none
will do, let her remain; but I'll never give o'er.
First, a very excellent good-conceited thing;
after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich
words to it: and then let her consider.
SONG Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chaliced flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes:
With every thing that pretty is,
My lady sweet, arise:
So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will
consider your music the better: if it do not, it is
a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs and
calves'-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to
boot, can never amend.
Here comes the king.
I am glad I was up so late; for that's the reason I
was up so early: he cannot choose but take this
service I have done fatherly.
Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN Good morrow to your majesty and to my gracious mother.
Will she not forth?
I have assailed her with music, but she vouchsafes no notice.
And therein you are senseless.
Senseless! not so.
To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.
Exeunt all but CLOTEN
If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,
Let her lie still and dream.
Knocks By your leave, ho!
I Know her women are about her: what
If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold
Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes
Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up
Their deer to the stand o' the stealer; and 'tis gold
Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief;
Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man: what
Can it not do and undo? I will make
One of her women lawyer to me, for
I yet not understand the case myself.
Knocks By your leave.
Who's there that knocks?
Yes, and a gentlewoman's son.
Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's pleasure?
Your lady's person: is she ready?
To keep her chamber.
There is gold for you;
Sell me your good report.
Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand.
And scarce can spare them.
Still, I swear I love you.
That I regard it not.
This is no answer.
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.
To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin:
I will not.
Fools are not mad folks.
Do you call me fool?
You felt than make't my boast.
You sin against
Obedience, which you owe your father. For
The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes,
With scraps o' the court, it is no contract, none:
And though it be allow'd in meaner parties--
Yet who than he more mean?--to knit their souls,
On whom there is no more dependency
But brats and beggary, in self-figured knot;
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by
The consequence o' the crown, and must not soil
The precious note of it with a base slave.
A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth,
A pantler, not so eminent.
For being preferred so well.
The south-fog rot him!
'His garment!' Now the devil--
To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently--
You have abused me:
'His meanest garment!'
If you will make't an action, call witness to't.
I will inform your father.
I'll be revenged:
'His meanest garment!' Well.
Enter in state, CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, and Lords at one door, and at another, CAIUS LUCIUS and Attendants
Shall be so ever.
There be many Caesars,
Ere such another Julius. Britain is
A world by itself; and we will nothing pay
For wearing our own noses.
And Britons strut with courage.
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 moe such Caesars: other of
them may have crook'd noses, but to owe such
straight arms, none.
Son, let your mother end.
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
Caesar 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.
Ourselves to be.
Let proof speak.
His majesty bids you welcome. Make
pastime with us a day or two, or 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.
Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, Lords, and Attendants
Your hand, my lord.
Receive it friendly; but from this time forth
I wear it as your enemy.
That we have given him cause.
'Tis all the better;
Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.
Son, I say, follow the king.
That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
have not seen these two days.
How now, my son!
'Tis certain she is fled.
Go in and cheer the king: he rages; none
Dare come about him.
I love and hate her: for she's fair and royal,
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
Outsells them all; I love her therefore: but
Disdaining me and throwing favours on
The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment
That what's else rare is choked; and in that point
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
To be revenged upon her. For when fools Shall--
Enter PISANIO Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?
Come hither: ah, you precious pander! Villain,
Where is thy lady? In a word; or else
Thou art straightway with the fiends.
O, good my lord!
Where is thy lady? Or, by Jupiter,--
I will not ask again. Close villain,
I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.
He is in Rome.
Where is she, sir? Come nearer;
No further halting: satisfy me home
What is become of her.
O, my all-worthy lord!
Discover where thy mistress is at once,
At the next word: no more of 'worthy lord!'
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
Thy condemnation and thy death.
Presenting a letter
Let's see't. I will pursue her
Even to Augustus' throne.
May prove his travel, not her danger.
Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!
Sirrah, is this letter true?
Sir, as I think.
It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. Sirrah, if thou
wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service,
undergo those employments wherein I should have
cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is,
what villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it
directly and truly, I would think thee an honest
man: thou shouldst neither want my means for thy
relief nor my voice for thy preferment.
Well, my good lord.
Wilt thou serve me? for since patiently and
constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of
that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the
course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of
mine: wilt thou serve me?
Sir, I will.
Give me thy hand; here's my purse. Hast any of thy
late master's garments in thy possession?
wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.
The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit
hither: let it be thy lint service; go.
Meet thee at Milford-Haven!--I forgot to ask him one
thing; I'll remember't anon:--even there, thou
villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these
garments were come. She said upon a time--the
bitterness of it I now belch from my heart--that she
held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect
than my noble and natural person together with the
adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my
back, will I ravish her: first kill him, and in her
eyes; there shall she see my valour, which will then
be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my
speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and
when my lust hath dined,--which, as I say, to vex
her I will execute in the clothes that she so
praised,--to the court I'll knock her back, foot
her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly,
and I'll be merry in my revenge.
Re-enter PISANIO, with the clothes Be those the garments?
Ay, my noble lord.
How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven?
She can scarce be there yet.
Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second
thing that I have commanded thee: the third is,
that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be
but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself
to thee. My revenge is now at Milford: would I had
wings to follow it! Come, and be true.
I am near to the place where they should meet, if
Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his garments
serve me! Why should his mistress, who was made by
him that made the tailor, not be fit too? the
rather--saving reverence of the word--for 'tis said
a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must
play the workman. I dare speak it to myself--for it
is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer
in his own chamber--I mean, the lines of my body are
as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong,
not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the
advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike
conversant in general services, and more remarkable
in single oppositions: yet this imperceiverant
thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is!
Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy
shoulders, shall within this hour be off; thy
mistress enforced; thy garments cut to pieces before
thy face: and all this done, spurn her home to her
father; who may haply be a little angry for my so
rough usage; but my mother, having power of his
testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. My
horse is tied up safe: out, sword, and to a sore
purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand! This is
the very description of their meeting-place; and
the fellow dares not deceive me.
I cannot find those runagates; that villain
Hath mock'd me. I am faint.
Exeunt BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS
Soft! What are you
That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers?
I have heard of such. What slave art thou?
A slave without a knock.
Thou art a robber,
A law-breaker, a villain: yield thee, thief.
Why I should yield to thee?
Thou villain base,
Know'st me not by my clothes?
Which, as it seems, make thee.
Thou precious varlet,
My tailor made them not.
I am loath to beat thee.
Thou injurious thief,
Hear but my name, and tremble.
What's thy name?
Cloten, thou villain.
'Twould move me sooner.
To thy further fear,
Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
I am son to the queen.
So worthy as thy birth.
Art not afeard?
At fools I laugh, not fear them.
Die the death:
When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
I'll follow those that even now fled hence,
And on the gates of Lud's-town set your heads:
Yield, rustic mountaineer.
Is oft the cause of fear. But, see, thy brother.
Re-enter GUIDERIUS, with CLOTEN'S head
And renowned be thy grave!
Re-enter BELARIUS, with the body of CLOTEN