Complete Plays, The (448 page)

Enter Cloten and two Lords

Cloten

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.

First Lord

What got he by that? You have broke his pate with your bowl.

Second Lord

[Aside]
 
If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have run all out.

Cloten

When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is not for any standers-by to curtail his oaths, ha?

Second Lord

No my lord;

Aside

nor crop the ears of them.

Cloten

Whoreson dog! I give him satisfaction?
Would he had been one of my rank!

Second Lord

[Aside]
 
To have smelt like a fool.

Cloten

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.

Second Lord

[Aside]
 
You are cock and capon too; and you crow, cock, with your comb on.

Cloten

Sayest thou?

Second Lord

It is not fit your lordship should undertake every companion that you give offence to.

Cloten

No, I know that: but it is fit I should commit offence to my inferiors.

Second Lord

Ay, it is fit for your lordship only.

Cloten

Why, so I say.

First Lord

Did you hear of a stranger that’s come to court to-night?

Cloten

A stranger, and I not know on’t!

Second Lord

[Aside]
 
He’s a strange fellow himself, and knows it not.

First Lord

There’s an Italian come; and, ’tis thought, one of
Leonatus’ friends.

Cloten

Leonatus! a banished rascal; and he’s another, whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?

First Lord

One of your lordship’s pages.

Cloten

Is it fit I went to look upon him? is there no derogation in’t?

Second Lord

You cannot derogate, my lord.

Cloten

Not easily, I think.

Second Lord

[Aside]
 
You are a fool granted; therefore your issues, being foolish, do not derogate.

Cloten

Come, I’ll go see this Italian: what I have lost to-day at bowls I’ll win to-night of him. Come, go.

Second Lord

I’ll attend your lordship.

Exeunt Cloten and First Lord

That such a crafty devil as is his mother
Should yield the world this ass! a woman that
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 endurest,
Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern’d,
A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer
More hateful than the foul expulsion is
Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act
Of the divorce he’ld make! The heavens hold firm
The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshaked
That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand,
To enjoy thy banish’d lord and this great land!

Exit

S
CENE
II. I
MOGEN
’
S
BEDCHAMBER
IN
C
YMBELINE
’
S
PALACE
:
A
TRUNK
IN
ONE
CORNER
OF
IT
.

Imogen in bed, reading; a Lady attending

Imogen

Who’s there? my woman Helen?

Lady

Please you, madam

Imogen

What hour is it?

Lady

 
Almost midnight, madam.

Imogen

I have read three hours then: mine eyes are weak:
Fold down the leaf where I have left: to bed:
Take not away the taper, leave it burning;
And if thou canst awake by four o’ the clock,
I prithee, call me. Sleep hath seized me wholly

Exit Lady

To your protection I commend me, gods.
From fairies and the tempters of the night
Guard me, beseech ye.

Sleeps. Iachimo comes from the trunk

Iachimo

The crickets sing, and man’s o’er-labour’d sense
Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus
Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken’d
The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,
How bravely thou becomest thy bed, fresh lily,
And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!
But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon’d,
How dearly they do’t! ’Tis her breathing that
Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o’ the taper
Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids,
To see the enclosed lights, now canopied
Under these windows, white and azure laced
With blue of heaven’s own tinct. But my design,
To note the chamber: I will write all down:
Such and such pictures; there the window; such
The adornment of her bed; the arras; figures,
Why, such and such; and the contents o’ the story.
Ah, but some natural notes about her body,
Above ten thousand meaner moveables
Would testify, to enrich mine inventory.
O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!
And be her sense but as a monument,
Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off:

Taking off her bracelet

As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!
’Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,
As strongly as the conscience does within,
To the madding of her lord. On her left breast
A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
I’ the bottom of a cowslip: here’s a voucher,
Stronger than ever law could make: this secret
Will force him think I have pick’d the lock and ta’en
The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?
Why should I write this down, that’s riveted,
Screw’d to my memory? She hath been reading late
The tale of Tereus; here the leaf’s turn’d down
Where Philomel gave up. I have enough:
To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.
Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning
May bare the raven’s eye! I lodge in fear;
Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.

Clock strikes

One, two, three: time, time!

Goes into the trunk. The scene closes

S
CENE
III. A
N
ANTE
-
CHAMBER
ADJOINING
I
MOGEN
’
S
APARTMENTS
.

Enter Cloten and Lords

First Lord

Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that ever turned up ace.

Cloten

It would make any man cold to lose.

First Lord

But not every man patient after the noble temper of your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win.

Cloten

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?

First Lord

Day, my lord.

Cloten

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:
Arise, arise.

Cloten

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.

Exeunt Musicians

Second Lord

Here comes the king.

Cloten

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.

Cymbeline

Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?
Will she not forth?

Cloten

I have assailed her with music, but she vouchsafes no notice.

Cymbeline

The exile of her minion is too new;
She hath not yet forgot him: some more time
Must wear the print of his remembrance out,
And then she’s yours.

Queen

You are most bound to the king,
Who lets go by no vantages that may
Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
To orderly soliciting, and be friended
With aptness of the season; make denials
Increase your services; so seem as if
You were inspired to do those duties which
You tender to her; that you in all obey her,
Save when command to your dismission tends,
And therein you are senseless.

Cloten

Senseless! not so.

Enter a Messenger

Messenger

So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
The one is Caius Lucius.

Cymbeline

A worthy fellow,
Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
But that’s no fault of his: we must receive him
According to the honour of his sender;
And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,
We must extend our notice. Our dear son,
When you have given good morning to your mistress,
Attend the queen and us; we shall have need
To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.

Exeunt all but Cloten

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.

Enter a Lady

Lady

Who’s there that knocks?

Cloten

A gentleman.

Lady

No more?

Cloten

Yes, and a gentlewoman’s son.

Lady

That’s more
Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours,
Can justly boast of. What’s your lordship’s pleasure?

Cloten

Your lady’s person: is she ready?

Lady

Ay,
To keep her chamber.

Cloten

There is gold for you;
Sell me your good report.

Lady

How! my good name? or to report of you
What I shall think is good?— The princess!

Enter Imogen

Cloten

Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand.

Exit Lady

Imogen

Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains
For purchasing but trouble; the thanks I give
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks
And scarce can spare them.

Cloten

Still, I swear I love you.

Imogen

If you but said so, ’twere as deep with me:
If you swear still, your recompense is still
That I regard it not.

Cloten

This is no answer.

Imogen

But that you shall not say I yield being silent,
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: ’faith,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy
To your best kindness: one of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

Cloten

To leave you in your madness, ’twere my sin:
I will not.

Imogen

 
Fools are not mad folks.

Cloten

Do you call me fool?

Imogen

As I am mad, I do:
If you’ll be patient, I’ll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
You put me to forget a lady’s manners,
By being so verbal: and learn now, for all,
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,
By the very truth of it, I care not for you,
And am so near the lack of charity —
To accuse myself — I hate you; which I had rather
You felt than make’t my boast.

Cloten

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.