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You do not meet a man but frowns. What’s the matter?

The Queen’s daughter, and the heir of her kingdom, whom she purposed to her husband’s son...

...a widower the Duke that late she married, hath referred herself unto a poor but worthy gentleman

She’s wedded, her husband banished, she imprisoned, all is outward sorrow

- Though I think the Queen be touched at very heart - None but the Queen?

He that hath lost her too. So is his father the Duke, that most desired the match

But not a courtier, although we wear our faces to the bent of the Queen’s looks...

...hath a heart that is not glad at the thing we scowl at

And why so?

He that hath missed the Princess is a thing too bad for bad report

And he that hath her 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

- You speak him far. What’s his name and birth? - I cannot delve him to the root

His father was called Sicilius, who did join his honour against the Romans

He served with glory, so gained the sur-addition Leonatus

And had, besides this gentleman in question, two other sons...

...who in the wars of 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, deceased as he was born

The Queen she takes the babe to her protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus

Breeds him, 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 ministered, and in his spring became a harvest

Lived in court, which rare it is to do, most praised, most loved

To his mistress, for whom he now is banished, her own price proclaims how she esteemed him

And his virtue by her election may be truly read, what kind of man he is

I honour him even out of your report. But pray you tell me, is she sole child to the Queen?

Her only child

She had two others. If this be worth your hearing, mark it

The eldest of them at three years old, in the swathing clothes the other...

...from their nursery were stolen, and to this hour no guess in knowledge which way they went

- How long is this ago? - Some twenty years

That a Queen’s children should be so conveyed, so slackly guarded...

...and the search so slow that could not trace them!

Howsoe’er ’tis strange, or that the negligence may well be laughed at, yet is it true

We must forbear. Here comes the gentleman, the Duke

No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter...

...after the slander of most stepfathers, evil-eyed unto you

You’re my prisoner, but your jailer shall deliver you the keys that lock up your restraint

For you, Posthumus, so soon as I can win the offended Queen I will be known your advocate

Marry, yet the fire of rage is in her

And ’twere good you leaned unto her sentence with what wisdom your patience may inform you

Please your highness I will from hence today

You know the peril

I’ll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying the pangs of barred affections

Though the Queen hath charged you should not speak together

O dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant can tickle where he wounds

My dearest husband, I something fear my mother’s wrath, but nothing her 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

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 loyalest husband that did ever 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

Be brief, I pray you. If the Queen come, I shall incur I know not how much of her displeasure

Yet I’ll move her to walk this way

I never do her wrong but she does buy my injuries to be friends, pays dear for my offences

Should we be taking leave as long a term as yet we have to live...

...the loathness to depart would grow. Adieu

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 Innogen is dead

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 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

O the gods! When shall we see again?

Thou basest thing, avoid hence, from my sight!

If after this command thou frought the court with thy unworthiness, thou diest

Away! Thou'rt poison to my blood

The gods protect you, and bless the good remainders of the court. I am gone

There cannot be a pinch in death more sharp than this is

O disloyal thing. That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st a year's age on me

I beseech you madam, harm not yourself with your vexation

I am senseless of your wrath. A touch more rare subdues all pangs, all fears

- Past grace? Obedience? - Past hope and in despair, that way past grace

- That mightst have had the sole son of my lord - O blest that I might not

I chose an eagle and did avoid a puttock

Thou took’st a beggar, wouldst have made my throne a seat for baseness

- No, I rather added a lustre to it - O thou vile one

Madam, it is your fault that I have loved Posthumus

You bred him as my playfellow, and he is a man worth any woman, overbuys me almost the sum he pays

- What? Art thou mad? - Almost, heaven restore me

Would I were a neatherd’s daughter, and my Leonatus our neighbour-shepherd’s son

Thou foolish thing!

They were again together, you have done not after our command

Away with her, and pen her up

Beseech your patience. Peace, dear lady daughter, peace

Sweet sovereign, leave us to ourselves and make yourself some comfort out of your best advice

Nay, let her languish a drop of blood a day, and being aged, die of this folly

Fie, you must give way

Here is your servant. How now, Pisania, what news?

- My lord your son drew on my master - No harm I trust is done?

There might have been, but that my master rather played than fought, and had no help of anger

- They were parted by gentlemen at hand - I am very glad on’t

Your son’s my mother’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? - 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 it pleased you to employ me

Pray walk awhile

About some half hour hence, pray you speak with me. You shall at least go see your lord aboard

Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt. The violence of action hath made you reek as a sacrifice

If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it

- Have I hurt him? - No, faith

Hurt him? His body’s a passable carcass if he be not hurt. It is a thoroughfare for steel if it be not hurt

Your steel was in debt, it went to the backside of town

- The villain would not stand me. - No, but he fled forward still towards your face

Stand you? You have land enough of your own, but he added to your having, gave you some ground

I would they had not come between us. And that she should love this fellow and refuse me!

Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go not together

She’s a good sign, but I have seen small reflection of her wit

Come, I’ll to my chamber. Would there had been some hurt done

I wish not so, unless it had been the fall of an ass, which is no great hurt

- You’ll go with us? - I’ll attend your lordship

- Nay, come, let’s go together - Well, my lord

I would thou grewest unto the shores of the haven, and questionedst every sail

If he should write and I not have it, ’twere a paper lost, as offered mercy is

- What was the last that he spake to thee? - It was his queen, his queen

Then waved his handkerchief? And kissed it, madam

Senseless Linen! happier therein than I ! And that was all?

No madam

For so long 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 his mind could best express how slow his soul sailed on, how swift his ship

Thou shouldst have made him as little as a crow, or less, ere left to after-eye him

Madam, so I did

I would have broke mine eye-strings, cracked them, but to look upon him...

...till the diminution of space had pointed him sharp as my needle

Nay, followed him, till he had melted from the smallness of a gnat to air

And then have turned mine eye, and wept

- But, good Pisania, when shall we hear from him? - Be assured madam, at his next vantage

I did not take my leave of him, but had most pretty things to say

Ere I could tell him how I would think on him at certain hours, such thoughts and such...

Or I could make him swear the shes of Italy should not betray mine interest and his honour...

Or have charged him, at the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight to encounter me with orisons...

...for then I am in heaven for him

Or ere I could give him that parting kiss, which I had set betwixt two charming words, comes in my mother...

...and like the tyrannous breathing of the north, shakes all our buds from growing

The Duke, madam, desires your highness’ company

- Those things I bid you do, get them dispatched - Madam, I shall

Believe it, Philario, I have seen Posthumus in Britain

He was then of a crescent note, expected to prove so worthy as since he hath been allowed the name of

But I could then have looked on him without the help of admiration...

...though the catalogue of his endowments had been tabled by his side

You speak of him, Iachimo, when he was less furnished than now he is...

...with that which makes him both without and within

I have seen him in France. We had very many there could behold the sun with as firm eyes as he

This matter of marrying his Queen’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

And then his banishment

Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this lamentable divorce under her colours...

...are wonderfully to extend him, be it but to fortify her judgement without less quality

But how comes it he is to sojourn with you? How creeps acquaintance?

His father and I were soldiers together, to whom I have been often bound for no less than my life

Here comes the Briton. I beseech you all...

...be better known to this gentleman Posthumus, whom I commend to you as a noble friend of mine

Sir, we have known together in Orleans

Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies, which I will be ever to pay, and yet pay still

Sir, you overrate my poor kindness. I was glad I did atone my countryman and you...

- ...upon importance of so slight and trivial a nature - By your pardon sir, I was then a young traveller

But upon my mended judgement, if I offend not to say it is mended, my quarrel was not altogether slight

- Faith yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords - Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference?

Safely, I think. 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, chaste, constant, qualified...

...and less attemptable than any the rarest of our ladies in France

That lady is not now living, or this gentleman’s opinion by this worn out

She holds her virtue still, and I my mind

You must not so far prefer her before ours of Italy

Being so far provoked as I was in France I would abate her nothing...

...though I profess myself her adorer, not her friend

As fair and as good had been something too fair and too good for any lady in Britain

If she went before others I have seen, as that diamond of yours outlustres many I have beheld...

...I could not but believe she excelled many

But I have not seen the most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady

I praised her as I rated her, so do I my stone

-What do you esteem it at? -More than the world enjoys.

Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, or she's outprized by a trifle.

You are mistaken. The one may be sold or given

The other is not a thing for sale, and only the gift of the gods

- Which the gods have given you? - Which by their graces I will keep

You may wear her in title yours. But you know, strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds

Your ring may be stolen too

A cunning thief, or a thatway accomplished courtier would hazard the winning both of first and last

Your Italy contains none so accomplished a courtier to convince the honour of my mistress

I do nothing doubt you have store of thieves Notwithstanding, I fear not my ring

-Let us leave here, gentlemen. -Sir, with all my heart...

...This worthy signor, I thank him, makes no stranger of me, we are familiar at first

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

No, no

I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate, to your ring, which in my opinion o’ervalues 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

You are a great deal abused in too bold a persuasion

And I doubt not you sustain what you’re worthy of by your attempt

-What's that? -A repulse

Though your attempt, as you call it, deserves more. A punishment too

Gentlemen, enough of this, it came in too suddenly

Let it die as it was born, and I pray you be better acquainted

Would I had put my estate and my neighbour’s on the approbation of what I have spoke

- What lady would you choose to assail? - Yours, whom 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

And I will bring from thence that honour of hers, which you imagine so reserved

I will wage against your gold, gold to it. The ring I hold dear as my finger, ’tis part of it

You are a friend, 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

This is but a custom in your tongue. You bear a graver purpose, I hope

I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo what’s spoken, I swear

Will you? I shall but lend my diamond till your return

My mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness of your unworthy thinking

I dare you to this match. Here’s my ring

-I will have it no lay. -By the gods, it is one.

If I bring you no sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest bodily part of your mistress...

...my ten thousand ducats are yours, 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

I embrace these conditions

If you make your voyage upon her and give me directly to understand you have prevailed...

...I am no further your enemy, she is not worth our debate

If she remain unseduced, you not making it appear otherwise...

...for your ill opinion and the assault you have made to her chastity you shall answer me with your sword

Your hand, a covenant

And straight away for Britain, lest the bargain should catch cold and starve

- I will fetch my gold and have our two wagers recorded - Agreed

- Will this hold, think you? - Signior Iachimo will not from it

Pray, let us follow them

Whiles yet the dew’s on ground, gather those flowers

- Who has the note of them? - I, sir

Dispatch. Now, doctor, have you brought those drugs?

Pleaseth your highness, ay. Here they are, sir. But I beseech your grace, without offence...

My conscience bids me ask--wherefore you have Commanded of me those most poisonous compounds

...which are the movers of a languishing death, but though slow, deadly

I wonder, doctor, thou askest me such a question. Have I not been thy pupil long?

Hast thou not learned me to make perfumes, distil, preserve?

Ay, so that our great Queen herself doth woo me oft for my confections?

Unless thou thinkest me devilish, ist not meet. That I did amplify my judgement 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 several virtues and effects

Your highness shall from this practice but make hard your heart

Besides, the seeing these effects will be both noisome and infectious

O, content thee

Here comes a flattering rascal, upon her will I first work

She’s for her master, and enemy to my son

How now, Pisania? Doctor, your service for this time is ended

Take your own way

I do not like him. He doth think he has strange lingering poisons

I do know his spirit, and will not trust one of his malice with a drug of such damned nature

Those she has Will stupefy and dull the sense awhile;

Which first, perchance, he’ll prove on cats and dogs, then afterward up higher

But there is no danger in what show of death it makes...

...more than the locking up the spirits a time, to be more fresh, reviving

He is fooled with a most false effect, and I the truer so to be false with him

- No further service, Doctor, until I send for thee - I humbly take my leave

Weeps she still, sayst thou?

Dost thou think in time she will not quench, and let instructions enter where folly now possesses?

Do thou work. When thou canst 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 his fortunes all lie speechless, and his name is at last gasp

Thou takest up thou knowest not what, but take it for thy labour

It is a thing I made which hath the Queen five times redeemed from death

I do not know what is more cordial

Nay, I prithee 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 it, as from thyself

Think what a chance thou changest on, but think thou hast thy mistress still...

...to boot, my son who shall take notice of thee

I’ll move the Queen to any shape of thy preferment, such as thou’lt desire

And then myself, I chiefly, am bound to load thy merit richly

Call the women. Think on my words

A sly and constant knave, not to be shaked

I have given Pisania that, which if she take, shall quite unpeople Innogen of liegers for her sweet

And which she after, shall be assured to taste of too

So, so, well done, well done

The violets, cowslips, and the primroses bear to my closet

- Fare thee well, Pisania, think on my words - And shall do

But when to my good lord I prove untrue, I’ll choke myself. There’s all I’ll do for you

A mother cruel and a stepdad false

A foolish suitor to a wedded lady that hath her husband banished

O, that husband, my supreme crown of grief, and those repeated vexations of it

Had I been thief-stolen, as my brother and my sister, happy

But most miserable is the desire that’s glorious

Blest be those, how mean soe’er, that have their honest wills, which seasons comfort

Who may this be? Fie

Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome comes from my lord with letters

Change you, madam

The worthy Leonatus is in safety, and greets your highness dearly

Thanks good sir. You’re kindly welcome

All of her that is out of door most rich!

If she be furnished with a mind so rare she is alone the Arabian bird, and I have lost the wager

Boldness be my friend, arm me, audacity, from head to foot

He is one of the noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tied

Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your trust. Leonatus

So far I read aloud, but even the very middle of my heart is warmed by the 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 - Thanks fairest lady

What, are men mad?

Hath nature given them eyes to see this vaulted arch and the rich crop of sea and land...

...which can distinguish ’twixt the fiery orbs above and the twinned stones upon the unnumbered beach...

...and can we not partition make with spectacles so precious ’twixt fair and foul?

What makes your admiration?

It cannot be in the eye, for apes and monkeys, ’twixt two such shes...

...would chatter this way and contemn with mows the other

Nor in the appetite. Sluttery, to such neat excellence opposed...

...should make desire vomit emptiness, not so allured to feed

What is the matter, trow?

The cloyed will, that satiate yet unsatisfied desire...

...that tub both filled and running, ravening first the lamb, longs after for the garbage

What, dear sir, thus raps you?

- Are you well? - Thanks, madam, well

Beseech you, desire my man’s abode where I did leave him. He’s strange and peevish

I was going, sir, to give him welcome

Continues well my lord? His health, beseech you?

- Well, madam - Is he disposed to mirth? I hope he is

Exceeding pleasant. None a stranger there so merry and so gamesome. He is called The Briton Reveller

When he was here he did incline to sadness, and oft-times not knowing why

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 ‘O, can my sides hold, to think that man, who knows by history, report, or his own proof...’

‘...what woman is, yea, what she cannot choose but must be...’

‘...will his free hours languish for assured bondage?’

- Will my lord say so? - Ay madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter

It is a recreation to be by and hear him mock the Frenchman

But, heavens know, some men are much to blame

- Not he, I hope - Not he

But yet heaven’s bounty towards him might be used more thankfully

In himself ’tis much. In you, which I account his, beyond all talents

Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound to pity too

- What do you pity, sir? - Two creatures heartily

Am I one, sir? You look on me. What wreck discern you in me deserves your pity?

Lamentable! What, to hide me from the radiant sun, and solace in the dungeon by a snuff?

I pray you sir, deliver with more openness your answers to my demands. Why do you pity me?

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 it

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 either are past remedies, or, timely knowing, the remedy then born...

...discover to me what both you spur and stop

Had I this cheek to bathe my lips upon...

This hand whose touch, whose every touch, would force the feeler’s soul to the oath of loyalty...

This object which takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, fixing it only here...

Should I, damned then, slaver with lips as common as the stairs that mount the Capitol...

... join grips with hands made hard with hourly falsehood, falsehood, as with labour...

...then by-peeping in an eye base and illustrous as the smoky light that’s fed with stinking tallow...

...it were fit that all the plagues of hell should at one time encounter such revolt

- My lord, I fear, has forgot Britain - And himself

Not I inclined to this intelligence pronounce the beggary of his change

But ’tis your graces that from my mutest conscience to my tongue charms this report out

Let me hear no more

O dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart with pity that doth make me sick

A lady so fair, and fastened to an empery would make the greatest king double

To be partnered with tomboys hired with that self exhibition which your own coffers yield...

With diseased ventures that play with all infirmities for gold which rottenness can lend nature...

Such boiled stuff as well might poison poison

Be revenged, or she that bore you is no queen, and you recoil from your great stock

Revenged? How should I be revenged?

If this be true, as I have such a heart that both mine ears must not in haste abuse...

If it be true, how should I be revenged?

Should he make me live like Diana’s priest betwixt cold sheets whiles he is vaulting variable ramps...

...in your despite, 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

- What ho, Pisania! - Let me my service tender on your lips

Away, I do condemn mine ears that have so long attended thee

If thou wert honourable thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue

Not for such an end thou seekest, as base as strange

Thou wrongest a gentleman who is as far from thy report as thou from honour

And solicitest here a lady that disdains thee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisania!

The Queen my mother shall be made acquainted of thy assault

If she shall think it fit a saucy stranger in her court to mart as in a Romish stew...

...and to expound his beastly mind to us, she hath a court she little cares for

And a daughter who she not respects at all. What ho, Pisania!

O happy Leonatus!

I may say, the credit that thy lady hath of thee deserves thy trust...

...and thy most perfect goodness her assured credit

Blessed live you long, a lady to the worthiest sir that ever country called 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 mannered

Such a holy witch that he enchants societies into him, half all men’s hearts are his

You make amends

He sits amongst 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 adventured to try your taking of a false report...

...which hath honoured with confirmation your great judgement 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, unlike all others, chaffless

- Pray, your pardon - All’s well, sir. Take my power in the court for yours

My humble thanks

I had almost forgot to entreat 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

Pray what is it?

Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord, the 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? - Willingly, and pawn mine honour for their safety

Since my lord hath interest in them, I will keep them In my bedchamber

They are in a trunk attended by my man. I will make bold to send them to you, only for this night

- I must aboard tomorrow - O no, no

Yes I beseech, or I shall short my word by lengthening my return

From Gallia I crossed the seas on purpose and on promise to see your grace

- I thank you for your pains. But not away tomorrow - O I must, madam

Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please to greet your lord with writing, do it tonight

I have outstood my time, which is material to the tender of our present

I will write. Send your trunk to me

It shall safe be kept, and truly yielded you. You’re very welcome

Was there ever man had such luck? When I kissed the jack upon an upcast, to be hit away!

I had a hundred pound on it, and then a whoreson jackanapes must take me up for swearing

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

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

- Ha? - No my lord

Whoreson dog! I gave him satisfaction. Would he had been one of my rank

To have smelled like a fool

I am not vexed more at anything in the earth, a pox on it!

I had rather not be so noble as I am. They dare not fight with me because of the Duke my father

Every jack-slave hath his bellyful of fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that nobody can match

You are a cock and capon too, an you crow cock with your comb on

Sayst thou?

It is not fit your lordship should undertake every 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 tonight? - A stranger, and I not know on’t?

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

Leonatus? A banished rascal, and he’s another, whatsoever he be

Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation in it?

- You cannot derogate, my lord - Not easily, I think

Come, I’ll go see this Italian. What I have lost today at bowls I’ll win tonight of him. Come... go

That such a crafty devil as is his father should yield the world this ass

Alas poor princess, thou divine Innogen, what thou endurest

Betwixt a mother by thy stepdad governed...

A wooer more hateful than the foul expulsion is of thy dear husband...

...than that horrid act of the divorce he’d 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 banished lord and this great land

- Who’s there? My woman Helen? - Please you, madam

- What hour is it? - Almost midnight, madam

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

To your protection I commend me, gods

From fairies and the tempters of the night guard me, beseech ye

The crickets sing, and man’s o’er-laboured sense repairs itself by rest

Our Tarquin thus did softly press the rushes ere he wakened 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 unparagoned, how dearly they do it

’Tis her breathing that perfumes the chamber thus

The flame of the taper bows toward her, and would underpeep 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, figures, the arras, why such and such, and the contents of the story

Ah, but some natural notes about her body...

...above ten thousand meaner movables 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

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 in the bottom of a cowslip

Here’s a voucher stronger than ever law could make

This secret will force him think I have picked the lock and taken the treasure of her honour

No more. To what end?

Why should I write that down that’s riveted, screwed to my memory?

She hath been reading late, the tale of Tereus

Here the leaf’s turned 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

One, two, three

Time, time

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

It would make any man cold to lose

But not every man patient after the noble temper of your lordship

- You are most hot and furious when you win - Winning will put any man into courage

If I could get this foolish Innogen, I should have gold enough

- It’s almost morning, is it not? - Day, my lord

We are advised to give her music o’mornings, they say it will penetrate

Come, 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 wonderful sweet air with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consider

Arise, my lady, my lady...

Hark, 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 everything that pretty is, my lady sweet arise

So, get you gone. If this penetrate I will consider your music the better

Here comes the Queen

I am glad I was up so late, for that’s the reason I was up so early

She cannot choose but take this service I have done motherly

Good morrow to your majesty, and to my gracious father

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

I have assailed her with musics, but she vouchsafes no notice

The exile of her minion is too new. She hath not yet forgot him

Some more time must wear the print of his remembrance on it, and then she’s yours

You are most bound to the Queen, who lets go by no vantages that may prefer you to her daughter

Frame yourself to orderly solicits, 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

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

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

Our dear son, when you have given good morning to your mistress, attend the Duke and us

We shall have need to employ you towards this Roman. Come, away

I know her lady is about her. What if I do line her hands?

’Tis gold which buys admittance, oft it doth, yea. What can it not do and undo?

- By your leave. Your lady’s person, is she ready? - Aye, to keep her chamber

There is gold for you. Sell me your good report

How, my good name? Or to report of you what I shall think is good?

Good morrow, fairest sister, your sweet hand

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

- Still I swear I love you - If you but said so, ’twere as deep with me

This is no answer

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

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

- Fools cure not mad folks - Do you call me fool?

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 it my boast

You sin against obedience which you owe your mother

For the contract you pretend with that base wretch, one bred of alms and fostered with cold dishes...

With scraps of the court, it is no contract, none. And though it be allowed in meaner parties...

Yet who than he be more mean? A base slave, a hilding for a livery, a squire’s cloth

A pantler, not so eminent

Profane fellow, wert thou the son of Jupiter, thou wert too base to be his groom

The south-fog rot him

He never can meet more mischance than come to be but named of thee

His meanest garment that ever hath but clipped his body is dearer in my respect...

....than all the hairs above thee, were they all made such men

- How now, Pisania! - His garment? Now the devil... his garment?

I am sprited with a fool, frighted, and angered worse

Go bid Helen search for a jewel that too casually hath left mine arm, it was thy master’s

’Shrew me if I would lose it for a revenue of any king’s in Europe

I do think I saw it this morning. Confident I am last night ’twas on mine arm

I kissed it. I hope it be not gone to tell my lord that I kiss aught but he

- ’Twill not be lost - I hope so. Go and search

You have abused me. ‘His meanest garment’?

Ay, I said so sir. If you will make it an action, call witness to it

- I will inform your mother - Your father too

He’s my good lord, and will conceive, I hope, but the worst of me

So I leave you sir, to the worst of discontent

I’ll be revenged. ‘His meanest garment’? Well

Fear it not, sir. I would I were so sure to win Cymbeline as I am bold my wife’s honour will remain hers

- What means do you make to the Queen? - Not any, but abide the change of time

Quake in the present winter’s state, and wish that warmer days would come

In these seared hopes I barely gratify your love. They failing, I must die much your debtor

Your very goodness and your company o’erpays all I can do

By this, your Queen hath heard of great Augustus. Caius Lucius will do his commission throughly

And I think she’ll grant the tribute, send the arrearages...

...ere look upon our Romans whose remembrance is yet fresh in their grief

I do believe, statist though I am none, nor like to be, that this will prove a war

And you shall hear the legions now in Gallia sooner landed in our not-fearing Britain...

...than have tidings of any penny tribute paid

Our countrymen are men more ordered than when Julius Caesar smiled at their lack of skill...

...but found their courage worthy his frowning at

See Iachimo. Welcome sir.

I hope the briefness of your answer made the speediness of your return

Your lady is one of the fairest that I have looked upon

- And therewithal the best - Here are letters for you

- Their tenor good, I trust - ’Tis very like

Was Caius Lucius in the Briton court when you were there?

He was expected then, but not approached

All is well yet. Sparkles this stone as it was wont, or is it not too dull for your good wearing?

If I had lost it I should have lost the worth of it in gold

I’ll make a journey twice as far to enjoy a second night of such sweet shortness...

...which was mine in Britain, for the ring is won

- The stone’s too hard to come by - Not a whit, your lady being so easy

Make not, sir, your loss your sport

- I hope you know that we must not continue friends - Good sir, we must, if you keep covenant

Had I not brought the knowledge of your mistress home, I grant we were to question farther

But I now profess myself the winner of her honour, together with your ring

And not the wronger of her or you, having proceeded but by both your wills

If you can make it apparent that you have tasted her in bed, my hand and ring is yours

If not, the foul opinion you had of her pure honour gains or loses your sword or mine...

...or masterless leaves both to who shall find them

Sir, my circumstances, being so near the truth as I will make them, must first induce you to believe

Whose strength I will confirm with oath, which I doubt not you’ll give me leave to spare...

- ...when you shall find you need it not - Proceed

First, her bedchamber, where I confess I slept not, but profess had that was well worth watching

It was hanged with tapestry of silk and silver. The story proud Cleopatra when she met her Roman...

...and Cydnus swelled above the banks, or for the press of boats, or pride

A piece of work so bravely done, so rich...

This is true. And this you might have heard of here, by me or by some other

- More particulars must justify my knowledge - So they must, Or do your honour injury

The chimney is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece chaste Dian bathing

This is a thing which you might from relation likewise reap, being, as it is, much spoke of

The roof of the chamber with golden cherubins is fretted

Her andirons, I had forgot them, were two winking Cupids of silver

Each on one foot standing, nicely, depending on their brand

This is her honour! Let it be granted you have seen all this, and praise be given to your remembrance

The description of what is in her chamber nothing saves the wager you have laid

Then if you can be pale, I beg but leave to air this jewel

See, and now ’tis up again. It must be married to that your diamond, I’ll keep them

Jove! Once more let me behold it. Is it that which I left with her?

Sir, I thank her, that. She stripped it from her arm. I see her yet

Her pretty action did outsell her gift, and yet enriched it too

She gave it me, and said she prized it once

- Maybe she plucked it off to send it me - She writes so to you, doth she?

O no, no, no, ’tis true

Here, take this too. It is a basilisk unto mine eye, kills me to look on it

Let there be no honour where there is beauty

Have patience sir, and take your ring again, ’tis not yet won

It may be probable she lost it, or who knows if one of her women, being corrupted, hath stolen it from her?

Very true, and so I hope he came by it. Back my ring

Render to me some corporal sign about her more evident than this, for this was stolen

- By Jupiter, I had it from her arm - Hark you, he swears, by Jupiter he swears

’Tis true, nay keep the ring, ’tis true. I am sure she would not lose it

Her attendants are all sworn and honourable. They induced to steal it? And by a stranger?

No, he hath enjoyed her

The cognizance of her incontinency is this. She hath bought the name of whore thus dearly

There, take thy hire, and all the fiends of hell divide themselves between you

Sir, be patient. This is not strong enough to be believed of one persuaded well of

Never talk on’t. She hath been colted by him

If you seek for further satisfying, under her breast, worthy the pressing...

...lies a mole, right proud of that most delicate lodging

By my life, I kissed it, and it gave me present hunger to feed again, though full

You do remember this stain upon her?

Ay, and it doth confirm another stain as big as hell can hold, were there no more but it

Will you hear more?

Spare your arithmetic, never count the turns. Once, and a million

- I’ll be sworn - No swearing

If you will swear you have not done it, you lie...

...and I will kill thee if thou dost deny thou hast made me cuckold

I’ll deny nothing

O that I had her here to tear her limb-meal

I will go there and do it, in the court, before her mother. I’ll do something

Quite besides the government of patience. You have won

Is there no way for men to be, but women must be half-workers?

We are all bastards

And that most venerable man which I did call my father was I know not where when I was stamped

Some coiner with his tools made me a counterfeit

Yet my mother seemed the Dian of that time. So doth my wife the nonpareil of this

O vengeance, vengeance!

Me of my lawful pleasure she restrained, and prayed me oft forbearance

Did it with a pudency so rosy the sweet view on’t might well have warmed old Saturn...

...that I thought her as chaste as unsunned snow

O all the devils! This yellow Iachimo in an hour, was it not? Or less, at first?

Perchance he spoke not, but like a full-acorned boar, a German one, cried ‘O!’ and mounted

Found no opposition but what he looked for should oppose, and she should from encounter guard

Could I find out the woman’s part in me...

For there’s no motion that tends to vice in man but I affirm it is the woman’s part

Be it lying, note it, the woman’s. Flattering, hers, deceiving, hers

Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers, revenges, hers

Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, nice longing, slanders, mutability...

All faults that man can name, nay, that hell knows, why hers, in part or all, but rather all

For even to vice they are not constant, but are changing still...

...one vice but of a minute old for one not half so old as that

I’ll write against them, detest them, curse them

Yet ’tis greater skill in a true hate to pray they have their will

The very devils cannot plague them better

Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us?

When Julius Caesar, whose remembrance yet lives in men’s eyes and will to ears and tongues...

...be theme and hearing ever, was in this Britain and conquered it

Cassibelan, thine uncle, famous in Caesar’s praises, no whit less than in his feats deserving it...

For him and his sucession granted Rome a tribute, yearly three thousand pounds...

...which by thee lately is left untendered

And to kill the marvel, shall be so ever

There be many Caesars ere such another Julius

Britain’s a world by itself, and we will nothing pay for wearing our own noses

That opportunity which then they had to take from us, to resume we have again

Remember madam, my Queen, the kings your ancestors...

Together with the natural bravery of your isle, which stands as Neptune’s park...

Ribbed and paled in with oaks unscalable and roaring waters...

...with sands that will not bear your enemies’ boats, but suck them up to the topmast

A kind of conquest Caesar made here, but made not here his brag of ‘came and saw and overcame’

With shame, the first that ever touched him he was carried from off our coast, twice beaten

And his shipping, poor ignorant baubles, on our terrible seas like eggshells...

...moved upon their surges, cracked as easily against our rocks

For joy whereof the famed Cassibelan, who was once at point, O giglot fortune, to master Caesar’s sword...

...made Lud’s town with rejoicing fires bright, 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 more such Caesars

Other of them may have crooked noses, but to owe such straight arms, none

Son, let your father end

We have yet many among us can grip 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

You must know, till the injurious Romans did extort this tribute from us we were free

Caesar’s ambition, which swelled so much that it did almost stretch the sides of the world...

...against all colour here did put the yoke upon us

Which to shake off becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon ourselves to be

We do

Say then to Caesar, our ancestor was that Mulmutius which ordained our laws...

...whose use the sword of Caesar hath too much mangled

Whose repair and franchise shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, though Rome be therefore angry

I am sorry, Cymbeline, that I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar thine enemy

Receive it from me then. War and confusion in Caesar’s name pronounce I against thee

Look for fury not to be resisted

- Thus defied, I thank thee for myself - Thou art welcome, Caius

Thy Caesar knighted me. My youth I spent much under him. Of him I gathered honour...

...which he to seek of me again perforce behoves me keep at utterance

I am perfect that the Pannonians and Dalmatians for their liberties are now in arms

A precedent which not to read would show the Britons cold. So Caesar shall not find them

Let proof speak

Her majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day or two or longer

If you seek us afterwards, you shall find us in our saltwater 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 - So, madam

I know your master’s pleasure, and he mine. All the remain is ‘Welcome’

How? Of adultery? Wherefore write you not what monster’s her accuser?

Leonatus, O master, what a strange infection is fallen into thy ear!

What false Italian, as poisonous tongued as handed, hath prevailed on thy too ready hearing?

Disloyal? No. She’s punished for her truth

O my master, thy mind to hers is now as low as were thy fortunes

How? That I should murder her, upon the love and truth and vows which I have made to thy command?

I her? Her blood?

If it be so to do good service, never let me be counted serviceable

How look I, that I should seem to lack humanity so much as this fact come to?

Do it. The letter that I have sent her, by her own command shall give thee opportunity

O damned paper, black as the ink that’s on thee

Senseless bauble, art thou a fedary for this act, and lookest so virgin-like without?

- How now, Pisania? - Madam, here is a letter from my lord

Who, thy lord? That is my lord, Leonatus!

Good wax, thy leave

Justice and your mother’s wrath, should she take me in her dominion, could not be so cruel to me as you...

...O the dearest of creatures, would even renew me with your eyes

Take notice that I am in Cambria, at Milford Haven. What your own love will out of this advise you, follow

So he wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your increasing in love, Leonatus Posthumus

O for a horse with wings!

Hearest thou, Pisania? He is at Milford Haven. Read, and tell me how far it is thither

If one of mean affairs may plod it in a week, why may not I glide thither in a day?

Then true Pisania, who longest like me to see thy lord

Who longest, O let me bate... But not like me, yet longest but in a fainter kind

O not like me, for mine’s beyond, beyond. Say, how far it is to this same blessed Milford

And by the way tell me how Wales was made so happy as to inherit such a haven

But first of all, how we may steal from hence

And for the gap that we shall make in time from our hence-going and our return, to excuse

But first, how get hence. Why should excuse be born or ere begot?

We’ll talk of that hereafter. Prithee speak, how many score of miles may we well ride ’twixt hour and hour?

One score ’twixt sun and sun, madam, is enough for you, and too much too

Why, one that rode to his execution, woman, could never go so slow. But this is foolery

Go and provide me presently a riding-suit no costlier than would fit a franklin’s housewife

- Madam, you’re best consider - I see before me, woman

Nor here, nor here, nor what ensues, but have a fog in them that I cannot look through

Away, I prithee, do as I bid thee. There’s no more to say. Accessible is none but Milford way

A goodly day not to keep house with such whose roof’s as low as ours

Stoop, this tree instructs you how to adore the heavens, and bows you to a morning’s holy office

- Hail, thou fair heaven - Hail, heaven

Now for our mountain sport. Up to yon hill, your legs are young. I’ll tread these flats

Consider, when you above perceive me like a crow, that it is place which lessens and sets off

And you may then revolve what tales I have told you of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war

To apprehend thus draws us a profit from all things we see

And often to our comfort shall we find the sharded beetle in a safer hold than is the full-winged eagle

O, this life is nobler than attending for a check, is richer than doing nothing for a robe...

- ...prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk - Out of your proof you speak

We poor unfledged have never winged from view of the nest...

...nor know not what air’s from home. Haply this life is best, if quiet life be best

Sweeter to you that have a sharper known, well corresponding with your stiff age

- But unto us it is a cell of ignorance - What should we speak of when we are old as you?

When we shall hear the rain and wind beat dark December...

...how, in this our pinching cave, shall we discourse the freezing hours away?

We have seen nothing

We are beastly. Subtle as the fox for prey, like warlike as the wolf for what we eat

Our valour is to chase what flies. Our cage we make a choir...

....as doth the prisoned bird, and sing our bondage freely

How you speak! Did you but know the city’s usuries, and felt them knowingly...

The art of the court, as hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb is certain falling...

...or so slippery that the fear’s as bad as falling

The toil of the war, a pain that only seems to seek out danger in the name of fame and honour...

O this story the world may read in me, my body’s marked with Roman swords

Cymbeline loved me, and when a soldier was the theme, my name was not far off

Then was I as a tree whose boughs did bend with fruit

But in one night a storm, or robbery, call it what you will, shook down my mellow hangings, nay my leaves...

- ...and left me bare to weather - Uncertain favour

My fault being nothing, as I have told you oft, but that two villains, whose false oaths prevailed...

...swore to Cymbeline I was confederate with the Romans

So followed my banishment, and this twenty years...

...this rock and these demesnes have been my world, where I have lived at honest freedom...

Paid more pious debts to heaven than in all the fore-end of my time

But up to the mountains! This is not hunter’s language

- Whosoever strikes the venison first shall be... - ...The lord of the feast

I’ll meet you in the valleys

How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature

These two know little they are born of the Queen, nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive

They think they are mine, and though trained up thus meanly in the cave wherein they bow...

...their thoughts do hit the roofs of palaces

This Polydore, the heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who the Queen her mother called Guideria

Jove, when on my three-foot stool I sit...

...and tell the warlike feats I have done, her spirits fly out into my story

Say ‘Thus mine enemy fell, and thus I set my foot on his neck’, even then the noble blood flows in her cheek

She sweats, strains her young nerves, and puts herself in posture that acts my words

The younger brother, Cadwal, once Arviragus...

...in as like a figure strikes life into my speech, and shows much more his own conceiving

The game is roused

O Cymbeline, heaven and my conscience knows thou didst unjustly banish me

Whereon at three and two years old I stole these babes...

...thinking to bar thee of succession as thou reftest me of my lands

Euriphile, thou wast their nurse. They took thee for their mother, and every day do honour to thy grave

Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan called, they take for natural father

The game is up

Thou toldest me when we came from horse the place was near at hand

Never longed my mother so to see me first as I have now

Pisania, where is Posthumus?

What is in thy mind that makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh from the inward of thee?

Put thyself into a ’haviour of less fear, ere wildness vanquish my staider senses

What’s the matter? Why tenderest thou that paper to me with a look untender?

My husband’s hand? That drug-damned Italy hath out-craftied him, and he’s at some hard point. Speak

Please you read, And you shall find me, wretched, a thing the most disdained of fortune

Thy mistress, Pisania, hath played the strumpet in my bed, the testimonies whereof lies bleeding in me

I speak not out of weak surmises but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain as I expect my revenge

That part thou, Pisania, must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers

Let thine own hands take away her life

I shall give thee opportunity at Milford Haven, she hath my letter for the purpose

Where if thou fear to strike and to make me certain it is done...

...thou art the pander to her dishonour and equally to me disloyal

What shall I need to draw my sword? The paper hath cut her throat already

No, ’tis slander, whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue outvenoms all the worms of Nile

- What cheer, madam? - False to his bed? What is it to be false?

To lie in watch there and to think on him? To weep ’twixt clock and clock?

If sleep charge nature, to break it with a fearful dream of him and cry myself awake?

- That’s false to his bed, is it? - Alas, good lady

I false? Thy conscience witness. Iachimo, thou didst accuse him of incontinency

Thou then lookedest like a villain Now methinks thy favour’s good enough

Some jay of Italy, whose mother was her painting, hath betrayed him

- O, men’s vows are women’s traitors - Good madam, hear me

Come, be thou honest, do thou thy master’s bidding. When thou seest him, a little witness my obedience

Look, I draw the sword myself. Take it, and hit the innocent mansion of my love, my heart

Fear not, it is empty of all things but grief. Thy master is not there, who was indeed the riches of it

Do his bidding, strike. Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause, but now thou seemest a coward

Hence vile instrument, thou shalt not damn my hand

Why, I must die, And if I do not by thy hand, thou art no servant of thy master’s

Against self-slaughter there is a prohibition so divine that cravens my weak hand

Come, here’s my heart. Something’s afore it. Soft, soft, we’ll no defence. Obedient as the scabbard

What is here? The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus, all turned to heresy?

Away, away, corrupters of my faith, you shall no more be stomachers to my heart

Thus may poor fools believe false teachers. Prithee dispatch. The lamb entreats the butcher

O gracious lady, since I received command to do this business I have not slept one wink

- Do it, and to bed then - I’ll wake mine eyeballs out first

Wherefore then didst undertake it? Why hast thou abused so many miles with a pretence?

This place? Mine action, and thine own?

The perturbed court, for my being absent, whereunto I never purpose return?

Why hast thou gone so far to be unbent when thou hast taken thy stand, the elected deer before thee?

But to win time to lose so bad employment, in the which I have considered of a course

- Good lady, Hear me with patience - Talk thy tongue weary, speak

I have heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear, therein false struck, can take no greater wound

- Then, madam, I thought you would not back again - Most like, bringing me here to kill me

Not so neither. It cannot be but that my master is abused

Some villain, ay, and singular in his art, hath done you both this cursed injury

- Some Roman courtesan - No, on my life

I’ll give but notice you are dead, and send him some bloody sign of it, for ’tis commanded I should do so

You shall be missed at court, and that will well confirm it

Why Pisania, what shall I do the while? Where bide? How live?

Or in my life what comfort, when I am dead to my husband?

- If you’ll back to the court... - No court, no mother

Nor no more ado with that harsh, noble, simple nothing

That Cloten, whose love suit hath been to me as fearful as a siege

- If not at court, then not in Britain must you bide - Where then?

Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day? Night? Are they not but in Britain?

In the world’s volume our Britain seems as of it, but not in it, in a great pool a swan’s nest

- Prithee, think there’s livers out of Britain. - I am most glad you think of other place

The ambassador, Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford Haven tomorrow

Now if you could wear a mind dark as your fortune is, and but disguise...

...that which to appear itself must not yet be but by self-danger...

...you should tread a course pretty and full of view, yea, haply near the residence of Posthumus

- O for such means I would adventure - Well then, here’s the point

You must forget to be a woman. Change command into obedience

Fear and niceness into a waggish courage, ready in gibes, quick-answered, and as quarrellous as the weasel

Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, your laboursome and dainty trims

Nay, be brief. I see into thy end, and am almost a man already

Before noble Lucius present yourself, desire his service

Doubtless with joy he will embrace you, for he’s honourable

Your means abroad, you have me rich. And I will never fail

Thou art all the comfort the gods will diet me with, this attempt I am soldier to. Away, I prithee

Well madam, we must take a short farewell...

...lest being missed, I be suspected of your carriage from the court

My noble mistress, here is a box, what’s in it is precious

If you are sick at sea or stomach-qualmed at land, a dram of this will drive away distemper

To some shade, and fit you to your manhood

- May the gods direct you to the best - Amen. I thank thee

Thus far, and so farewell

Thanks, royal madam. My emperor hath wrote I must from hence

And am right sorry that I must report ye my master’s enemy

Our subjects, sir, will not endure his yoke

And for ourself to show less sovereignty than they must needs appear unqueenlike

So, madam, I desire of you a conduct overland to Milford Haven

- Madam, all joy befall your grace and you - My lords, you are appointed for that office

The due of honour in no point omit

- So farewell, noble Lucius - Your hand, my lord

Receive it friendly, but from this time forth I wear it as your enemy

Sir, the event is yet to name the winner. Fare you well

Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords, till he have crossed the Severn. Happiness

He goes hence frowning, but it honours us that we have given him cause

’Tis all the better. Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it

Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor how it goes here

It fits us therefore ripely our soldiers be in readiness. The powers that he already hath in Gallia...

...will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves his war for Britain

’Tis not sleepy business, but must be looked to speedily and strongly

Our expectation that it would be thus hath made us forward

But my gentle husband, where is our daughter?

She hath not appeared before the Roman, nor to us hath tendered the duty of the day

She looks us like a thing more made of malice than of duty. We have noted it

Call her before us, for we have been too slight in sufferance

Royal madam, since the exile of Posthumus, most retired hath her life been

The cure whereof, my lady, ‘tis time must do. Beseech your majesty forbear sharp speeches to her

She’s a lady so tender of rebukes that words are strokes, and strokes death to her

Where is she, madam? How can her contempt be answered?

Please you, madam, her chambers are all locked

And there’s no answer that will be given to the loudest of noise we make

My lady, when last I went to visit her she prayed me to excuse her keeping close, whereto...

...constrained by her infirmity she should that duty leave unpaid to you which daily she was bound to proffer

This she wished me to make known, but our great court made me to blame in memory

Her doors locked? Not seen of late? Grant heavens that which I fear prove false

Son, I say, follow the queen

That woman of hers, Pisania, I have not seen these two days

Go, look after

Pisania, thou that standest so for Posthumus. She hath a drug of mine

I pray her absence proceed by swallowing that, for she believes it is a thing most precious

But for Innogen, where is she gone? Haply despair hath seized her

Or, winged with fervour of her love, she’s flown to her desired Posthumus

Gone she is to death or to dishonour, and my end can make good use of either

She being down, I have the placing of the British crown

- How now, my son? - ’Tis certain she is fled

Go in and cheer the Queen, she rages, none dare come about her

All the better. May this night forestall her of the coming day

I love and hate the princess, for she’s fair

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 judgement 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...

Who is here? What, are you packing, wench?

Come hither. Ah you precious pandar, villain

Where is thy lady? In a word, or 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?

Alas, my lord, how can she be with him? When was she missed? He is in Rome

Where is she? Come nearer, no farther halting. What is become of her?

- O my all-worthy lord - All-worthy villain

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

Then sir, this paper is the history of my knowledge touching her flight

Let’s see it, I will pursue her even to Augustus’ throne

Or this or perish. She’s far enough, and what he learns from this may prove his travel, not her danger

I’ll write to my lord she’s dead. O Innogen, safe mayst thou wander, safe return again

- Wench, is this letter true? - Sir, as I think

It is Posthumus’ hand, I know it. 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 villainy soe’er I bid thee do, to perform it directly and truly

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?

I have, my lord, at my lodging the same suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress

The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither. Let it be thy first service, go

- I shall, my lord - Meet thee at Milford Haven

I forgot to ask her one thing, I’ll remember it 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

- Be those the garments? - Ay, my noble lord

- How long is it 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

Thou bid’st me to my loss, for true to thee were to prove false, which I will never be

I see a man’s life is a tedious one

I have tired myself, and for two nights together have made the ground my bed

I should be sick, but that my resolution helps me

Milford, when from the mountain-top Pisania showed thee, thou wast within a ken

Two beggars told me I could not miss my way

Will poor folks lie, that have afflictions on them, knowing ’tis a punishment or trial?

Yes, no wonder when rich ones scarce tell true

To lapse in fullness is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood is worse in kings than beggars

My good lord, thou art one of the false ones

Now I think on thee my hunger’s gone, but even before I was at point to sink for food

But what is this? ’Tis some savage hold

I were best not call. I dare not call, yet famine, ere clean it o’erthrow nature, makes it valiant

Ho! Who’s here?

If anything that’s civil, speak, if savage, take or lend

No answer? Then I’ll enter

Best draw my sword, and if mine enemy but fear the sword like me, he’ll scarcely look on it

Such a foe, good heavens

You, Polydore, have proved best hunter and are mistress of the feast

Cadwal and I will play the cook and servant. Come, our stomachs will make what’s homely savoury

Weariness can snore upon the flint when resty sloth finds the down pillow hard

- I am throughly weary - I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite

There is cold meat in the cave. We’ll browse on that whilst what we have killed be cooked

Stay, come not in. But that it eats our victuals, I should think here were a fairy

- What’s the matter, sir? - By Jupiter, an angel. No elder than a boy

Good masters, harm me not

Before I entered here I called, and thought to have begged or bought what I have took

Good truth, I have stolen naught. Here’s money for my meat

I would have left it on the board so soon as I had made my meal

- Money, youth? - All gold and silver rather turn to dirt...

...as ’tis no better reckoned but of those who worship dirty gods

I see you’re angry. Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should have died had I not made it

- Whither bound? - To Milford Haven

- What’s your name? - Fidele, sir

I have a kinsman who is bound for Italy, he embarked at Milford

To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, I am fallen in this offence

Prithee, fair youth, think us no churls, nor measure our good minds by this rude place we live in

Well encountered. ’Tis almost night

You shall have better cheer ere you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it

Come, bid him welcome

Were you a woman, youth, I should woo hard but be your groom in honesty

I’ll make it my comfort he is a man, I’ll love him as my brother

Most welcome! Be sprightly, for you fall amongst friends

Amongst friends? Would it had been so that they had been my mother’s

Then had my prize been less, and so more equal ballasting to thee, Posthumus

- He wrings at some distress - Would I could free it

- Or I, whate’er it be - We’ll go dress our hunt

- Pray draw near - The night to the owl and morn to the lark less welcome

Fair youth, when we have supped we’ll mannerly demand thee of thy story, so far as thou wilt speak it

Thanks, sir

I am near to the place where they should meet, if Pisania have mapped it truly

How fit his garments serve me. Why should his mistress not be fit too?

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

Yet this imperceiverant thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is!

Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing above thy shoulders, shall within this hour be off...

...thy mistress enforced, thy garments cut to pieces before her face

And all this done, spurn her home to her mother, who may haply be a little angry at my so rough usage

But my father, having power of her testiness, shall turn all into my commendations

Up sword, and to a sore purpose. Fortune put them into my hand

- Hail thou, fair Heaven - Hail Heaven

You are not well. Remain here in the cave, we’ll come to you after hunting

- Brother, stay here. Are we not brothers? - So man and man should be

But clay and clay differs in dignity, whose dust is both alike

- I am very sick - Go you to hunting. I’ll abide with him

Stick to your journal course. The breach of custom is breach of all

I am ill, but your being by me cannot amend me. Society is no comfort to one not sociable

I am not very sick, since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here

I love thee. I have spoke it. How much the quantity, the weight as much, as I do love my father

- What? How, how? - If it be sin to say so, sir...

...I yoke me in my good sister’s fault. I know not why I love this youth

And I have heard you say love’s reason’s without reason

The bier at door and a demand who is it shall die, I’d say ‘My father, not this youth’

O noble strain. O worthiness of nature, breed of greatness!

I am not their father, yet who this should be doth miracle itself, loved before me

’Tis the ninth hour of the morn

- Brother, farewell - I wish ye sport

You health. So please you, sir

These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I have heard

Our courtiers say all’s savage but at court. Experience, O thou disprovest report

I am sick still, heart-sick. Pisania, I’ll now taste of thy drug

I could not stir him. He said he was gentle, but unfortunate, dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest

Thus did he answer me, yet said hereafter I might know more

We’ll leave you for this time, go in and rest

- We’ll not be long away - Pray be not sick

- Well or ill, I am bound to you - And shalt be ever

This youth, however distressed, appears he hath had good ancestors

- How angel-like he sings - But his neat cookery

- He cut our roots in characters - Nobly he yokes a smiling with a sigh

I do note that grief and patience, rooted in them both, mingle their spurs together

Grow, patience, and let the stinking-elder, grief, untwine his perishing root, with the increasing vine

It is great morning. Come away. Who’s there?

I cannot find those runagates. That villain Pisania hath mocked me. I am faint

‘Those runagates’? Means he not us?

I partly know him, ’tis Cloten, the son of the Duke. I fear some ambush

I saw him not these many years, and yet I know ’tis he. We are held as outlaws. Hence!

He is but one. You and my brother search what companies are near. Pray you away, let me alone with him

Soft, what are you that fly me thus? Some villainous mountaineers?

I have heard of such. What slave art thou?

A thing more slavish did I ne’er than answering a slave without a knock

Thou art a robber, a law-breaker. Yield thee, thief

To who? To thee? What art thou? Have not I an arm as big as thine? A heart as big?

Thy words I grant are bigger, for I wear not my dagger in my mouth

Say what thou art, why I should yield to thee

- Thou villain base, knowest me not by my clothes? - No

- Thou precious wretch - Thou art some fool, I am loath to beat thee

- Thou injurious thief, hear but my name and tremble - What’s thy name?

- Cloten, thou villain - Cloten, thou double villain be thy name

I cannot tremble at it. Were it toad or adder, spider, ’twould move me sooner

To thy further fear, nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know I am son to the Duke

- I am sorry for it, not seeming so worthy as thy birth - Art not afeard?

Those that I reverence, those I fear, the wise. 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

- No company’s abroad? - None in the world. You did mistake him, sure

I cannot tell. Long is it since I saw him, but time hat h nothing blurred those lines of favour which then he wore

The snatches in his voice and burst of speaking were as his. I am absolute ’twas very Cloten

In this place we left them. I wish my sister make good time with him, you say he is so fell

Defect of judgement is oft the cease of fear. But see thy sister

This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse, there was no money in it

Not Hercules could have knocked out his brains, for he had none

Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne my head, as I do his

What hast thou done?

I am perfect what. Cut off one Cloten’s head, son to the Duke, after his own report

Who called me traitor, mountaineer, and swore with his own single hand he’d take us in...

...displace our heads where, thank the gods, they grow, and set them on Lud’s town

- We are all undone - Why?

Worthy father, what have we to lose but that he swore to take, our lives?

The law protects not us, then why should we be tender to let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us...

...play judge and executioner all himself, for we do fear the law?

What company discover you abroad?

No single soul can we set eye on, but in all safe reason he must have some attendants

Though his humour was nothing but mutation, ay, and that from one bad thing to worse...

...not frenzy, not absolute madness, could so far have raved to bring him here alone

Although perhaps it may be heard at court that such as we cave here, hunt here, are outlaws

The which he hearing might swear he’d fetch us in, then on good ground we fear

Let ordinance come as the gods foresay it. Howsoever, my sister hath done well

I had no mind to hunt this day. The boy Fidele’s sickness did make my way long forth

With his own sword, which he did wave against my throat, I have taken his head from him

I’ll throw it into the creek behind our rock, and let it to the sea...

...and tell the fishes he’s the Duke’s son, Cloten. That’s all I reck

I fear ’twill be revenged. Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done it

Would I had done it, so the revenge alone pursued me

Polydore, I love thee brotherly, but envy much thou hast robbed me of this deed

Well, ’tis done. We’ll hunt no more today, nor seek for danger where there’s no profit

I prithee to our rock. You and Fidele play the cooks

I’ll stay till hasty Polydore return, and bring her to dinner presently

Poor sick Fidele, I’ll willingly to him

To gain his colour I’d let a parish of such Cloten’s blood, and praise myself for charity

O thou goddess, thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazonest in these two

’Tis wonder that an invisible instinct should frame them to royalty unlearned...

Honour untaught, civility not seen from other, valour that wildly grows in them...

...but yields a crop as if it had been sowed

Yet still it’s strange what Cloten’s being here to us portends, or what his death will bring us

Where’s my brother?

I have sent Cloten’s clotpoll down the stream in embassy to his father

- His body’s hostage for his return - My ingenious instrument

Hark, Polydore, it sounds. But what occasion hath Cadwal now to give it motion?

What does he mean? Since death of my dearest mother it did not speak before. Is Cadwal mad?

Look, here he comes, and brings the dire occasion in his arms of what we blame him for

The bird is dead that we have made so much on

I had rather have skipped from sixteen years of age to sixty, to have turned my leaping-time into a crutch...

- ...than have seen this - O sweetest, fairest lily

O melancholy. Thou blessed thing, Jove knows what man thou mightst have made

But aye thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy. How found you him?

Stark, as you see, thus smiling as some fly had tickled slumber

- Where? - On the floor

- I thought he slept - Why, he but sleeps

If he be gone, he’ll make his grave a bed. With female fairies will his tomb be haunted

And worms will not come to thee

With fairest flowers whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, I’ll sweeten thy sad grave

Thou shalt not lack the flower that’s like thy face, pale primrose, nor the azured harebell, like thy veins

No, nor the leaf of eglantine, whom, not to slander, out-sweetened not thy breath

Prithee have done, and do not play in wench-like words with that which is so serious

- Let us bury him - Say, where shall’s lay him?

- By good Euriphile, our mother - Be it so

And let us, Polydore, though now my voice has got the mannish crack...

...sing him to the ground as once our mother. Use like note and words, save that Euriphile must be Fidele

- Cadwal, I cannot sing. I’ll weep - We’ll speak it then

Great griefs, I see, medicine the less, for Cloten is quite forgot

Our foe was princely, and though you took his life as being our foe, yet bury him as a prince

Pray you fetch him hither. Thersites’ body is as good as Ajax’, when neither are alive

If you’ll go fetch him, we’ll sing our song the whilst

So Polydore, begin

Fear no more the heat of the sun, nor the furious winter’s rages

Thou thy worldly task hast done, home art gone and taken thy wages

Golden lads and girls all must, as chimney-sweepers, come to dust

Fear no more the frown of the great, thou art past the tyrant’s stroke

Care no more to clothe and eat, to thee the reed is as the oak

The sceptre, learning, physic, must all follow this and come to dust

- Fear no more the lightning flash - Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone

- Fear not slander, censure rash - Thou hast finished joy and moan

All lovers young, all lovers must consign to thee and come to dust

No exorciser harm thee, nor no witchcraft charm thee

Ghost unlaid forbear thee. Nothing ill come near thee

Here’s a few flowers, but about midnight more

The herbs that have on them cold dew of the night are strewings fittest for graves upon their faces

You were as flowers, now withered. Even so these herblets shall, which we upon you strew

Come on, away, apart upon our knees

The ground that gave them first has them again. Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain

Yes sir, to Milford Haven, which is the way?

I thank you, by yon bush? Pray how far thither?

’Od’s pitikins, can it be six mile yet? I have gone all night. Faith, I’ll lie down and sleep

But soft, no bedfellow. O gods and goddesses!

These flowers are like the pleasures of the world, this bloody man the care on it

I hope I dream, for so I thought I was a cavekeeper, and cook to honest creatures

But ’tis not so. ’Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, which the brain makes of fumes

Our very eyes are sometimes like our judgements, blind. Good faith, I tremble still with fear

But if there be yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity as a wren’s eye, feared gods, a part of it

The dream’s here still. Even when I wake it is without me as within me. Not imagined, felt

A headless man? The garments of Posthumus?

I know the shape of his leg, this is his hand, his foot mercurial, his martial thigh

The brawns of Hercules. But his Jovial face... Murder in heaven, how? ’Tis gone!

Pisania, all curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks and mine to boot, be darted on thee

Thou, conspired with that irregulous devil Cloten, hath here cut off my lord

To write and read be henceforth treacherous

Damned Pisania hath with her forged letters... Damned Pisania...

...from this most bravest vessel of the world struck the main-top

O Posthumus, alas, where is thy head? Where’s that? Ay me, where’s that?

Pisania might have killed thee at the heart and left this head on

How should this be, Pisania? ’Tis she and Cloten. Malice and lucre in them have laid this woe here

O ’tis pregnant, pregnant

The drug she gave me, which she said was precious and cordial to me...

...have I not found it murderous to the senses?

That confirms it home. This is Pisania’s deed, and Cloten

O, give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, that we the horrider may seem...

...to those which chance to find us. O my lord, my lord

Sir, the common men are now in action against the Pannonians and the Dalmatians

But the legions garrisoned in Gallia after your will have crossed the sea...

...attending you here at Milford Haven with your ships

- They are in readiness - But what from Rome?

Since the legions are full weak to undertake our wars against the fallen-off Britons...

...the senate hath stirred up the gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits that promise noble service

And they come under the conduct of bold Iachimo

- When expect you them? - With the next benefit of the wind

This forwardness makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers be mustered

Go, bid the captains look to it

Now madam, what have you dreamed of late of this war’s purpose?

Last night the very gods showed me a vision I saw Jove’s bird, the Roman eagle...

...winged from the spongy south to this part of the west, there vanished in the sunbeams

Which portends, unless my sins abuse my divination, success to the Roman host

Dream often so, and never false

Soft ho, what trunk is here? Without his top?

The ruin speaks that sometime it was a worthy building

How, a page? Or dead or sleeping on him? Let’s see the boy’s face

He’s alive, my lord

Who is this thou makest thy bloody pillow? What art thou?

I am nothing. Or if not, nothing to be were better

This was my master, a very valiant Briton, and a good, that here by mountaineers lies slain

Alas, there are no more such masters. I may wander from east to occident, cry out for service...

....try many, all good, serve truly, never find such another master

- Say his name, good friend - Richard du Champ

If I do lie and do no harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope they’ll pardon it. Say you, sir?

- Thy name? - Fidele, sir

Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name. Wilt take thy chance with me?

I will not say thou shalt be so well mastered, but be sure, no less beloved. Go with me

I’ll follow, sir. But first, an’t please the gods, I’ll hide my master from the flies...

...as deep as these poor pickaxes can dig

And when with wildwood leaves and weeds I have strewed his grave...

...and on it said a century of prayers, such as I can, twice over...

...I’ll weep and sigh, and leaving so his service, follow you

Ay good youth, and rather father thee than master thee

My friends, the boy hath taught us manly duties. Come, arm him. Boy, he shall be interred as soldiers can

Be cheerful, wipe thine eyes. Some falls are means the happier to arise

Again, and bring me word how ’tis with him

A fever with the absence of his son, a madness of which his life’s in danger

Heavens, how deeply you at once do touch me. Innogen, the great part of my comfort, gone

My lord upon a desperate bed, and in a time when fearful wars point at me

His son gone, so needful for this present. It strikes me, past the hope of comfort

But for thee, Pisania, who needs must know of her departure and dost seem so ignorant...

- ...we’ll enforce it from thee by a sharp torture - Madam, my life is yours, I humbly set it at your will

But for my mistress, I nothing know where she remains, why gone, nor when she purposes return

Beseech your highness, hold me your loyal servant

Good my queen, the day that she was missing Pisania was here

I dare be bound she’s true, and shall perform all parts of her subjection loyally

For Cloten, there wants no diligence in seeking him, and will no doubt be found

The time is troublesome. We’ll slip you for a season, but our jealousy does yet depend

So please your majesty, the Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn...

...are landed on your coast with a supply of Roman gentlemen by the senate sent

Now for the counsel of my son and lord! I am amazed with matter

Good your highness, your preparation can affront no less than what you hear of

Come more, for more you’re ready. The want is but to put those powers in motion that long to move

I thank you. Let’s withdraw, and meet the time as it seeks us

We fear not what can from Italy annoy us, but we grieve at chances here

I heard no letter from my master since I wrote him Innogen was slain. ’Tis strange

Nor hear I from my mistress. Neither know I what is betid to Cloten, but remain perplexed in all

The heavens still must work. Wherein I am false I am honest. Not true, to be true

These present wars shall find I love my country even to the note of the Queen, or I’ll fall in them

All other doubts, by time let them be cleared. Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered

- The noise is round about us - Let us from it

What pleasure, sir, find we in life to lock it from action and adventure?

Nay, what hope have we in hiding us? This way the Romans must or for Britains slay us...

...or receive us for barbarous revolts during their use, and slay us after

We’ll higher to the mountains, there secure us. To the Queen’s party there’s no going

Newness of Cloten’s death, we being not known, not mustered among the bands...

...may drive us to a render where we have lived, and so extort from us that which we have done

Whose answer would be death drawn on with torture

This is, sir, a doubt in such a time nothing becoming you nor satisfying us

It is not likely that they will waste their time upon our note, to know from whence we are

O, I am known of many in the army. Many years, though Cloten then but young, you see...

...not wore him from my remembrance. And besides...

...the Queen hath not deserved my service nor your loves, who find in my exile the want of breeding...

...the certainty of this hard life. Aye hopeless to have the courtesy of your cradle promised...

...but to be still hot summer’s tanlings, and the shrinking slaves of winter

Than be so, better to cease to be. Pray sir, to the army. I and my brother are not known

Yourself so out of thought, and thereto so o’ergrown, cannot be questioned

By this sun that shines, I’ll thither. What thing is it that I never did see man die

Scarce ever looked on blood but that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison

I am ashamed to look upon the holy sun...

...to have the benefit of his blest beams, remaining so long a poor unknown

By heavens, I’ll go. If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, I’ll take the better care

But if you will not, the hazard therefore due fall on me by the hands of Romans

So say I, amen

No reason I, since of your lives you set so slight a valuation, should reserve my cracked one to more care

Have with you

If in your country wars you chance to die, that is my bed too, and there I’ll lie

Lead, lead. The time seems long, their blood thinks scorn till it fly out and show them nobly born

Yea bloody cloth, I’ll keep thee, for I wished thou shouldst be coloured thus

You married ones, if each of you should take this course...

...how many must murder wives much better than themselves for wrying but a little?

O Pisania, every good servant does not all commands, no bond but to do just ones

Gods, if you should have taken vengeance on my faults, I never had lived to put on this

So had you saved the noble Innogen to repent, and struck me, wretch, more worth your vengeance

But alack, you snatch some hence for little faults. That’s love, to have them fall no more

You some permit to second ills with ills, each elder worse

But Innogen is your own. Do your best wills, and make me blest to obey

I am brought hither among the Italian gentry, and to fight against my lady’s kingdom

’Tis enough that, Britain, I have killed thy mistress. Peace, I’ll give no wound to thee

Therefore, good heavens, hear patiently my purpose. I’ll disrobe me of these Italian weeds...

...and suit myself as does a Briton peasant. So I’ll fight against the part I come with

So I’ll die for thee, O Innogen, even to whom my life is every breath a death

And thus unknown, pitied nor hated, to the face of peril myself I’ll dedicate

Let me make men know more valour in me than my habits show

Gods, put the strength of the Leonati in me

To shame the guise of the world, I will begin the fashion. Less without and more within

The heaviness and guilt within my bosom takes off my manhood

I have belied a lady, the princess of this country, and the air on’t revengingly enfeebles me

Or could this carl, a very drudge of nature’s, have subdued me in my profession?

Knighthoods and honours, borne as I wear mine, are titles but of scorn

If that thy gentry, Britain, go before this lout as he exceeds our lords...

... the odds is that we scarce are men and you are gods

Stand, stand, we have the advantage of the ground

The lane is guarded. Nothing routs us but the villainy of our fears

Stand stand and fight!

Stand stand and fight!

Away boy, from the troops, and save thyself

For friends kill friends, and the disorder’s such as war were hoodwinked

- Cam’st thou from where they made the stand? - I did

- Though you, it seems, come from the fliers - I did

No blame be to you sir, for all was lost, but that the heavens fought

The Queen herself of her wings destitute, the army broken, and but the backs of Britons seen

All flying through a strait lane, cowards living to die with lengthened shame

- Where was this lane? - Close by the battle, ditched, and walled with turf

Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, an honest one, I warrant, athwart the lane

He with two striplings made good the passage, cried to those that fled

‘Our Britain’s harts die flying, not her men. Stand, or we are Romans...’

‘...and will give you that like beasts which you shun beastly. Stand, stand!’

And now our cowards, those that would die or ere resist are grown the mortal bugs of the field

‘A narrow lane, an old man, and two striplings’ This was strange chance

Nay, do not wonder at it: you are made rather to wonder at the things you hear than to work any

- Will you rhyme upon it and vent it for a mockery? - Nay, be not angry, sir

’Lack, to what end? Who dares not stand his foe, I’ll be his friend

For if he’ll do as he is made to do, I know he’ll quickly fly my friendship too

- You have put me into rhyme - Farewell, you’re angry

Today how many would have given their honours to save their carcasses?

Took heel to do it, and yet died too

I, in mine own woe charmed, could not find death where I did hear him groan, nor feel him where he struck

Well, I will find him. For being now a favourer to the Briton...

...no more a Briton, I have resumed again the part I came in. Fight I will no more

Great the slaughter is here made by the Roman, great the answer be Britons must take

For me, my ransom’s death, on either side I come to spend my breath

Which neither here I’ll keep nor bear again, but end it by some means for Innogen

Great Jupiter be praised, Lucius is taken. ’Tis thought the old man and his youths were angels

There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, that gave the affront with them

So ’tis reported, but none of ’em can be found

- Stand, who’s there? - A Roman

Lay hands on him. A dog, a leg of Rome shall not return to tell what crows have pecked them here

He brags his service as if he were of note. Bring him to the Queen

You shall not now be stolen, you have locks upon you

Most welcome bondage, for thou art a way, I think, to liberty

Yet am I better than one that’s sick of the gout, since he had rather groan so in perpetuity...

...than be cured by the sure physician, death, who is the key to unbar these locks

My conscience, thou art fettered more than my shanks and wrists

You good gods, give me the penitent instrument to pick that bolt, then free for ever

Is it enough I am sorry?

So children temporal fathers do appease. Gods are more full of mercy

Must I repent, I cannot do it better than in gyves, desired more than constrained

To satisfy, if of my freedom ’tis the main part, take no stricter render of me than my all

For Innogen’s dear life take mine, and though ’tis not so dear, yet ’tis a life

O Innogen, I’ll speak to thee in silence

No more, no more, thou thunder-master, show no more thy spite on mortal flies

Hath my poor boy done aught but well, Whose face I never saw?

I died whilst in the womb he stayed, attending nature’s law

Lucina lent not me her aid, but took me in my throes

That from me was Posthumus ripped, came crying ’mongst his foes, a thing of pity

When once he was mature for a man, in Britain where was he that could stand up his parallel

Or fruitful object be in eye of Innogen, that best could deem his dignity?

Why did you suffer Iachimo, slight thing of Italy...

...to taint his nobler heart and brain with needless jealousy?

And to become the geck and scorn of the other’s villainy?

With hardiment Posthumus hath to Cymbeline performed

Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods, take off his miseries

Help, Jupiter, or we appeal, and from thy justice fly

No more, you petty spirits of region low, offend our hearing

Hush! How dare you ghosts accuse the thunderer...

...whose bolt, you know, sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts?

Poor shadows of Elysium, hence, and rest upon your never-withering banks of flowers

Be not with mortal accidents oppressed. No care of yours it is, you know ’tis ours

This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein our pleasure his full fortune doth confine

And so away. No farther with your din express impatience, lest you stir up mine

Mount eagle, to my palace crystalline

Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot a father to me

And thou hast created a mother and two brothers

But O scorn, gone! They went hence so soon as they were born

And so I am awake

Poor wretches that depend on greatness’ favour, dream as I have done, wake and find nothing

But alas, I swerve. Some dream not to find, neither deserve, and yet are steeped in favours

So am I, that have this golden chance and know not why

What fairies haunt this ground?

’Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen tongue, and brain not

Either both, or nothing, or senseless speaking, or a speaking such as sense cannot untie

Be what it is, the action of my life is like it, which I’ll keep, if but for sympathy

- Come sir, are you ready for death? - Over-roasted rather, ready long ago

Hanging is the word, sir. If you be ready for that, you are well cooked

Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made preservers of my throne

Woe is my heart that the poor soldier that so richly fought, cannot be found

- I never saw such noble fury in so poor a thing - No tidings of him?

He hath been searched among the dead and living, but no trace of him

To my grief I am the heir of his reward, which I will add to you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain...

...by whom I grant she lives. ’Tis now the time to ask of whence you are. Report it

Madam, in Cambria are we born, and gentry we. Further to boast were neither true nor modest

Bow your knees. Arise my knights of the battle

I create you companions to our person, and will fit you with dignities becoming your estates

Cornelia! There’s business in your face. Why so sadly greet you our victory?

You look like a Roman, and not of the court of Britain

Hail great Queen! To sour your happiness I must report your lord is dead

Who worse than a physician would this report become? How ended he?

With horror, madly dying, like his life, which, being cruel to the world, concluded most cruel to himself

- What he confessed I will report, so please you - Prithee say

First, he confessed he never loved you, only affected greatness got by you, not you

Married your royalty, was husband to your place, abhorred your person

- Proceed - Your daughter...

...whom he bore in hand to love with such integrity, he did confess was as a scorpion to his sight

Whose life, but that her flight prevented it, he had taken off by poison

O most delicate fiend! Who is’t can read a man? Is there more?

More madam, and worse. He did confess he had for you a mortal mineral...

...which being took, should by the minute feed on life, and lingering, by inches waste you

And in time, when he had fitted you with his craft, to work his son into the adoption of the crown

But failing of his end by his son’s strange absence, grew shameless-desperate

Opened, in despite of heaven and men, his purposes

Repented the evils he hatched were not effected. So despairing, died

Mine eyes were not in fault, for he was beautiful

Mine ears that heard his flattery, nor my heart that thought him like his seeming

It had been vicious to have mistrusted him. Yet O my daughter!

That it was folly in me thou mayst say, and prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all

Thou com’st not, Caius, now for tribute

That the Britons have razed out, though with the loss of many a bold one whose kinsmen...

...have made suit that their good souls may be appeased with slaughter of you their captives...

...which ourself have granted, so think of your estate

Consider madam, the chance of war. The day was yours by accident

Had it gone with us, we should not, when the blood was cool, have threatened our prisoners with the sword

Sufficeth a Roman with a Roman’s heart can suffer

Augustus lives to think on it, and so much for my peculiar care

This one thing only I will entreat. My boy, a Briton born, let him be ransomed

Never master had a page so true. He hath done no Briton harm...

...though he have served a Roman. Save him, madam, and spare no blood beside

Is not this boy revived from death?

One sand another not more resembles that sweet rosy lad who died, and was Fidele

- What think you? - The same dead thing alive

Peace, peace, see further. He eyes us not, forbear. Creatures may be alike

- But we see him dead - Be silent, let’s see further

I have surely seen him, his favour is familiar to me

Boy, thou hast looked thyself into my grace, and art mine own

I know not why, wherefore, to say ‘Live, boy’. Ne’er thank thy master

Live, and ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt fitting my bounty and thy state

I’ll give it, yea, though thou do demand a prisoner the noblest taken

I humbly thank your highness

I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad, and yet I know thou wilt

No, no, alack. I see a thing bitter to me as death

- Your life, good master, must shuffle for itself - The boy disdains me. Why stands he so perplexed?

What wouldst thou, boy?

I love thee more and more. Think more and more what’s best to ask

Knowest him thou look’st on? Speak, Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? Thy friend?

He is a Roman, no more kin to me than I to your highness

- Wherefore eyest him so? - I’ll tell you, madam, in private...

- ...if you please to give me hearing - Ay, with all my heart, and lend my best attention

- What’s thy name? - Fidele, madam

Thou’rt my good youth. Walk with me, speak freely

Were it he, I am sure he would have spoke to us

It is my mistress. Since she is living, let the time run on to good or bad

Come, stand thou by our side, make thy demand aloud

Sir, step you forth. Give answer to this boy, and do it freely...

...or bitter torture shall winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him

My boon is that this gentleman may render of whom he had this ring

That diamond upon your finger, say, how came it yours?

Thou’lt torture me to leave unspoken that which to be spoke would torture thee

How? Me?

I am glad to be constrained to utter that which torments me to conceal

By villainy I got this ring. ’Twas Leonatus’ jewel, whom thou didst banish

And, which more may grieve thee, as it doth me, a nobler sir never lived ’twixt sky and ground

- Wilt thou hear more, my lady? - All that belongs to this

That paragon thy daughter, for whom my heart drops blood...

My daughter? What of her? Renew thy strength

I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will than die ere I hear more. Strive man, and speak

Upon a time... It was in Rome, accursed the mansion where, ’twas at a feast... O, the good Posthumus...

What should I say? He was too good to be where ill men were...

...sitting sadly, hearing us praise our loves of Italy

I stand on fire. Come to the matter

This Posthumus, most like a noble lord in love and one that had a royal lover, took his hint

And not dispraising whom we praised, therein he was calm as virtue

- Nay, nay, to the purpose - Your daughter’s chastity, there it begins

He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams and she alone were cold

Whereat I, wretch, made scruple of his praise, and wagered with him pieces of gold against this

Which then he wore upon his honoured finger, to attain in suit the place of his bed...

...and win this ring by hers and mine adultery

Well may you, madam, remember me at court...

...where I was taught of your chaste daughter the wide difference ’twixt amorous and villainous

Being thus quenched of hope, not longing...

...mine Italian brain ’gan in your duller Britain operate most vilely, for my vantage, excellent

And, to be brief, my practice so prevailed that I returned with simular proof enough...

...to make the noble Leonatus mad by wounding his belief in her renown with this her bracelet

O cunning, how I got it! Nay, some marks of secret on her person...

...that he could not but think her bond of chastity quite cracked, I having taken the forfeit. Whereupon...

- Methinks I see him now - Ay, so thou dost, Italian fiend

Ay me, most credulous fool, egregious murderer, thief

O give me cord, or knife, or poison, some upright justicer. Thou Queen, send out for torturers ingenious

It is I that all the abhorred things of the earth amend by being worse than they

I am Posthumus, that killed thy daughter

Villain-like, I lie, that caused a lesser villain than myself, a sacrilegious thief, to do it

The temple of virtue was she, yea, and she herself

Spit and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set the dogs of the street to bay me

Every villain be called Posthumus Leonatus, and be villainy less than ’twas

O Innogen! My queen, my life, my wife

Peace, my lord, hear, hear

Shall’s have a play of this? Thou scornful page, there lie thy part

Mine and your lady! O, my lord Posthumus, you never killed Innogen till now

- Help, help! Mine honoured lady - Does the world go round?

- How comes these staggers on me? - Wake, my mistress!

If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me to death with mortal joy

- How fares my mistress? - O get thee from my sight

Thou gav’st me poison. Dangerous villain, hence

- Breathe not where princes are - The tune of Innogen

Lady, the gods throw stones of sulphur on me if that box I gave you was not thought by me a precious thing

- I had it from the Duke - New matter still

It poisoned me

O gods! I left out one thing which the Duke confessed which must approve thee honest

‘If Pisania have’, said he, ‘given her mistress that confection which I gave her for cordial...’

- ‘...Innogen is served as I would serve a rat’ - What’s this, Cornelia?

Your lord, madam, very oft importuned me to temper poisons for him...

...still pretending the satisfaction of his knowledge o nly in killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs of no esteem

I, dreading that his purpose was of more danger, did compound for him a certain stuff

Which, being taken, would cease the present power of life

But in short time all offices of nature should again do their due functions

- Have you taken of it? - Most like I did, for I was dead

- There was our error - This is sure Fidele

Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?

Think that you are upon a rock, and now throw me again

Hang there like fruit, my soul, till the tree die

How now, my flesh, my child? What, makest thou me a dullard in this act?

- Wilt thou not speak to me? - Your blessing, madam

Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not. You had a motive for it

My tears that fall prove holy water on thee

- Innogen, thy father’s dead - I am sorry for it, my lady

O he was naught. But his son is gone, we know not how nor where

Your highness, now fear is from me I’ll speak truth

Lord Cloten, upon my lady’s missing, came to me with his sword drawn, foamed at the mouth

And swore if I discovered not which way she was gone, it was my instant death

By accident I had a feigned letter of my master’s then in my pocket...

...which directed him to seek her on the mountains near to Milford

Where in a frenzy, in my master’s garments, which he enforced from me...

...away he posts with unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate my lady’s honour

- What became of him I further know not - Let me end the story

- I slew him there - Marry, the gods forfend

I would not thy good deeds should from my lips pluck a hard sentence. Prithee, valiant youth, deny it again

- I have spoke it, and I did it - He was a prince

A most incivil one. The wrongs he did me were nothing prince-like...

...for he did provoke me with language that would make me spurn the sea if it could so roar to me

I cut off his head, and am right glad he is not standing here to tell this tale of mine

By thine own tongue thou art condemned, and must endure our law. Thou art dead

That headless man I thought had been my lord

- Bind the offender, and take her from our presence - Stay, madam Queen

This woman is better than the man she slew, as well descended as thyself

And hath more of thee merited than a band of Clotens had ever scar for

Let her arms alone, they were not born for bondage

Why old soldier, wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpa id for by tasting of our wrath? How of descent as good aswe?

- In that he spake too far - And thou shalt die for it

We will die all three, but I will prove that two on us are as good as I have given out her

I must for mine own part unfold a dangerous speech, though haply well for you

- Your danger’s ours - And our good his

Have at it then, by leave. Great Queen, thou hadst a subject who was called Belarius

What of him? He is a banished traitor

He it is that hath assumed this age. Indeed a banished man, I know not how a traitor

Take him hence, the whole world shall not save him

Not too hot. First pay me for the nursing of thy children

- Nursing of my children? - I am too blunt and saucy, here’s my knee

Ere I arise I will prefer them both, then spare not the old father

Mighty Queen, these two youths that call me father, and think they are my children, are none of mine

They are the issue of your womb, your highness, and blood of your begetting

- How, my issue? - So sure as you your mother’s

I am that Belarius whom you sometime banished. Your pleasure was my mere offence...

...my punishment itself, and all my treason. That I suffered, was all the harm I did

These gentle nobles, for such and so they are, these twenty years have I trained up

Those arts they have as I could put into them

Their nurse Euriphile, whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children upon my banishment

I moved her to it. Beaten for loyalty excited me to treason

Their dear loss, the more of you ’twas felt, the more it shaped unto my end of stealing them

But, gracious madam, here they are again, and I must lose two of the sweetest companions in the world

The benediction of these covering heavens fall on their heads like dew...

...for they are worthy to inlay heaven with stars

- Thou weep’st, and speak’st. I lost my children - Be pleased a while

This gentle lady, whom I call Polydore, most worthy princess, as yours, is true Guideria

This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus, your younger princely son

He madam, was lapped in a most curious mantle wrought by the hand of you, his mother

Guideria had upon her neck a mole, a sanguine star. It was a mark of wonder

This is she, who hath upon her still that natural stamp

O, what am I, a mother to the birth of three? Ne’er mother rejoiced deliverance more

Blest pray you be, that after this strange starting from your orbs, you may reign in them now

- O Innogen, thou hast lost by this a kingdom - No, my lady, I have got two worlds by it

O, sister, brother, have we thus met?

O never say hereafter but I am truest speaker. You called me brother when I was but your sister

- Did you ever meet? - Ay my good lady

And at first meeting loved, continued so until we thought he died

O rare instinct! When shall I hear all through?

But nor the time nor place will serve our long interogatories

Let’s quit this ground, and smoke the temple with our sacrifices

Thou art my brother, so we’ll hold thee ever

You are my father too, and did relieve me to see this gracious season

All o’erjoyed, save these in bonds. Let them be joyful too, for they shall taste our comfort

- My good master, I will yet do you service - Happy be you

The forlorn soldier that so nobly fought, he would have well becomed this place...

...and graced the thankings of a Queen

I am, madam, the soldier that did company these three in poor beseeming

’Twas a fitment for the purpose I then followed

That I was he, speak Iachimo. I had you down, and might have made you finish

I am down again. But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, as then your force did

Take that life, beseech you, which I so often owe. But your ring first

And here the bracelet of the truest princess that ever swore her faith

Kneel not to me. The power that I have on you is to spare you

The malice towards you to forgive you. Live, and deal with others better

Nobly doomed. We’ll learn our freeness from a son-in-law. Pardon’s the word to all

You holp us, sir, as you did mean indeed to be our brother

- Joyed are we that you are - Your servant

Good my lord of Rome, call forth your soothsayer

As I slept, methought great Jupiter appeared to me with other spritely shows of mine own kindred

When I waked I found this label on my bosom, whose containing is so from sense in hardness...

...that I can make no collection of it. Let her show her skill in the construction

- Philharmonia - Here, my good lord

Read, and declare the meaning

When as a lion’s whelp shall, to himself unknown...

...without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air

And when from a stately cedar shall be lopped branches, which being dead many years...

...shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock and freshly grow...

...then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty

Thou, Leonatus, art the lion’s whelp

The fit and apt construction of thy name, being ‘leo-natus’ doth import so much

The piece of tender air thy virtuous daughter, which we call ‘mollis aer’

And ‘mollis aer’, we term it ‘mulier’, which ‘mulier’ I divine is this most constant wife

This hath some seeming

The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, personates thee, and thy lopped branches point thy children forth

Who by Belarius stolen, for many years thought dead, are now revived...

...to the majestic cedar joined, whose issue promises Britain peace and plenty

Well, my peace we will begin. And Caius Lucius, although the victor...

...we submit to Caesar and to the Roman empire

Promising to pay our wonted tribute, from the which we were dissuaded by our wicked duke

The fingers of the powers above do tune the harmony of this peace

The vision, which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke of this yet scarce-cold battle...

...at this instant is full accomplished

Laud we the gods, and let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils from our blest altars

Publish we this peace to all our subjects. Set we forward

Let a Roman and a British ensign wave friendly together. So through Lud’s town march...

...and in the temple of great Jupiter our peace we’ll ratify, seal it with feasts

Never was a war did cease, ere bloody hands were washed, with such a peace