University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE II.

Enter Ursaces and Beaupre.
Beau.
Well, my brave Friend, what think you of your Wager?
Shattillion must by this be coming back.

Ursa.
A Coxcomb as he went. Ha, ha! Wou'd I were
As certain to win the King agen, as I am
Confirm'd—her Honour is secure.

Beau.
Hear you no News to day?

Ursa.
Not I: Have you any?

Beau.
Yes, and of moment: I was just now inform'd,
That Caius Lucius, sent by great Augustus,
Is going with an Embassy to Britain,
Commission'd to demand retarded Tribute,
And I fear,
Your King will sooner gratifie his Message,
That enrage our warlike Romans, whose
Late Conquest lives yet fresh in his memory.

Ursa.
I am not of your mind, but rather do believe,
(States-man though I am none, nor like to be)
That this will prove a War.

Enter Shattillion.
Beau.
By all that's good, Shattillion.—See Sir.

Ursa.
The swiftest Racers posted you by Land,
And Winds in all the corners kiss'd your Sails.
To make your Vessel nimble.

Beau.
Welcome Sir.

Ursa.
I hope the briefness of your Answer made
The speediness of your Return.

Shatt.
Your Lady, Sir,
Is faith the fairest that I ever look'd on.

Ursa.
And therewithal the best, or else her
Beauty is but a shadow, or like a painted
Tulip, for nothing good but show.

Shatt.
Here are Letters for ye.

Ursa.
Their tenure good, I trust.

[Ursa. reads.
Shatt.
'Tis very likely.—

Beau.
Is Caius Lucius, Ambassador from the
Emperor, expected yet in Britain?

Shatt.
He was talk'd of—but I had other business.
There than to mind News.

Ursa.
All is well yet.
Sparkles that Stone as it was wont Sir, or is it
Too dull for you to wear?

Shatt.
If I had lost it,
I shou'd have lost the worth of it in Gold;
But I'le make a Journey twice as far,
T'Enjoy a night of such sweet shortness,
As was mine in Britain.—Sir, the Ring
Is won.

Ursa.
The Stone's too hard to come by.

Shatt.
Not at all, your Lady being so easie.

Ursa.
Why sure you will be wiser than to make
Your loss your sport; I hope you know Sir, we
Must not continue Friends.

Shatt.
Faith 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 my self the winner of her Honour,
Together with your Ring, and not the wronger
Of her or you at all, having proceeded
But by Agreement.

Ursa.
If you can make't appear
You have enjoy'd her in her Bed, my Hand and
Ring is yours; if not, my Sword must right the
Wrong done to her Chastity.

Shatt.
Chastity? ha, ha!

Ursa.
Ha, ha! Why is her sacred part become so tainted,
That 'tis but worth your Fleer?

Shatt.
I am sorry to confess it, Sir.

Ursa.
Devils and Hell—Confess it?—Come, be
Brief your Story.

Shatt.
First, her Bed-chamber:
Where I confess I slept not, for she gave me
That which was well worth watching, it was hang'd
With Tapestry of Silk and Silver; the Story
Was the Meeting of th'Egyptian Queen and
Anthony, when Cidnus swell'd above the Banks
For pride, to bear that glorious Heroe
And his Mistress, that gave the World
For Love.

Ursa.
This is nothing;
For I perhaps, or any other ask'd,
Might tell you thus much.

Shatt.
More Particulars
Shall justifie my Knowledge.

Ursa.
So they must,
Or do your Credit injury.

Shatt.
The Chimney—
Is South the Chamber, and the Chimney-
Piece Diana bathing:—Never saw I
Figures so nearly drawn to Nature;
The skilful Painter had even outdone
The Life, so excellent was his dumb Poetry.

Ursa.
And what of this?
Let it be granted what you say is true,
And praise be given to your Remembrance:
Th'Description of what is in her Chamber,
Must not save the Wager you have laid.—

Shatt.
Must it not? Then if you can be pale,
I beg your leave to air this Jewel.—See
And presto,—now 'tis up agen; it must be married
There to your Diamond; I beg your pardon, Sir, that
I play the Jugler with you.

Ursa.
Jove—Is it that I gave her? 'Tis impossible:
Pray once more let me see it.
I swear, the very same.
The Bracelet that I gave her at our parting,
And dam'd her with an Oath to keep for ever;
'Tis that, it must, nay now I know 'tis that.—

Shatt.
Yes, Sir, 'tis that, the very that, I thank her,
She took it from her Arm, methinks I see her yet;
Her pretty action did outsel her gift,
And yet enrich'd it too; she gave it me,
Then smiling, sigh'd and said, she priz'd it once.

Ursa.
May be she pluck'd it off to send it me.

Shatt.
She writes so to ye, does she?

Ursa.
Death and Hell! There's no truth,
Where there is Beauty; the seeming modest face
Lyes even at the Altar and at Prayers;
Honour and Love in that false Sex are nothing;
Profit still breaks their Vows, and Lust their Constancy;
Pride dams their Beauty, Perjury their Souls.

Beau.
Have patience, Sir:
It may be probable she lost it; or
Who knows but one of her Women being corrupted,
May steal it from her.

Ursa.
Very true.
And so I hope he came by't. Render me, Sir,
Some noted Mark, some corporal Sign about her,
More evident than this, for this was stoll'n.

Shatt.
By Jupiter, I had it from her Arm.

Ursa.
Hark you, he swears, by Jupiter he swears,
Binds the salacious Villany by Oath,
And never blushes for't. Oh Hell of Impudence!
Is there a Fury hot as Womankind?
By the Fiends there is not.
Take it, for thou hast won, I swear thou hast,
And the most fulsom way; for well I know
She cou'd not lofe it; her Attendants are
All sworn and honourable, they induc'd to steal it,
And for a Stranger; no, he has enjoy'd her.

Beau.
Good Sir, be calm, you may be yet deceiv'd.

Shatt.
For further satisfying, under her left Breast,
Worthy my pressing, lyes a Mole, right proud
Of that most delicate Lodging; by my Life
I kiss'd it, and it gave me present hunger
To feed agen, though full. You may perhaps, Sir,
Remember this Stain upon her.

Ursa.
I, and it confirms
Another Stain, big as the dismal Cause,
Where Devils freeze and burn. Say on, what more?

Shatt.
Why wou'd you have more?

Ursa.
Now I think on't; no, for shame speak not the rest.

Shatt.
By yonder blessed Sun.

Ursa.
No swearing, Sir.
If you will swear you have not don't, ye lye,
And I will kill thee if thou dar'st deny.

Shatt.
I'le deny nothing.

Ursa.
Had I her here, I'de tear her into atomes;
But live she shannot, nor with whorish grace
Laugh at my Infamy.—Oh cursed Marriage!
Thou Hell to th'Mind, and Body's Purgatory.
Meet we with common Creatures, they are kind,
Love out their hour with eagerness and Art,
And if they give Diseases—'tis their Trade,
We can expect no less. But th'Marriage-state
Gives ye a guilded Pill that poysons ye,
And yet pretends to cure.—The Plague of Life,
And Curse of our Creation—was a Wife.

[Exit.
Beau.
He's quite besides
The government of Patience.—You have won:
But come, let's in, and prevent the present rage
He means against himself.

Shatt.
With all my heart: I'le follow ye Sir, ha, ha, ha!
[Exit Beau.
I am sensible this Lye will occasion some mischief:
But a Pox on't, I cou'd not for my life but make
The most on't, when my hand was in. Well, what
Wit has begun, Policy must preserve; and Tongue
Be but thou silent, and then let him sift out the
Matter as well as he can.

[Exit.
Enter Ursaces with a Letter and Servant.
Ursa.
This Paper signs her death: I know my Friend,
My good old Friend Pisanio, will dispatch her
On sight of this—and then she is with the Furies.
Fly Sirrah with this to the Packet-Boat.

Servant.
I'me gone, my Lord.—

[Exit.
Ursa.
But why shou'd Nature make us miserable?
Is there no way for Man 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 stamp'd:
Yet my Mother seem'd
The Vesta of her time, so did my Wife,
The Jewel of this Age. Oh damn'd Hypocrisie!
Me of my lawful Pleasure she restrain'd,
And pray'd me oft forbearance, did it with
A Pudency so Rosie, that sweet object
Might well have warm'd old Saturn, that I thought her
As chast as un-Sunn'd Snow, as pure as Vertue,
And lost my self in my imagin'd joys.
That's as the hapless Merchant rash and young,
Listens to hear the charming Siren's charming Song;
His Soul is fetter'd, and he fain wou'd get
To the fair tempting Creature's rocky Seat;
And to the Charmers swiftly strives to run,
Leaps on the fatal Shore, and is undone:
So tempting Beauty did my Sense betray,
And faithless Woman stole my Soul away.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

A Rocky Cave.
Enter Belarius, Arviragus, and Palladour, in wild Habits.
Belar.
The Sun, the glorious Monarch of the day,
Guilds all the Valleys, and with chearful beams
Smiles on the Persian, who with prostrate Body
Now pays his Adoration: This instructs us
How to admire the Heavens, and bend our minds
To a Mornings holy Office. Come forth my Sons,
The blessings of my Age; warmth of my Winter;
Come forth, and with your customary Duties
Pay Reverence to Heaven and the Morn.—
Hail great Divinity.

Arvir.
Hail gracious Heaven, and our most noble Father.

Palla.
Hail Heaven, and to the Parent of our Lives.

Bellar.
Is not this Life better,
Than servilely attending for a Check,
Or be oblig'd to flatter some gross Fool,
That gives ye Food and Raiment? Is it not richer
Than thriving in contempt of Honesty,
Or proudly ruffling in unpaid for Silk;
When the poor Creditor
Oft gains the Cap of him he has made fine,
Yet keeps his Books uncross'd?

Arvir.
You told us, Sir,
That Nature stamp'd all humane-kind like us:
Can they resemble us, and are not honest?

Bellar.
The Face deceives all;—'tis the Nation's Plague,
That he that looks most honest, soonest wrongs ye.

Arvir.
I hate a Villain as I love Vertue, and cou'd wish
A season to imploy my eager Courage,
And steep my Javelin in the reeking bloud
Though of a Giant, that had wrong'd my Father.

Bellar.
'Twas kind; but thou art young, Arviragus, a twig
That shak'st with every blast; art like a Woman,
But that I think thou hast not so much falshood.

Arvir.
Why are there Women false too?

Bellar.
False as Court-Promises;
Or the young Trader's Oath; but that the fruit of Falshood
Gains more than Vertue. You may find by me
My Honesty undid me; my Body's mark'd
With Roman Weapons, and my Fame was once
First with the men of Note: Cymbeline lov'd me;
And when a Souldier was the Theam, my Name
Was loud as any's: Then was I as a Tree
Whose Boughs did bend with fruit; but in one night,
(So ill did Fortune love me) a rude Storm
Shook down my mellow Blessings, nay my Leaves,
And left me bare to weather.

Arvir.
Uncertain Favour: But cou'd you not revenge it?
Cou'd your great Soul suppress such Injuries,
Be mildly passive in a Cause so just?
Now by that Reverend Shape, had I been wrong'd so,
I wou'd have sought my Enemies through dangers,
Numerous as Stars, and though hemm'd round with Foes,
Feast my Revenge, then smiling, took my Fate.

Bellar.
Arviragus, Thou art too passionate; thy fiery temper
Will waste thee like a Feaver.

Pallad.
Be silent Brother, and hear my Father's Story.

Bellar.
My fault being nothing, as I've often told you,
But that two Villains hating me, swore to Cymbeline,
I was Confederate with the Romans, so
Follow'd my Banishment, and this 20 years
This Rock and these Demeans have been my World.

Arvir.
Death to your Honour! Did you part so tamely?
Did you not kill the Villains? Oh I tremble,
And all my Bloud's on fire, at th'apprehension
Of your disgrace? Such Injuries as these
Require Bloud, Ruine, Desolation,
Fatal Destruction, Death in thousand terrors.
Oh Heaven and Earth, not kill him!

Pallad.
They were kill'd, were they not, Sir?

Bellar.
They were, tho' not by me. But come, the day grows old,
Now up to th'Mountains, 'tis the Hunter's language,
And he that strikes the Venison first shall be the
Lord o'th' Feast: Away, I'le meet you in the Valleys.

Pallad.
Come Brother, I lodg'd a stately Stag last night,
A Pollard that has newly cast his head; let's go
And chace him, he is our Feast.

Arvir.
No, I have a nobler Game: A Forest Boar
Last night did cross my way, and staring on me,
Grinding his foaming Tushes, roar'd and fled;
My Javelin I swiftly darted at him,
Which glancing from his Shoulder cleft the ground,
And Night opposing with dark shades, I lost
What now will find and conquer.

[Exeunt Bro.
Bellar.
Heaven protect ye.
How hard it is to hide the Sparks of Nature:
These Boys know little they are Sons to th'King,
Nor does their Father dream they are alive.
They think they are mine, and tho' bred up thus meanly,
They think and do like Princes.
Oh Cymbeline, Heaven and thy Conscience knows,
Thou did'st unjustly banish me, for which
At three and two years old I stole thy Children,
Thinking to take from thee a Successor,
As thou my Lands from me; 'tis a Revenge
Pleases my Age. Now to my brace of Princes,
Who swifter than two Roes leap o're the Hills,
And in their speedy Chace outstrip the Winds.

[Exit.
Enter Pisanio and Eugenia in Mens Cloaths. Pisanio has a Letter in's hand.
Pisan.
How—Of Adultery, and with a Gallian?
Then all my Fears prove true, and that tall Fellow
I once saw with her, proves the Villain I doubted.
Oh perjur'd Creature!

Eugen.
This is a strange wild melancholy Place,
Good my Lord, how far is't now to Milford?
Why do you shun me so? My Legs are weary
In striving to o'retake ye: Alas I know the trouble
I bring upon you! But for pity's sake
Reflect not on it now. You went this morning
To meet the Post with Letters; my heart pants,
I hope there's no ill News.

Pisan.
Oh Woman, Woman!
Who ere cou'd learn thy deep Philosophy,
Or fathom thy unsounded Sea of Graft?
That Look of her's has power to cause sound Faith
Revolt, and make men fancy her a Saint.
This Letter proves a Devil.

Eugen.
What Letter's that? Is't from my Lord?

Pisan.
From him that was your Lord:
Read it, and when you have done, prepare to die.

Eugen.
To die? Good Gods, for what?

Pisan.
Read there, and blush instead of growing pale;
The Crime will give occasion.

Eugen.
reads.
—Pisanio, My Wife has damn'd her self, and
Play'd the Strumpet in my Bed: (Oh gracious Heaven!)
The testimonies whereof lye bleeding in me, and a
Fluttering Gallian is more grateful to her than
Her unhappy Husband. I write this from
Proofs, as strange as my Griefs; therefore
Kill her, if thou lov'st me, and send a Handkerchief
Dipp'd in her bloud: That done, my Interest here shall
Secure both thy Life and Fortune.
Ursaces.
I'le kiss thy Name although it brings me death,
A cruel death to th'Innocent. Oh my Fortune!

[Swounds.
Pisan.
Why there now.
There is another Fetch of female Policy,
This Swouning: I have known a Woman swound
At the puking of her Monkey, or feign sorrow
To see her Husband's Nose bleed. Craft, Craft, damn'd Craft:
I'le not believe 'um. Oh she comes agen!

Eugen.
False to his Bed? What is it to be false?
To lye in watch there, and to think of him;
To weep 'twixt hour and hour: If Sleep charge Nature
To break it with a frightful Dream of him,
And cry my self awake; can this be Falshood?

Pisan.
Weak Excuses.
You ill plead Innocence, when your vertuous Lord
Defames you thus by Letter, and has proof
Of your detected Crime; for well I know,
He wou'd not write this without good assurance.

Eugen.
Yes, any thing to please his new-found Mistress,
That basely reaps the harvest of my Love.
Mens Vows are Womens Traitors; and as Synon,
That perjur'd Wretch, that cunning flattering Greek,
By weeping scandall'd many a holy Tear;
So does Ursaces by his broken Oaths,
The Faith of all Mankind.

Pisan.
And you by Levity,
The vertue of your Sex. Kneel therefore, and pray,
Or unprepar'd receive your Fate.

[Draws.
Eugen.
I swear
I am not guilty, yet do not wish to live,
[Kneels.
Ursaces being false. Come, strike my Lord,
Strike the innocent Mansion of my Love, my heart,
And give a hapless, much wrong'd Woman, rest,
As lasting as her woes.

Pisan.
Do you not fear?

Eugen.
My grief has made me past it.

Pisan.
Die then, lest it return; it wonnot be:
Methinks some Genius hinders my rash Arm,
And blames my cruel purpose.

Eugen.
Make not my Death your Sport,
But do a speedy justice for your Friend,
And tell my Lord, when I am laid in Earth,
He then may revel quietly.

Pisan.
I cannot do't,
And I'le attempt no farther. If she is false,
Let Heaven punish her; I'le leave her to its mercy,
And with some bloudy token greet her Lord,
As if I had perform'd the horrid Action.
Madam, I pity you, and through that passion
Resolve to save your Life: But from this moment
Expect no further service; for Heaven forbid,
The least grain of my Love shou'd fall on her,
Whose blameful Levity wrong'd my dearest Friend.
Thus then I turn away, and all alone
Within this gloomy melancholy Desart,
Leave you to Fortune: If you are innocent,
That Innocence protect you; but if guilty,
As I much doubt you are, let Thunder.
Punish the hated Falshood.—Fare ye well.

Eugen.
Stay, dear my Lord; Oh do not leave me so,
So lost, so comfortless!

Pisan.
No tears shall stop me; there's too much of Woman in 'um.

Eugen.
Alas I know not where I am! The Place
Is ruthless, wild and uninhabited;
No friendly Path leads to a neighbouring Village,
But all untrod and savage, like the Covert
Of some rude Satyr; here only Nettles grow, and Ivy
That clings to th'dismal Ewe; and in yon Rock,
The dreadful spotted Toads and poysonous Serpents
Will hourly fright me with their Croaks and Hisses.
Ah do not leave me in this horrid Place,
For I shall die with Fear!

Pisan.
I must be gone,
Tho' her words touch me strangely.

[Aside.
Eugen.
I shall be starv'd too. Recall, recal Humanity,
And let that aged Breast bear tender Nature:
Let th'Oath of Knighted, charm ye not to suffer
A wretched Princess famish in a Desart.

Pisan.
The Summer-fruit that now lades every Bush,
Makes vain that Fear. To help ye a little,
Take here this Glass, I had it from the Queen,
What's in't is precious; when you're sick, a dram on't
Will drive away Distemper. Farewel; my heart
Bleeds for ye, altho' your abhorred Crimes deserve no pity.

[Exit.
Eugen.
Ye mighty Powers, that sway you glorious Heaven,
Rise from your awful Thrones, look down and pity
A wretched Innocence; for well ye know,
I'me guiltless, and deserve not this Barbariety,
Tho' more than Scithians cruel. Poor Eugenia,
Where wilt thou fly for Succour? Home is fatal:
If to my Lord; why he has sent to kill me.
Too cruel Husband of a Wife so faithful.
Oh wretched state!
Oh Misery! If Vertue be thus us'd,
How are the vicious punish'd? What shall I do,
And whither shall I turn? As some poor Slave,
Accus'd of Crimes which he had never done,
Is from his angry Patron's Favour thrown.
Hated altho' he faithfully did serve,
Is cast on some wild Beach to pine and starve.
In vain bemoans himself, and makes defence,
In vain sighs, weeps, and tells his Innocence.
Sits sadly on some Rock, his Eyes do flow,
Mourns his hard Fate, but knows not where to go.
So I unskilful what strange Course to run,
Must perish here, by faithless man undone.

[Exit.