 | Cymbeline |  |
SCENE I.
SCENE, A Palace.Enter Pisanio and a Gentleman.
Pisanio.
You do not meet a Man but frowns. Our Looks
No more obey the Hearts than our Courtiers;
But seem, as does the King's.
Gent.
But what's the matter?
Pis.
Are you so fresh a Stranger to ask that,
His Daughter, and the heir of's Kingdom (whom
He purpos'd to his Wife's sole Son, a Widow
That late he married) hath referr'd herself
Unto a poor, but worthy Gentleman. She's wedded,
Her Husband banish'd; she imprison'd, all
Is outward Sorrow, though I think the King
Be touch'd at very Heart.
Gent.
None but the King?
Pis.
There is not a Courtier,
Although they wear their Faces to the bent
Of the King's Looks, hath a Heart, that is not
Glad at the thing he scoul at.
Gent.
And why so?
8
He that hath miss'd the Princess, is a thing
Too bad for bad Report: And he that hath her,
(I mean that marry'd her,) 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.
Gent.
His Name and birth?
Pis.
That I can well inform you, having liv'd
A faithful Servant in the Family.
His Father was Sicilius, who serv'd
Against the Romans, with Cassibelan,
And gain'd the Sur-addition Leonatus.
He had, besides this Gentleman in question,
Two other Sons, who in the Wars o'th' time
Dy'd with their Swords in Hand. For which their Father,
Then old, and fond of Issue, took such Sorrow
That he quit Being, and his gentle Lady
Big of this Gentleman, our Theam, deceas'd,
As he was born. The King, he takes the Babe
To his Protection, calls him Posthumus;
Breeds him, and makes him of his Bed-chamber,
Puts to him all the Learnings that his Time
Could make him the Receiver of, which he took
As we do Air, fast as 'twas ministred,
His Spring became a Harvest: he liv'd in Court,
Which rare it is to do, most prais'd, most lov'd,
A Sample to the youngest; to th'more Mature,
A Glass that featur'd them; and to the Graver,
A Child that guided Dotards.
Gent.
I honour him, even out of your report.
But to my Mistress, is she the sole Child to the King?
Pis.
His only Child.
He had two Sons (if this be worth your hearing,
Mark it) the eldest of them, at three Years old,
I'th' swathing Cloaths the other, from their Nursery
Were stol'n, and to this Hour, no guess in Knowledge
Which way they went.
Gent.
How long is this ago?
Pis.
Some twenty Years.
Gent.
That a King's Children should be so convey'd!
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That could not trace them—
Pis.
Howsoe'er 'tis strange,
Or that the Negligence may well be laugh'd at,
Yet is it true, Sir.
Gent.
I do well believe you.
Pis.
Here comes my Lord,
The Queen, and Princess, you must forbear.
Enter the Queen, Posthumus, Imogen, and Attendants.
Queen.
No, be assur'd you shall not find my Daughter,
After the Slander of most Step-Mothers,
Ill-ey'd unto you: You're my Prisoner, but
Your Goaler shall deliver you the Keys,
That lock up your Restraint. For you, good Posthumus,
So soon as I can win th'offended King,
I will be known your Advocate: marry yet
The fire of Rage is in him, and 'twere good
You lean'd unto his Sentence, with what Patience
Your Wisdom may inform you.
Post.
Please your Highness,
I will from hence to Day.
Queen.
You know the Peril:
I'll fetch a turn about the Garden, pitying
The Pangs of barr'd Affections, though the King
Hath charg'd you should not speak together.
[Exit.
Imo.
Dissembling Courtesy! How fine this Tyrant
Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest Husband,
You must be gone,
And I shall here abide the hourly shot
Of angry Eyes: Not comforted to live,
But that there is this Jewel in the World,
That I may see again.
Post.
My Queen! my Mistress!
O Lady, weep no more, lest I give cause
To be suspected of more Tenderness
Than doth become a Man, I will remain
The loyall'st Husband, that did e'er plight Troth,
My Residence in Rome, at one Philario's,
Who to my Father was a Friend, to me
Known but by Letter; thither write, my Love,
10
Though Ink be made of Gall.
Enter Queen.
Queen.
Be brief, I pray you;
If the King come, I shall incur I know not
How much of his displeasure—yet I'll move him
[Aside.
To walk this way; I never do him wrong,
But he does buy my Injuries, to be Friends,
Pays dear for my Offences.
[Exit.
Post.
Should we be taking leave,
As long a term as yet we have to live,
The lothness to depart would grow; Adieu.
Imo.
Nay, stay a little:
Were you but riding forth to Air yourself
Such parting were too petty. Look here, my Love,
This Diamond was my Mother's; take it, Heart,
But keep it 'till you woo another Wife,
When Imogen is dead.
Post.
How, how? Another!
You gentle Gods, give me but this I have,
And sear up my Embracements from a next
With Bonds of Death. Remain, remain thou here
[Putting on the Ring.
While Sense can keep thee on: And sweetest, fairest
As I, my poor self, did exchange for you
To your so infinite loss: So in our Trifles
I still win of you. For my sake wear this,
It is a Manacle of Love; I'll place it
[Putting a Bracelet on her Arm.
Upon this fairest Prisoner.
Imo.
O the Gods!
When shall we meet again?
Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.
Post.
Alack, the King!
Cym.
Thou basest thing, avoid, hence, from my Sight:
If after this Command thou fraught the Court
With thy unworthiness, thou dy'st. Away!
Thou'rt Poison to my Blood.
Post.
The Gods protect you.
And bless the good Remainders of the Court:
I am gone.
[Exit.
11
There cannot be a pinch in Death
More sharp than this is.
Pisanio, go see your Lord on board.
[Exit Pisanio.
Cym.
O disloyal thing,
That should'st repair my Youth, thou heap'st
A Yar' age on me.
Imo.
I beseech you, Sir,
Harm not yourself with your Vexation,
I am senseless of your Wrath; a touch more rare
Subdues all Pangs, all Fears.
Cym.
That might'st have had the sole Son of my Queen.
Imo.
O blest that I might not:
Cym.
Thou took'st a Beggar, would'st have made my Throne
A Seat for Baseness.
Imo.
No, I rather added
A Lustre to it.
Cym.
O thou vile one!
Imo.
Sir,
It is your fault that I have lov'd Posthumus:
You bred him as my Play-fellow, and he is
A Man, worth any Woman; over-buys me
Almost the Sum he pays.
Cym.
What? art thou mad?
Imo.
Almost, Sir; Heav'n restore me: would I were
A Neat-herd's Daughter, and my Posthumus
Our Neighbour-Shepherd's Son.
Enter Queen.
Cym.
Thou foolish thing;
They were again together, you have done
Not after our Command. Away with her,
And pen her up.
Queen.
Beseech your Patience; Peace,
Dear Lady Daughter, peace, Sweet Sovereign,
Make yourself some Comfort
Out of your best Advice.
Cym.
Nay let her languish
A drop of Blood a Day, and being aged
Die of this Folly.
[Exit.
Queen.
Fy, fy, you must give way—here is Pisanio.
Enter Pisanio.
Your faithful Servant, and I dare lay mine honour
12
Pis.
I humbly thank your Highness.
[Exit Queen.
Imo.
Well good Pisanio.
Thou saw'st thy Lord on board; what was the last
That he spake to thee.
Pis.
'Twas his lovely Princess.
Imo.
Then wav'd his Handkerchief?
Pis.
And kiss'd it, Madam.
Imo.
Senseless Linen, happier therein than I:
And that was all?
Pis.
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 fit and stirs of's Mind
Could best express how slow his Soul sail'd on,
How swift his Ship.
Imo.
Thou shouldst have made him
As little as a Crow, or less, ere left
To after eye him.
Pis.
Madam, so I did
Imo.
I would have broke mine Eye-strings;
Crack'd 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
Then turn'd mine Eye, and wept. But, good Pisanio,
When shall we hear from him?
Pis.
Be assur'd, Madam,
With his next Vantage.
Imo.
I did not take my leave of him, but had
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 She's of Italy should not betray
Mine Interest, in his Honour; or have charg'd him
At the sixth Hour of Morn, at Noon, at Midnight,
T'encounter me with Oraisons, (for then
I am in Heav'n for him;) or ere I could
Give him that parting Kiss, which I had set
13
And like the tyrannous breathing of the North,
Shakes all our buds from growing. See the Queen.
Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch'd.
[Exeunt.
Enter Queen and Cornelius, with a Phiol.
Queen.
Now Master Doctor, have you brought those Drugs?
Cor.
Pleaseth your Highness, ay;
But I beseech your Grace, without Offence
My Conscience bids me ask, wherefore you have
Commanded of me these most poisonous Compounds?
Queen.
I wonder, Doctor,
Thou ask'st me such a Question; have I not been
Thy Pupil long? I will but try the Force
And Vigour of thy Compounds, and apply
Allayments to their Act; and by them gather
Their Virtues and Effects.
Enter Pisanio.
Here comes a flatt'ring Rascal; Upon him
[Aside.
Will I first work. He's for his Master's sake
An Enemy to my Son. A sly and constant Knave,
Not to be shak'd; the Agent for his Master,
And the Remembrancer of her, to hold
The Hand fast to her Lord. How now, Pisanio?
Doctor, your Service for this time is ended.
Cor.
I do suspect you, Madam.
[Aside.
But you shall do no harm.
Queen.
Hark thee a Word.
[To Pisanio.
Cor.
I will not trust one of her Malice, with
A drug of such damn'd Nature. Those she has
Will stupify and dull the Sense a while,
But there is no Danger in that shew of Death,
More than the locking up the Spirits a time,
To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd
With a most false Effect; and I the truer,
So to be false with her.
Exit.
Queen.
Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou think in time
She will not quench, and let Instructions enter
Where Folly now possesses? do thou work;
14
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; and what shalt thou expect
To be depender on a thing that leans?
Who cannot be new built, and has no Friends
So much, as but to prop him? thou takest up
[Pisanio looking on the Phiol.
Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy Labour,
It is a thing I make, which hath the King
Five times redeem'd from Death; I do not know
What is more Cordial. Nay, I pr'ythee take it,
It is an earnest of a farther good
That I mean to thee. Tell thy Mistress how
The Case stands with her; do't as from thyself;
I'll move the King
To any Shape of thy Preferment, such
As thou'lt desire: Think on my Words.—
I have given him that,
[Aside.
Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her
Of Leidgers for her Sweet; and which she after,
Except she bend her Humour, shall be assur'd
To taste of too. Fare thee well, Pisanio.
Think on my Words.
[Exit Queen.
Pis.
And shall do;
But when to my good Lord, I prove untrue,
I'll choak myself; there's all I'll do for you.
By this he is at Rome, and good Philario,
With open arms, and grateful Heart, receives
His Friend's reflected Image in his Son,
Old Leonatus in young Posthumus:
Sweet Imogen, what thou endur'st the while,
Betwixt a Father by thy Step-dame govern'd;
A Mother hourly coining Plots; a Wooer,
More hateful than the foul Expulsion is
Of thy dear Husband—Heaven keep unshaken
That Temple, thy fair Mind, that thou may'st stand
T'enjoy thy banish'd Lord, and this great Land.
[Exit.
| Cymbeline | |