University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE The Castle.
Enter Cloten and Lords.
1st LORD.
In truth, my lord, her throwing favours on
So low a thing as Leonatus is,
Slanders her judgment much; it doth subtract
From her else princely qualities—

CLOTEN.
I think so—

2d LORD.
Is there a spell in Leonatus' name?
What is he in his person, nature, fortune,
That you are not, and more?—Say, is he young?
You reap'd your chin since he did—is he valiant?
By Mars, you fear him not—handsome? you read
Your faithful glass with more content than he—
For birth and fortune the proportion is
As top to th' bottom.

CLOTEN.
Oh! your pardon, sir,
His lady's smile has tutor'd him a pride
That ranks him with the highest—and though Rome
His body holds, he hath a heart and hope
In Britain still; which nothing can cut off,
But something that may give a mortal wound
Or to his life, or love.

Enter Cymbeline, and other Lords.
1st LORD.
My lord, the king.

CYMBELINE.
Await you here our daughter, noble Cloten?
Will she not forth?

CLOTEN.
She will vouchsafe no notice.

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

CLOTEN.
Never, I fear, my lord.
O I have proved her heart impregnable;
I should, my liege, your patience overstretch
To tell in course the labours of my love;
Denials but increas'd my services;
I have put by my nature, crouch'd and fawn'd;
I seem'd as if inspir'd to do the duties
I tender'd to her; if she had forsworn
All commerce with mankind, I'd been content;
But Leonatus' suit had witchcraft in't,
While mine she heard as does the ruthless rock
The drowning seaman's moan.

CYMBELINE.
It must be humour:
The stubborn tendency of woman's will,
Still pliant or resisting 'gainst all rules
Of virtue and discretion—Let her suffer—
I have a child in thee—

CLOTEN.
A thankful one.

CYMBELINE.
Call her before us, sirs, (exeunt Lords)
for we would make
A last demand to her unduteous spirit,
Ere yet we take the field—and here we swear
By the great sov'reign of th'immortal Gods,
If she consent not fully to the act,
Whereby we late have sentenc'd her divorce
From that base slave, whose vileness must not soil
The lustre of our crown, we reconfirm
Our royal grant to thee, adopted son
Of our dear love; and her blot out for ever
From all connection with our blood, and title
To this imperial diadem—How now?

Re-enter Lords.
1st LORD.
So please you, sir, her chambers all are lock'd,
Nor answer will be given to the noise
Our loudest clamours make.

CYMBELINE.
Hah! fled! escap'd!
How may this be?—Cloten, the guard is yours—
Have you not surety of their faith?

CLOTEN.
My liege,
They are the pick'd of my affection, and
I stand amaz'd at this.

CYMBELINE.
Where is Philario?

2d LORD.
My liege, some two hours since, I saw him take
The road that windeth round the castle grove,
And by his side a comely youth that seem'd
A page o'th' court.

CYMBELINE.
My life it must be she;
Wing'd with the fervor of her love she's flown
To Leonatus, and Philario is
The pander of her folly. We're abus'd;
All Italy in arms would hurt us less
Than what aggrieves us here—Our dear son Cloten,
Head thou the search for these vile runagates,
With thy best faculties of diligence;
Then follow to the field—We must be gone;
But we will carry our displeasure with us,
And Rome shall feel we're angry.—Come away.
[Exeunt.
Manet Cloten with some Lords.
To horse, sirs—mark me—I am dead to love,
And vengeance speeds me now.

[Exit with Lords.
SCENE A Forest, and a Cave at a distance.
Enter from the Cave Bellarius, Palador, and Cadwal.
BELLARIUS.
It is a goodly sky—Stoop, boys, this gate
Instructs you how t'adore the heavens, and bows you
To ev'ning's holy office. Gates of monarchs
Are arch'd so high that giants may jut thro',
And keep their impious turbands on without
Obeisance to the sun—Hail! thou fair heav'n,
We house i'th' rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.

PALADOR.
Hail heav'n!

CADWAL.
Hail heav'n!

BELLARIUS.
Our life, my boys, is such as mortals led
Ere living was an art. The busy knaves
That clatter in yon world, are mad to purchase
Honour with danger; wealth with envy; pleasure
With manifold infirmity; while we,
Poor in possession, in enjoyment rich,
Have no more wants than means; our av'rice is not
Wider than are our stomachs; our ambition,
Who first shall scale the steepy mountain's cliff,
Or strike the destin'd venison; this is life,
And health, the life of life.

CADWAL.
My rev'rend father,
Out of your proof you speak—we, poor unfledged,
Have never wing'd from view o'th' nest, nor know
What air's from home; haply this life is best,
If quiet life is best; sweeter to you
That have a sharper known.

PALADOR.
What shall 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're beastly; subtle as the fox for prey;
Like valiant as the wolf for what we eat;
Our courage is to chace what flies; our cage
We make a choir as doth the prison'd bird,
And sing our bondage freely.

BELLARIUS.
How you speak?
Did you but know the cities' usuries,
The art o'th' court, the toil of war that goes
In quest of honest fame, yet dies i'th'search,
And hath as oft a sland'rous epitaph
As record of fair act; did you know this
How would you smile in solitude—Oh! boys,
The sharded beetle is in safer hold
Than is the full-wing'd eagle—I was once
First with the best of note—Cymbeline lov'd 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 robb'ry, call it what you will,
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay my leaves,
And left me bare to weather.

PALADOR.
Uncertain favour!

BELLARIUS.
My fault was nothing, (as I oft have told you)
But that two villains, stand'ring my fair honour,
Swore me confed'rate with the Romans: so
Follow'd my banishment; and these twenty years—
This rock, and these demesnes have been my world;
Where I have liv'd at honest freedom; paid
More pious debts to heaven than in all
The fore-end of my time—but up to the woods—
This is not hunter's language—He who brings
The largest fardle home is lord o'th'feast.

CADWAL.
Come, Palador—

[Exeunt Pal. and Cad.
BELLARIUS.
I'll meet you in the valleys.
Thou divine nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
In these two princely boys! O Cymbeline!
Thy sons, tho' train'd thus meanly up among
These desart rocks, have lofty thoughts that hit
The roofs of palaces—'tis wonderful
That an invisible instinct should frame them
To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,
Civility not seen from others, valour
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop,
As if it had been sow'd.—Well—I must after—

[Exit
SCENE Another part of the Forest.
Enter Philario, and Imogen in boy's clothes.
IMOGEN.
Thou told'st me when we came from home, the place
Was near at hand. Ne'er long'd his mother so
To see him first, as I do now. Where are we?
Here is no path, no proof of habitation;
And, but we tread on solid earth, methinks
We're out o'th' bounds o'th' world—I pray, Philario,
Where dost thou lead me? It will soon be night,
For see the lamp of Phœbus is nigh quench'd
In Thetis' watry bosom.—

PHILARIO.
Madam, here
Our journey ends:

IMOGEN.
Here! where is Leonatus?

PHILARIO.
Lady, at Rome—'twere treason to be here.

IMOGEN.
Alas! what means this coldness of reply?
Hast thou abus'd me with a forged letter?
Where is my lord, Philario?—What's the matter?
Why offer'st thou that paper to me with
A look untender? how! my husband's hand!
Quick, slay, or cure me outright.

PHILARIO.
Please you, read,
And you shall find the duty I am bound to.

IMOGEN
reads.

My wife, Philario, hath play'd the strumpet in my
bed; the testimonies whereof lie 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, Philario, must act for me; Let thine
own hand take away her life; I shall give thee oppurtunity
in the road to Milford: my letter is for that
purpose to her: so, if thou fear to strike, and to certify
it is done, thou hast broken thy vows, and art a
traitor to friendship.

(Imogen drops the letter, stands silent, and in the utmost consternation.)

PHILARIO.
Is her amazement innocent or guilty?
Tell me some God,—for sure a mortal wit
May else misconstrue such perplexity.—
(Aside.)
Madam, what cheer? are you prepar'd to die?

IMOGEN.
I false! I false to's bed? have I been chaste
As snows that sun-beam never kist, for this?
Gods! have I left my father's gilded roof,
The rights of birth, the largesses of fortune,
The pageants of pre-eminence, and all
That womanhood is said to doat on, yea
And womanhood itself?—have I left these,
No jewel taken with me but my honour,
To hear I'm false? oh! oh!

PHILARIO.
She heeds me not.—]

IMOGEN.
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 false to's bed!

PHILARIO.
What shall I do? I must be home to th' point.
(Aside.)
Lady, I stand not here to try your cause:
I am your executioner :—your judge,
My friend, to whom I've sworn all offices,
Appoints me to this deed;—if thou art guilty,
I hold the sword of justice; if guilt-free,
Thy blood must light on Leonatus' head—
One pray'r and I dispatch.—

IMOGEN.
That paper, Sir,
Hath done the bus'ness: You may sheath your sword;—
I've heard I am a strumpet, and my heart
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom that.

PHILARIO.
O yet bethink you—
With what a weight descends the guilty soul,
Sunk with a load of unrepented crimes?
For such th' infernal ministers prepare
The darkest cells of Erebus.

IMOGEN..
Nay, preach not,
But do thy work—and when thou seest my lord,
A little witness my obedience;—look—
Smiling I meet thy angry sword—come, hit
Th'innocent mansion of my love, my heart—
Prythee, dispatch—Is that the stern Philario,
That came on murder's errand?—Strike—for now
The lamb intreats the butcher.

PHILARIO.
O that look
Would out-face proof. (Aside.)
Hence thou vile instrument,
Thou shalt not damn my hand.—
(Throws down the sword.)
It cannot be
But that my friend's abus'd—some crafty villain
That's sing'lar in his art, hath done you both
This cursed injury.—O thou vip'rous slander,
Thy edge is sharper than the murd'rous sword;
Thy tongue out-venoms all the worms of Nile;
Thy breath, that rides upon the posting winds,
Belies all corners of the world.—I'll speak
As from most firm conviction of her virtue,
To probe her still more deeply—I have yet
More test to put her to.

(Aside.)
IMOGEN.
Alas! Philario,
Some jay of Italy, with painted feathers,
Hath robb'd me of his heart; poor I am stale;
A cast-off robe; a garment out of fashion;
And, for I'm richer than to hang by th' wall,
I must be ript—to pieces with me—oh!
Men's vows are women's traitors.

PHILARIO.
If it be so,
(As I confess it doth provoke belief)
The face of virtue shall from hence be thought
The mask of villainy; and Leonatus
Hath laid the level to all proper men;
Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjur'd,
From his great fall.

IMOGEN.
Take up thy sword, Philario,
Behold my breast obedient as the scabbard.—
I liv'd but to one end, to do his pleasure,
And to that end would die.—

PHILARIO.
O gracious lady,
Since I receiv'd command to do this bus'ness,
I scarce have slept one wink.

IMOGEN.
Do't, and to bed then.

PHILARIO.
I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first. No, thou sweetest,
If he hath stain'd his loyalty, his mind
Is now as low to thine, as were his fortunes.—
What! shall his vileness batteries erect
To shake thy fort of innocence?—Live, lady,
To kill him with thine eye—he shall be told
That I have done his bidding, and awhile
You in some residence obscure shall 'bide,
As is thy present habit.—Come, let's hence.
Sure this discourse hath much bewilder'd me,
Or we have march'd too wide.—Fortune befriend us,
Else we have far to supper.—This way, lady.—

[Exeunt.
SCENE the Cave.
Enter Bellarius.
My meditation hath misguided me,
And I have miss'd the boys. They'll not return,
Tho' all the elements should be at war,
'Till darkness sends 'em home. O Cymbeline,
When thou shalt see thy royal progeny,
(As I do mean with the first 'vantage to
Render thee back these youths) thou shalt confess
Thy loss was gain, and thank calamity.
Hah! who are these?
Enter Philario and Imogen.
What chance cou'd wind their steps
Thus far from all society? 'tis strange!

IMOGEN.
(seeing him)
O look, Philario, look—what rev'rend figure
Is this approaches? In his visage sits
The treasur'd wisdom of an hundred years—
The sages of old time are pictur'd thus;
Accost him, good Philario; for his presence
Awes my unskilful heart.

PHILARIO.
Grave hermit, hail!
Pardon, old man, our ignorant intrusion,
Upon your venerable solitude.
I, and my nephew here, are bound for Milford,
And chance wide straying from our way to night,
Have light upon your lonely habitation.

BELLARIUS.
Thou hast a gracious favour—for this youngling,
The dimpled God that holds the cup to Jove
Is second to him.—You are welcome, sirs—
If you can shape your fancy to your needs,
The wholesome viands of a homely board,
That bloated luxury ne'er cater'd to,
Shall be most freely yours. Your names, beseech you?

PHILARIO.
Philario, sir—this gentle youths' Fidele.—

BELLARIUS.
Why once more welcome—this low roof's your home,
While 'tis worth owning.—I've two sons, whose age
Will yoke in followship with yours, Fidele—
Philario mates with me—tarry awhile,
And purge your lungs of the foul air o'th' city,
Or of the court, for that is sickly too—
O! I have liv'd to make the pop'lous world
A stock for laughter.

IMOGEN.
Uncle, we have found
Delightful lodging, and a gracious host—
This good old father's greeting sooths my spirit,
Faint with this long day's march.

PHILARIO.
Look here, Fidele—
I have a cordial of especial proof,
I pray thee drink it off—it is a drug
That three times hath my father's life redeem'd
From the arrest of death. It has more virtue
Than I shall tell you now.

(Aside.)
IMOGEN.
drinks.
Uncle, I thank you.

BELLARIUS.
Here come my boys.—Sirs, stand aside awhile;
How will they take this novelty? they ne'er
Saw mortal but their mother, and myself.

Enter Palador and Cadwal.
You, Cadwal, are best woodman, and are nam'd,
The master of the feast—hah! what are these?
Go not near, Cadwal—they are Gods that come
In visitation to our hermitage—
The eldest is God Pan; the other seems
Like swift-leg'd Mercury, or the God of Love,
Drest in his mother's smiles.—Down, Cadwal, down
On knees of adoration, and beseech
Propitious aspect from their deities—
Hear us immortal pow'rs.—

(Kneels.)
BELLARIUS.
Rise up my boys:
These are but mortals like ourselves, made up
Of the same stuff as we—when we have supp'd,
We will enlarge our conference.

PALADOR.
Are they men?
By the puissant Jove they're noble ones—
I long to commune with 'em—for that youth
My heart is high in sudden palpitation—
Methinks I love him neither more nor less,
Cadwal, than I do thee.

CADWAL.
Ev'n so says Cadwal.

IMOGEN.
Uncle, I have a tender feeling too,
That yearns on these fair strangers—I had once
Two brothers, whom the hand of early fate
Snatch'd from the world—If they had liv'd, I think
They had been like this gentle pair.—Sweet youths,
May I not call you brothers?

PALADOR.
Ay, most freely.
And, sir, if you are uncle to our brother,
You stand in kin to us—I pray, good father,
Let him be tutor to us: we would learn
The mystery of life; the art of war;
The policy of kings; the rules of states;
Will you instruct us? we are ign'rant yet
What drawing breath is good for.

PHILARIO.
These young plants
Are of the kindest growth my eyes e're saw—
Why, who would dream this barren desart here
A nursery of demi-gods?

BELLARIUS.
Enough;
Vice is the child of praise; my boys are such
As nature made them, and she made 'em not
For art to marr; but let us in to supper—
Our appetites shall make what's homely, sav'ry:
We eat for health, and rise before the sun,
Silvers the mountain shrubs.—Come, boys conduct
Your new compeer.—Philario, you are mine.—

PALADOR.
The night to th'owl, and morn to th' lark less welcome.

[Exeunt into the cave.