University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Country. A Wood and Cavern at a distance.
Leonatus and Faustus enter.
Leon.
Faustus, look out—they cannot yet have past—
This way returns them to the camp.

Faust.
They come—
'Tis Clodio's trumpet—

Leon.
Get thee, then, apart,
[Exit Faustus.
Till we have closed our conference—If Lucius
Has justly stiled him brave, he will not take
The vantage of his numbers, to debate
Against a single arm—

SCENE II.

Clodio and his Retinue.
[Leon.]
Clodio, thrice welcome.
A word, with your good pleasure; and that word,
As you are a valiant Roman, asks no witness.—
Might not your train proceed?—

Clod.
Yes—forward—on!
[To his Retinue, who go out.
I'll follow—Now, your will.—

Leon.
You bear, in mind,
Your insult, and late offer'd enterprize
Against my wife.

Clod.
You named her not as such.
I hold my friend's connubial couch for sacred,
Although his spouse should place the pillow for me,
And wooe me to the parley.

Leon.
Well—pass that—
And say, what rich returns thou hast brought home
From thy bold venture to the coast of beauty.
Is there no worth, save what is masculine?
Or, does the weather-gage of thine opinion
Turn from that restive point?

Clod.
Your pardon, sir.
You menaced me at parting. I hold not
My life so cheap to risque it for a woman.
Grant a safe course and latitude of converse,
Or here my tale is ended.

Leon.
I do swear it.
Give me fair facts. I quarrel not with truth,
Though it should blast me—Thou hast seen a princess—

Clod.
Unparagon'd—a wonder, even to eyes
That have seen all things else!

Leon.
And her chaste name,
Still unimpeach'd.

Clod.
It is my soul's firm faith—
No woman chaster, or more fondly bound
To the memorial of an absent husband.

Leon.
O, I did know my Imogen was chaste,
As snow new-fallen upon the mountain top;
And constant as the vine that clasps its elm,
And dies upon division—Say, good Clodio,
Wast thou not welcomed?

Clod.
Yes—at once—most warmly.
In that I was a debtor to her love
For Leonatus—At the kindly close
Of our first interview, I did advise her
Of some rare matters that I brought from Rome,
And begg'd permission at her shrine to lay
Great Cæsar's offering—with a gracious nod,
The goddess gave assent.

Leon.
On—what ensued?

Clod.
Our audience at the British court—'twas long—
The night was then advanced—'twas late—time press'd.
I urged, and was admitted to her chamber.

Leon.
Her chamber!—was it her's?—art thou assured?—
But, say it were—and so thou might'st have been
To that of Lucrece—

Clod.
True.—I laid before her
Rich robings, gems of curious set, and pearls
That left the Orient poor—no futile nets
For feminine affections.

Leon.
Well—the process.

Clod.
While she retired, in safety to dispose
Her precious lading, I did mark the chamber—
The tale-recording tapestry and paintings,
Storied, I doubt, with more of nuptial truth
Than quondam husbands met with.—Soon return'd,
She held me to discourse, with pleasant questions
Touching our Roman gallantries and customs.

Leon.
Was thy stay long?

Clod.
Long?—no—our present nights
Serve but as prologue to an early dawning.

Leon.
Plague and perdition!—
[Aside.
How were ye employ'd?

Clod.
Nay, take your colour to you—No harm done;
Nothing but chat, and inoffensive dalliance.

Leon.
Slave, villain, lyar!—by the gods, 'tis false—
Dalliance!

Clod.
Your oath is forfeit—fare you well—

[Going,
Leon.
Come back, thou scap'st not so—Produce me, here,
Some token, but the lightest feather, won
From her high-plumed virtue—or, by hell,
Whereto thou goest, thy latest glass is run!

Clod.
You shall be satisfied—But will you, then,
Be peaceful?

Leon.
I do swear it—though the proof,
Like the Tarantula's envenom'd touch,
Should sting me into madness.

Clod.
Know you this?—

[Shews the bracelet.
Leon.
Gape hell, and swallow all affiance up!
All faith and trust, and fabled truth, in woman!
Know it?—too well!—it was our band of nuptials,
With these confiding fingers fondly tied,
Even on the marriage night.—How gott'st thou this?
Tempter acccurs'd!—the means—the circumstance—

Clod.
Half by consent—and half, by sweet constraint—
I loosed, and toy'd it from her.

Leon.
O, I see
It is enough!—thy triumph is accomplish'd
Over our peace and honour.—Get thee hence!—
It must, yet cannot be—Hold, Clodio—answer!
Hast thou not practised on her cooler blood,
With some infernal drug?—or, by thyself,
Or some confederate villainy, purloin'd
That specious trophy?—Have I found thee, Cacus?
Traced thy steps backward to thy den?

Clod.
So leave it.—
Why, what have I affirm'd to touch you, thus,
With jealous frenzy?—
Have I yet told you of the crimson gem,
That sweetly nestles under the left swell
Of her descending bosom?

Leon.
O, I am choak'd!—
She's wreck'd—the world's bright pinnace sunk for ever!
Should thousands of concurring witnesses
Rise to her honour now, I'd not believe them.—
Is there no hook to hold me from the brink,
Where the brain turns?—Yet—arm me with a reed,
And I will fight for her departed truth,
Though demonstration should be sheath'd in steel,
And weapon'd right and left—Fiend! damn'd magician!
[Seizes Clodio.
How hast thou wrought impossibilities?
Soft—I have sworn—your pardon, gods!—All's well—
Depart in peace—Quick—hence—lest sudden wrath
Grind out thy soul, and scatter thee as dust!
[Exit Clodio.
Down, climbing passions! whither would ye mount—
To spurn at Heaven and fate, who made things so,
As cannot now be mended?—Ruin! ruin!
Worse than the wreck of nature!—Is it thus?—
Or is it a negation—all, a whirl
Of things that are but dreamt of?—Hold, hold fast
The seat of reason, gods! a little space—
For somewhat is to do—Racks, dying pangs,
What are ye, to the fall of Heaven's own house,
The human mind o'erthrown?—I must be speedy.
Faustus!—

Enter Faustus.
Faust.
My lord.—

Leon.
Come hither, my good Faustus—
Thou seest thy master at the heaviest plunge
That ever call'd for help.—Thou hast lost thy master!

Faust.
Alas!—

Leon.
His name and honours laid, all, low in earth,
No fosterer, friend, or mournful step attending!—
I thank thy tears—mine cannot chuse but follow.
—Faustus!

Faust.
What would my heart's belov'd master?

Leon.
I snatch'd thee, once, from twenty circling deaths,
At peril of my life.—

Faust.
You did, you did.

Leon.
And thou art sworn, on any quick extreme
Of life or death, to do my fearful bidding,
No question ask'd.

Faust.
I live, but till you say,
Die, Faustus!

Leon.
Didst thou hear aught that past?

Faust.
Too much!—What's to be done?

Leon.
I had a wife!

Faust.
Dispatch her!

Leon.
And, so, quench the kindling fires
Of lust and foul dishonour, that must, else,
Blaze to a pointing world!—

Faust.
Right.

Leon.
Wilt thou?—

Faust.
Yes.
It shall be done.

Leon.
Not butcher-like, my Faustus—
But gently, as the nurse would lay to sleep
Her querulous babe—
O, give her not the twenty thousandth pang
Such as now grapple at my soul!—Be speedy—
And, when the deed is done, thou mayst expect me
Near the great oak, that neighbours to the temple.

Faust.
Farewell, farewell!—be happy, as you can,
My best, my noblest master!

[Exit Faustus.
Leon.
This Clodio, too, must be provided for,
At the next turn—Why, this is gallant!—soon,
I shall be deep in blood.
These buffettings of fortune, how they harden
A heart, once, not inhuman!—
The sources of my living shame once stopt,
What follows?—what is to be reap'd from seeds,
Sown thus, or thus?—Eternity, to me,
Can yield no future harvest!—If I look
For peace in Heaven, or o'er the travell'd earth,
Through life, or time, or aught beyond, still, still,
I meet it so bound up in Imogen,
As never to be sunder'd!—O, my love!
O, my lost love!—O wretched, past resource!
Undone, undone, lost, ruin'd Leonatus!

[Exit.

SCENE III.

Near the Cavern.
Bellarius enters from it.
Bell.
Hail, Power! whoe'er thou art, who sitt'st supreme
O'er good and evil, o'er this fair immense
Of manifold existence, worlds replete
With works of varied grace!—I will not ask
How partial Ill hath fallen into the ways
Of wisdom infinite. The time may come,
When Thou shalt reign unquestioned, unopposed—
When guilt and pain shall cease—when to be good
And happy, must be one—and all shall grow
Consummate, and renew'd, within the will
Of their great maker!—
There rests my last of hope; and, thence, I learn,
To bear such ills as seem to pass all sufferance—
Heaven, what a glorious form!—Some vision, sure,
[Looks out.
So far excelling all of mortal seeming!—
Alas, it wrings at some distress! Can aught
Of Empyrean temper, thus, extort
Pity from poor humanity?

SCENE IV.

Leonatus
enters.
Bright being!—
How may the native of an upper sphere
Appear partaker of the general woe,
That makes the lot of man?

Leon.
O sire revered!
You see a man, of miserable men
The lowest, and most lost.

Bell.
Son of my age,
Son of my sorrows also—if sage counsel,
Or kind companionship in grief, may serve
To sooth calamity; then art thou come
Into the land of balms.

Leon.
No balm for wounds,
Deep as existence!

Bell.
That's a depth, beyond
What death himself can strike! The cause was, sure,
Most capital.

Leon.
It was, it was—the same
That sack'd the seven-fold walls of aged Priam,
Butcher'd his race, and laid his Asia waste—
A woman's want of truth!

Bell.
O, I could pour
Into a friendly hearing, such a tale
Of a lost woman, as should soon exile
All woe, save that alone, which is comprized
In her sad story!

Leon.
Once, I had a tear
For griefs that were not mine—Proceed, good father!

Bell.
The present King of Britain had a sister.
Who saw her not, could form no semblance of her
From aught that he had seen—I woo'd, and won,
And wedded her in secret.—
But, O, the richness of the bright possession!
The world wants wealth to rate it. Three blest moons,
Three moons, the brightest that had ever changed
Upon the changeful bliss of man, scarce wain'd,
When I was sent ambassador, by Cymbeline,
To Julius, Rome's dictator—Woe the while!
My love, my bride, my Adelaide proved pregnant—
She was impleaded of incontinence,
Even by her cruel brother was impleaded,
And urged to name the sire—but, kindly fearing
What, haply, might befall the hapless man,
Whom more than life she loved, she, to the death,
Persisted in her silence; and was offer'd,
On the curs'd altar of the dire Andate,
The richest incense of the truest love
That ever breathed to Heaven!

Leon.
Thrice happy husband!
Death may soon draw the veil that, from your arms,
Shuts your expecting Adelaide—but mine
No kind hereafter can restore!—Your pardon—
Forward, I pray.

Bell.
Thine eyes, my son, grow heavy—
Come to my friendly cave, and I will try,
With the sad tale of my remaining woes,
To charm thy griefs to slumber.

Leon.
O, for ever!—
That were to be most happy.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Faustus and Imogen enter.
Faust.
We have crost the public paths, and, now, are past
All risque of further question.

Imog.
Stay thee, Faustus.
This is a gloomy place—I feel my senses
Seiz'd with I know not what of sudden horror!—
Where is my lord, where is my Leonatus?
Didst thou not say?—Why pales thy colour, man?
Why dost thou look with that stern pity on me?—
What dost thou search and feel for?

Faust.
Nothing, mistress—
Be not alarm'd!—Where left you that same bracelet,
Which my fond master, on his nuptial night,
Bound to you with his troth?

Imog.
Alas, good Faustus,
Even all the gems that light my father's crown,
I'd give for its redemption. Late, last night,
I pray'd, and thought upon my love, and wept;
And kiss'd that holy relick of his faith,
And dreamt of him till morning—when awaking,
I found my arm was worthless!

Faust.
O, beware,
It be not gone to tell my lord strange tales
Of woman's breach of faith!

Imog.
How, Faustus! No—
My honour sits above the blast of slander;
And, like the top of Atlas, bears a Heaven
Upon a mount of snow.—I do assure thee,
Had I been born in any age, save that
In which my Leonatus won my soul,
With graces all his own, I should have died
The votary of Dian.

Faust.
Pardon, mistress!—
Know you one Clodio?

Imog.
A Roman, is he not?—He brought me letters
From my heart's master.

Faust.
That same Clodio, lady—
Did you admit him to your chamber?

Imog.
How!—
Thou dost amaze me, Faustus. Save the time
He told his message in, before, nor since,
I never met, nor mark'd him.

Faust.
By the gods,
Within this hour, these eyes—the amazed eyes
Even of your Leonatus—saw that bracelet
In Clodio's boastful hand! Nay, he did quote
Each sure memorial of your bedchamber—
Described your midnight scene of wanton dalliance,
With such leud deeds, as would have turn'd to shame
A face of solid bronze.—He stript you, lady;
And gave to record such peculiar notes,
Found on your precious body, as a chaste one
Would not deliver to the settled gaze
Of a loved consort.

Imog.
Oh—

[Faints.
Faust.
The swoon of death is on her!—O sole flower,
Of Britain's summer! hast thou vanish'd, then,
So sudden?—Tongue accurs'd!—No need of steel
For murder, here—the very touch of shame
Hath cut her thread of life!—O Imogen—
Awake, sweet mistress!—beggar not the world
With loss of all its worth.—I will maintain it,
Against ten thousand villains, such as Clodio,
Tho' champion'd to the teeth, that thou art wrong'd.
What proofs can front that purity of face—
The book, where Heaven, in characters divine,
Hath writ down truth and honour?—She recovers.

Imog.
Away, and let me die.

Faust.
Cheer you, my royal lady; cheer, sweet mistress!—
You are injured—by the gods, you are—I know it.
Some traitorous machination, deep as hell—
And there I'll dive, but I will bottom it!
Look up, transcendent Imogen, nor cloud
The face of Heaven with grief!—
Tell me, my spotless, my thrice honour'd lady,
Did you not take some presents, at the hand
Of that damn'd Clodio?

Imog.
No.

Faust.
Rich robes, and gems
Of oriental lustre?—

Imog.
Nothing of them.—
He spoke indeed of matters sent, by Cæsar,
To me and to my lord; and pray'd I'd take
The coffer that contain'd them, for one night,
Into safe custody.

Faust.
A coffer, mistress?—
A coffer!—was it large?

Imog.
The men, who bore it,
Bent at the burden.

Faust.
Certain—it is so!—
I have found him, deep as Erebus—the fiend!—
Curs'd Clodio, ruthless, ravening hound of hell!
There shall be blood for this—a number'd pang
For every pang that we have felt.
O, my deceived, distracted, happy master!
O injured innocence, sweet Imogen,
Blest, precious mistress!—O the gods, the gods,
Blest be the gods for this!

Imog.
Why dost thou weep,
Good Faustus?

Faust.
O! for joy, for joy, to find
That you are safe, and spotless—
Even as a chrystal vase, intire, and clear,
No flaw nor stain throughout.—Come, dearest lady.
I will entrust you to revering hands,
The priestess of Andate's neighbouring temple.—
Then, to my lord, with the most rapturous tidings
That ever blest his ear!

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

The Palace.
Enter King, Queen, Cloten, &c.
Cymb.
Spread several ways—break open all the locks—
Search close!—She can't be far—Malicious fortune
Takes the worst time to cross us!

Queen.
Good, my liege,
Faustus, the slave of banish'd Leonatus,
Was seen, some few hours since. Put we to this,
That Leonatus, most assuredly,
Hath join'd his arm to that of Rome—what follows?
But that the princess is, with Faustus, fled;
And, with her paramour, will shortly come
To claim your kingdom.

Cymb.
My kingdom, madam?—
I want my child, my Imogen—my kingdom
Is not of my begetting—O, my Queen,
You have a child!—I would to Heaven, that mine,
From my fond arms, may not have been dislodg'd
By usage too ungentle.—Cloten, fly!—
Take with thee a swift band of our light-arm'd—
Pursue, and save her for me.
[Exit Cloten.
The Roman, as we hear, intends, this day,
To offer battle.—Patroness of Britain
Inspire, and then dispose us, as thou wilt!
Victorious goddess, great Andate, give
Death—or that good for which we wish to live!

[Exeunt.