The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 96

PISANIO. One score 'twixt sun and sun, Madam, 's enough for you, and too much too.

IMOGEN. Why, one that rode to's execution, man, Could never go so slow. I have heard of riding wagers Where horses have been nimbler than the sands That run i' th' clock's behalf. But this is fool'ry.

Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say She'll home to her father; and provide me presently A riding suit, no costlier than would fit A franklin's huswife.

PISANIO. Madam, you're best consider.

IMOGEN. I see before me, man. 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. Exeunt

SCENE III.

Wales. A mountainous country with a cave

Enter from the cave BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS

BELARIUS. A goodly day not to keep house with such Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate Instructs you how t' adore the heavens, and bows you To a morning's holy office. The gates of monarchs Are arch'd so high that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbans on without Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!

We house i' th' rock, yet use thee not so hardly As prouder livers do.

GUIDERIUS. Hail, heaven!

ARVIRAGUS. Hail, heaven!

BELARIUS. Now for our mountain sport. Up to yond 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.

This service is not service so being done, But being so allow'd. 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-wing'd eagle. O, this life Is n.o.bler than attending for a check, Richer than doing nothing for a bribe, Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk: Such gain the cap of him that makes him fine, Yet keeps his book uncross'd. No life to ours!

GUIDERIUS. Out of your proof you speak. We, poor unfledg'd, Have never wing'd from view o' th' 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, travelling abed, A prison for a debtor that not dares To stride a limit.

ARVIRAGUS. 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 prison'd bird, And sing our bondage freely.

BELARIUS. How you speak!

Did you but know the city's usuries, And felt them knowingly- the art o' th' court, As hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb Is certain falling, or so slipp'ry that The fear's as bad as falling; the toil o' th' war, A pain that only seems to seek out danger I' th'name of fame and honour, which dies i' th'search, And hath as oft a sland'rous epitaph As record of fair act; nay, many times, Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse- Must curtsy at the censure. O, boys, this story The world may read in me; my body's mark'd With Roman swords, and my report 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 robbery, call it what you will, Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, And left me bare to weather.

GUIDERIUS. Uncertain favour!

BELARIUS. My fault being nothing- as I have told you oft- But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline I was confederate with the Romans. So Follow'd my banishment, and this 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 th' mountains!

This is not hunters' language. He that strikes The venison first shall be the lord o' th' feast; To him the other two shall minister; And we will fear no poison, which attends In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys.

Exeunt GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!

These boys know little they are sons to th' King, Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.

They think they are mine; and though train'd up thus meanly I' th' cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them In simple and low things to prince it much Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who The King his father call'd Guiderius- Jove!

When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out Into my story; say 'Thus mine enemy fell, And thus I set my foot on's neck'; even then The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats, Strains his young nerves, and puts himself 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. Hark, the game is rous'd!

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 refts me of my lands. Euriphile, Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their mother, And every day do honour to her grave.

Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd, They take for natural father. The game is up. Exit

SCENE IV.

Wales, near Milford Haven

Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN

IMOGEN. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place Was near at hand. Ne'er long'd my mother so To see me first as I have now. Pisanio! Man!

Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh From th' inward of thee? One but painted thus Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd Beyond self-explication. Put thyself Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter?

Why tender'st thou that paper to me with A look untender! If't be summer news, Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st But keep that count'nance still. My husband's hand?

That drug-d.a.m.n'd Italy hath out-craftied him, And he's at some hard point. Speak, man; thy tongue May take off some extremity, which to read Would be even mortal to me.

PISANIO. Please you read, And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing The most disdain'd of fortune.

IMOGEN. [Reads] 'Thy mistress, Pisanio, 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, Pisanio, 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.'

PISANIO. 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, whose breath Rides on the posting winds and doth belie All corners of the world. Kings, queens, and states, Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave, This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam?

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's false to's bed, Is it?

PISANIO. Alas, good lady!

IMOGEN. I false! Thy conscience witness! Iachimo, Thou didst accuse him of incontinency; Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks, Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy, Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him.

Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion, And for I am richer than to hang by th' walls I must be ripp'd. To pieces with me! O, Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming, By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought Put on for villainy; not born where't grows, But worn a bait for ladies.

PISANIO. Good madam, hear me.

IMOGEN. True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas, Were, in his time, thought false; and Sinon's weeping Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity From most true wretchedness. So thou, Posthumus, Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men: Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjur'd From thy great fail. Come, fellow, 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; 'tis 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 seem'st a coward.

PISANIO. Hence, vile instrument!

Thou shalt not d.a.m.n my hand.

IMOGEN. 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't. Soft, soft! we'll no defence!- Obedient as the scabbard. What is here?

The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus All turn'd to heresy? Away, away, Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools Believe false teachers; though those that are betray'd Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor Stands in worse case of woe. And thou, Posthumus, That didst set up my disobedience 'gainst the King My father, and make me put into contempt the suits Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find It is no act of common pa.s.sage but A strain of rareness; and I grieve myself To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her That now thou tirest on, how thy memory Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee dispatch.

The lamp entreats the butcher. Where's thy knife?

Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, When I desire it too.

PISANIO. O gracious lady, Since I receiv'd command to do this busines I have not slept one wink.

IMOGEN. Do't, and to bed then.

PISANIO. I'll wake mine eyeb.a.l.l.s first.

IMOGEN. Wherefore then Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd So many miles with a pretence? This place?

Mine action and thine own? our horses' labour?

The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court, For my being absent?- whereunto I never Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand, Th' elected deer before thee?

PISANIO. But to win time To lose so bad employment, in the which I have consider'd of a course. Good lady, Hear me with patience.

IMOGEN. Talk thy tongue weary- speak.

I have heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear, Therein false struck, can take no greater wound, Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.

PISANIO. Then, madam, I thought you would not back again.

IMOGEN. Most like- Bringing me here to kill me.

PISANIO. Not so, neither; But if I were as wise as honest, then My purpose would prove well. It cannot be But that my master is abus'd. Some villain, Ay, and singular in his art, hath done you both This cursed injury.

IMOGEN. Some Roman courtezan!

PISANIO. No, on my life!

I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him Some b.l.o.o.d.y sign of it, for 'tis commanded I should do so. You shall be miss'd at court, And that will well confirm it.

IMOGEN. Why, good fellow, What shall I do the while? where bide? how live?

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

PISANIO. If you'll back to th' court- IMOGEN. No court, no father, nor no more ado With that harsh, n.o.ble, simple nothing- That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me As fearful as a siege.

PISANIO. If not at court, Then not in Britain must you bide.

IMOGEN. Where then?

Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night, Are they not but in Britain? I' th' world's volume Our Britain seems as of it, but not in't; In a great pool a swan's nest. Prithee think There's livers out of Britain.

PISANIO. I am most glad You think of other place. Th' amba.s.sador, LUCIUS the Roman, comes to Milford Haven To-morrow. Now, if you could wear a mind Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise That which t' appear itself must not yet be But by self-danger, you should tread a course Pretty and full of view; yea, happily, near The residence of Posthumus; so nigh, at least, That though his actions were not visible, yet Report should render him hourly to your ear As truly as he moves.

IMOGEN. O! for such means, Though peril to my modesty, not death on't, I would adventure.

PISANIO. Well then, here's the point: You must forget to be a woman; change Command into obedience; fear and niceness- The handmaids of all women, or, more truly, Woman it pretty self- into a waggish courage; Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and As quarrelous as the weasel. Nay, you must Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, Exposing it- but, O, the harder heart!

Alack, no remedy!- to the greedy touch Of common-kissing t.i.tan, and forget Your laboursome and dainty trims wherein You made great Juno angry.

IMOGEN. Nay, be brief; I see into thy end, and am almost A man already.

PISANIO. First, make yourself but like one.

Fore-thinking this, I have already fit- 'Tis in my cloak-bag- doublet, hat, hose, all That answer to them. Would you, in their serving, And with what imitation you can borrow From youth of such a season, fore n.o.ble Lucius Present yourself, desire his service, tell him Wherein you're happy- which will make him know If that his head have ear in music; doubtless With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable, And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad- You have me, rich; and I will never fail Beginning nor supplyment.

IMOGEN. Thou art all the comfort The G.o.ds will diet me with. Prithee away!

There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even All that good time will give us. This attempt I am soldier to, and will abide it with A prince's courage. Away, I prithee.

PISANIO. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell, Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of Your carriage from the court. My n.o.ble mistress, Here is a box; I had it from the Queen.

What's in't is precious. If you are sick at sea Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this Will drive away distemper. To some shade, And fit you to your manhood. May the G.o.ds Direct you to the best!