Internet Shakespeare Editions

Author: William Shakespeare
Editor: Jennifer Forsyth
Peer Reviewed

Cymbeline (Folio 1, 1623)

The Tragedy of Cymbeline.
Alacke no remedy) to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan: and forget
Your laboursome and dainty Trimmes, wherein
1855You made great Iuno angry.
Imo. Nay be breefe?
I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already.
Pis. First, make your selfe but like one,
1860Fore-thinking this. I haue already fit
('Tis in my Cloake-bagge) Doublet, Hat, Hose, all
That answer to them: Would you in their seruing,
(And with what imitation you can borrow
From youth of such a season) 'fore Noble Lucius
1865Present your selfe, desire his seruice: tell him
Wherein you're happy; which will make him know,
If that his head haue eare in Musicke, doubtlesse
With ioy he will imbrace you: for hee's Honourable,
And doubling that, most holy. Your meanes abroad:
1870You haue me rich, and I will neuer faile
Beginning, nor supplyment.
Imo. Thou art all the comfort
The Gods will diet me with. Prythee away,
There's more to be consider'd: but wee'l euen
1875All that good time will giue vs. This attempt,
I am Souldier too, and will abide it with
A Princes Courage. Away, I prythee.
Pis. Well Madam, we must take a short farewell,
Least being mist, I be suspected of
1880Your carriage from the Court. My Noble Mistris,
Heere is a boxe, I had it from the Queene,
What's in't is precious: If you are sicke at Sea,
Or Stomacke-qualm'd at Land, a Dramme of this
Will driue away distemper. To some shade,
1885And fit you to your Manhood: may the Gods
Direct you to the best.
Imo. Amen: I thanke thee.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Cymbeline, Queene, Cloten, Lucius,
and Lords.
Cym. Thus farre, and so farewell.
Luc. Thankes, Royall Sir:
My Emperor hath wrote, I must from hence,
And am right sorry, that I must report ye
1895My Masters Enemy.
Cym. Our Subiects (Sir)
Will not endure his yoake; and for our selfe
To shew lesse Soueraignty then they, must needs
Appeare vn-Kinglike.
1900Luc. So Sir: I desire of you
A Conduct ouer Land, to Milford-Hauen.
Madam, all ioy befall your Grace, and you.
Cym. My Lords, you are appointed for that Office:
The due of Honor, in no point omit:
1905So farewell Noble Lucius.
Luc. Your hand, my Lord.
Clot. Receiue it friendly: but from this time forth
I weare it as your Enemy.
Luc. Sir, the Euent
1910Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.
Cym. Leaue not the worthy Lucius, good my Lords
Till he haue crost the Seuern. Happines.
Exit Lucius, &c
Qu. He goes hence frowning: but it honours vs
That we haue giuen him cause.
1915Clot. 'Tis all the better,
Your valiant Britaines haue their wishes in it.
Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor
How it goes heere. It fits vs therefore ripely
Our Chariots, and our Horsemen be in readinesse:
1920The Powres that he already hath in Gallia
Will soone be drawne to head, from whence he moues
His warre for Britaine.
Qu. 'Tis not sleepy businesse,
But must be look'd too speedily, and strongly.
1925Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus
Hath made vs forward. But my gentle Queene,
Where is our Daughter? She hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to vs hath tender'd
The duty of the day. She looke vs like
1930A thing more made of malice, then of duty,
We haue noted it. Call her before vs, for
We haue beene too slight in sufferance.
Qu. Royall Sir,
Since the exile of Posthumus, most retyr'd
1935Hath her life bin: the Cure whereof, my Lord,
'Tis time must do. Beseech your Maiesty,
Forbeare sharpe speeches to her. Shee's a Lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are stroke;,
And strokes death to her.
Enter a Messenger.
Cym. Where is she Sir? How
Can her contempt be answer'd?
Mes. Please you Sir,
Her Chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer
1945That will be giuen to'th'lowd of noise, we make.
Qu. My Lord, when last I went to visit her,
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close,
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmitie,
She should that dutie leaue vnpaide to you
1950Which dayly she was bound to proffer: this
She wish'd me to make knowne: but our great Court
Made me too blame in memory.
Cym. Her doores lock'd?
Not seene of late? Grant Heauens, that which I
1955Feare, proue false.
Qu. Sonne, I say, follow the King.
Clot. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old Seruant
I haue not seene these two dayes.
Qu. Go, looke after:
1960Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus,
He hath a Drugge of mine: I pray, his absence
Proceed by swallowing that. For he beleeues
It is a thing most precious. But for her,
Where is she gone? Haply dispaire hath seiz'd her:
1965Or wing'd with feruour of her loue, she's flowne
To her desir'd Posthumus: gone she is,
To death, or to dishonor, and my end
Can make good vse of either. Shee being downe,
I haue the placing of the Brittish Crowne.
Enter Cloten.
How now, my Sonne?
Clot. 'Tis certaine she is fled:
Go in and cheere the King, he rages, none
Dare come about him.
1975Qu. All the better: may
This night fore-stall him of the comming day.
Exit Qu.
Clo. I loue, and hate her: for she's Faire and Royall,
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite