Internet Shakespeare Editions

About this text

  • Title: Cymbeline (Folio 1, 1623)
  • Editor: Jennifer Forsyth
  • ISBN: 1-55058-300-X

    Copyright Jennifer Forsyth. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Jennifer Forsyth
    Peer Reviewed

    Cymbeline (Folio 1, 1623)

    The Tragedy of Cymbeline.
    The consequence o'th' Crowne, and must not foyle
    The precious note of it; with a base Slaue,
    A Hilding for a Liuorie, a Squires Cloth,
    1100A Pantler; not so eminent.
    Imo. Prophane Fellow:
    Wert thou the Sonne of Iupiter, and no more,
    But what thou art besides: thou wer't too base,
    To be his Groome: thou wer't dignified enough
    1105Euen to the point of Enuie. If 'twere made
    Comparatiue for your Vertues, to be stil'd
    The vnder Hangman of his Kingdome; and hated
    For being prefer'd so well.
    Clot. The South-Fog rot him.
    1110Imo. He neuer can meete more mischance, then come
    To be but nam'd of thee. His mean'st Garment
    That euer hath but clipt his body; is dearer
    In my respect, then all the Heires aboue thee,
    Were they all made such men: How now Pisanio?
    Enter Pisanio,
    Clot. His Garments? Now the diuell.
    Imo. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.
    Clot. His Garment?
    Imo. I am sprighted with a Foole,
    1120Frighted, and angred worse: Go bid my woman
    Search for a Iewell, that too casually
    Hath left mine Arme: it was thy Masters. Shrew me
    If I would loose it for a Reuenew,
    Of any Kings in Europe. I do think,
    1125I saw't this morning: Confident I am.
    Last night 'twas on mine Arme; I kiss'd it,
    I hope it be not gone, to tell my Lord
    That I kisse aught but he.
    Pis. 'Twill not be lost.
    1130Imo. I hope so: go and search.
    Clot. You haue abus'd me:
    His meanest Garment?
    Imo. I, I said so Sir,
    If you will make't an Action, call witnesse to't.
    1135Clot. I will enforme your Father.
    Imo. Your Mother too:
    She's my good Lady; and will concieue, I hope
    But the worst of me. So I leaue your Sir,
    To'th' worst of discontent.
    1140Clot. Ile be reueng'd:
    His mean'st Garment? Well.

    Scena Quarta.

    Enter Posthumus, and Philario.
    Post. Feare it not Sir: I would I were so sure
    1145To winne the King, as I am bold, her Honour
    Will remaine her's.
    Phil. What meanes do you make to him?
    Post. Not any: but abide the change of Time,
    Quake in the present winters state, and wish
    1150That warmer dayes would come: In these fear'd hope
    I barely gratifie your loue; they fayling
    I must die much your debtor.
    Phil. Your very goodnesse, and your company,
    Ore-payes all I can do. By this your King,
    1155Hath heard of Great Augustus: Caius Lucius,
    Will do's Commission throughly. And I think
    Hee'le grant the Tribute: send th' Arrerages,
    Or looke vpon our Romaines, whose remembrance
    Is yet fresh in their griefe.
    1160Post. I do beleeue
    (Statist though I am none, nor like to be)
    That this will proue a Warre; and you shall heare
    The Legion now in Gallia, sooner landed
    In our not-fearing-Britaine, then haue tydings
    1165Of any penny Tribute paid. Our Countrymen
    Are men more order'd, then when Iulius Cæsar
    Smil'd at their lacke of skill, but found their courage
    Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline,
    (Now wing-led with their courages) will make knowne
    1170To their Approuers, they are People, such
    That mend vpon the world.
    Enter Iachimo.
    Phi. See Iachimo.
    Post. The swiftest Harts, haue posted you by land;
    And Windes of all the Corners kiss'd your Sailes,
    1175To make your vessell nimble.
    Phil. Welcome Sir.
    Post. I hope the briefenesse of your answere, made
    The speedinesse of your returne.
    Iachi. Your Lady,
    1180Is one of the fayrest that I haue look'd vpon
    Post. And therewithall the best, or let her beauty
    Looke thorough a Casement to allure false hearts,
    And be false with them.
    Iachi. Heere are Letters for you.
    1185Post. Their tenure good I trust.
    Iach. 'Tis very like.
    Post. Was Caius Lucius in the Britaine Court,
    When you were there?
    Iach. He was expected then,
    1190But not approach'd.
    Post. All is well yet,
    Sparkles this Stone as it was wont, or is't not
    Too dull for your good wearing?
    Iach. If I haue lost it,
    1195I should haue lost the worth of it in Gold,
    Ile make a iourney twice as farre, t' enioy
    A second night of such sweet shortnesse, which
    Was mine in Britaine, for the Ring is wonne.
    Post. The Stones too hard to come by.
    1200Iach. Not a whit,
    Your Lady being so easy.
    Post. Make note Sir
    Your losse, your Sport: I hope you know that we
    Must not continue Friends.
    1205Iach. Good Sir, we must
    If you keepe Couenant: had I not brought
    The knowledge of your Mistris home, I grant
    We were to question farther; but I now
    Professe my selfe the winner of her Honor,
    1210Together with your Ring; and not the wronger
    Of her, or you hauing proceeded but
    By both your willes.
    Post. If you can mak't apparant
    That yon haue tasted her in Bed; my hand,
    1215And Ring is yours. If not, the foule opinion
    You had of her pure Honour; gaines, or looses,
    Your Sword, or mine, or Masterlesse leaue both
    To who shall finde them.
    Iach. Sir, my Circumstances
    1220Being so nere the Truth, as I will make them,
    Must first induce you to beleeue; whose strength
    I will confirme wit h oath, which I doubt not