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)

    Scena Tertia.
    Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pisanio.
    Cym. Againe: and bring me word how 'tis with her,
    A Feauour with the absence of her Sonne;
    2740A madnesse, of which her life's in danger: Heauens,
    How deeply you at once do touch me. Imogen,
    The great part of my comfort, gone: My Queene
    Vpon a desperate bed, and in a time
    When fearefull Warres point at me: Her Sonne gone,
    2745So needfull for this present? It strikes me, past
    The hope of comfort. But for thee, Fellow,
    Who needs must know of her departure, and
    Dost seeme so ignorant, wee'l enforce it from thee
    By a sharpe Torture.
    2750Pis. Sir, my life is yours,
    I humbly set it at your will: But for my Mistris,
    I nothing know where she remaines: why gone,
    Nor when she purposes returne. Beseech your Highnes,
    Hold me your loyall Seruant.
    2755Lord. Good my Liege,
    The day that she was missing, he was heere;
    I dare be bound hee's true, and shall performe
    All parts of his subiection loyally. For Cloten,
    There wants no diligence in seeking him,
    2760And will no doubt be found.
    Cym. The time is troublesome:
    Wee'l slip you for a season, but our iealousie
    Do's yet depend.
    Lord. So please your Maiesty,
    2765The Romaine Legions, all from Gallia drawne,
    Are landed on your Coast, with a supply
    Of Romaine Gentlemen, by the Senate sent.
    Cym. Now for the Counsaile of my Son and Queen,
    I am amaz'd with matter.
    2770Lord. Good my Liege,
    Your preparation can affront no lesse
    Then what you heare of. Come more, for more you're
    The want is, but to put those Powres in motion,
    That long to moue.
    2775Cym. I thanke you: let's withdraw
    And meete the Time, as it seekes vs. We feare not
    What can from Italy annoy vs, but
    We greeue at chances heere. Away.
    Pisa. I heard no Letter from my Master, since
    2780I wrote him Imogen was slaine. 'Tis strange:
    Nor heare I from my Mistris, who did promise
    To yeeld me often tydings. Neither know I
    What is betide to Cloten, but remaine
    Perplext in all. The Heauens still must worke:
    2785Wherein I am false, I am honest: not true, to be true.
    These present warres shall finde I loue my Country,
    Euen to the note o'th' King, or Ile fall in them:
    All other doubts, by time let them be cleer'd,
    Fortune brings in some Boats, that are not steer'd.