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  • 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)

    376The Tragedy of Cymbeline.
    must take me vp for swearing, as if I borrowed mine
    oathes of him, and might not spend them at my pleasure.
    8451. What got he by that? you haue broke his pate
    with your Bowle.
    2. If his wit had bin like him that broke it: it would
    haue run all out.
    Clot. When a Gentleman is dispos'd to sweare: it is
    850not for any standers by to curtall his oathes. Ha?
    2. No my Lord; nor crop the eares of them.
    Clot. Whorson dog: I gaue him satisfaction? would
    he had bin one of my Ranke.
    2. To haue smell'd like a Foole.
    855Clot. I am not vext more at any thing in th' earth: a
    pox on't. I had rather not be so Noble as I am: they dare
    not fight with me, because of the Queene my Mo-
    ther: euery Iacke-Slaue hath his belly full of Fighting,
    and I must go vp and downe like a Cock, that no body
    860can match.
    2. You are Cocke and Capon too, and you crow
    Cock, with your combe on.
    Clot. Sayest thou?
    2. It is not fit you Lordship should vndertake euery
    865Companion, that you giue offence too.
    Clot. No, I know that: but it is fit I should commit
    offence to my inferiors.
    2. I, it is fit for your Lordship onely.
    Clot. Why so I say.
    8701. Did you heere of a Stranger that's come to Court
    night?
    Clot. A Stranger, and I not know on't?
    2. He's a strange Fellow himselfe, and knowes it not.
    1. There's an Italian come, and 'tis thought one of
    875Leonatus Friends.
    Clot. Leonatus? A banisht Rascall; and he's another,
    whatsoeuer he be. Who told you of this Stranger?
    1. One of your Lordships Pages.
    Clot. Is it fit I went to looke vpon him? Is there no
    880derogation in't?
    2. You cannot derogate my Lord.
    Clot. Not easily I thinke.
    2. You are a Foole graunted, therefore your Issues
    being foolish do not derogate.
    885Clot. Come, Ile go see this Italian: what I haue lost
    to day at Bowles, Ile winne to night of him. Come: go.
    2. Ile attend your Lordship. Exit.
    That such a craftie Diuell as is his Mother
    Should yeild the world this Asse: A woman, that
    890Beares all downe with her Braine, and this her Sonne,
    Cannot take two from twenty for his heart,
    And leaue eighteene. Alas poore Princesse,
    Thou diuine Imogen, what thou endur'st,
    Betwixt a Father by thy Step-dame gouern'd,
    895A Mother hourely coyning plots: A Wooer,
    More hatefull then the foule expulsion is
    Of thy deere Husband. Then that horrid Act
    Of the diuorce, heel'd make the Heauens hold firme
    The walls of thy deere Honour. Keepe vnshak'd
    900That Temple thy faire mind, that thou maist stand
    T' enioy thy banish'd Lord: and this great Land. Exeunt.
    Scena Secunda.
    Enter Imogen, in her Bed, and a Lady.
    Imo. Who's there? My woman: Helene?
    905La. Please you Madam.
    Imo. What houre is it?
    Lady. Almost midnight, Madam.
    Imo. I haue read three houres then:
    Mine eyes are weake,
    910Fold downe the leafe where I haue left: to bed.
    Take not away the Taper, leaue it burning:
    And if thou canst awake by foure o'th' clock,
    I prythee call me: Sleepe hath ceiz'd me wholly.
    To your protection I commend me, Gods,
    915From Fayries, and the Tempters of the night,
    Guard me beseech yee. Sleepes.
    Iachimo from the Trunke.
    Iach. The Crickets sing, and mans ore-labor'd sense
    Repaires it selfe by rest: Our Tarquine thus
    920Did softly presse the Rushes, ere he waken'd
    The Chastitie he wounded. Cytherea,
    How brauely thou becom'st thy Bed; fresh Lilly,
    And whiter then the Sheetes: that I might touch,
    But kisse, one kisse. Rubies vnparagon'd,
    925How deerely they doo't: 'Tis her breathing that
    Perfumes the Chamber thus: the Flame o'th' Taper
    Bowes toward her, and would vnder-peepe her lids.
    To see th' inclosed Lights, now Canopied
    Vnder these windowes, White and Azure lac'd
    930With Blew of Heauens owne tinct. But my designe.
    To note the Chamber, I will write all downe,
    Such, and such pictures: There the window, such
    Th' adornement of her Bed; the Arras, Figures,
    Why such, and such: and the Contents o'th' Story.
    935Ah, but some naturall notes about her Body,
    Aboue ten thousand meaner Moueables
    Would testifie, t' enrich mine Inuentorie.
    O sleepe, thou Ape of death, lye dull vpon her,
    And be her Sense but as a Monument,
    940Thus in a Chappell lying. Come off, come off;
    As slippery as the Gordian-knot was hard.
    'Tis mine, and this will witnesse outwardly,
    As strongly as the Conscience do's within:
    To'th' madding of her Lord. On her left brest
    945A mole Cinque-spotted: Like the Crimson drops
    I'th' bottome of a Cowslippe. Heere's a Voucher,
    Stronger then euer Law could make; this Secret
    Will force him thinke I haue pick'd the lock, and t'ane
    The treasure of her Honour. No more: to what end?
    950Why should I write this downe, that's riueted,
    Screw'd to my memorie. She hath bin reading late,
    The Tale of Tereus, heere the leaffe's turn'd downe
    Where Philomele gaue vp. I haue enough,
    To'th' Truncke againe, and shut the spring of it.
    955Swift, swift, you Dragons of the night, that dawning
    May beare the Rauens eye: I lodge in feare,
    Though this a heauenly Angell: hell is heere.
    Clocke strikes
    One, two, three: time, time. Exit.


    960Scena Tertia.


    Enter Clotten, and Lords.
    1. Your Lordship is the most patient man in losse, the
    most coldest that euer turn'd vp Ace.
    Clot. It would make any man cold to loose.
    9651. But not euery man patient after the noble temper
    of your Lordship; You are most hot, and furious when
    you winne.
    Clot
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