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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)

    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 Caesar
    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
    You'l
    The Tragedie of Cymbeline. 389
    You'l giue me leaue to spare, when you shall finde
    You neede it not.
    1225Post. Proceed.
    Iach. First, her Bed-chamber
    (Where I confesse I slept not, but professe
    Had that was well worth watching) it was hang'd
    With Tapistry of Silke, and Siluer, the Story
    1230Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
    And Sidnus swell'd aboue the Bankes, or for
    The presse of Boates, or Pride. A peece of Worke
    So brauely done, so rich, that it did striue
    In Workemanship, and Value, which I wonder'd
    1235Could be so rarely, and exactly wrought
    Since the true life on't was---
    Post. This is true:
    And this you might haue heard of heere, by me,
    Or by some other.
    1240Iach. More particulars
    Must iustifie my knowledge.
    Post. So they must,
    Or doe your Honour iniury.
    Iach. The Chimney
    1245Is South the Chamber, and the Chimney-peece
    Chaste Dian, bathing: neuer saw I figures
    So likely to report themselues; the Cutter
    Was as another Nature dumbe, out-went her,
    Motion, and Breath left out.
    1250Post. This is a thing
    Which you might from Relation likewise reape,
    Being, as it is, much spoke of.
    Iach. The Roofe o'th' Chamber,
    With golden Cherubins is fretted. Her Andirons
    1255(I had forgot them) were two winking Cupids
    Of Siluer, each on one foote standing, nicely
    Depending on their Brands.
    Post. This is her Honor:
    Let it be granted you haue seene all this (and praise
    1260Be giuen to your remembrance) the description
    Of what is in her Chamber, nothing saues
    The wager you haue laid.
    Iach. Then if you can
    Be pale, I begge but leaue to ayre this Iewell: See,
    1265And now 'tis vp againe: it must be married
    To that your Diamond, Ile keepe them.
    Post. Ioue----
    Once more let me behold it: Is it that
    Which I left with her?
    1270Iach. Sir (I thanke her) that
    She stript it from her Arme: I see her yet:
    Her pretty Action, did out-sell her guift,
    And yet enrich'd it too: she gaue it me,
    And said, she priz'd it once.
    1275Post. May be, she pluck'd it off
    To send it me.
    Iach. She writes so to you? doth shee?
    Post. O no, no, no, 'tis true. Heere, take this too,
    It is a Basiliske vnto mine eye,
    1280Killes me to looke on't: Let there be no Honor,
    Where there is Beauty: Truth, where semblance: Loue,
    Where there's another man. The Vowes of Women,
    Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,
    Then they are to their Vertues, which is nothing:
    1285O, aboue measure false.
    Phil. Haue patience Sir,
    And take your Ring againe, 'tis not yet wonne:
    It may be probable she lost it: or
    Who knowes if one her women, being corrupted
    1290Hath stolne it from her.
    Post. Very true,
    And so I hope he came by't: backe my Ring,
    Render to me some corporall signe about her
    More euident then this: for this was stolne.
    1295Iach. By Iupiter, I had it from her Arme.
    Post. Hearke you, he sweares: by Iupiter he sweares.
    'Tis true, nay keepe the Ring; 'tis true: I am sure
    She would not loose it: her Attendants are
    All sworne, and honourable: they induc'd to steale it?
    1300And by a Stranger? No, he hath enioy'd her,
    The Cognisance of her incontinencie
    Is this: she hath bought the name of Whore, thus deerly
    There, take thy hyre, and all the Fiends of Hell
    Diuide themselues betweene you.
    1305Phil. Sir, be patient:
    This is not strong enough to be beleeu'd
    Of one perswaded well of.
    Post. Neuer talke on't:
    She hath bin colted by him.
    1310Iach. If you seeke
    For further satisfying, vnder her Breast
    (Worthy her pressing) lyes a Mole, right proud
    Of that most delicate Lodging. By my life
    I kist it, and it gaue me present hunger
    1315To feede againe, though full. You do remember
    This staine vpon her?
    Post. I, and it doth confirme
    Another staine, as bigge as Hell can hold,
    Were there no more but it.
    1320Iach. Will you heare more?
    Post. Spare your Arethmaticke,
    Neuer count the Turnes: Once, and a Million.
    Iach. Ile be sworne.
    Post. No swearing:
    1325If you will sweare you haue not done't, you lye,
    And I will kill thee, if thou do'st deny
    Thou'st made me Cuckold.
    Iach. Ile deny nothing.
    Post. O that I had her heere, to teare her Limb-meale:
    1330I will go there and doo't, i'th' Court, before
    Her Father. Ile do something. Exit.
    Phil. Quite besides
    The gouernment of Patience. You haue wonne:
    Let's follow him, and peruert the present wrath
    1335He hath against himselfe.
    Iach. With all my heart. Exeunt.
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