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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 Quinta.
    Enter Cymbeline, Queene, Cloten, Lucius,
    1890and 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.
    1940Enter 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. Exit.
    Qu. Sonne, I say, follow the King.
    Clot. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old Seruant
    I haue not seene these two dayes. Exit.
    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.
    1970Enter 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
    Then
    The Tragedie of Cymbeline. 385
    Then Lady, Ladies, Woman, from euery one
    1980The best she hath, and she of all compounded
    Out-selles them all. I loue her therefore, but
    Disdaining me, and throwing Fauours on
    The low Posthumus, slanders so her iudgement,
    That what's else rare, is choak'd: and in that point
    1985I will conclude to hate her, nay indeede,
    To be reueng'd vpon her. For, when Fooles shall---
    Enter Pisanio.
    Who is heere? What, are you packing sirrah?
    Come hither: Ah you precious Pandar, Villaine,
    1990Where is thy Lady? In a word, or else
    Thou art straightway with the Fiends.
    Pis. Oh, good my Lord.
    Clo. Where is thy Lady? Or, by Iupiter,
    I will not aske againe. Close Villaine,
    1995Ile haue this Secret from thy heart, or rip
    Thy heart to finde it. Is she with Posthumus?
    From whose so many waights of basenesse, cannot
    A dram of worth be drawne.
    Pis. Alas, my Lord,
    2000How can she be with him? When was she miss'd?
    He is in Rome.
    Clot. Where is she Sir? Come neerer:
    No farther halting: satisfie me home,
    What is become of her?
    2005Pis. Oh, my all-worthy Lord.
    Clo. All-worthy Villaine,
    Discouer where thy Mistris is, at once,
    At the next word: no more of worthy Lord:
    Speake, or thy silence on the instant, is
    2010Thy condemnation, and thy death.
    Pis. Then Sir:
    This Paper is the historie of my knowledge
    Touching her flight.
    Clo. Let's see't: I will pursue her
    2015Euen to Augustus Throne.
    Pis. Or this, or perish.
    She's farre enough, and what he learnes by this,
    May proue his trauell, not her danger.
    Clo. Humh.
    2020Pis. Ile write to my Lord she's dead: Oh Imogen,
    Safe mayst thou wander, safe returne agen.
    Clot. Sirra, is this Letter true?
    Pis. Sir, as I thinke.
    Clot. It is Posthumus hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou
    2025would'st not be a Villain, but do me true seruice: vnder-
    go those Imployments wherin I should haue cause to vse
    thee with a serious industry, that is, what villainy soere I
    bid thee do to performe it, directly and truely, I would
    thinke thee an honest man: thou should'st neither want
    2030my meanes for thy releefe, nor my voyce for thy prefer-
    ment.
    Pis. Well, my good Lord.
    Clot. Wilt thou serue mee? For since patiently and
    constantly thou hast stucke to the bare Fortune of that
    2035Begger Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of grati-
    tude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serue
    mee?
    Pis. Sir, I will.
    Clo. Giue mee thy hand, heere's my purse. Hast any
    2040of thy late Masters Garments in thy possession?
    Pisan. I haue (my Lord) at my Lodging, the same
    Suite he wore, when he tooke leaue of my Ladie & Mi-
    stresse.
    Clo. The first seruice thou dost mee, fetch that Suite
    2045hither, let it be thy first seruice, go.
    Pis. I shall my Lord. Exit.
    Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Hauen: (I forgot to aske
    him one thing, Ile remember't anon:) euen there, thou
    villaine Posthumus will I kill thee. I would these Gar-
    2050ments were come. She saide vpon a time (the bitternesse
    of it, I now belch from my heart) that shee held the very
    Garment of Posthumus, in more respect, then my Noble
    and naturall person; together with the adornement of
    my Qualities. With that Suite vpon my backe wil I ra-
    2055uish her: first kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see
    my valour, which wil then be a torment to hir contempt.
    He on the ground, my speech of insulment ended on his
    dead bodie, and when my Lust hath dined (which, as I
    say, to vex her, I will execute in the Cloathes that she so
    2060prais'd:) to the Court Ile knock her backe, foot her home
    againe. She hath despis'd mee reioycingly, and Ile bee
    merry in my Reuenge.
    Enter Pisanio.
    Be those the Garments?
    2065Pis. I, my Noble Lord.
    Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford-Hauen?
    Pis. She can scarse be there yet.
    Clo. Bring this Apparrell to my Chamber, that is
    the second thing that I haue commanded thee. The third
    2070is, that thou wilt be a voluntarie Mute to my designe. Be
    but dutious, and true preferment shall tender it selfe to
    thee. My Reuenge is now at Milford, would I had wings
    to follow it. Come, and be true. Exit
    Pis. Thou bid'st me to my losse: for true to thee,
    2075Were to proue false, which I will neuer bee
    To him that is most true. To Milford go,
    And finde not her, whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow
    You Heauenly blessings on her: This Fooles speede
    Be crost with slownesse; Labour be his meede. Exit
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