To hear Cominius speak, Ill keep at home.


I urged our old acquaintance, and the drops


He would not answer to: forbad all names;


Till he had forged himself a name o the fire


A pair of tribunes that have rackd for Rome,


Fors private friends: his answer to me was,


He could not stay to pick them in a pile


Of noisome musty chaff: he said twas folly,


For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt,


I am one of those; his mother, wife, his child,


And this brave fellow too, we are the grains:


You are the musty chaff; and you are smelt


Above the moon: we must be burnt for you.


Nay, pray, be patient: if you refuse your aid


In this so never-needed help, yet do not


Upbraids with our distress. But, sure, if you


Would be your countrys pleader, your good tongue,


But as a discontented friend, grief-shot


must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure


I think hell hear me. Yet, to bite his lip


And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me.


He was not taken well; he had not dined:


The veins unfilld, our blood is cold, and then


To give or to forgive; but when we have stuffd


These and these conveyances of our blood


With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls


Than in our priest-like fasts: therefore Ill watch him


You know the very road into his kindness,


Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge


I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye


The gaoler to his pity. I kneeld before him;


Twas very faintly he said Rise; dismissd me


Thus, with his speechless hand: what he would do,


He sent in writing after me; what he would not,


Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions:


For mercy to his country. Therefore, lets hence,


And with our fair entreaties haste them on.


SCENE II. Entrance of the Volscian camp before Rome.


You guard like men; tis well: but, by your leave,


You may not pass, you must return: our general


Youll see your Rome embraced with fire before


If you have heard your general talk of Rome,


And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks,


My name hath touchd your ears it is Menenius.


Be it so; go back: the virtue of your name


The book of his good acts, whence men have read


Of whom hes chief, with all the size that verity


Would without lapsing suffer: nay, sometimes,


I have tumbled past the throw; and in his praise


Have almost stampd the leasing: therefore, fellow,


Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his


behalf as you have uttered words in your own, you


should not pass here; no, though it were as virtuous


to lie as to live chastely. Therefore, go back.


Prithee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius,


always factionary on the party of your general.


Howsoever you have been his liar, as you say you


have, I am one that, telling true under him, must


say, you cannot pass. Therefore, go back.


Has he dined, canst thou tell? for I would not


Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can you,


when you have pushed out your gates the very


defender of them, and, in a violent popular


ignorance, given your enemy your shield, think to


front his revenges with the easy groans of old


women, the virginal palms of your daughters, or with


the palsied intercession of such a decayed dotant as


you seem to be? Can you think to blow out the


intended fire your city is ready to flame in, with


such weak breath as this? No, you are deceived;


therefore, back to Rome, and prepare for your


execution: you are condemned, our general has sworn


Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he would


My general cares not for you. Back, I say, go; lest


I let forth your half-pint of blood; back,--thats


Now, you companion, Ill say an errand for you:


You shall know now that I am in estimation; you shall


perceive that a Jack guardant cannot office me from


my son Coriolanus: guess, but by my entertainment


with him, if thou standest not i the state of


spectatorship, and crueller in suffering; behold now


presently, and swoon for whats to come upon thee.


The glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy


particular prosperity, and love thee no worse than


thy old father Menenius does! O my son, my son!


thou art preparing fire for us; look thee, heres


water to quench it. I was hardly moved to come to


thee; but being assured none but myself could move


thee, I have been blown out of your gates with


sighs; and conjure thee to pardon Rome, and thy


petitionary countrymen. The good gods assuage thy


wrath, and turn the dregs of it upon this varlet


here,--this, who, like a block, hath denied my


Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs


In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar,


Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather


Than pity note how much. Therefore, be gone.


Mine ears against your suits are stronger than


Your gates against my force. Yet, for I loved thee,


And would have rent it. Another word, Menenius,


I will not hear thee speak. This man, Aufidius,


Was my beloved in Rome: yet thou beholdst!


Tis a spell, you see, of much  power: you know the


Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your


What cause, do you think, I have to swoon?


I neither care for the world nor your general: for


such things as you, I can scarce think theres any,


yere so slight. He that hath a will to die by


himself fears it not from another: let your general


do his worst. For you, be that you are, long; and


your misery increase with your age! I say to you,


The worthy fellow is our general: hes the rock, the


We will before the walls of Rome tomorrow


Set down our host. My partner in this action,


You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly


You have respected; stoppd your ears against


The general suit of Rome; never admitted


A private whisper, no, not with such friends


Whom with a crackd heart I have sent to Rome,


Nay, godded me, indeed. Their latest refuge


Was to send him; for whose old love I have,


Though I showd sourly to him, once more offerd


The first conditions, which they did refuse


And cannot now accept; to grace him only


That thought he could do more, a very little


I have yielded to: fresh embassies and suits,


Nor from the state nor private friends, hereafter


Will I lend ear to. Ha! what shout is this?


Enter in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, leading young MARCIUS, VALERIA, and Attendants


My wife comes foremost; then the honourd mould


Wherein this trunk was framed, and in her hand


The grandchild to her blood. But, out, affection!


All bond and privilege of nature, break!


What is that curtsy worth? or those doves eyes,


Which can make gods forsworn? I melt, and am not


Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows;


Great nature cries Deny not. let the Volsces


Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand,


These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome.


The sorrow that delivers us thus changed


Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh,


Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss


I carried from thee, dear; and my true lip


Hath virgind it eer since. You gods! I prate,


Leave unsaluted: sink, my knee, i the earth;


Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint,


Your knees to me? to your corrected son?


Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach


Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds


Strike the proud cedars gainst the fiery sun;


I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady?


Thats curdied by the frost from purest snow


And hangs on Dians temple: dear Valeria!


Which by the interpretation of full time


With the consent of supreme Jove, inform


Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou mayst prove


To shame unvulnerable, and stick i the wars


Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw,


Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself,


The thing I have forsworn to grant may never


You have said you will not grant us any thing;


For we have nothing else to ask, but that


Which you deny already: yet we will ask;


That, if you fail in our request, the blame


May hang upon your hardness: therefore hear us.


Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark; for well


Hear nought from Rome in private. Your request?


Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment


And state of bodies would bewray what life


We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself


How more unfortunate than all living women


Are we come hither: since that thy sight,


Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance


Constrains them weep and shake with fear and sorrow;


Making the mother, wife and child to see


The son, the husband and the father tearing


Thine enmitys most capital: thou barrst us


Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort


Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory,


Whereto we are bound? alack, or we must lose


The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person,


Our comfort in the country. We must find


Our wish, which side should win: for either thou


With manacles thorough our streets, or else


triumphantly tread on thy countrys ruin,


And bear the palm for having bravely shed


Thy wife and childrens blood. For myself, son,


These wars determine: if I cannot persuade thee


Rather to show a noble grace to both parts


Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner


March to assault thy country than to tread--


Trust tot, thou shalt not--on thy mothers womb,


That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name


Ill run away till I am bigger, but then Ill fight.


Requires nor child nor womans face to see.


The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us,


As poisonous of your honour: no; our suit


Is that you reconcile them: while the Volsces


May say This mercy we have showd; the Romans,


This we received; and each in either side


Give the all-hail to thee and cry Be blest


For making up this peace! Thou knowst, great son,


The end of wars uncertain, but this certain,


Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name,


Whose repetition will be doggd with curses;


Whose chronicle thus writ: The man was noble,


But with his last attempt he wiped it out;


Destroyd his country, and his name remains


To the ensuing age abhorrd. Speak to me, son:


Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour,


To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o the air,


And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt


That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak?


Thinkst thou it honourable for a noble man


Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you:


He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy:


Perhaps thy childishness will move him more


Than can our reasons. Theres no man in the world


More bound to s mother; yet here he lets me prate


Like one i the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life


When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood,


Has cluckd thee to the wars and safely home,


Loaden with honour. Say my requests unjust,


Thou art not honest; and the gods will plague thee,


That thou restrainst from me the duty which


To a mothers part belongs. He turns away:


Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees.


To his surname Coriolanus longs more pride


This is the last: so we will home to Rome,


And die among our neighbours. Nay, behold s:


This boy, that cannot tell what he would have


But kneels and holds up bands for fellowship,


Does reason our petition with more strength


Than thou hast to deny t. Come, let us go:


This fellow had a Volscian to his mother;


Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch:


What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope,


The gods look down, and this unnatural scene


But, for your son,--believe it, O, believe it,


Most dangerously you have with him prevaild,


If not most mortal to him. But, let it come.


Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars,


Ill frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius,


Were you in my stead, would you have heard


A mother less? or granted less, Aufidius?


Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir,


What peace youll make, advise me: for my part,


Ill not to Rome, Ill back with you; and pray you,


Stand to me in this cause. O mother! wife!


[Aside]  I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and


At difference in thee: out of that Ill work


But we will drink together; and you shall bear


A better witness back than words, which we,


On like conditions, will have counter-seald.


Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve


To have a temple built you: all the swords


If it be possible for you to displace it with your


little finger, there is some hope the ladies of


Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him.


But I say there is no hope int: our throats are


Ist possible that so short a time can alter the


There is differency between a grub and a butterfly;


yet your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown


from man to dragon: he has wings; hes more than a


So did he me: and he no more remembers his mother


now than an eight-year-old horse. The tartness


of his face sours ripe grapes: when he walks, he


moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before


his treading: he is able to pierce a corslet with


his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a


battery. He sits in his state, as a thing made for


Alexander. What he bids be done is finished with


his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but eternity


I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his


mother shall bring from him: there is no more mercy


in him than there is milk in a male tiger; that


shall our poor city find: and all this is long of


No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto


us. When we banished him, we respected not them;


and, he returning to break our necks, they respect not us.


Sir, if yould save your life, fly to your house:


The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune


And hale him up and down, all swearing, if


The Roman ladies bring not comfort home,


Good news, good news; the ladies have prevaild,


The Volscians are dislodged, and Marcius gone:


Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain?


Where have you lurkd, that you make doubt of it?


Neer through an arch so hurried the blown tide,


As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you!


Trumpets; hautboys; drums beat; all together


The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries and fifes,


Tabours and cymbals and the shouting Romans,


I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia


Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians,


A sea and land full. You have prayd well to-day:


This morning for ten thousand of your throats


Id not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy!


First, the gods bless you for your tidings; next,


SCENE V. The same. A street near the gate.


Enter two Senators with VOLUMNIA, VIRGILIA,  VALERIA,  and c. passing over the stage, followed by Patricians and others


Call all your tribes together, praise the gods,


And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before them:


Repeal him with the welcome of his mother;


A flourish with drums and trumpets. Exeunt


Deliver them this paper: having read it,


Bid them repair to the market place; where I,


Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse


Intends to appear before the people, hoping


Enter three or four Conspirators of AUFIDIUS faction


As with a man by his own alms empoisond,


We must proceed as we do find the people.


Twixt you theres difference; but the fall of either


A good construction. I raised him, and I pawnd


Mine honour for his truth: who being so heightend,


He waterd his new plants with dews of flattery,


Seducing so my friends; and, to this end,


When he did stand for consul, which he lost


Being banishd fort, he came unto my hearth;


Presented to my knife his throat: I took him;


Made him joint-servant with me; gave him way


In all his own desires; nay, let him choose


Out of my files, his projects to accomplish,


My best and freshest men; served his designments


In mine own person; holp to reap the fame


Which he did end all his; and took some pride


To do myself this wrong: till, at the last,


The army marvelld at it, and, in the last,


When he had carried Rome and that we lookd


For which my sinews shall be stretchd upon him.


At a few drops of womens rheum, which are


As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour


Of our great action: therefore shall he die,


And Ill renew me in his fall. But, hark!


Drums and trumpets sound, with great shouts of the People


Your native town you enterd like a post,


And had no welcomes home: but he returns,


Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear


Ere he express himself, or move the people


With what he would say, let him feel your sword,


Which we will second. When he lies along,


After your way his tale pronounced shall bury


But, worthy lords, have you with heed perused


What faults he made before the last, I think


Might have found easy fines: but there to end


With our own charge, making a treaty where


There was a yielding,--this admits no excuse.


Enter CORIOLANUS, marching with drum and colours; commoners being with him


Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting


Under your great command. You are to know


With bloody passage led your wars even to


The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home


Do more than counterpoise a full third part


The charges of the action. We have made peace


Than shame to the Romans: and we here deliver,


Subscribed by the consuls and patricians,


Together with the seal o the senate, what


But tell the traitor, in the highst degree


Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius: dost thou think


Ill grace thee with that robbery, thy stoln name


You lords and heads o the state, perfidiously


He has betrayd your business, and given up,


For certain drops of salt, your city Rome,


I say your city, to his wife and mother;


Counsel o the war, but at his nurses tears


That pages blushd at him and men of heart


Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart


Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave!


Pardon me, lords, tis the first time that ever


I was forced to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords,


Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion--


Who wears my stripes impressd upon him; that


Must bear my beating to his grave--shall join


Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads,


Stain all your edges on me. Boy! false hound!


If you have writ your annals true, tis there,


Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune,


Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart,


Tear him to pieces. Do it presently. He killd


my son. My daughter. He killed my cousin


This orb o the earth. His last offences to us


Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius,


With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe,


The Conspirators draw, and kill CORIOLANUS: AUFIDIUS stands on his body


Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep.


Tread not upon him. Masters all, be quiet;


My lords, when you shall know--as in this rage,


Provoked by him, you cannot--the great danger


Which this mans life did owe you, youll rejoice


That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours


And mourn you for him: let him be regarded


As the most noble corse that ever herald


Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame.


And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up.


Help, three o the chiefest soldiers; Ill be one.


Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully:


Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he


Yet he shall have a noble memory. Assist.


Exeunt, bearing the body of CORIOLANUS. A dead march sounded


SCENE I. Britain. The garden of Cymbelines palace.


You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods


No more obey the heavens than our courtiers


His daughter, and the heir ofs kingdom, whom


He purposed to his wifes sole son--a widow


That late he married--hath referrd herself


Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: shes wedded;


Is outward sorrow; though I think the king


He that hath lost her too; so is the queen,


That most desired the match; but not a courtier,


Although they wear their faces to the bent


Of the kings looks, hath a heart that is not


He that hath missd the princess is a thing


Too bad for bad report: and he that hath her--


I mean, that married her, alack, good man!


And therefore banishd--is a creature such


As, to seek through the regions of the earth


For one his like, there would be something failing


In him that should compare. I do not think


So fair an outward and such stuff within


I cannot delve him to the root: his father


Was calld Sicilius, who did join his honour


He served with glory and admired success,


And had, besides this gentleman in question,


Two other sons, who in the wars o the time


Died with their swords in hand; for which


Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow


That he quit being, and his gentle lady,


Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased


As he was born. The king he takes the babe


To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,


Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,


Puts to him all the learnings that his time


Could make him the receiver of; which he took,


And ins spring became a harvest, lived in court--


Which rare it is to do--most praised, most loved,


A sample to the youngest, to the more mature


A glass that feated them, and to the graver


A child that guided dotards; to his mistress,


For whom he now is banishd, her own price


Proclaims how she esteemd him and his virtue;


Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me,


He had two sons: if this be worth your hearing,


Mark it: the eldest of them at three years old,


I the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery


Were stoln, and to this hour no guess in knowledge


That a kings children should be so conveyd,


So slackly guarded, and the search so slow,


Or that the negligence may well be laughd at,


We must forbear: here comes the gentleman,


Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and IMOGEN


No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter,


Evil-eyed unto you: youre my prisoner, but


That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,


I will be known your advocate: marry, yet


The fire of rage is in him, and twere good


You leand unto his sentence with what patience


Ill fetch a turn about the garden, pitying


The pangs of barrd affections, though the king


Hath charged you should not speak together.


Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant


Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,


I something fear my fathers wrath; but nothing--


His rage can do on me: you must be gone;


But that there is this jewel in the world


The loyalst husband that did eer plight troth:


Known but by letter: thither write, my queen,


And with mine eyes Ill drink the words you send,


If the king come, I shall incur I know not


But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;


The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!


Were you but riding forth to air yourself,


Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;


This diamond was my mothers: take it, heart;


You gentle gods, give me but this I have,


While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest,


To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles


I still win of you: for my sake wear this;


Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight!


If after this command thou fraught the court


With thy unworthiness, thou diest: away!


And bless the good remainders of the court! I am gone.


That shouldst repair my youth, thou heapst


I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare


Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.


That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!


O blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle,


Thou tookst a beggar; wouldst have made my throne


It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus:


You bred him as my playfellow, and he is


Almost, sir: heaven restore me! Would I were


Dear lady daughter, peace! Sweet sovereign,


Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some comfort


Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news?


But that my master rather playd than fought


And had no help of anger: they were parted


Your sons my fathers friend; he takes his part.


I would they were in Afric both together;


Myself by with a needle, that I might prick


The goer-back. Why came you from your master?


To bring him to the haven; left these notes


Of what commands I should be subject to,


Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour


I pray you, speak with me: you shall at least


Go see my lord aboard: for this time leave me.


Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the


violence of action hath made you reek as a


sacrifice: where air comes out, air comes in:


theres none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.


If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him?


[Aside]  No, faith; not so much as his patience.


Hurt him! his bodys a passable carcass, if he be


not hurt: it is a thoroughfare for steel, if it be not hurt.


[Aside]  His steel was in debt; it went o the


[Aside]  No; but he fled forward still, toward your face.


Stand you! You have land enough of your own: but


he added to your having; gave you some ground.


[Aside]  As many inches as you have oceans. Puppies!


[Aside]  So would I, till you had measured how long


And that she should love this fellow and refuse me!


[Aside]  If it be a sin to make a true election, she


Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain


go not together: shes a good sign, but I have seen


[Aside]  She shines not upon fools, lest the


Come, Ill to my chamber. Would there had been some


[Aside]  I wish not so; unless it had been the fall


I would thou grewst unto the shores o the haven,


And questiondst every sail: if he should write


Senseless Linen! happier therein than I!


As he could make me with this eye or ear


Distinguish him from others, he did keep


The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief,


Still waving, as the fits and stirs of s mind


Could best express how slow his soul saild on,


I would have broke mine eye-strings; crackd them, but


Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle,


Nay, followd him, till he had melted from


The smallness of a gnat to air, and then


Have turnd mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio,


Most pretty things to say: ere I could tell him


How I would think on him at certain hours


Such thoughts and such, or I could make him swear


Mine interest and his honour, or have charged him,


At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight,


Give him that parting kiss which I had set


Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father


And like the tyrannous breathing of the north


Those things I bid you do, get them dispatchd.


Enter PHILARIO, IACHIMO, a Frenchman, a Dutchman, and a Spaniard


Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain: he was


then of a crescent note, expected to prove so worthy


as since he hath been allowed the name of; but I


could then have looked on him without the help of


admiration, though the catalogue of his endowments


had been tabled by his side and I to peruse him by items.


You speak of him when he was less furnished than now


he is with that which makes him both without and within.


I have seen him in France: we had very many there


could behold the sun with as firm eyes as he.


This matter of marrying his kings daughter, wherein


he must be weighed rather by her value than his own,


words him, I doubt not, a great deal from the matter.


Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this


lamentable divorce under her colours are wonderfully


to extend him; be it but to fortify her judgment,


which else an easy battery might lay flat, for


taking a beggar without less quality. But how comes


it he is to sojourn with you? How creeps


His father and I were soldiers together; to whom I


have been often bound for no less than my life.


Here comes the Briton: let him be so entertained


amongst you as suits, with gentlemen of your


I beseech you all, be better known to this


gentleman; whom I commend to you as a noble friend


of mine: how worthy he is I will leave to appear


hereafter, rather than story him in his own hearing.


Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies,


which I will be ever to pay and yet pay still.


Sir, you oer-rate my poor kindness: I was glad I


did atone my countryman and you; it had been pity


you should have been put together with so mortal a


purpose as then each bore, upon importance of so


By your pardon, sir, I was then a young traveller;


rather shunned to go even with what I heard than in


my every action to be guided by others experiences:


but upon my mended judgment--if I offend not to say


it is mended--my quarrel was not altogether slight.


Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords,


and by such two that would by all likelihood have


confounded one the other, or have fallen both.


Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference?


Safely, I think: twas a contention in public,


which may, without contradiction, suffer the report.


It was much like an argument that fell out last


night, where each of us fell in praise of our


country mistresses; this gentleman at that time


affirmation--his to be more fair, virtuous, wise,


chaste, constant-qualified and less attemptable


than any the rarest of our ladies in France.


That lady is not now living, or this gentlemans


She holds her virtue still and I my mind.


You must not so far prefer her fore ours of Italy.


Being so far provoked as I was in France, I would


abate her nothing, though I profess myself her


As fair and as good--a kind of hand-in-hand


comparison--had been something too fair and too good


for any lady in Britain. If she went before others


I have seen, as that diamond of yours outlustres


many I have beheld. I could not but believe she


excelled many: but I have not seen the most


precious diamond that is, nor you the lady.


I praised her as I rated her: so do I my stone.


Either your unparagoned mistress is dead, or shes


You are mistaken: the one may be sold, or given, if


there were wealth enough for the purchase, or merit


for the gift: the other is not a thing for sale,


You may wear her in title yours: but, you know,


strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. Your


ring may be stolen too: so your brace of unprizable


estimations; the one is but frail and the other


casual; a cunning thief, or a that way accomplished


courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last.


Your Italy contains none so accomplished a courtier


to convince the honour of my mistress, if, in the


holding or loss of that, you term her frail. I do


nothing doubt you have store of thieves;


Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I


thank him, makes no stranger of me; we are familiar at first.


With five times so much conversation, I should get


ground of your fair mistress, make her go back, even


to the yielding, had I admittance and opportunity to friend.


I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to


your ring; which, in my opinion, oervalues it


something: but I make my wager rather against your


confidence than her reputation: and, to bar your


offence herein too, I durst attempt it against any


You are a great deal abused in too bold a


persuasion; and I doubt not you sustain what youre


A repulse: though your attempt, as you call it,


Gentlemen, enough of this: it came in too suddenly;


let it die as it was born, and, I pray you, be


Would I had put my estate and my neighbours on the


Yours; whom in constancy you think stands so safe.


I will lay you ten thousand ducats to your ring,


that, commend me to the court where your lady is,


with no more advantage than the opportunity of a


second conference, and I will bring from thence


that honour of hers which you imagine so reserved.


I will wage against your gold, gold to it: my ring


I hold dear as my finger; tis part of it.


You are afraid, and therein the wiser. If you buy


ladies flesh at a million a dram, you cannot


preserve it from tainting: but I see you have some


This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a


I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo


Will you? I shall but lend my diamond till your


return: let there be covenants drawn betweens: my


mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness of your


unworthy thinking: I dare you to this match: heres my ring.


By the gods, it is one. If I bring you no


sufficient testimony that I have enjoyed the dearest


bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand ducats


are yours; so is your diamond too: if I come off,


and leave her in such honour as you have trust in,


she your jewel, this your jewel, and my gold are


yours: provided I have your commendation for my more


I embrace these conditions; let us have articles


betwixt us. Only, thus far you shall answer: if


you make your voyage upon her and give me directly


to understand you have prevailed, I am no further


your enemy; she is not worth our debate: if she


remain unseduced, you not making it appear


otherwise, for your ill opinion and the assault you


have made to her chastity you shall answer me with


Your hand; a covenant: we will have these things set


down by lawful counsel, and straight away for


Britain, lest the bargain should catch cold and


starve: I will fetch my gold and have our two


SCENE V. Britain. A room in Cymbelines palace.


Whiles yet the dews on ground, gather those flowers;


Now, master doctor, have you brought those drugs?


Pleaseth your highness, ay: here they are, madam:


But I beseech your grace, without offence,--


My conscience bids me ask--wherefore you have


Commanded of me those most poisonous compounds,


Which are the movers of a languishing death;


Thou askst me such a question. Have I not been


Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learnd me how


To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so


That our great king himself doth woo me oft


For my confections? Having thus far proceeded,--


Unless thou thinkst me devilish--ist not meet


Other conclusions? I will try the forces


Of these thy compounds on such creatures as


We count not worth the hanging, but none human,


Allayments to their act, and by them gather


Shall from this practise but make hard your heart:


Besides, the seeing these effects will be


Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him


Doctor, your service for this time is ended;


[Aside]          I do suspect you, madam;


[To PISANIO]            Hark thee, a word.


[Aside]  I do not like her. She doth think she has


Strange lingering poisons: I do know her spirit,


And will not trust one of her malice with


A drug of such damnd nature. Those she has


No danger in what show of death it makes,


More than the locking-up the spirits a time,


To be more fresh, reviving. She is foold


With a most false effect; and I the truer,


Weeps she still, sayst thou? Dost thou think in time


She will not quench and let instructions enter


Where folly now possesses? Do thou work:


When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son,


Ill tell thee on the instant thou art then


His fortunes all lie speechless and his name


Continue where he is: to shift his being


A days work in him. What shalt thou expect,


Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends,


The QUEEN drops the box: PISANIO takes it up


Thou knowst not what; but take it for thy labour:


It is a thing I made, which hath the king


Five times redeemd from death: I do not know


What is more cordial. Nay, I prethee, take it;


That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how


The case stands with her; dot as from thyself.


Think what a chance thou changest on, but think


Thou hast thy mistress still, to boot, my son,


Who shall take notice of thee: Ill move the king


As thoult desire; and then myself, I chiefly,


That set thee on to this desert, am bound


To load thy merit richly. Call my women:


Not to be shaked; the agent for his master


The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that


Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her


Of liegers for her sweet, and which she after,


Except she bend her humour, shall be assured


The violets, cowslips, and the primroses,


Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio;


But when to my good lord I prove untrue,


Ill choke myself: theres all Ill do for you.


SCENE VI. The same. Another room in the palace.


That hath her husband banishd;--O, that husband!


My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated


Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stoln,


As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable


Is the desire thats glorious: blest be those,


How mean soeer, that have their honest wills,


Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie!


[Aside]  All of her that is out of door most rich!


Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!


Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;


[Reads]  He is one of the noblest note, to whose


kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon


him accordingly, as you value your trust--


Is warmd by the rest, and takes it thankfully.


Have words to bid you, and shall find it so


What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes


To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop


Of sea and land, which can distinguish twixt


The fiery orbs above and the twinnd stones


Partition make with spectacles so precious


It cannot be i the eye, for apes and monkeys


Twixt two such shes would chatter this way and


Contemn with mows the other; nor i the judgment,


Sluttery to such neat excellence opposed


That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub


Both filld and running, ravening first the lamb


Continues well my lord? His health, beseech you?


Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there


He did incline to sadness, and oft-times


An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves


The thick sighs from him, whiles the jolly Briton--


Your lord, I mean--laughs froms free lungs, cries O,


Can my sides hold, to think that man, who knows


What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose


But must be, will his free hours languish for


Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter:


And hear him mock the Frenchman. But, heavens know,


Not he: but yet heavens bounty towards him might


Be used more thankfully. In himself, tis much;


In you, which I account his beyond all talents,


You look on me: what wreck discern you in me


To hide me from the radiant sun and solace


It is an office of the gods to venge it,


Something of me, or what concerns me: pray you,--


Since doubling things go ill often hurts more


Than to be sure they do; for certainties


Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing,


To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,


Whose every touch, would force the feelers soul


To the oath of loyalty; this object, which


Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,


Fixing it only here; should I, damnd then,


Slaver with lips as common as the stairs


That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands


Made hard with hourly falsehood--falsehood, as


Thats fed with stinking tallow; it were fit


That all the plagues of hell should at one time


Inclined to this intelligence, pronounce


The beggary of his change; but tis your graces


That from pay mutest conscience to my tongue


O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart


With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady


Would make the greatst king double,--to be partnerd


With tomboys hired with that self-exhibition


Which your own coffers yield! with diseased ventures


Which rottenness can lend nature! such boild stuff


As well might poison poison! Be revenged;


Or she that bore you was no queen, and you


How should I be revenged? If this be true,--


As I have such a heart that both mine ears


Live, like Dianas priest, betwixt cold sheets,


In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.


I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,


More noble than that runagate to your bed,


And will continue fast to your affection,


So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,


Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not


For such an end thou seekst,--as base as strange.


From thy report as thou from honour, and


Thee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio!


The king my father shall be made acquainted


Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit,


He not respects at all. What, ho, Pisanio!


Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness


Her assured credit. Blessed live you long!


Country calld his! and you his mistress, only


For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.


I have spoke this, to know if your affiance


Were deeply rooted; and shall make your lord,


That which he is, new oer: and he is one


He sits mongst men like a descended god:


More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,


Most mighty princess, that I have adventured


To try your taking a false report; which hath


Honourd with confirmation your great judgment


Which you know cannot err: the love I bear him


Made me to fan you thus, but the gods made you,


Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.


Alls well, sir: take my power i the court


To entreat your grace but in a small request,


Your lord; myself and other noble friends,


The best feather of our wing--have mingled sums


Which I, the factor for the rest, have done


In France: tis plate of rare device, and jewels


Of rich and exquisite form; their values great;


And I am something curious, being strange,


To have them in safe stowage: may it please you


And pawn mine honour for their safety: since


My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them


To send them to you, only for this night;


Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word


I crossd the seas on purpose and on promise


Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please


To greet your lord with writing, dot to-night:


I have outstood my time; which is material


Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept,


And truly yielded you. Youre very welcome.


SCENE I. Britain. Before Cymbelines palace.


Was there ever man had such luck! when I kissed the


jack, upon an up-cast to be hit away! I had a


hundred pound ont: and then a whoreson jackanapes


must take me up for swearing; as if I borrowed mine


oaths of him and might not spend them at my pleasure.


What got he by that? You have broke his pate with


[Aside]  If his wit had been like him that broke it,


When a gentleman is disposed to swear, it is not for


any standers-by to curtail his oaths, ha?


I am not vexed more at any thing in the earth: a


pox ont! I had rather not be so noble as I am;


they dare not fight with me, because of the queen my


mother: every Jack-slave hath his bellyful of


fighting, and I must go up and down like a cock that


[Aside]  You are cock and capon too; and you crow,


It is not fit your lordship should undertake every


No, I know that: but it is fit I should commit


Did you hear of a stranger thats come to court to-night?


[Aside]  Hes a strange fellow himself, and knows it


Theres an Italian come; and, tis thought, one of


Leonatus! a banished rascal; and hes another,


whatsoever he be. Who told you of this stranger?


Is it fit I went to look upon him? is there no


[Aside]  You are a fool granted; therefore your


Come, Ill go see this Italian: what I have lost


to-day at bowls Ill win to-night of him. Come, go.


That such a crafty devil as is his mother


Should yield the world this ass! a woman that


Bears all down with her brain; and this her son


Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart,


And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess,


Betwixt a father by thy step-dame governd,


Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act


Of the divorce held make! The heavens hold firm


The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshaked


That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand,


To enjoy thy banishd lord and this great land!


SCENE II. Imogens bedchamber in Cymbelines palace:


IMOGEN in bed, reading; a Lady attending


I have read three hours then: mine eyes are weak:


Fold down the leaf where I have left: to bed:


Take not away the taper, leave it burning;


And if thou canst awake by four o the clock,


I prithee, call me. Sleep hath seized me wholly


From fairies and the tempters of the night


The crickets sing, and mans oer-labourd sense


Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus


Did softly press the rushes, ere he wakend


How bravely thou becomest thy bed, fresh lily,


And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!


How dearly they dot! Tis her breathing that


Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o the taper


Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids,


To see the enclosed lights, now canopied


Under these windows, white and azure laced


With blue of heavens own tinct. But my design,


To note the chamber: I will write all down:


Such and such pictures; there the window; such


The adornment of her bed; the arras; figures,


Why, such and such; and the contents o the story.


Ah, but some natural notes about her body,


Would testify, to enrich mine inventory.


O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!


Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off:


As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard!


Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly,


As strongly as the conscience does within,


To the madding of her lord. On her left breast


A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops


I the bottom of a cowslip: heres a voucher,


Stronger than ever law could make: this secret


Will force him think I have pickd the lock and taen


The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?


Why should I write this down, thats riveted,


Screwd to my memory? She hath been reading late


The tale of Tereus; here the leafs turnd down


To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it.


Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning


May bare the ravens eye! I lodge in fear;


Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.


An ante-chamber adjoining Imogens apartments.


Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the


But not every man patient after the noble temper of


your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win.


Winning will put any man into courage. If I could


get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough.


I would this music would come: I am advised to give


her music o mornings; they say it will penetrate.


Come on; tune: if you can penetrate her with your


fingering, so; well try with tongue too: if none


will do, let her remain; but Ill never give oer.


First, a very excellent good-conceited thing;


after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich


Hark, hark! the lark at heavens gate sings,


So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will


consider your music the better: if it do not, it is


a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs and


calves-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to


I am glad I was up so late; for thats the reason I


was up so early: he cannot choose but take this


Good morrow to your majesty and to my gracious mother.


Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?


I have assailed her with music, but she vouchsafes no notice.


She hath not yet forgot him: some more time


Must wear the print of his remembrance out,


Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself


With aptness of the season; make denials


You were inspired to do those duties which


You tender to her; that you in all obey her,


Save when command to your dismission tends,


So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;


But thats no fault of his: we must receive him


And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us,


We must extend our notice. Our dear son,


When you have given good morning to your mistress,


Attend the queen and us; we shall have need


To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.


If she be up, Ill speak with her; if not,


If I do line one of their hands? Tis gold


Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes


Dianas rangers false themselves, yield up


Their deer to the stand o the stealer; and tis gold


Which makes the true man killd and saves the thief;


Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man: what


Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours,


Can justly boast of. Whats your lordships pleasure?


What I shall think is good?--The princess!


Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand.


Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains


For purchasing but trouble; the thanks I give


If you but said so, twere as deep with me:


If you swear still, your recompense is still


But that you shall not say I yield being silent,


I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: faith,


To your best kindness: one of your great knowing


Should learn, being taught, forbearance.


To leave you in your madness, twere my sin:


If youll be patient, Ill no more be mad;


That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,


By being so verbal: and learn now, for all,


That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce,


By the very truth of it, I care not for you,


To accuse myself--I hate you; which I had rather


Obedience, which you owe your father. For


The contract you pretend with that base wretch,


One bred of alms and fosterd with cold dishes,


With scraps o the court, it is no contract, none:


And though it be allowd in meaner parties--


Yet who than he more mean?--to knit their souls,


But brats and beggary, in self-figured knot;


Yet you are curbd from that enlargement by


The consequence o the crown, and must not soil


The precious note of it with a base slave.


A hilding for a livery, a squires cloth,


Wert thou the son of Jupiter and no more


But what thou art besides, thou wert too base


To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough,


Even to the point of envy, if twere made


Comparative for your virtues, to be styled


The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated


He never can meet more mischance than come


To be but named of thee. His meanest garment,


That ever hath but clippd his body, is dearer


In my respect than all the hairs above thee,


Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!


To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently--


Frighted, and angerd worse: go bid my woman


Hath left mine arm: it was thy masters: shrew me,


Last night twas on mine arm; I kissd it:


If you will maket an action, call witness tot.


Shes my good lady, and will conceive, I hope,


But the worst of me. So, I leave you, sir,


Fear it not, sir: I would I were so sure


Quake in the present winters state and wish


That warmer days would come: in these seard hopes,


I barely gratify your love; they failing,


Oerpays all I can do. By this, your king


Hath heard of great Augustus: Caius Lucius


Will dos commission throughly: and I think


Hell grant the tribute, send the arrearages,


Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance


Statist though I am none, nor like to be,


That this will prove a war; and you shall hear


In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings


Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen


Are men more orderd than when Julius Caesar


Smiled at their lack of skill, but found


Worthy his frowning at: their discipline,


Now mingled with their courages, will make known


The swiftest harts have posted you by land;


And winds of all the comers kissd your sails,


I hope the briefness of your answer made


Is one of the fairest that I have lookd upon.


And therewithal the best; or let her beauty


Look through a casement to allure false hearts


Sparkles this stone as it was wont? or ist not


I should have lost the worth of it in gold.


Ill make a journey twice as far, to enjoy


A second night of such sweet shortness which


Was mine in Britain, for the ring is won.


Your loss your sport: I hope you know that we


The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant


Profess myself the winner of her honour,


Together with your ring; and not the wronger


That you have tasted her in bed, my hand


And ring is yours; if not, the foul opinion


You had of her pure honour gains or loses


Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both


Being so near the truth as I will make them,


Must first induce you to believe: whose strength


I will confirm with oath; which, I doubt not,


Youll give me leave to spare, when you shall find


Where, I confess, I slept not, but profess


Had that was well worth watching--it was hangd


With tapesty of silk and silver; the story


Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,


And Cydnus swelld above the banks, or for


The press of boats or pride: a piece of work


So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive


In workmanship and value; which I wonderd


And this you might have heard of here, by me,


Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece


Chaste Dian bathing: never saw I figures


So likely to report themselves: the cutter


Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her,


Which you might from relation likewise reap,


With golden cherubins is fretted: her andirons--


I had forgot them--were two winking Cupids


Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely


Let it be granted you have seen all this--and praise


Be given to your remembrance--the description


Be pale: I beg but leave to air this jewel; see!


And now tis up again: it must be married


She strippd it from her arm; I see her yet;


And yet enrichd it too: she gave it me, and said


O, no, no, no! tis true. Here, take this too;


Kills me to look ont. Let there be no honour


Where there is beauty; truth, where semblance; love,


Where theres another man: the vows of women


Of no more bondage be, to where they are made,


Than they are to their virtues; which is nothing.


And take your ring again; tis not yet won:


Who knows if one of her women, being corrupted,


And so, I hope, he came byt. Back my ring:


Render to me some corporal sign about her,


More evident than this; for this was stolen.


Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.


Tis true:--nay, keep the ring--tis true: I am sure


She would not lose it: her attendants are


All sworn and honourable:--they induced to steal it!


And by a stranger!--No, he hath enjoyed her:


Is this: she hath bought the name of whore


There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell


This is not strong enough to be believed


For further satisfying, under her breast--


Worthy the pressing--lies a mole, right proud


Of that most delicate lodging: by my life,


I kissd it; and it gave me present hunger


To feed again, though full. You do remember


Spare your arithmetic: never count the turns;


If you will swear you have not donet, you lie;


O, that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal!


I will go there and dot, i the court, before


The government of patience! You have won:


Lets follow him, and pervert the present wrath


SCENE V. Another room in Philarios house.


Must be half-workers? We are all bastards;


Did call my father, was I know not where


When I was stampd; some coiner with his tools


Made me a counterfeit: yet my mother seemd


The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!


And prayd me oft forbearance; did it with


Might well have warmd old Saturn; that I thought her


As chaste as unsunnd snow. O, all the devils!


This yellow Iachimo, in an hour,--wast not?--


Or less,--at first?--perchance he spoke not, but,


Cried O! and mounted; found no opposition


But what he lookd for should oppose and she


Should from encounter guard. Could I find out


The womans part in me! For theres no motion


It is the womans part: be it lying, note it,


The womans; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;


Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;


Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,


All faults that may be named, nay, that hell knows,


Why, hers, in part or all; but rather, all;


They are not constant but are changing still


Not half so old as that. Ill write against them,


Detest them, curse them: yet tis greater skill


In a true hate, to pray they have their will:


The very devils cannot plague them better.


SCENE I. Britain. A hall in Cymbelines palace.


Enter in state, CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN,  and Lords at one door, and at another, CAIUS LUCIUS and Attendants


Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us?


When Julius Caesar, whose remembrance yet


Lives in mens eyes and will to ears and tongues


Be theme and hearing ever, was in this Britain


And conquerd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,--


And his succession granted Rome a tribute,


Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately


A world by itself; and we will nothing pay


Which then they had to take from s, to resume


The natural bravery of your isle, which stands


With rocks unscalable and roaring waters,


With sands that will not bear your enemies boats,


But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquest


Caesar made here; but made not here his brag


Of Came and saw and overcame:  with shame--


That first that ever touchd him--he was carried


From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping--


Poor ignorant baubles!-- upon our terrible seas,


Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crackd


As easily gainst our rocks: for joy whereof


The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point--


O giglot fortune!--to master Caesars sword,


Made Luds town with rejoicing fires bright


Come, theres no more tribute to be paid: our


kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and,


as I said, there is no moe such Caesars: other of


them may have crookd noses, but to owe such


We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as


Cassibelan: I do not say I am one; but I have a


hand. Why tribute? why should we pay tribute? If


Caesar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or


put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute


for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now.


Which swelld so much that it did almost stretch


The sides o the world, against all colour here


Did put the yoke upon s; which to shake off


Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon


Ordaind our laws, whose use the sword of Caesar


Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise


Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,


Though Rome be therefore angry: Mulmutius made our laws,


Who was the first of Britain which did put


His brows within a golden crown and calld


That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar--


Caesar, that hath more kings his servants than


Receive it from me, then: war and confusion


In Caesars name pronounce I gainst thee: look


For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,


Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent


Much under him; of him I gatherd honour;


Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect


Their liberties are now in arms; a precedent


Which not to read would show the Britons cold:


pastime with us a day or two, or longer: if


you seek us afterwards in other terms, you


shall find us in our salt-water girdle: if you


beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in


the adventure, our crows shall fare the better


I know your masters pleasure and he mine:


How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not


Is falln into thy ear! What false Italian,


As poisonous-tongued as handed, hath prevaild


Shes punishd for her truth, and undergoes,


More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults


As would take in some virtue. O my master!


Thy fortunes. How! that I should murder her?


Upon the love and truth and vows which I


Have made to thy command? I, her? her blood?


Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,


that I have sent her, by her own command


Shall give thee opportunity. O damnd paper!


Black as the ink thats on thee! Senseless bauble,


Art thou a feodary for this act, and lookst


So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.


Who? thy lord? that is my lord, Leonatus!


That knew the stars as I his characters;


Held lay the future open. You good gods,


Let what is here containd relish of love,


Of my lords health, of his content, yet not


That we two are asunder; let that grieve him:


Some griefs are medcinable; that is one of them,


For it doth physic love: of his content,


All but in that! Good wax, thy leave. Blest be


You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers


And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike:


Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet


You clasp young Cupids tables. Good news, gods!


Justice, and your fathers wrath, should he take me


in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as


you, O the dearest of creatures, would even renew me


with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria,


at Milford-Haven: what your own love will out of


this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all


happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your,


O, for a horse with wings! Hearst thou, Pisanio?


He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me


How far tis thither. If one of mean affairs


Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio,--


Who longst, like me, to see thy lord; who longst,--


let me bate,-but not like me--yet longst,


For mines beyond beyond--say, and speak thick;


Loves counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,


To the smothering of the sense--how far it is


To this same blessed Milford: and by the way


To inherit such a haven: but first of all,


How we may steal from hence, and for the gap


That we shall make in time, from our hence-going


And our return, to excuse: but first, how get hence:


Well talk of that hereafter. Prithee, speak,


How many score of miles may we well ride


Where horses have been nimbler than the sands


That run i the clocks behalf. But this is foolery:


Shell home to her father: and provide me presently


A riding-suit, no costlier than would fit


I see before me, man: nor here, nor here,


Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them,


That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee;


Do as I bid thee: theres no more to say,


SCENE III. Wales: a mountainous country with a cave.


Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS; GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS following


A goodly day not to keep house, with such


Whose roofs as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate


Instructs you how to adore the heavens and bows you


To a mornings holy office: the gates of monarchs


Are archd so high that giants may jet through


And keep their impious turbans on, without


Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!


We house i the rock, yet use thee not so hardly


Now for our mountain sport: up to yond hill;


Your legs are young; Ill tread these flats. Consider,


That it is place which lessens and sets off;


And you may then revolve what tales I have told you


Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:


This service is not service, so being done,


Draws us a profit from all things we see;


And often, to our comfort, shall we find


Than is the full-wingd eagle. O, this life


Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:


Such gain the cap of him that makes em fine,


Yet keeps his book uncrossd: no life to ours.


Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledged,


Have never wingd from view o the nest, nor know not


What airs from home. Haply this life is best,


That have a sharper known; well corresponding


When we are old as you? when we shall hear


The rain and wind beat dark December, how,


In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse


The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing;


We are beastly, subtle as the fox for prey,


Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat;


Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage


We make a quire, as doth the prisond bird,


And felt them knowingly; the art o the court


As hard to leave as keep; whose top to climb


The fears as bad as falling; the toil o the war,


A pain that only seems to seek out danger


I the name of fame and honour; which dies i


Doth ill deserve by doing well; whats worse,


Must courtsy at the censure:--O boys, this story


The world may read in me: my bodys markd


With Roman swords, and my report was once


First with the best of note: Cymbeline loved me,


And when a soldier was the theme, my name


Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but in one night,


A storm or robbery, call it what you will,


Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,


My fault being nothing--as I have told you oft--


But that two villains, whose false oaths prevaild


Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline


Followd my banishment, and this twenty years


This rock and these demesnes have been my world;


Where I have lived at honest freedom, paid


The fore-end of my time. But up to the mountains!


This is not hunters language: he that strikes


The venison first shall be the lord o the feast;


And we will fear no poison, which attends


In place of greater state. Ill meet you in the valleys.


How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!


These boys know little they are sons to the king;


Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.


They think they are mine; and though traind


I the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit


The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them


In simple and low things to prince it much


Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,


The king his father calld Guiderius,--Jove!


When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell


The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out


Into my story: say Thus, mine enemy fell,


And thus I set my foot on s neck; even then


The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,


Strains his young nerves and puts himself in posture


That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,


Strikes life into my speech and shows much more


His own conceiving.--Hark, the game is roused!


O Cymbeline! heaven and my conscience knows


At three and two years old, I stole these babes;


Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for


They take for natural father. The game is up.


Thou toldst me, when we came from horse, the place


Was near at hand: neer longd my mother so


To see me first, as I have now. Pisanio! man!


Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind,


That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh


From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus,


Into a havior of less fear, ere wildness


Vanquish my staider senses. Whats the matter?


Why tenderst thou that paper to me, with


Smile tot before; if winterly, thou needst


But keep that countenance still. My husbands hand!


That drug-damnd Italy hath out-craftied him,


And hes at some hard point. Speak, man: thy tongue


May take off some extremity, which to read


And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing


[Reads]  Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the


strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie


bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises,


but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain


as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio,


must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with


the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away


her life: I shall give thee opportunity at


Milford-Haven. She hath my letter for the purpose


where, if thou fear to strike and to make me certain


it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour and


What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper


Hath cut her throat already. No, tis slander,


Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue


Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath


Rides on the posting winds and doth belie


All corners of the world: kings, queens and states,


Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave


This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam?


False to his bed! What is it to be false?


To lie in watch there and to think on him?


And cry myself awake? thats false tos bed, is it?


I false! Thy conscience witness: Iachimo,


Thou then lookdst like a villain; now methinks


Thy favours good enough. Some jay of Italy


Whose mother was her painting, hath betrayd him:


Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion;


And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls,


I must be rippd:--to pieces with me!--O,


Mens vows are womens traitors! All good seeming,


By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought


Put on for villany; not born wheret grows,


True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas,


Were in his time thought false, and Sinons weeping


From most true wretchedness: so thou, Posthumus,


Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjured


From thy great fall. Come, fellow, be thou honest:


Do thou thy masters bidding: when thou seest him,


I draw the sword myself: take it, and hit


The innocent mansion of my love, my heart;


Fear not; tis empty of all things but grief;


The riches of it: do his bidding; strike


Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause;


No servant of thy masters. Against self-slaughter


That cravens my weak hand. Come, heres my heart.


Somethings aforet. Soft, soft! well no defence;


Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more


Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools


Believe false teachers: though those that


Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor


And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up


My disobedience gainst the king my father


Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find


A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself


To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her


Will then be pangd by me. Prithee, dispatch:


The lamb entreats the butcher: wheres thy knife?


Thou art too slow to do thy masters bidding,


Since I received command to do this business


Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abused


So many miles with a pretence? this place?


Mine action and thine own? our horses labour?


The time inviting thee? the perturbd court,


Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far,


To be unbent when thou hast taen thy stand,


I have considerd of a course. Good lady,


I have heard I am a strumpet; and mine ear


Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,


My purpose would prove well. It cannot be


Some villain, ay, and singular in his art.


Ill give but notice you are dead and send him


Some bloody sign of it; for tis commanded


I should do so: you shall be missd at court,


What shall I do the where? where bide? how live?


That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me


Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,


Are they not but in Britain? I the worlds volume


Our Britain seems as of it, but not in t;


In a great pool a swans nest: prithee, think


You think of other place. The ambassador,


Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven


To-morrow: now, if you could wear a mind


Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise


That which, to appear itself, must not yet be


But by self-danger, you should tread a course


Pretty and full of view; yea, haply, near


The residence of Posthumus; so nigh at least


That though his actions were not visible, yet


Report should render him hourly to your ear


Though peril to my modesty, not death ont,


Command into obedience: fear and niceness--


The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,


Woman its pretty self--into a waggish courage:


Ready in gibes, quick-answerd, saucy and


As quarrelous as the weasel; nay, you must


Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,


Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein


Fore-thinking this, I have already fit--


Tis in my cloak-bag--doublet, hat, hose, all


That answer to them: would you in their serving,


From youth of such a season, fore noble Lucius


Present yourself, desire his service, tell him


wherein youre happy,--which youll make him know,


If that his head have ear in music,--doubtless


With joy he will embrace you, for hes honourable


And doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad,


You have me, rich; and I will never fail


The gods will diet me with. Prithee, away:


Theres more to be considerd; but well even


All that good time will give us: this attempt


Well, madam, we must take a short farewell,


Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress,


Whats int is precious; if you are sick at sea,


Or stomach-qualmd at land, a dram of this


Will drive away distemper. To some shade,


And fit you to your manhood. May the gods


Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, Lords, and Attendants


My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence;


And am right sorry that I must report ye


Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself


To show less sovereignty than they, must needs


My lords, you are appointed for that office;


Receive it friendly; but from this time forth


Is yet to name the winner: fare you well.


Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,


Till he have crossd the Severn. Happiness!


He goes hence frowning: but it honours us


Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.


Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor


How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely


Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness:


The powers that he already hath in Gallia


Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves


But must be lookd to speedily and strongly.


Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,


Where is our daughter? She hath not appeard


Before the Roman, nor to us hath tenderd


A thing more made of malice than of duty:


We have noted it. Call her before us; for


Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired


Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,


Forbear sharp speeches to her: shes a lady


So tender of rebukes that words are strokes


Her chambers are all lockd; and theres no answer


That will be given to the loudest noise we make.


She prayd me to excuse her keeping close,


She should that duty leave unpaid to you,


Which daily she was bound to proffer: this


She wishd me to make known; but our great court


Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear


That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,


Pisanio, thou that standst so for Posthumus!


He hath a drug of mine; I pray his absence


Proceed by swallowing that, for he believes


It is a thing most precious. But for her,


Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seized her,


Or, wingd with fervor of her love, shes flown


Can make good use of either: she being down,


I have the placing of the British crown.


Go in and cheer the king: he rages; none


This night forestall him of the coming day!


I love and hate her: for shes fair and royal,


And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite


Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one


The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,


Outsells them all; I love her therefore: but


The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment


That whats else rare is choked; and in that point


I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,


To be revenged upon her. For when fools Shall--


Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?


Come hither: ah, you precious pander! Villain,


Ill have this secret from thy heart, or rip


Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?


From whose so many weights of baseness cannot


How can she be with him? When was she missed?


At the next word: no more of worthy lord!


This paper is the history of my knowledge


[Aside]                 Or this, or perish.


Shes far enough; and what he learns by this


[Aside]  Ill write to my lord shes dead. O Imogen,


Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!


It is Posthumus hand; I knowt. Sirrah, if thou


wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service,


undergo those employments wherein I should have


cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is,


what villany soeer I bid thee do, to perform it


directly and truly, I would think thee an honest


man: thou shouldst neither want my means for thy


Wilt thou serve me? for since patiently and


constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of


that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the


course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of


Give me thy hand; heres my purse. Hast any of thy


late masters garments in thy possession?


I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he


wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.


The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit


Meet thee at Milford-Haven!--I forgot to ask him one


thing; Ill remembert anon:--even there, thou


villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these


garments were come. She said upon a time--the


bitterness of it I now belch from my heart--that she


held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect


than my noble and natural person together with the


adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my


back, will I ravish her: first kill him, and in her


eyes; there shall she see my valour, which will then


be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my


speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and


when my lust hath dined,--which, as I say, to vex


her I will execute in the clothes that she so


praised,--to the court Ill knock her back, foot


her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly,


How long ist since she went to Milford-Haven?


Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second


thing that I have commanded thee: the third is,


that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be


but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself


to thee. My revenge is now at Milford: would I had


Thou bidst me to my loss: for true to thee


Were to prove false, which I will never be,


To him that is most true. To Milford go,


And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow,


You heavenly blessings, on her! This fools speed


Be crossd with slowness; labour be his meed!


SCENE VI. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius.


I have tired myself, and for two nights together


Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick,


But that my resolution helps me. Milford,


When from the mountain-top Pisanio showd thee,


Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean,


Where they should be relieved. Two beggars told me


I could not miss my way: will poor folks lie,


That have afflictions on them, knowing tis


When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness


Is sorer than to lie for need, and falsehood


Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord!


Thou art one o the false ones. Now I think on thee,


At point to sink for food. But what is this?


Here is a path tot: tis some savage hold:


I were best not to call; I dare not call:


Ere clean it oerthrow nature, makes it valiant,


Plenty and peace breeds cowards: hardness ever


If any thing thats civil, speak; if savage,


Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then Ill enter.


But fear the sword like me, hell scarcely look ont.


Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS


You, Polydote, have proved best woodman and


Will play the cook and servant; tis our match:


The sweat of industry would dry and die,


But for the end it works to. Come; our stomachs


Will make whats homely savoury: weariness


Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth


Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be here,


I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.


There is cold meat i the cave; well browse on that,


But that it eats our victuals, I should think


Before I enterd here, I calld; and thought


To have beggd or bought what I have took:


I have stoln nought, nor would not, though I had found


Gold strewd i the floor. Heres money for my meat:


I would have left it on the board so soon


All gold and silver rather turn to dirt!


Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should


Is bound for Italy; he embarkd at Milford;


To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,


Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds


By this rude place we live in. Well encounterd!


Tis almost night: you shall have better cheer


Ere you depart: and thanks to stay and eat it.


I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty,


He is a man; Ill love him as my brother:


After long absence, such is yours: most welcome!


Be sprightly, for you fall mongst friends.


Had been my fathers sons! then had my prize


That had a court no bigger than this cave,


That did attend themselves and had the virtue


Which their own conscience seald them--laying by


That nothing-gift of differing multitudes--


Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods!


Id change my sex to be companion with them,


Boys, well go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in:


Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have suppd,


The night to the owl and morn to the lark


That since the common men are now in action


The falln-off Britons, that we do incite


Lucius preconsul: and to you the tribunes,


His absolute commission. Long live Caesar!


Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy


Must be supplyant: the words of your commission


Will tie you to the numbers and the time


SCENE I. Wales: near the cave of Belarius.


I am near to the place where they should meet, if


Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his garments


serve me! Why should his mistress, who was made by


him that made the tailor, not be fit too? the


rather--saving reverence of the word--for tis said


a womans fitness comes by fits. Therein I must


play the workman. I dare speak it to myself--for it


is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer


in his own chamber--I mean, the lines of my body are


as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong,


not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the


advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike


conversant in general services, and more remarkable


in single oppositions: yet this imperceiverant


thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is!


Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy


shoulders, shall within this hour be off; thy


mistress enforced; thy garments cut to pieces before


thy face: and all this done, spurn her home to her


father; who may haply be a little angry for my so


rough usage; but my mother, having power of his


testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. My


horse is tied up safe: out, sword, and to a sore


purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand! This is


the very description of their meeting-place; and


Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, and IMOGEN


[To IMOGEN]  You are not well: remain here in the cave;


Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.


To seem to die ere sick: so please you, leave me;


Stick to your journal course: the breach of custom


Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me


To one not sociable: I am not very sick,


Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here:


Ill rob none but myself; and let me die,


How much the quantity, the weight as much,


In my good brothers fault: I know not why


I love this youth; and I have heard you say,


Loves reasons without reason: the bier at door,


O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness!


Cowards father cowards and base things sire base:


Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace.


Im not their father; yet who this should be,


[Aside]  These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies


Our courtiers say alls savage but at court:


The imperious seas breed monsters, for the dish


Thus did he answer me: yet said, hereafter


Well leave you for this time: go in and rest.


This youth, hower distressd, appears he hath had


And sauced our broths, as Juno had been sick


Was that it was, for not being such a smile;


The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly


That grief and patience, rooted in him both,


And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine


His perishing root with the increasing vine!


I cannot find those runagates; that villain


Cloten, the son o the queen. I fear some ambush.


I know tis he. We are held as outlaws: hence!


He is but one: you and my brother search


What companies are near: pray you, away;


That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers?


I have heard of such. What slave art thou?


A law-breaker, a villain: yield thee, thief.


To who? to thee? What art thou? Have not I


Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not


My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art,


Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes,


The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool;


Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name,


I cannot tremble at it: were it Toad, or


Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know


Those that I reverence those I fear, the wise:


When I have slain thee with my proper hand,


Ill follow those that even now fled hence,


And on the gates of Luds-town set your heads:


None in the world: you did mistake him, sure.


I cannot tell: long is it since I saw him,


But time hath nothing blurrd those lines of favour


Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice,


And burst of speaking, were as his: I am absolute


I wish my brother make good time with him,


Of roaring terrors; for the effect of judgment


Is oft the cause of fear. But, see, thy brother.


Could have knockd out his brains, for he had none:


Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne


I am perfect what: cut off one Clotens head,


Who calld me traitor, mountaineer, and swore


With his own single hand held take us in


Displace our heads where--thank the gods!--they grow,


Why, worthy father, what have we to lose,


But that he swore to take, our lives? The law


Protects not us: then why should we be tender


To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us,


Can we set eye on; but in all safe reason


He must have some attendants. Though his humour


From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not


Absolute madness could so far have raved


To bring him here alone; although perhaps


It may be heard at court that such as we


Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time


May make some stronger head; the which he hearing--


As it is like him--might break out, and swear


To come alone, either he so undertaking,


Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear,


To hunt this day: the boy Fideles sickness


Which he did wave against my throat, I have taen


His head from him: Ill throwt into the creek


And tell the fishes hes the queens son, Cloten:


Would, Polydote, thou hadst not donet! though valour


So the revenge alone pursued me! Polydore,


Thou hast robbd me of this deed: I would revenges,


That possible strength might meet, would seek us through


Well hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger


Where theres no profit. I prithee, to our rock;


Till hasty Polydote return, and bring him


Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazonst


In these two princely boys! They are as gentle


Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,


Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind,


That by the top doth take the mountain pine,


And make him stoop to the vale. Tis wonder


That an invisible instinct should frame them


That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop


As if it had been sowd. Yet still its strange


I have sent Clotens clotpoll down the stream,


In embassy to his mother: his bodys hostage


Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion


Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!


What does he mean? since death of my dearst mother


it did not speak before. All solemn things


Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?


And brings the dire occasion in his arms


Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, with IMOGEN, as dead, bearing her in his arms


That we have made so much on. I had rather


Have skippd from sixteen years of age to sixty,


To have turnd my leaping-time into a crutch,


My brother wears thee not the one half so well


Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find


The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare


Might easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing!


Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,


Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy.


Thus smiling, as some fly hid tickled slumber,


Not as deaths dart, being laughd at; his


His arms thus leagued: I thought he slept, and put


My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness


If he be gone, hell make his grave a bed;


With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,


Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,


Ill sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack


The flower thats like thy face, pale primrose, nor


The azured harebell, like thy veins, no, nor


The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,


Out-sweetend not thy breath: the ruddock would,


With charitable bill,--O bill, sore-shaming


Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie


Without a monument!--bring thee all this;


Yea, and furrd moss besides, when flowers are none,


And do not play in wench-like words with that


And let us, Polydore, though now our voices


Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground,


As once our mother; use like note and words,


I cannot sing: Ill weep, and word it with thee;


For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse


Great griefs, I see, medicine the less; for Cloten


Is quite forgot. He was a queens son, boys;


That angel of the world, doth make distinction


Of place tween high and low. Our foe was princely


And though you took his life, as being our foe,


Well say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.


Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east;


Re-enter BELARIUS, with the body of CLOTEN


We have done our obsequies: come, lay him down.


Heres a few flowers; but bout midnight, more:


The herbs that have on them cold dew o the night


Are strewings fittst for graves. Upon their faces.


You were as flowers, now witherd: even so


These herblets shall, which we upon you strew.


The ground that gave them first has them again:


Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.


Exeunt BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS


[Awaking]  Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; which is


I thank you.--By yond bush?--Pray, how far thither?


Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet?--


I have gone all night. Faith, Ill lie down and sleep.


But, soft! no bedfellow!--O god s and goddesses!


These flowers are like the pleasures of the world;


This bloody man, the care ont. I hope I dream;


And cook to honest creatures: but tis not so;


Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,


Which the brain makes of fumes: our very eyes


Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,


I tremble stiff with fear: but if there be


Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity


As a wrens eye, feard gods, a part of it!


The dreams here still: even when I wake, it is


Without me, as within me; not imagined, felt.


A headless man! The garments of Posthumus!


I know the shape ofs leg: this is his hand;


The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face


Murder in heaven?--How!--Tis gone. Pisanio,


All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,


And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,


Conspired with that irregulous devil, Cloten,


Hast here cut off my lord. To write and read


Be henceforth treacherous! Damnd Pisanio


Hath with his forged letters,--damnd Pisanio--


From this most bravest vessel of the world


Pisanio might have killd thee at the heart,


And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio?


Tis he and Cloten: malice and lucre in them


Have laid this woe here. O, tis pregnant, pregnant!


The drug he gave me, which he said was precious


Murderous to the senses? That confirms it home:


Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,


Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord!


Enter LUCIUS, a Captain and other Officers, and a Soothsayer


To them the legions garrisond in Gailia,


After your will, have crossd the sea, attending


You here at Milford-Haven with your ships:


And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits,


That promise noble service: and they come


Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers


Be musterd; bid the captains look tot. Now, sir,


What have you dreamd of late of this wars purpose?


Last night the very gods showd me a vision--


I fast and prayd for their intelligence--thus:


I saw Joves bird, the Roman eagle, wingd


From the spongy south to this part of the west,


There vanishd in the sunbeams: which portends--


And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here


Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime


Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather;


With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.


Hell then instruct us of this body. Young one,


Thou makest thy bloody pillow? Or who was he


Hath alterd that good picture? Whats thy interest


In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it?


Nothing to be were better. This was my master,


That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas!


There is no more such masters: I may wander


From east to occident, cry out for service,


Thou movest no less with thy complaining than


Thy master in bleeding: say his name, good friend.


No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope


Thou dost approve thyself the very same:


Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name.


Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say


Thou shalt be so well masterd, but, be sure,


No less beloved. The Roman emperors letters,


Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner


Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with me.


Ill follow, sir. But first, ant please the gods,


Ill hide my master from the flies, as deep


As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when


With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha strewd his grave,


Such as I can, twice oer, Ill weep and sigh;


And rather father thee than master thee.


The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us


Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,


And make him with our pikes and partisans


A grave: come, arm him. Boy, he is preferrd


As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes


Some falls are means the happier to arise.


Enter CYMBELINE, Lords, PISANIO, and Attendants


Again; and bring me word how tis with her.


A madness, of which her lifes in danger. Heavens,


How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,


The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen


When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,


So needful for this present: it strikes me, past


The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,


Who needs must know of her departure and


Dost seem so ignorant, well enforce it from thee


I humbly set it at your will; but, for my mistress,


I nothing know where she remains, why gone,


Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your highness,


The day that she was missing he was here:


I dare be bound hes true and shall perform


All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,


There wants no diligence in seeking him,


Well slip you for a season; but our jealousy


The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,


Now for the counsel of my son and queen!


Than what you hear of: come more, for more


The want is but to put those powers in motion


And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not


I wrote him Imogen was slain: tis strange:


Nor hear I from my mistress who did promise


To yield me often tidings: neither know I


Perplexd in all. The heavens still must work.


Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true.


These present wars shall find I love my country,


Even to the note o the king, or Ill fall in them.


All other doubts, by time let them be cleard:


Fortune brings in some boats that are not steerd.


SCENE IV. Wales: before the cave of Belarius.


Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.


What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it


Have we in hiding us? This way, the Romans


Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us


Well higher to the mountains; there secure us.


To the kings party theres no going: newness


Of Clotens death--we being not known, not musterd


Among the bands--may drive us to a render


Where we have lived, and so extort froms that


Which we have done, whose answer would be death


That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,


Behold their quarterd fires, have both their eyes


That they will waste their time upon our note,


Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him


From my remembrance. And, besides, the king


Hath not deserved my service nor your loves;


Who find in my exile the want of breeding,


The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless


To have the courtesy your cradle promised,


Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army:


I and my brother are not known; yourself


So out of thought, and thereto so oergrown,


Ill thither: what thing is it that I never


Did see man die! scarce ever lookd on blood,


But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison!


Never bestrid a horse, save one that had


A rider like myself, who neer wore rowel


The benefit of his blest beams, remaining


If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,


Ill take the better care, but if you will not,


No reason I, since of your lives you set


My crackd one to more care. Have with you, boys!


If in your country wars you chance to die,


That is my bed too, lads, an there Ill lie:


Till it fly out and show them princes born.


Enter POSTHUMUS, with a bloody handkerchief


Yea, bloody cloth, Ill keep thee, for I wishd


Thou shouldst be colourd thus. You married ones,


If each of you should take this course, how many


Must murder wives much better than themselves


Every good servant does not all commands:


No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you


Should have taen vengeance on my faults, I never


Had lived to put on this: so had you saved


Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But, alack,


You snatch some hence for little faults; thats love,


To have them fall no more: you some permit


To second ills with ills, each elder worse,


And make them dread it, to the doers thrift.


But Imogen is your own: do your best wills,


And make me blest to obey! I am brought hither


That, Britain, I have killd thy mistress; peace!


Ill give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,


Hear patiently my purpose: Ill disrobe me


Against the part I come with; so Ill die


For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life


Is every breath a death; and thus, unknown,


Myself Ill dedicate. Let me make men know


Gods, put the strength o the Leonati in me!


To shame the guise o the world, I will begin


The fashion, less without and more within.


SCENE II. Field of battle between the British and Roman camps.


Enter, from one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and  the Roman Army: from the other side, the  British Army; POSTHUMUS LEONATUS following,  like a poor soldier. They march over and go  out. Then enter again, in skirmish, IACHIMO  and POSTHUMUS LEONATUS he vanquisheth and disarmeth IACHIMO, and then leaves him


Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady,


The princess of this country, and the air ont


Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl,


A very drudge of natures, have subdued me


In my profession? Knighthoods and honours, borne


As I wear mine, are titles but of scorn.


This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds


Is that we scarce are men and you are gods.


The battle continues; the Britons fly; CYMBELINE is  taken: then enter, to his rescue, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS


Stand, stand! We have the advantage of the ground;


The lane is guarded: nothing routs us but


Re-enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and seconds the  Britons: they rescue CYMBELINE, and exeunt. Then re-enter LUCIUS, and IACHIMO, with IMOGEN


Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;


For friends kill friends, and the disorders such


Enter POSTHUMUS LEONATUS and a British Lord


Camest thou from where they made the stand?


Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.


No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost,


But that the heavens fought: the king himself


Of his wings destitute, the army broken,


And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying


Through a straight lane; the enemy full-hearted,


Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work


More plentiful than tools to dot, struck down


Some mortally, some slightly touchd, some falling


Merely through fear; that the straight pass was dammd


With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living


Close by the battle, ditchd, and walld with turf;


Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,


So long a breeding as his white beard came to,


In doing this fors country: athwart the lane,


He, with two striplings-lads more like to run


The country base than to commit such slaughter


With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer


Than those for preservation cased, or shame--


Made good the passage; cried to those that fled,


Our Britain s harts die flying, not our men:


To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards. Stand;