Cymbeline Part 1

The Tragedie of Cymbeline.

by William Shakespeare.

The elongated S's have been changed to small s's and the conjoined ae have been changed to ae. I have left the spelling, punctuation, capitalization as close as possible to the printed text. I have corrected some spelling mistakes (I have put together a spelling dictionary devised from the spellings of the Geneva Bible and Shakespeare's First Folio and have unified spellings according to this template), typo's and expanded abbreviations as I have come across them. Everything within brackets [] is what I have added. So if you don't like that you can delete everything within the brackets if you want a purer Shakespeare.

Another thing that you should be aware of is that there are textual differences between various copies of the first folio. So there may be differences (other than what I have mentioned above) between this and other first folio editions. This is due to the printer's habit of setting the type and running off a number of copies and then proofing the printed copy and correcting the type and then continuing the printing run. The proof run wasn't thrown away but incorporated into the printed copies. This is just the way it is.

The text I have used was a composite of more than 30 different First Folio editions' best pages.

If you find any scanning errors, out and out typos, punctuation errors, or if you disagree with my spelling choices please feel free to email me those errors. I wish to make this the best etext possible. My email address for right now are [email protected] and I hope that you enjoy this.

David Reed

The Tragedie of Cymbeline

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.

Enter two Gentlemen.

1.Gent. You do not meet a man but Frownes.

Our bloods no more obey the Heauens Then our Courtiers: Still seeme, as do's the Kings

2 Gent. But what's the matter?

1. His daughter, and the heire of's kingdome (whom He purpos'd to his wiues sole Sonne, a Widdow That late he married) hath referr'd her selfe Vnto a poore, but worthy Gentleman. She's wedded, Her Husband banish'd; she imprison'd, all Is outward sorrow, though I thinke the King Be touch'd at very heart

2 None but the King?

1 He that hath lost her too: so is the Queene, That most desir'd the Match. But not a Courtier, Although they weare their faces to the bent Of the Kings lookes, hath a heart that is not Glad at the thing they scowle at

2 And why so?

1 He that hath miss'd the Princesse, is a thing Too bad, for bad report: and he that hath her, (I meane, that married her, alacke good man, And therefore banish'd) is a Creature, such, As to seeke through the Regions of the Earth For one, his like; there would be something failing In him, that should compare. I do not thinke, So faire an Outward, and such stuffe Within Endowes a man, but hee

2 You speake him farre

1 I do extend him (Sir) within himselfe, Crush him together, rather then vnfold His measure duly

2 What's his name, and Birth?

1 I cannot delue him to the roote: His Father Was call'd Sicillius, who did ioyne his Honor Against the Romanes, with Ca.s.sibulan, But had his t.i.tles by Tenantius, whom He seru'd with Glory, and admir'd Successe: So gain'd the Sur-addition, Leonatus.

And had (besides this Gentleman in question) Two other Sonnes, who in the Warres o'th' time Dy'de with their Swords in hand. For which, their Father Then old, and fond of yssue, tooke such sorrow That he quit Being; and his gentle Lady Bigge of this Gentleman (our Theame) deceast As he was borne. The King he takes the Babe To his protection, cals him Posthumus Leonatus, Breedes him, and makes him of his Bed-chamber, Puts to him all the Learnings that his time Could make him the receiuer of, which he tooke As we do ayre, fast as 'twas ministred, And in's Spring, became a Haruest: Liu'd in Court (Which rare it is to do) most prais'd, most lou'd, A sample to the yongest: to th' more Mature, A gla.s.se that feated them: and to the grauer, A Childe that guided Dotards. To his Mistris, (For whom he now is banish'd) her owne price Proclaimes how she esteem'd him; and his Vertue By her electio[n] may be truly read, what kind of man he is

2 I honor him, euen out of your report.

But pray you tell me, is she sole childe to'th' King?

1 His onely childe: He had two Sonnes (if this be worth your hearing, Marke it) the eldest of them, at three yeares old I'th' swathing cloathes, the other from their Nursery Were stolne, and to this houre, no ghesse in knowledge Which way they went

2 How long is this ago?

1 Some twenty yeares

2 That a Kings Children should be so conuey'd, So slackely guarded, and the search so slow That could not trace them

1 Howsoere, 'tis strange, Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at: Yet is it true Sir

2 I do well beleeue you

1 We must forbeare. Heere comes the Gentleman, The Queene, and Princesse.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter the Queene, Posthumus, and Imogen.

Qu. No, be a.s.sur'd you shall not finde me (Daughter) After the slander of most Step-Mothers, Euill-ey'd vnto you. You're my Prisoner, but Your Gaoler shall deliuer you the keyes That locke vp your restraint. For you Posthumus, So soone as I can win th' offended King, I will be knowne your Aduocate: marry yet The fire of Rage is in him, and 'twere good You lean'd vnto his Sentence, with what patience Your wisedome may informe you

Post. 'Please your Highnesse, I will from hence to day

Qu. You know the perill: Ile fetch a turne about the Garden, pittying The pangs of barr'd Affections, though the King Hath charg'd you should not speake together.

Exit

Imo. O dissembling Curtesie! How fine this Tyrant Can tickle where she wounds? My deerest Husband, I something feare my Fathers wrath, but nothing (Alwayes reseru'd my holy duty) what His rage can do on me. You must be gone, And I shall heere abide the hourely shot Of angry eyes: not comforted to liue, But that there is this Iewell in the world, That I may see againe

Post. My Queene, my Mistris: O Lady, weepe no more, least I giue cause To be suspected of more tendernesse Then doth become a man. I will remaine The loyall'st husband, that did ere plight troth.

My residence in Rome, at one Filorio's, Who, to my Father was a Friend, to me Knowne but by Letter; thither write (my Queene) And with mine eyes, Ile drinke the words you send, Though Inke be made of Gall.

Enter Queene.

Qu. Be briefe, I pray you: If the King come, I shall incurre, I know not How much of his displeasure: yet Ile moue him To walke this way: I neuer do him wrong, But he do's buy my Iniuries, to be Friends: Payes deere for my offences

Post. Should we be taking leaue As long a terme as yet we haue to liue, The loathnesse to depart, would grow: Adieu

Imo. Nay, stay a little: Were you but riding forth to ayre your selfe, Such parting were too petty. Looke heere (Loue) This Diamond was my Mothers; take it (Heart) But keepe it till you woo another Wife, When Imogen is dead

Post. How, how? Another?

You gentle G.o.ds, giue me but this I haue, And seare vp my embracements from a next, With bonds of death. Remaine, remaine thou heere, While sense can keepe it on: And sweetest, fairest, As I (my poore selfe) did exchange for you To your so infinite losse; so in our trifles I still winne of you. For my sake weare this, It is a Manacle of Loue, Ile place it Vpon this fayrest Prisoner

Imo. O the G.o.ds!

When shall we see againe?

Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.

Post. Alacke, the King

Cym. Thou basest thing, auoyd hence, from my sight: If after this command thou fraught the Court With thy vnworthinesse, thou dyest. Away, Thou'rt poyson to my blood

Post. The G.o.ds protect you, And blesse the good Remainders of the Court: I am gone

Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death More sharpe then this is

Cym. O disloyall thing, That should'st repayre my youth, thou heap'st A yeares age on mee

Imo. I beseech you Sir, Harme not your selfe with your vexation, I am senselesse of your Wrath; a Touch more rare Subdues all pangs, all feares