Cymbeline Part 8

Post. Hearke you, he sweares: by Iupiter he sweares.

'Tis true, nay keepe the Ring; 'tis true: I am sure She would not loose it: her Attendants are All sworne, and honourable: they induc'd to steale it?

And by a Stranger? No, he hath enioy'd her, The Cognisance of her incontinencie Is this: she hath bought the name of Wh.o.r.e, thus deerly There, take thy hyre, and all the Fiends of h.e.l.l Diuide themselues betweene you

Phil. Sir, be patient: This is not strong enough to be beleeu'd Of one perswaded well of

Post. Neuer talke on't: She hath bin colted by him

Iach. If you seeke For further satisfying, vnder her Breast (Worthy her pressing) lyes a Mole, right proud Of that most delicate Lodging. By my life I kist it, and it gaue me present hunger To feede againe, though full. You do remember This staine vpon her?

Post. I, and it doth confirme Another staine, as bigge as h.e.l.l can hold, Were there no more but it

Iach. Will you heare more?

Post. Spare your Arethmaticke, Neuer count the Turnes: Once, and a Million

Iach. Ile be sworne

Post. No swearing: If you will sweare you haue not done't, you lye, And I will kill thee, if thou do'st deny Thou'st made me Cuckold

Iach. Ile deny nothing

Post. O that I had her heere, to teare her Limb-meale: I will go there and doo't, i'th' Court, before Her Father. Ile do something.

Enter.

Phil. Quite besides The gouernment of Patience. You haue wonne: Let's follow him, and peruert the present wrath He hath against himselfe

Iach. With all my heart.

Exeunt.

Enter Posthumus.

Post. Is there no way for Men to be, but Women Must be halfe-workers? We are all b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, And that most venerable man, which I Did call my Father, was, I know not where When I was stampt. Some Coyner with his Tooles Made me a counterfeit: yet my Mother seem'd The Dian of that time: so doth my Wife The Non-pareill of this. Oh Vengeance, Vengeance!

Me of my lawfull pleasure she restrain'd, And pray'd me oft forbearance: did it with A pudencie so Rosie, the sweet view on't Might well haue warm'd olde Saturne; That I thought her As Chaste, as vn-Sunn'd Snow. Oh, all the Diuels!

This yellow Iachimo in an houre, was't not?

Or lesse; at first? Perchance he spoke not, but Like a full Acorn'd Boare, a Iarmen on, Cry'de oh, and mounted; found no opposition But what he look'd for, should oppose, and she Should from encounter guard. Could I finde out The Womans part in me, for there's no motion That tends to vice in man, but I affirme It is the Womans part: be it Lying, note it, The womans: Flattering, hers; Deceiuing, hers: l.u.s.t, and ranke thoughts, hers, hers: Reuenges hers: Ambitions, Couetings, change of Prides, Disdaine, Nice-longing, Slanders, Mutability; All Faults that name, nay, that h.e.l.l knowes, Why hers, in part, or all: but rather all. For euen to Vice They are not constant, but are changing still; One Vice, but of a minute old, for one Not halfe so old as that. Ile write against them, Detest them, curse them: yet 'tis greater Skill In a true Hate, to pray they haue their will: The very Diuels cannot plague them better.

Enter.

Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.

Enter in State, Cymbeline, Queene, Clotten, and Lords at one doore, and at another, Caius, Lucius; and Attendants.

Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with vs?

Luc. When Iulius Caesar (whose remembrance yet Liues in mens eyes, and will to Eares and Tongues Be Theame, and hearing euer) was in this Britain, And Conquer'd it, Ca.s.sibulan thine Vnkle (Famous in Caesars prayses, no whit lesse Then in his Feats deseruing it) for him, And his Succession, granted Rome a Tribute, Yeerely three thousand pounds; which (by thee) lately Is left vntender'd

Qu. And to kill the meruaile, Shall be so euer

Clot. There be many Caesars, Ere such another Iulius: Britaine's a world By it selfe, and we will nothing pay For wearing our owne Noses

Qu. That opportunity Which then they had to take from's, to resume We haue againe. Remember Sir, my Liege, The Kings your Ancestors, together with The naturall brauery of your Isle, which stands As Neptunes Parke, ribb'd, and pal'd in With Oakes vnskaleable, and roaring Waters, With Sands that will not beare your Enemies Boates, But sucke them vp to'th' Top-mast. A kinde of Conquest Caesar made heere, but made not heere his bragge Of Came, and Saw, and Ouer-came: with shame (The first that euer touch'd him) he was carried From off our Coast, twice beaten: and his s.h.i.+pping (Poore ignorant Baubles) on our terrible Seas Like Egge-shels mou'd vpon their Surges, crack'd As easily 'gainst our Rockes. For ioy whereof, The fam'd Ca.s.sibulan, who was once at point (Oh giglet Fortune) to master Caesars Sword, Made Luds-Towne with reioycing-Fires bright, And Britaines strut with Courage

Clot. Come, there's no more Tribute to be paid: our Kingdome is stronger then it was at that time: and (as I said) there is no mo such Caesars, other of them may haue crook'd Noses, but to owe such straite Armes, none

Cym. Son, let your Mother end

Clot. We haue yet many among vs, can gripe as hard as Ca.s.sibulan, I doe not say I am one: but I haue a hand.

Why Tribute? Why should we pay Tribute? If Caesar can hide the Sun from vs 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

Cym. You must know, Till the iniurious Romans, did extort This Tribute from vs, we were free. Caesars Ambition, Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretch The sides o'th' World, against all colour heere, Did put the yoake vpon's; which to shake off Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon Our selues to be, we do. Say then to Caesar, Our Ancestor was that Mulmutius, which Ordain'd our Lawes, whose vse the Sword of Caesar Hath too much mangled; whose repayre, and franchise, Shall (by the power we hold) be our good deed, Tho Rome be therfore angry. Mulmutius made our lawes Who was the first of Britaine, which did put His browes within a golden Crowne, and call'd Himselfe a King

Luc. I am sorry Cymbeline, That I am to p.r.o.nounce Augustus Caesar (Caesar, that hath moe Kings his Seruants, then Thy selfe Domesticke Officers) thine Enemy: Receyue it from me then. Warre, and Confusion In Caesars name p.r.o.nounce I 'gainst thee: Looke For fury, not to be resisted. Thus defide, I thanke thee for my selfe

Cym. Thou art welcome Caius, Thy Caesar Knighted me; my youth I spent Much vnder him; of him, I gather'd Honour, Which he, to seeke of me againe, perforce, Behooues me keepe at vtterance. I am perfect, That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for Their Liberties are now in Armes: a President Which not to reade, would shew the Britaines cold: So Caesar shall not finde them

Luc. Let proofe speake

Clot. His Maiesty biddes you welcome. Make pastime with vs, a day, or two, or longer: if you seek vs afterwards in other tearmes, you shall finde vs in our Salt.w.a.ter-Girdle: if you beate vs out of it, it is yours: if you fall in the aduenture, our Crowes shall fare the better for you: and there's an end

Luc. So sir

Cym. I know your Masters pleasure, and he mine: All the Remaine, is welcome.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Pisanio reading of a Letter.

Pis. How? of Adultery? Wherefore write you not What Monsters her accuse? Leonatus: Oh Master, what a strange infection Is falne into thy eare? What false Italian, (As poysonous tongu'd, as handed) hath preuail'd On thy too ready hearing? Disloyall? No.

She's punish'd for her Truth; and vndergoes More G.o.ddesse-like, then Wife-like; such a.s.saults As would take in some Vertue. Oh my Master, Thy mind to her, is now as lowe, as were Thy Fortunes. How? That I should murther her, Vpon the Loue, and Truth, and Vowes; which I Haue made to thy command? I her? Her blood?

If it be so, to do good seruice, neuer Let me be counted seruiceable. How looke I, That I should seeme to lacke humanity, So much as this Fact comes to? Doo't: The Letter.

That I haue sent her, by her owne command, Shall giue thee opportunitie. Oh d.a.m.n'd paper, Blacke as the Inke that's on thee: senselesse bauble, Art thou a Foedarie for this Act; and look'st So Virgin-like without? Loe here she comes.

Enter Imogen.

I am ignorant in what I am commanded

Imo. How now Pisanio?

Pis. Madam, heere is a Letter from my Lord

Imo. Who, thy Lord? That is my Lord Leonatus?

Oh, learn'd indeed were that Astronomer That knew the Starres, as I his Characters, Heel'd lay the Future open. You good G.o.ds, Let what is heere contain'd, rellish of Loue, Of my Lords health, of his content: yet not That we two are asunder, let that grieue him; Some griefes are medcinable, that is one of them, For it doth physicke Loue, of his content, All but in that. Good Wax, thy leaue: blest be You Bees that make these Lockes of counsaile. Louers, And men in dangerous Bondes pray not alike, Though Forfeytours you cast in prison, yet You claspe young Cupids Tables: good Newes G.o.ds.

Iustice and your Fathers wrath (should he take me in his Dominion) could not be so cruell to me, as you: (oh the deerest of Creatures) would euen renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria at Milford-Hauen: what your owne Loue, will out of this aduise you, follow. So he wishes you all happinesse, that remaines loyall to his Vow, and your encreasing in Loue. Leonatus Posthumus.

Oh for a Horse with wings: Hear'st thou Pisanio?

He is at Milford-Hauen: Read, and tell me How farre 'tis thither. If one of meane affaires May plod it in a weeke, why may not I Glide thither in a day? Then true Pisanio, Who long'st like me, to see thy Lord; who long'st (Oh let me bate) but not like me: yet long'st But in a fainter kinde. Oh not like me: For mine's beyond, beyond: say, and speake thicke (Loues Counsailor should fill the bores of hearing, To'th' smothering of the Sense) how farre it is To this same blessed Milford. And by'th' way Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as T' inherite such a Hauen. But first of all, How we may steale from hence: and for the gap That we shall make in Time, from our hence-going, And our returne, to excuse: but first, how get hence.

Why should excuse be borne or ere begot?

Weele talke of that heereafter. Prythee speake, How many store of Miles may we well rid Twixt houre, and houre?

Pis. One score 'twixt Sun, and Sun, Madam's enough for you: and too much too

Imo. Why, one that rode to's Execution Man, Could neuer go so slow: I haue heard of Riding wagers, Where Horses haue bin nimbler then the Sands That run i'th' Clocks behalfe. But this is Foolrie, Go, bid my Woman faigne a Sicknesse, say She'le home to her Father; and prouide me presently A Riding Suit: No costlier then would fit A Franklins Huswife