Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/The Tragedie of Cymbeline/Act 2 Scene 3

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Scena Tertia.

Enter Clotten, and Lords.

Your Lordship is the most patient man in losse, the
most coldest that euer turn'd vp Ace.

It would make any man cold to loose.

But not euery man patient after the noble temper
of your Lordship; You are most hot, and furious when
you winne.

Winning will put any man into courage: if I could get
this foolish Imogen, I should haue Gold enough: it's almost
morning, is't not?

Day, my Lord.

I would this Musicke would come: I am aduised
to giue her Musicke a mornings, they say it will penetrate.
Enter Musitians.
Come on, tune: If you can penetrate her with your fingering,
so: wee'l try with tongue too: if none will do, let
her remaine: but Ile neuer giue o're. First, a very excellent
good conceyted thing; after a wonderful sweet aire,
with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consider.

Hearke, hearke, the Larke at Heauens gate sings,
   and Phœbus gins arise,
His Steeds to water at those Springs
   on chalic'd Flowres that lyes:
And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their Golden eyes
With euery thing that pretty is, my Lady sweet arise:
   Arise, arise.

So, get you gone: if this pen trate, I will consider your
Musicke the better: if it do not, it is a voyce in her eares
which Horse-haires, and Calues-guts, nor the voyce of
vnpaued Eunuch to boot, can neuer amed.

Enter Cymbaline, and Queene.

Heere comes the King.

I am glad I was vp so late, for that's the reason
I was vp [so] earely: he cannot choose but take this
Seruice I haue done, fatherly. Good morrow to your
Maiesty, and to my gracious Mother.

Attend you here the doore of our stern daughter
Will she not forth?

I haue assayl'd her with Musickes, but she vouchsafes
no notice.

The Exile of her Minion is too new,
She hath not yet forgot him, some more time
Must weare the print of his remembrance on't,
And then she's yours.

You are most bound t/o'th'King,
Who let's go by no vantages, that may
Preferre you to his daughter: Frame your selfe
To orderly solicity, and be friended
With aptnesse of the season: make denials
Encrease your Seruices: so seeme, as if
You were inspir'd to do those duties which
You tender to her: that you in all obey her,
Saue when command to your dismission tends,
And therein you are senselesse.

Senselesse? Not so.

So like you (Sir) Ambassadors from Rome;
The one is Caius Lucius.

A worthy Fellow,
Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
But that's no fault of his: we must receyue him
According to the Honor of his Sender,
And towards himselfe, his goodnesse fore-spent on vs
We must extend our notice: Our deere Sonne,
When you haue giuen good morning to your Mistris,
Attend the Queene, and vs, we shall haue neede
T'employ you towards this Romane.
Exeunt.Come our Queene.

If she be vp, Ile speake with her: if not
Let her lye still, and dreame: by your leaue hoa,
I know her women are about her: what
If I do line one of their hands, 'tis Gold
Which buyes admittance (oft it doth) yea, and makes
Diana's Rangers false themselues, yeeld vp
Their Deere to'th'stand o'th'Stealer: and 'tis Gold
Which makes the True-man kill'd, and saues the Theefe:
Nay, sometime hangs both Theefe, and True-man: what
Can it not do, and vndoo? I will make
One of her women Lawyer to me, for
I yet not vnderstand the case my selfe.
Knockes.By your leaue.

Enter a Lady.

Who's there that knockes?

A Gentleman.

No more.

Yes, and a Gentlewomans Sonne.

That's more
Then some whose Taylors are as deere as yours,
Can iustly boast of: what's your Lordships pleasure?

Your Ladies person, is she ready?

I, to keepe her Chamber.

There is Gold for you,
Sell me your good report.

How, my good name? or to report of you
What I shall thinke is good. The Princesse.

Enter Imogen.

Good morrow fairest, Sister your sweet hand.

Good morrow Sir, you lay out too much paines
For purchasing but trouble: the thankes I giue,
Is telling you that I am poore of thankes,
And scarse can spare them.

Still I sweare I loue you.

If you but said so, 'twere as deepe with me:
If you sweare still, your recompence is still
That I regard it not.

This is no answer.

But that you shall not say, I yeeld being silent,
I would not speake. I pray you spare me, 'faith
I shall vnfold equall discourtesie
To your best kindnesse: one of your great knowing
Should learne (being taught) forbearance.

To leaue you in your madnesse, 'twere my sin,
I will not.

Fooles are not mad Folkes.

Do you call me Foole?

As I am mad I do:
If you'l be patient, Ile no more be mad,
That cures vs both. I am much sorry (Sir)
You put me to forget a Ladies manners
By being so verball: and learne now, for all,
That I which know my heart, do heere pronounce
By th'very truth of it, I care not for you,
And am so neere the lacke of Charitie
To accuse my selfe, I hate you: which I had rather
You felt, then make't my boast.

You sinne against
Obedience, which you owe your Father, for
The Contract you pretend with that base Wretch,
One, bred of Almes, and foster'd with cold dishes,
With scraps o'th'Court: It is no Contract, none;
And though it be allowed in meaner parties
(Yet who then he more meane) to knit their soules
(On whom there is no more dependancie
But Brats and Beggery) in selfe-figur'd knot,
Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement, by
The consequence o'th'Crowne, and must not foyle
The precious note of it; with a base Slaue,
A Hilding for a Liuorie, a Squires Cloth,
A. Pantler; not so eminent.

Prophane Fellow:
Wert thou the Sonne of Iupiter, and no more,
But what thou art besides: thou wer't too base,
To be his Groome: thou wer't dignified enough
Euen to the point of Enuie. If 'twere made
Comparatiue for your Vertues, to be stil'd
The vnder Hangman of his Kingdome; and hated
For being prefer'd so well.

The South-Fog rot him.

He neuer can meete more mischance, then come
To be but nam'd of thee. His mean'st Garment
That euer hath but clipt his body; is dearer
In my respect, then all the Heires aboue thee,
Were they all made such men: How now Pisanio?

Enter Pisanio,

His Garments? Now the diuell.

To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.

His Garment?

I am sprighted with a Foole,
Frighted, and angred worse: Go bid my woman
Search for a Iewell, that too casually
Hath left mine Arme: it was thy Masters. Shrew me
If I would loose it for a Reuenew,
Of any Kings in Europe. I do think,
I saw't this morning: Confident I am.
Last night 'twas on mine Arme; I kiss'd it,
I hope it be not gone, to tell my Lord
That I kisse aught but he.

'Twill not be lost.

I hope so: go and search.

You haue abus'd me:
His meanest Garment?

I, I said so Sir,
If you will make't an Action, call witnesse to't.

I will enforme your Father.

Your Mother too:
She's my good Lady; and will concieue, I hope
But the worst of me. So I leaue you Sir,
Exit.To'th'worst of discontent.

Ile be reueng'd:
Exit.His mean'st Garment? Well.