Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/The Tragedie of Cymbeline/Act 3 Scene 5

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Scena Quinta.

Enter Cymbeline, Queene, Cloten, Lucius,
and Lords.

Thus farre, and so farewell.

Thankes, Royall Sir:
My Emperor hath wrote, I must from hence,
And am right sorry, that I must report ye
My Masters Enemy.

Our Subiects (Sir)
Will not endure his yoake; and for our selfe
To shew lesse Soueraignty then they, must needs
Appeare vn-Kinglike.

So Sir: I desire of you
A Conduct ouer Land, to Milford-Hauen.
Madam, all ioy befall your Grace, and you.

My Lords, you are appointed for that Office:
The due of Honor, in no point omit:
So farewell Noble Lucius.

Your hand, my Lord.

Receiue it friendly: but from this time forth
I weare it as your Enemy.

Sir, the Euent
Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.

Leaue not the worthy Lucius, good my Lords
Exit Lucius, &cTill he haue crost the Seuern. Happines.

He goes hence frowning: but it honours vs
That we haue giuen him cause.

'Tis all the better,
Your valiant Britaines haue their wishes in it.

Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor
How it goes heere. It fits vs therefore ripely
Our Chariots, and our Horsemen be in readinesse:
The Powres that he already hath in Gallia
Will soone be drawne to head, from whence he moues
His warre for Britaine.

'Tis not sleepy businesse,
But must be look'd too speedily and strongly.

Our expectation that it would be thus
Hath made vs forward. But my gentle Queene,
Where is our Daughter? She hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to vs hath tender'd
The duty of the day. She looke vs like
A thing more made of malice, then of duty,
We haue noted it. Call her before vs, for
We haue beene too slight in sufferance.

Royall Sir,
Since the exile of Posthumus, most retyr'd
Hath her life bin: the Cure whereof, my Lord,
'Tis time must do. Beseech your Maiesty,
Forbeare sharpe speeches to her. Shee's a Lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are stroke;,
And strokes death to her.

Enter a Messenger.

Where is she Sir? How
Can her contempt be answer'd?

Please you Sir,
Her Chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer
That will be giuen to'th'lowd of noise, we make.

My Lord, when last I went to visit her,
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close,
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmitie,
She should that dutie leaue vnpaide to you
Which dayly she was bound to proffer: this
She wish'd me to make knowne: but our great Court
Made me too blame in memory.

Her doores lock'd?
Not seene of late? Grant Heauens, that which I
Exit.Feare, proue false.

Sonne, I say, follow the King.

That man of hers, Pisanio, her old Seruant
Exit.I haue not seene these two dayes.

Go, looke after:
Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus,
He hath a Drugge of mine: I pray, his absence
Proceed by swallowing that. For he beleeues
It is a thing most precious. But for her,
Where is she gone? Haply dispaire hath seiz'd her:
Or wing'd with feruour of her loue, she's flowne
To her desir'd Posthumus: gone she is,
To death, or to dishonor, and my end
Can make good vse of either. Shee being downe,
I haue the placing of the Brittish Crowne.
Enter Cloten.
How now, my Sonne?

'Tis certaine she is fled:
Go in and cheere the King, he rages, none
Dare come about him.

All the better: may
Exit Qu.This night fore-stall him of the comming day.

I loue, and hate her: for she's Faire and Royall,
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Then Lady, Ladies, Woman, from euery one
The best she hath, and she of all compounded
Out-selles them all. I loue her therefore, but
Disdaining me, and throwing Fauours on
The low Posthumus, slanders so her iudgement,
That what's else rare, is choak'd: and in that point
I will conclude to hate her, nay indeede,
To be reueng'd vpon her. For, when Fooles shall—
Enter Pisanio.
Who is heere? What, are you packing sirrah?
Come hither: Ah you precious Pandar, Villaine,
Where is thy Lady? In a word, or else
Thou art straightway with the Fiends.

Oh, good my Lord.

Where is thy Lady? Or, by Iupiter,
I will not aske againe. Close Villaine,
Ile haue this Secret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to finde it. Is she with Posthumus?
From whose so many waights of basenesse, cannot
A dram of worth be drawne.

Alas, nay Lord,
How can she be with him? When was she miss'd?
He is in Rome.

Where is she Sir? Come neerer:
No farther halting: satisfie me home,
What is become of her?

Oh, my all-worthy Lord.

All-worthy Villaine,
Discouer where thy Mistris is, at once,
At the next word: no more of worthy Lord:
Speake, or thy silence on the instant, is
Thy condemnation, and thy death.

Then Sir:
This Paper is the historie of my knowledge
Touching her flight.

Let's see't: I will pursue her
Euen to Augustus Throne.

Or this, or perish.
She's farre enough, and what he learnes by this,
May proue his trauell, not her danger.


Ile write to my Lord she's dead: Oh Imogen,
Safe mayst thou wander, safe returne agen.

Sirra, is this Letter true?

Sir, as I thinke.

It is Posthumus hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou
would'st not be a Villain, but do me true seruice: vnder
go those Imployments wherin I should haue cause to vse
thee with a serious industry, that is, what villainy soere I
bid thee do to performe it, directly and truely, I would
thinke thee an honest man: thou should'st neither want
my meanes for thy releefe, nor my voyce for thy preferment.

Well, my good Lord.

Wilt thou serue mee? For since patiently and
constantly thou hast stucke to the bare Fortune of that
Begger Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of grati
tude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serue mee?

Sir, I will.

Giue mee thy hand, heere's my purse. Hast any
of thy late Masters Garments in thy possession?

I haue (my Lord) at my Lodging, the same
Suite he wore, when he tooke leaue of my Ladie & Mistresse.

The first seruice thou dost mee, fetch that Suite
hither, let it be thy first seruice, go.

Exit.I shall my Lord.

Meet thee at Milford-Hauen: (I forgot to aske
him one thing, Ile remember't anon:) euen there, thou
villaine Posthumus will I kill thee. I would these Garments
were come. She saide vpon a time (the bitternesse
of it, I now belch from my heart) that shee held the very
Garment of Posthumus, in more respect, then my Noble
and naturall person; together with the adornement of
my Qualities. With that Suite vpon my backe wil I rauish
her: first kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see
my valour, which wil then be a torment to hir contempt.
He on the ground, my speech of insulment ended on his
dead bodie, and when my Lust hath dined (which, as I
say, to vex her, I will execute in the Cloathes that she so
prais'd:) to the Court Ile knock her backe, foot her home
againe. She hath despis'd mee reioycingly, and Ile bee
merry in my Reuenge.
Enter Pisanio.
Be those the Garments?

I, my Noble Lord.

How long is't since she went to Milford-Hauen?

She can scarse be there yet.

Bring this Apparrell to my Chamber, that is
the second thing that I haue commanded thee. The third
is, that thou wilt be a voluntarie Mute to my designe. Be
but dutious, and true preferment shall tender it selfe to
thee. My Reuenge is now at Milford, would I had wings follow it. Come, and be true.

Thou bid'st me to my losse: for true to thee,
Were to proue false, which I will neuer bee
To him that is most true. To Milford go,
And finde not her, whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow
You Heauenly blessings on her: This Fooles speede
Exit.Be crost with slownesse; Labour be his meede.