Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/The Tragedie of Cymbeline/Act 4 Scene 2

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Scena Secunda.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, Aruiragus, and
Imogen from the Caue.

You are not well: Remaine heere in the Caue,
Wee'l come to you after Hunting.

Brother, stay heere:
Are we not Brothers?

So man and man should be,
But Clay and Clay, differs in dignitie,
Whose dust is both alike. I am very sicke,

Go you to Hunting, Ile abide with him.

So sicke I am not, yet I am not well:
But not so Citizen a wanton, as
To seeme to dye, ere sicke: So please you, leaue me,
Sticke to your Iournall course: the breach of Custome,
Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me
Cannot amend me. Society, is no comfort
To one not sociable: I am not very sicke,
Since I can reason of it: pray you trust me heere,
Ile rob none but my selfe, and let me dye
Stealing so poorely.

I loue thee: I haue spoke it,
Note: An ink mark follows the end of this line.
How much the quantity, the waight as much,
As I do loue my Father.

What? How? how?

If it be sinne to say so (Sir) I yoake mee
In my good Brothers fault: I know not why
I loue this youth, and I haue heard you say,
Loue's reason's, without reason. The Beere at doore,
And a demand who is't shall dye, I'ld say
My Father, not this youth.

Oh noble straine!
O worthinesse of Nature, breed of Greatnesse!
“Cowards father Cowards, & Base things Syre Bace;
“Nature hath Meale, and ; Contempt, and Grace.
I'me not their Father, yet who this should bee,
Doth myracle it selfe, lou'd before mee.
'Tis the ninth houre o'th'Morne.

Brother, farewell.

I wish ye sport.

You health.———So please you Sir.

These are kinde Creatures.
Gods, what lyes I haue heard:
Our Courtiers say, all's sauage, but at Court;
Experience, oh thou disproou'st Report.
Th'emperious Seas breeds Monsters; for the Dish,
Poore Tributary Riuers, as sweet Fish:
I am sicke still, heart-sicke; Pisanio,
Ile now taste of thy Drugge.

I could not stirre him:
He said he was gentle, but vnfortunate;
Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.

Thus did he answer me: yet said heereafter,
I might know more.

To'th'Field, to'th'Field:
Wee'l leaue you for this time, go in, and rest.

Wee'l not be long away.

Pray be not sicke,
For you must be our Huswife.

Well, or ill,
Exit.I am bound to you.

And shal't be euer.
This youth, how ere distrest, appeares he hath had
Good Ancestors.

How Angell-like he sings?

But his neate Cookerie?

He cut our Rootes in Charracters,
And sawc'st our Brothes, as Iuno had bin sicke,
And he her Dieter.

Nobly he yoakes
A smiling, with a sigh; as if the sighe
Was that it was, for not being such a Smile:
The Smile, mocking the Sigh, that it would flye
From so diuine a Temple, to commix
With windes, that Saylors raile at.

I do note,
That greefe and patience rooted in them both,
Mingle their spurres together.

Grow patient,
And let the stinking-Elder (Greefe) vntwine
His perishing roote, with the encreasing Vine.

It is great morning. Come away: Who's there?

Enter Cloten.

I cannot finde those Runnagates, that Villaine
Hath mock'd me. I am faint.

Those Runnagates?
Meanes he not vs? I partly know him, 'tis
Cloten, the Sonne o'th'Queene. I feare some Ambush:
I saw him not these many yeares, and yet
I know 'tis he: We are held as Out-Lawes: Hence.

He is but one: you, and my Brother search
What Companies are neere: pray you away,
Let me alone with him.

Soft, what are you
That flye me thus? Some villaine-Mountainers?
I haue heard of such. What Slaue art thou?

A thing
More slauish did I ne're, then answering
A Slaue without a knocke.

Thou art a Robber,
A Law-breaker, a Villaine: yeeld thee Theefe.

To who? to thee? What art thou? Haue not I
An arme as bigge as thine? A heart, as bigge:
Thy words I grant are bigger: for I weare not
My Dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art:
Why I should yeeld to thee?

Thou Villaine base,
Know'st me not by my Cloathes?

No, nor thy Taylor, Rascall:
Who is thy Grandfather? He made those cloathes,
Which (as it seemes) make thee.

Thou precious Varlet,
My Taylor made them not.

Hence then, and thanke
The man that gaue them thee. Thou art some Foole,
I am loath to beate thee.

Thou iniurious Theefe,
Heare but my name, and tremble.

What's thy name?

Cloten, thou Villaine.

Cloten, thou double Villaine be thy name,
I cannot tremble at it, were it Toad, or Adder, Spider,
'Twould moue me sooner.

To thy further feare,
Nay, to thy meere Confusion, thou shalt know
I am Sonne to'th'Queene.

I am sorry for't: not seeming
So worthy as thy Birth.

Art not afeard?

Those that I reuerence, those I feare: the Wise:
At Fooles I laugh: not feare them.

Dye the death:
When I haue slaine thee with my proper hand,
Ile follow those that euen now fled hence:
And on the Gates of Luds-Towne set your heads:
Fight and Exeunt.Yeeld Rusticke Mountaineer.

Enter Belarius and Aruiragus.

No Companie's abroad?

None in the world: you did mistake him sure.

I cannot tell: Long is it since I saw him,
But Time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of Fauour
Which then he wore: the snatches in his voice,
And burst of speaking were as his: I am absolute
'Twas very Cloten.

In this place we left them;
I wish my Brother make good time with him,
You say he is so fell.

Being scarse made vp,
I meane to man; he had not apprehension
Of roaring terrors: For defect of iudgement
Is oft the cause of Feare.
Enter Guiderius.
But see thy Brother.

This Cloten was a Foole, an empty purse,
There was no money in't: Not Hercules
Could haue knock'd out his Braines, for he had none:
Yet I not doing this, the Foole had borne
My head, as I do his.

What hast thou done?

I am perfect what: cut off one Clotens head,
Sonne to the Queene (after his owne report)
Who call'd me Traitor, Mountaineer, and swore
With his owne single hand heel'd take vs in,
Displace our heads, where (thanks the Gods) they grow
And set them on Luds-Towne.

We are all vndone.

Why, worthy Father, what haue we to loose,
But that he swore to take, our Liues? the Law
Protects not vs, then why should we be tender,
To let an arrogant peece of flesh threat vs?
Play Iudge, and Executioner, all himselfe?
For we do feare the Law. What company
Discouer you abroad?

No single soule
Can we set eye on: but in all safe reason
He must haue some Attendants. Though his Honor
Was nothing but mutation, I, and that
From one bad thing to worse: Not Frenzie,
Not absolute madnesse could so farre haue rau'd
To bring him heere alone: although perhaps
It may be heard at Court, that such as wee
Caue heere, hunt heere, are Out-lawes, and in time
May make some stronger head, the which he hearing,
(As it is like him) might breake out, and sweare
Heel'd fetch vs in, yet is't not probable
To come alone, either he so vndertaking,
Or they so suffering: then on good ground we feare,
If we do feare this Body hath a taile
More perillous then the head.

Let Ord'nance
Come as the Gods fore-say it: howsoere,
My Brother hath done well.

I had no minde
To hunt this day: The Boy Fideles sickenesse
Did make my way long forth.

With his owne Sword,
Which he did waue against my throat, I haue tane
His head from him: Ile throw't into the Creeke
Behinde our Rocke, and let it to the Sea,
And tell the Fishes, hee's the Queenes Sonne, Cloten,
Exit.That's all I reake.

I feare 'twill be reueng'd:
Would (Polidore) thou had'st not done't: though valour
Becomes thee well enough.

Would I had done't:
So the Reuenge alone pursu'de me: Polidore
I loue thee brotherly, but enuy much
Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would Reuenges
That possible strength might meet, wold seek vs through
And put vs to our answer.

Well, 'tis done:
Wee'l hunt no more to day, nor seeke for danger
Where there's no profit. I prythee to our Rocke,
You and Fidele play the Cookes: Ile stay
Till hasty Polidore returne, and bring him
To dinner presently.

Poore sicke Fidele.
Ile willingly to him, to gaine his colour,
Il'd let a parish of such Clotens blood,
Exit.And praise my selfe for charity.

Oh thou Goddesse,
Thou diuine Nature; thou thy selfe thou blazon'st
In these two Princely Boyes: they are as gentle
As Zephires blowing below the Violet,
Not wagging his sweet head; and yet, as rough
(Their Royall blood enchaf'd) as the rud'st winde,
That by the top doth take the Mountaine Pine,
And make him stoope to th'Vale. 'Tis wonder
That an inuisible instinct should frame them
To Royalty vnlearn'd, Honor vntaught,
Ciuility not seene from other: valour
That wildely growes in them, but yeelds a crop
As if it had beene sow'd: yet still it's strange
What Clotens being heere to vs portends,
Or what his death will bring vs.

Enter Guidereus.

Where's my Brother?
I haue sent Clotens Clot-pole downe the streame,
In Embassie to his Mother; his Bodie's hostage
Solemn Musick.For his returne.

My ingenuous Instrument,
(Hearke Polidore) it sounds: but what occasion
Hath Cadwal now to giue it motion? Hearke.

Is he at home?

He went hence euen now.

What does he meane?
Since death of my deer'st Mother
It did not speake before. All solemne things
Should answer solemne Accidents. The matter?
Triumphes for nothing, and lamenting Toyes,
Is iollity for Apes, and greefe for Boyes.
Is Cadwall mad?

Enter Aruiragus, with Imogen dead, bearing
her in his Armes.

Looke, heere he comes,
And brings the dire occasion in his Armes,
Of what we blame him for.

The Bird is dead
That we haue made so much on. I had rather
Haue skipt from sixteene yeares of Ag, to sixty:
To haue turn'd my leaping time into a Crutch,
Then haue seene this.

Oh sweetest, fayrest Lilly:
My Brother weares thee not the one halfe so well,
As when thou grew'st thy selfe.

Oh Melancholly,
Who euer yet could sound thy bottome? Finde
The Ooze, to shew what Coast thy sluggish care
Might'st easilest harbour in. Thou blessed thing,
Ioue knowes what man thou might'st haue made: but I,
Thou dyed'st a most rare Boy, of Melancholly.
How found you him?

Starke, as you see:
Thus smiling, as some Fly had tickled slumber,
Not as deaths dart, being laugh'd at: his right Cheeke
Reposing on a Cushion.


His armes thus leagu'd, I thought he slept, and put
My clowted Brogues from off my feete, whose rudenesse
Answer'd my steps too lowd.

Why, he but sleepes:
If he be gone, hee'l make his Graue, a Bed:
With female Fayries will his Tombe be haunted,
And Wormes will not come to thee.

With fayrest Flowers
Whil'st Sommer lasts, and I liue heere, Fidele,
Ile sweeten thy sad graue: thou shalt not lacke
The Flower that's like thy face. Pale-Primrose, nor
The azur'd Hare-Bell, like thy Veines: no, nor
The leafe of Eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweetned not thy breath: the Raddocke would
With Charitable bill (Oh bill sore shaming
Those rich-left-heyres, that let their Fathers lye
Without a Monument) bring thee all this,
Yea, and furr'd Mosse besides. When Flowres are none
To winter-ground thy Coarse——

Prythee haue done,
And do not play in Wench-like words with that
Which is fo serious. Let vs bury him,
And not protract with admiration, what
Is now due debt. To'th'graue.

Say, where shall's lay him?

By good Euriphile, our Mother.

Bee't so:
And let vs (Polidore) though now our voyces
Haue got the mannish cracke, sing him to'th'ground
As once to our Mother: vse like note, and words,
Saue that Euriphile, must be Fidele.

I cannot sing: Ile weepe, and word it with thee;
For Notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse
Then Priests, and Phanes that lye.

Wee'l speake it then.

Great greefes I see med'cine the lesse: For Cloten
Is quite forgot. He was a Queenes Sonne, Boyes,
And though he came our Enemy, remember
He was paid for that: though meane, and mighty rotting
Together haue one dust, yet Reuerence
(That Angell of the world) doth make distinction
Of place 'tweene high, and low. Our Foe was Princely,
And though you tooke his life, as being our Foe,
Yet bury him, as a Prince.

Pray you fetch him hither,
Thersites body is as good as Aiax,
When neyther are aliue.

If you'l go fetch him,
Wee'l say our Song the whil'st: Brother begin.

Nay Cadwall, we must lay his head to th'East,
My Father hath a reason for't.

'Tis true.

Come on then, and remoue him.

So, begin.

Guid. Feare no more the heate o'th'Sun,
Nor the furious Winters rages,
Thou thy worldly task hast don,
Home art gon, and tane thy wages.
Golden Lads, and Girles all must,
As Chimney-Sweepers come to dust.
Arui. Feare no more the frowne o'th'Great,
Thou art past the Tirants stroake,
Care no more to cloath and eate,
To thee the Reede is as the Oake:
The Scepter, Learning, Physicke must,
All follow this and come to dust.
Guid. Feare no more the Lightning flash.
Arui. Nor th'all-dreaded Thunderstone.
Gui. Feare not Slander, Censure rash.
Arui. Thou hast finish'd Ioy and mone.
Both. All Louers young, all Louers must,
Consigne to thee and come to dust.
Guid. No Exorcisor harme thee,
Arui. Nor no witch-craft charme thee.
Guid. Ghost vnlaid forbeare thee.
Arui. Nothing ill come neere thee.
Both. Quiet consumation haue,
And renowned be thy graue.

Enter Belarius with the body of Cloten.

We haue done our obsequies:
Come lay him downe.

Heere's a few Flowres, but 'bout midnight more:
The hearbes that haue on them cold dew o'th'night
Are strewings fit'st for Graues: vpon their Faces.
You were as Flowres, now wither'd: euen so
These Herbelets shall, which we vpon you strew.
Come on, away, apart vpon our knees:
The ground that gaue them first, ha's them againe:
Exeunt.Their pleasures here are past, so are their paine.

Imogen awakes.
Yes Sir, to Milford-Hauen, which is the way?
I thanke you: by yond bush? pray how farre thether?
'Ods pittikins: can it be sixe mile yet?
I haue gone all night: 'Faith, Ile lye downe, and sleepe.
But soft; no Bedfellow? Oh Gods, and Goddesses!
These Flowres are like the pleasures of the World;
This bloody man the care on't. I hope I dreame:
For so I thought I was a Caue-keeper,
And Cooke to honest Creatures. But 'tis not so:
'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot of nothing,
Which the Braine makes of Fumes. Our very eyes,
Are sometimes like our Iudgements, blinde. Good faith
I tremble still with feare: but if there be
Yet left in Heauen, as small a drop of pittie
As a Wrens eye; fear'd Gods, a part of it.
The Dreame's heere still: euen when I wake it is
Without me, as within me: not imagin'd, felt.
A headlesse man? The Garments of Posthumus?
I know the shape of's Legge: this is his Hand:
His Foote Mercuriall: his martiall Thigh
The brawnes of Hercules: but his Iouiall face——
Murther in heauen? How? 'tis gone. Pisanio,
All Curses madded Hecuba gaue the Greekes,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee: thou
Conspir'd with that Irregulous diuell Cloten,
Hath heere cut off my Lord. To write, and read,
Be henceforth treacherous. Damn'd Pisanio,
Hath with his forged Letters (damn'd Pisanio)
From this most brauest vessell of the world
Strooke the maine top! Oh Posthumus, alas,
Where is thy head? where's that? Aye me! where's that?
Pisanio might haue kill'd thee at the heart,
And left this head on. How should this be, Pisanio?
'Tis he, and Cloten: Malice, and Lucre in them
Haue laid this Woe heere. Oh 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
The Drugge he gaue me, which hee said was precious
And Cordiall to me, haue I not found it
Murd'rous to'th'Senses? That confirmes it home:
This is Pisanio's deede, and Cloten: Oh!
Giue colour to my pale cheeke with thy blood,
That we the horrider may seeme to those
Which chance to finde vs. Oh, my Lord! my Lord!

Enter Lucius, Captaines, and a Soothsayer.

To them, the Legions garrison'd in Gallia
After your will, haue crost the Sea, attending
You heere at Milford-Hauen, with your Shippes:
They are heere in readinesse.

But what from Rome?

The Senate hath stirr'd vp the Confiners,
And Gentlemen of Italy, most willing Spirits,
That promise Noble Seruice: and they come
Vnder the Conduct of bold Iachimo,
Syenna's Brother.

When expect you them?

With the next benefit o'th'winde.

This forwardnesse
Makes our hopes faire. Command our present numbers
Be muster'd: bid the Captaines looke too't. Now Sir,
What haue you dream'd of late of this warres purpose.

Last night, the very Gods shew'd me a vision
(I fast, and pray'd for their Intelligence) thus:
I saw Ioues Bird, the Roman Eagle wing'd
From the spungy South, to this part of the West,
There vanish'd in the Sun-beames, which portends
(Vnlesse my sinnes abuse my Diuination)
Successe to th'Roman hoast.

Dreame often so,
And neuer false. Soft hoa, what truncke is heere?
Without his top? The ruine speakes, that sometime
It was a worthy building. How? a Page?
Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather:
For Nature doth abhorre to make his bed
With the defunct, or sleepe vpon the dead.
Let's see the Boyes face.

Hee's aliue my Lord.

Hee'l then instruct vs of this body: Young one,
Informe vs of thy Fortunes, for it seemes
They craue to be demanded: who is this
Thou mak'st thy bloody Pillow? Or who was he
That (otherwise then noble Nature did)
Hath alter'd that good Picture? What's thy interest
In this sad wracke? How came't? Who is't?
What art thou?

I am nothing; or if not,
Nothing to be were better: This was my Master,
A very valiant Britaine, and a good,
That heere by Mountaineers lyes slaine: Alas,
There is no more such Masters: I may wander
From East to Occident, cry out for Seruice,
Try many, all good: serue truly: neuer
Finde such another Master.

'Lacke, good youth:
Thou mou'st no lesse with thy complaining, then
Thy Maister in bleeding: say his name, good Friend.

Richard du Champ: If I do lye, and do
No harme by it, though the Gods heare, I hope
They'l pardon it. Say you Sir?

Thy name?

Fidele Sir.

Thou doo'st approue thy selfe 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 master'd, but be sure
No lesse belou'd. The Romane Emperors Letters
Sent by a Consull to me, should not sooner
Then thine owne worth preferre thee: Go with me.

Ile follow Sir. But first, and't please the Gods,
Ile hide my Master from the Flies, as deepe
As these poore Pickaxes can digge: and when
With wild wood-leaues & weeds, I ha' strew'd his graue
And on it said a Century of prayers
(Such as I can) twice o're, Ile weepe, and sighe,
And leauing so his seruice, follow you,
So please you entertaine mee.

I good youth,
And rather Father thee, then Master thee: My Friends,
The Boy hath taught vs manly duties: Let vs
Finde out the prettiest Dazied-Plot we can,
And make him with our Pikes and Partizans
A Graue: Come, Arme him: Boy hee's preferr'd
By thee, to vs, and he shall be interr'd
As Souldiers can. Be cheerefull; wipe thine eyes,
Exeunt.Some Falles are meanes the happier to arise.