The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 103

Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment n.o.bler than that it covers. Let thy effects So follow to be most unlike our courtiers, As good as promise.

[Reads] 'When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embrac'd by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopp'd branches which, being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.'

'Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen Tongue, and brain not; either both or nothing, Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such As sense cannot untie. Be what it is, The action of my life is like it, which I'll keep, if but for sympathy.

Re-enter GAOLER

GAOLER. Come, sir, are you ready for death?

POSTHUMUS. Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.

GAOLER. Hanging is the word, sir; if you be ready for that, you are well cook'd.

POSTHUMUS. So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish pays the shot.

GAOLER. A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments, fear no more tavern bills, which are often the sadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth.

You come in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with too much drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain both empty; the brain the heavier for being too light, the purse too light, being drawn of heaviness. O, of this contradiction you shall now be quit. O, the charity of a penny cord! It sums up thousands in a trice. You have no true debitor and creditor but it; of what's past, is, and to come, the discharge. Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and counters; so the acquittance follows.

POSTHUMUS. I am merrier to die than thou art to live.

GAOLER. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache. But a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would change places with his officer; for look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go.

POSTHUMUS. Yes indeed do I, fellow.

GAOLER. Your death has eyes in's head, then; I have not seen him so pictur'd. You must either be directed by some that take upon them to know, or to take upon yourself that which I am sure you do not know, or jump the after-inquiry on your own peril. And how you shall speed in your journey's end, I think you'll never return to tell one.

POSTHUMUS. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them the way I am going, but such as wink and will not use them.

GAOLER. What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the best use of eyes to see the way of blindness! I am sure hanging's the way of winking.

Enter a MESSENGER

MESSENGER. Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the King.

POSTHUMUS. Thou bring'st good news: I am call'd to be made free.

GAOLER. I'll be hang'd then.

POSTHUMUS. Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead. Exeunt POSTHUMUS and MESSENGER GAOLER. Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget young gibbets, I never saw one so p.r.o.ne. Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to live, for all he be a Roman; and there be some of them too that die against their wills; so should I, if I were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good. O, there were desolation of gaolers and gallowses! I speak against my present profit, but my wish hath a preferment in't. Exit

SCENE V.

Britain. CYMBELINE'S tent

Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, LORDS, OFFICERS, and attendants

CYMBELINE. Stand by my side, you whom the G.o.ds have made Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart That the poor soldier that so richly fought, Whose rags sham'd gilded arms, whose naked breast Stepp'd before targes of proof, cannot be found.

He shall be happy that can find him, if Our grace can make him so.

BELARIUS. I never saw Such n.o.ble fury in so poor a thing; Such precious deeds in one that promis'd nought But beggary and poor looks.

CYMBELINE. No tidings of him?

PISANIO. He hath been search'd among the dead and living, But no trace of him.

CYMBELINE. To my grief, I am The heir of his reward; [To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS]

which I will add To you, the liver, heart, and brain, of Britain, By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the time To ask of whence you are. Report it.

BELARIUS. Sir, In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen; Further to boast were neither true nor modest, Unless I add we are honest.

CYMBELINE. Bow your knees.

Arise my knights o' th' battle; I create you Companions to our person, and will fit you With dignities becoming your estates.

Enter CORNELIUS and LADIES

There's business in these faces. Why so sadly Greet you our victory? You look like Romans, And not o' th' court of Britain.

CORNELIUS. Hail, great King!

To sour your happiness I must report The Queen is dead.

CYMBELINE. Who worse than a physician Would this report become? But I consider By med'cine'life may be prolong'd, yet death Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?

CORNELIUS. With horror, madly dying, like her life; Which, being cruel to the world, concluded Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd I will report, so please you; these her women Can trip me if I err, who with wet cheeks Were present when she finish'd.

CYMBELINE. Prithee say.

CORNELIUS. First, she confess'd she never lov'd you; only Affected greatness got by you, not you; Married your royalty, was wife to your place; Abhorr'd your person.

CYMBELINE. She alone knew this; And but she spoke it dying, I would not Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.

CORNELIUS. Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love With such integrity, she did confess Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life, But that her flight prevented it, she had Ta'en off by poison.

CYMBELINE. O most delicate fiend!

Who is't can read a woman? Is there more?

CORNELIUS. More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had For you a mortal mineral, which, being took, Should by the minute feed on life, and ling'ring, By inches waste you. In which time she purpos'd, By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to O'ercome you with her show; and in time, When she had fitted you with her craft, to work Her son into th' adoption of the crown; But failing of her end by his strange absence, Grew shameless-desperate, open'd, in despite Of heaven and men, her purposes, repented The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so, Despairing, died.

CYMBELINE. Heard you all this, her women?

LADY. We did, so please your Highness.

CYMBELINE. Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious To have mistrusted her; yet, O my daughter!

That it was folly in me thou mayst say, And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all!

Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the SOOTHSAYER, and other Roman prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS behind, and IMOGEN

Thou com'st not, Caius, now for tribute; that The Britons have raz'd out, though with the loss Of many a bold one, whose kinsmen have made suit That their good souls may be appeas'd with slaughter Of you their captives, which ourself have granted; So think of your estate.

LUCIUS. Consider, sir, the chance of war. The day Was yours by accident; had it gone with us, We should not, when the blood was cool, have threaten'd Our prisoners with the sword. But since the G.o.ds Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives May be call'd ransom, let it come. Sufficeth A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer.

Augustus lives to think on't; and so much For my peculiar care. This one thing only I will entreat: my boy, a Briton born, Let him be ransom'd. Never master had A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, So tender over his occasions, true, So feat, so nurse-like; let his virtue join With my request, which I'll make bold your Highness Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm Though he have serv'd a Roman. Save him, sir, And spare no blood beside.

CYMBELINE. I have surely seen him; His favour is familiar to me. Boy, Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace, And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore To say 'Live, boy.' Ne'er thank thy master. Live; And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt, Fitting my bounty and thy state, I'll give it; Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner, The n.o.blest ta'en.

IMOGEN. I humbly thank your Highness.

LUCIUS. I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad, And yet I know thou wilt.

IMOGEN. No, no! Alack, There's other work in hand. I see a thing Bitter to me as death; your life, good master, Must shuffle for itself.

LUCIUS. The boy disdains me, He leaves me, scorns me. Briefly die their joys That place them on the truth of girls and boys.

Why stands he so perplex'd?

CYMBELINE. What wouldst thou, boy?

I love thee more and more; think more and more What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? Speak, Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend?

IMOGEN. He is a Roman, no more kin to me Than I to your Highness; who, being born your va.s.sal, Am something nearer.

CYMBELINE. Wherefore ey'st him so?

IMOGEN. I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please To give me hearing.

CYMBELINE. Ay, with all my heart, And lend my best attention. What's thy name?

IMOGEN. Fidele, sir.

CYMBELINE. Thou'rt my good youth, my page; I'll be thy master. Walk with me; speak freely.

[CYMBELINE and IMOGEN converse apart]

BELARIUS. Is not this boy reviv'd from death?

ARVIRAGUS. One sand another Not more resembles- that sweet rosy lad Who died and was Fidele. What think you?

GUIDERIUS. The same dead thing alive.

BELARIUS. Peace, peace! see further. He eyes us not; forbear.

Creatures may be alike; were't he, I am sure He would have spoke to us.

GUIDERIUS. But we saw him dead.

BELARIUS. Be silent; let's see further.

PISANIO. [Aside] It is my mistress.

Since she is living, let the time run on To good or bad. [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN advance]

CYMBELINE. Come, stand thou by our side; Make thy demand aloud. [To IACHIMO] Sir, step you forth; Give answer to this boy, and do it freely, Or, by our greatness and the grace of it, Which is our honour, bitter torture shall Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him.

IMOGEN. My boon is that this gentleman may render Of whom he had this ring.

POSTHUMUS. [Aside] What's that to him?

CYMBELINE. That diamond upon your finger, say How came it yours?

IACHIMO. Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that Which to be spoke would torture thee.