The Complete Works of William Shakespeare Part 94

CLOTEN. Your lady's person; is she ready?

LADY. Ay, To keep her chamber.

CLOTEN. There is gold for you; sell me your good report.

LADY. How? My good name? or to report of you What I shall think is good? The Princess!

Enter IMOGEN

CLOTEN. Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand.

Exit LADY IMOGEN. Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains For purchasing but trouble. The thanks I give Is telling you that I am poor of thanks, And scarce can spare them.

CLOTEN. Still I swear I love you.

IMOGEN. If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me.

If you swear still, your recompense is still That I regard it not.

CLOTEN. This is no answer.

IMOGEN. But that you shall not say I yield, being silent, I would not speak. I pray you spare me. Faith, I shall unfold equal discourtesy To your best kindness; one of your great knowing Should learn, being taught, forbearance.

CLOTEN. To leave you in your madness 'twere my sin; I will not.

IMOGEN. Fools are not mad folks.

CLOTEN. Do you call me fool?

IMOGEN. As I am mad, I do; If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, You put me to forget a lady's manners By being so verbal; and learn now, for all, That I, which know my heart, do here p.r.o.nounce, By th' very truth of it, I care not for you, And am so near the lack of charity To accuse myself I hate you; which I had rather You felt than make't my boast.

CLOTEN. You sin against Obedience, which you owe your father. For The contract you pretend with that base wretch, One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes, With sc.r.a.ps o' th' court- it is no contract, none.

And though it be allowed in meaner parties- Yet who than he more mean?- to knit their souls- On whom there is no more dependency But brats and beggary- in self-figur'd knot, Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by The consequence o' th' crown, and must not foil The precious note of it with a base slave, A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, A pantler- not so eminent!

IMOGEN. Profane fellow!

Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more But what thou art besides, thou wert too base To be his groom. Thou wert dignified enough, Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made Comparative for your virtues to be styl'd The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated For being preferr'd so well.

CLOTEN. The south fog rot him!

IMOGEN. He never can meet more mischance than come To be but nam'd of thee. His mean'st garment That ever hath but clipp'd his body is dearer In my respect than all the hairs above thee, Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!

Enter PISANIO

CLOTEN. 'His garments'! Now the devil- IMOGEN. To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.

CLOTEN. 'His garment'!

IMOGEN. I am sprited with a fool; Frighted, and ang'red worse. Go bid my woman Search for a jewel that too casually Hath left mine arm. It was thy master's; shrew me, If I would lose it for a revenue Of any king's in Europe! I do think I saw't this morning; confident I am Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it.

I hope it be not gone to tell my lord That I kiss aught but he.

PISANIO. 'Twill not be lost.

IMOGEN. I hope so. Go and search. Exit PISANIO CLOTEN. You have abus'd me.

'His meanest garment'!

IMOGEN. Ay, I said so, sir.

If you will make 't an action, call witness to 't.

CLOTEN. I will inform your father.

IMOGEN. Your mother too.

She's my good lady and will conceive, I hope, But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir, To th' worst of discontent. Exit CLOTEN. I'll be reveng'd.

'His mean'st garment'! Well. Exit

SCENE IV.

Rome. PHILARIO'S house

Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO

POSTHUMUS. Fear it not, sir; I would I were so sure To win the King as I am bold her honour Will remain hers.

PHILARIO. What means do you make to him?

POSTHUMUS. Not any; but abide the change of time, Quake in the present winter's state, and wish That warmer days would come. In these fear'd hopes I barely gratify your love; they failing, I must die much your debtor.

PHILARIO. Your very goodness and your company O'erpays all I can do. By this your king Hath heard of great Augustus. Caius Lucius Will do's commission throughly; and I think He'll grant the tribute, send th' arrearages, Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance Is yet fresh in their grief.

POSTHUMUS. I do believe Statist though I am none, nor like to be, That this will prove a war; and you shall hear The legions now in Gallia sooner landed In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen Are men more order'd than when Julius Caesar Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline, Now mingled with their courages, will make known To their approvers they are people such That mend upon the world.

Enter IACHIMO

PHILARIO. See! Iachimo!

POSTHUMUS. The swiftest harts have posted you by land, And winds of all the comers kiss'd your sails, To make your vessel nimble.

PHILARIO. Welcome, sir.

POSTHUMUS. I hope the briefness of your answer made The speediness of your return.

IACHIMO. Your lady Is one of the fairest that I have look'd upon.

POSTHUMUS. And therewithal the best; or let her beauty Look through a cas.e.m.e.nt to allure false hearts, And be false with them.

IACHIMO. Here are letters for you.

POSTHUMUS. Their tenour good, I trust.

IACHIMO. 'Tis very like.

PHILARIO. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court When you were there?

IACHIMO. He was expected then, But not approach'd.

POSTHUMUS. All is well yet.

Sparkles this stone as it was wont, or is't not Too dull for your good wearing?

IACHIMO. If I have lost it, I should have lost the worth of it in gold.

I'll make a journey twice as far t' enjoy A second night of such sweet shortness which Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.

POSTHUMUS. The stone's too hard to come by.

IACHIMO. Not a whit, Your lady being so easy.

POSTHUMUS. Make not, sir, Your loss your sport. I hope you know that we Must not continue friends.

IACHIMO. Good sir, we must, If you keep covenant. Had I not brought The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant We were to question farther; but I now Profess myself the winner of her honour, Together with your ring; and not the wronger Of her or you, having proceeded but By both your wills.

POSTHUMUS. If you can make't apparent That you have tasted her in bed, my hand And ring is yours. If not, the foul opinion You had of her pure honour gains or loses Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both To who shall find them.

IACHIMO. Sir, my circ.u.mstances, Being so near the truth as I will make them, Must first induce you to believe- whose strength I will confirm with oath; which I doubt not You'll give me leave to spare when you shall find You need it not.

POSTHUMUS. Proceed.

IACHIMO. First, her bedchamber, Where I confess I slept not, but profess Had that was well worth watching-it was hang'd With tapestry of silk and silver; the story, Proud Cleopatra when she met her Roman And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for The press of boats or pride. A piece of work So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive In workmans.h.i.+p and value; which I wonder'd Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, Since the true life on't was- POSTHUMUS. This is true; And this you might have heard of here, by me Or by some other.

IACHIMO. More particulars Must justify my knowledge.

POSTHUMUS. So they must, Or do your honour injury.

IACHIMO. The chimney Is south the chamber, and the chimneypiece Chaste Dian bathing. Never saw I figures So likely to report themselves. The cutter Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her, Motion and breath left out.

POSTHUMUS. This is a thing Which you might from relation likewise reap, Being, as it is, much spoke of.

IACHIMO. The roof o' th' chamber With golden cherubins is fretted; her andirons- I had forgot them- were two winking Cupids Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely Depending on their brands.

POSTHUMUS. This is her honour!

Let it be granted you have seen all this, and praise Be given to your remembrance; the description Of what is in her chamber nothing saves The wager you have laid.

IACHIMO. Then, if you can, [Shows the bracelet]

Be pale. I beg but leave to air this jewel. See!

And now 'tis up again. It must be married To that your diamond; I'll keep them.

POSTHUMUS. Jove!

Once more let me behold it. Is it that Which I left with her?

IACHIMO. Sir- I thank her- that.

She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet; Her pretty action did outsell her gift, And yet enrich'd it too. She gave it me, and said She priz'd it once.

POSTHUMUS. May be she pluck'd it of To send it me.

IACHIMO. She writes so to you, doth she?

POSTHUMUS. O, no, no, no! 'tis true. Here, take this too; [Gives the ring]

It is a basilisk unto mine eye, Kills me to look on't. Let there be no honour Where there is beauty; truth where semblance; love Where there's another man. The vows of women Of no more bondage be to where they are made Than they are to their virtues, which is nothing.

O, above measure false!

PHILARIO. Have patience, sir, And take your ring again; 'tis not yet won.