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Director, Folger Shakespeare Library
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, two of
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,
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Cymbeline
, which takes place in ancient Britain, is filled with hidden identities, extraordinary schemes, and violent acts. Long ago, the two sons of King Cymbeline were abducted, leaving Cymbeline with a daughter, Imogen. Cymbeline’s stepson, Cloten, is now his heir, and Cymbeline expects Imogen to marry him. She secretly marries Posthumus Leonatus instead.
Banished from court, Posthumus makes a foolish bet on Imogen’s chastity, which leads to false evidence that she has betrayed him. He plots to have her killed, and starts by sending her on a journey. Meanwhile, still angry about Imogen’s marriage, Cloten plans to find and rape her.
Imogen—now disguised as a boy, “Fidele”—unwittingly encounters her brothers, who have grown up in a mountain cave unaware of their princely origins. The brothers kill Cloten, but Imogen, horrified, believes they have slain Posthumus.
Cymbeline, meanwhile, refuses to pay a tribute to the Romans, who invade Britain. After the Romans are repelled in battle, Cymbeline agrees to the tribute, his sons are restored, and Imogen and Posthumus are reconciled.
ACT
1
Scene
1
Enter
two
Gentlemen
.
You
do
not
meet
a
man
but
frowns
.
Our
bloods
No
more
obey
the
heavens
than
our
courtiers’
Still
seem
as
does
the
King’s
.
But
what’s
the
matter
?
His
daughter
,
and
the
heir
of
’s
kingdom
,
whom
He
purposed
to
his
wife’s
sole
son
—
a
widow
That
late
he
married
—
hath
referred
herself
Unto
a
poor
but
worthy
gentleman
.
She’s
wedded
,
Her
husband
banished
,
she
imprisoned
.
All
Is
outward
sorrow
,
though
I
think
the
King
Be
touched
at
very
heart
.
None
but
the
King
?
He
that
hath
lost
her
,
too
.
So
is
the
Queen
,
That
most
desired
the
match
.
But
not
a
courtier
,
Although
they
wear
their
faces
to
the
bent
Of
the
King’s
looks
,
hath
a
heart
that
is
not
Glad
at
the
thing
they
scowl
at
.
And
why
so
?
He
that
hath
missed
the
Princess
is
a
thing
Too
bad
for
bad
report
,
and
he
that
hath
her
—
ACT 1. SC. 1
I
mean
,
that
married
her
,
alack
,
good
man
!
And
therefore
banished
—
is
a
creature
such
As
,
to
seek
through
the
regions
of
the
Earth
earth
For
one
his
like
,
there
would
be
something
failing
In
him
that
should
compare
.
I
do
not
think
So
fair
an
outward
and
such
stuff
within
Endows
a
man
but
he
.
You
speak
him
far
.
I
do
extend
him
,
sir
,
within
himself
,
Crush
him
together
rather
than
unfold
His
measure
duly
.
What’s
his
name
and
birth
?
I
cannot
delve
him
to
the
root
.
His
father
Was
called
Sicilius
,
who
did
join
his
honor
Against
the
Romans
with
Cassibelan
,
But
had
his
titles
by
Tenantius
,
whom
He
served
with
glory
and
admired
success
,
So
gained
the
sur-addition
Leonatus
;
And
had
,
besides
this
gentleman
in
question
,
Two
other
sons
,
who
in
the
wars
o’
th’
time
Died
with
their
swords
in
hand
.
For
which
their
father
,
Then
old
and
fond
of
issue
,
took
such
sorrow
That
he
quit
being
;
and
his
gentle
lady
,
Big
of
this
gentleman
our
theme
,
deceased
As
he
was
born
.
The
King
he
takes
the
babe
To
his
protection
,
calls
him
Posthumus
Leonatus
,
Breeds
him
and
makes
him
of
his
bedchamber
,
Puts
to
him
all
the
learnings
that
his
time
Could
make
him
the
receiver
of
,
which
he
took
As
we
do
air
,
fast
as
’twas
ministered
,
And
in
’s
spring
became
a
harvest
;
lived
in
court
—
Which
rare
it
is
to
do
—
most
praised
,
most
loved
,
A
sample
to
the
youngest
,
to
th’
more
mature
ACT 1. SC. 1
A
glass
that
feated
them
,
and
to
the
graver
A
child
that
guided
dotards
.
To
his
mistress
,
For
whom
he
now
is
banished
,
her
own
price
Proclaims
how
she
esteemed
him
;
and
his
virtue
By
her
election
may
be
truly
read
What
kind
of
man
he
is
.
I
honor
him
Even
out
of
your
report
.
But
pray
you
tell
me
,
Is
she
sole
child
to
th’
King
?
His
only
child
.
He
had
two
sons
—
if
this
be
worth
your
hearing
,
Mark
it
—
the
eldest
of
them
at
three
years
old
,
I’
th’
swathing
clothes
the
other
,
from
their
nursery
Were
stol’n
,
and
to
this
hour
no
guess
in
knowledge
Which
way
they
went
.
How
long
is
this
ago
?
Some
twenty
years
.
That
a
king’s
children
should
be
so
conveyed
,
So
slackly
guarded
,
and
the
search
so
slow
That
could
not
trace
them
!
Howsoe’er
’tis
strange
,
Or
that
the
negligence
may
well
be
laughed
at
,
Yet
is
it
true
,
sir
.
I
do
well
believe
you
.
We
must
forbear
.
Here
comes
the
gentleman
,
The
Queen
and
Princess
.
They
exit
.
Enter
the
Queen
,
Posthumus
,
and
Imogen
.
No
,
be
assured
you
shall
not
find
me
,
daughter
,
After
the
slander
of
most
stepmothers
,
Evil-eyed
unto
you
.
You’re
my
prisoner
,
but
Your
jailer
shall
deliver
you
the
keys
ACT 1. SC. 1
That
lock
up
your
restraint
.
—
For
you
,
Posthumus
,
So
soon
as
I
can
win
th’
offended
king
,
I
will
be
known
your
advocate
.
Marry
,
yet
The
fire
of
rage
is
in
him
,
and
’twere
good
You
leaned
unto
his
sentence
with
what
patience
Your
wisdom
may
inform
you
.
Please
your
Highness
,
I
will
from
hence
today
.
You
know
the
peril
.
I’ll
fetch
a
turn
about
the
garden
,
pitying
The
pangs
of
barred
affections
,
though
the
King
Hath
charged
you
should
not
speak
together
.
She
exits
.
O
,
Dissembling
courtesy
!
How
fine
this
tyrant
Can
tickle
where
she
wounds
!
My
dearest
husband
,
I
something
fear
my
father’s
wrath
,
but
nothing
—
Always
reserved
my
holy
duty
—
what
His
rage
can
do
on
me
.
You
must
be
gone
,
And
I
shall
here
abide
the
hourly
shot
Of
angry
eyes
,
not
comforted
to
live
But
that
there
is
this
jewel
in
the
world
That
I
may
see
again
.
She
weeps
.
My
queen
,
my
mistress
!
O
lady
,
weep
no
more
,
lest
I
give
cause
To
be
suspected
of
more
tenderness
Than
doth
become
a
man
.
I
will
remain
The
loyal’st
husband
that
did
e’er
plight
troth
.
My
residence
in
Rome
at
one
Philario’s
,
Who
to
my
father
was
a
friend
,
to
me
Known
but
by
letter
;
thither
write
,
my
queen
,
And
with
mine
eyes
I’ll
drink
the
words
you
send
,
Though
ink
be
made
of
gall
.
Enter
Queen
.
Be
brief
,
I
pray
you
.
If
the
King
come
,
I
shall
incur
I
know
not
ACT 1. SC. 1
How
much
of
his
displeasure
.
(
Aside
.
)
Yet
I’ll
move
him
To
walk
this
way
.
I
never
do
him
wrong
But
he
does
buy
my
injuries
,
to
be
friends
,
Pays
dear
for
my
offenses
.
She
exits
.
Should
we
be
taking
leave
As
long
a
term
as
yet
we
have
to
live
,
The
loathness
to
depart
would
grow
.
Adieu
.
Nay
,
stay
a
little
!
Were
you
but
riding
forth
to
air
yourself
,
Such
parting
were
too
petty
.
Look
here
,
love
:
This
diamond
was
my
mother’s
.
(
She
offers
a
ring
.
)
Take
it
,
heart
,
But
keep
it
till
you
woo
another
wife
When
Imogen
is
dead
.
How
,
how
?
Another
?
You
gentle
gods
,
give
me
but
this
I
have
,
And
cere
up
my
embracements
from
a
next
With
bonds
of
death
.
(
He
puts
the
ring
on
his
finger
.
)
Remain
,
remain
thou
here
,
While
sense
can
keep
it
on
.
—
And
sweetest
,
fairest
,
As
I
my
poor
self
did
exchange
for
you
To
your
so
infinite
loss
,
so
in
our
trifles
I
still
win
of
you
.
For
my
sake
,
wear
this
.
He
offers
a
bracelet
.
It
is
a
manacle
of
love
.
I’ll
place
it
Upon
this
fairest
prisoner
.
He
puts
it
on
her
wrist
.
O
the
gods
!
When
shall
we
see
again
?
Enter
Cymbeline
and
Lords
.
Alack
,
the
King
.
Thou
basest
thing
,
avoid
hence
,
from
my
sight
!
If
after
this
command
thou
fraught
the
court
With
thy
unworthiness
,
thou
diest
.
Away
!
Thou
’rt
poison
to
my
blood
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
The
gods
protect
you
,
And
bless
the
good
remainders
of
the
court
.
I
am
gone
.
He
exits
.
There
cannot
be
a
pinch
in
death
More
sharp
than
this
is
.
O
disloyal
thing
That
shouldst
repair
my
youth
,
thou
heap’st
A
year’s
age
on
me
.
I
beseech
you
,
sir
,
Harm
not
yourself
with
your
vexation
.
I
am
senseless
of
your
wrath
.
A
touch
more
rare
Subdues
all
pangs
,
all
fears
.
Past
grace
?
Obedience
?
Past
hope
and
in
despair
;
that
way
past
grace
.
That
mightst
have
had
the
sole
son
of
my
queen
!
O
,
blessèd
that
I
might
not
!
I
chose
an
eagle
And
did
avoid
a
puttock
.
Thou
took’st
a
beggar
,
wouldst
have
made
my
throne
A
seat
for
baseness
.
No
,
I
rather
added
A
luster
to
it
.
O
thou
vile
one
!
Sir
,
It
is
your
fault
that
I
have
loved
Posthumus
.
You
bred
him
as
my
playfellow
,
and
he
is
A
man
worth
any
woman
,
overbuys
me
Almost
the
sum
he
pays
.
What
,
art
thou
mad
?
Almost
,
sir
.
Heaven
restore
me
!
Would
I
were
A
neatherd’s
daughter
,
and
my
Leonatus
Our
neighbor
shepherd’s
son
.
She
weeps
.
ACT 1. SC. 1
Thou
foolish
thing
!
Enter
Queen
.
They
were
again
together
.
You
have
done
Not
after
our
command
.
Away
with
her
And
pen
her
up
.
Beseech
your
patience
.
—
Peace
,
Dear
lady
daughter
,
peace
.
—
Sweet
sovereign
,
Leave
us
to
ourselves
,
and
make
yourself
some
comfort
Out
of
your
best
advice
.
Nay
,
let
her
languish
A
drop
of
blood
a
day
,
and
being
aged
Die
of
this
folly
.
He
exits
,
with
Lords
.
Fie
,
you
must
give
way
.
Enter
Pisanio
.
Here
is
your
servant
.
—
How
now
,
sir
?
What
news
?
My
lord
your
son
drew
on
my
master
.
Ha
?
No
harm
,
I
trust
,
is
done
?
There
might
have
been
,
But
that
my
master
rather
played
than
fought
And
had
no
help
of
anger
.
They
were
parted
By
gentlemen
at
hand
.
I
am
very
glad
on
’t
.
Your
son’s
my
father’s
friend
;
he
takes
his
part
To
draw
upon
an
exile
.
O
,
brave
sir
!
I
would
they
were
in
Afric
both
together
,
Myself
by
with
a
needle
,
that
I
might
prick
The
goer-back
.
—
Why
came
you
from
your
master
?
On
his
command
.
He
would
not
suffer
me
To
bring
him
to
the
haven
,
left
these
notes
ACT 1. SC. 2
Of
what
commands
I
should
be
subject
to
When
’t
pleased
you
to
employ
me
.
,
to
Imogen
This
hath
been
Your
faithful
servant
.
I
dare
lay
mine
honor
He
will
remain
so
.
I
humbly
thank
your
Highness
.
,
to
Imogen
Pray
,
walk
awhile
.
,
to
Pisanio
About
some
half
hour
hence
,
Pray
you
,
speak
with
me
.
You
shall
at
least
Go
see
my
lord
aboard
.
For
this
time
leave
me
.
They
exit
.
Scene
2
Enter
Cloten
and
two
Lords
.
Sir
,
I
would
advise
you
to
shift
a
shirt
.
The
violence
of
action
hath
made
you
reek
as
a
sacrifice
.
Where
air
comes
out
,
air
comes
in
.
There’s
none
abroad
so
wholesome
as
that
you
vent
.
If
my
shirt
were
bloody
,
then
to
shift
it
.
Have
I
hurt
him
?
,
aside
No
,
faith
,
not
so
much
as
his
patience
.
Hurt
him
?
His
body’s
a
passable
carcass
if
he
be
not
hurt
.
It
is
a
thoroughfare
for
steel
if
it
be
not
hurt
.
,
aside
His
steel
was
in
debt
;
it
went
o’
th’
backside
the
town
.
The
villain
would
not
stand
me
.
,
aside
No
,
but
he
fled
forward
still
,
toward
your
face
.
Stand
you
?
You
have
land
enough
of
your
own
,
but
he
added
to
your
having
,
gave
you
some
ground
.
ACT 1. SC. 3
,
aside
As
many
inches
as
you
have
oceans
.
Puppies
!
I
would
they
had
not
come
between
us
.
,
aside
So
would
I
,
till
you
had
measured
how
long
a
fool
you
were
upon
the
ground
.
And
that
she
should
love
this
fellow
and
refuse
me
!
,
aside
If
it
be
a
sin
to
make
a
true
election
,
she
is
damned
.
Sir
,
as
I
told
you
always
,
her
beauty
and
her
brain
go
not
together
.
She’s
a
good
sign
,
but
I
have
seen
small
reflection
of
her
wit
.
,
aside
She
shines
not
upon
fools
,
lest
the
reflection
should
hurt
her
.
Come
,
I’ll
to
my
chamber
.
Would
there
had
been
some
hurt
done
!
,
aside
I
wish
not
so
,
unless
it
had
been
the
fall
of
an
ass
,
which
is
no
great
hurt
.
You’ll
go
with
us
?
I’ll
attend
your
Lordship
.
Nay
,
come
,
let’s
go
together
.
Well
,
my
lord
.
They
exit
.
Scene
3
Enter
Imogen
and
Pisanio
.
I
would
thou
grew’st
unto
the
shores
o’
th’
haven
And
questionedst
every
sail
.
If
he
should
write
And
I
not
have
it
,
’twere
a
paper
lost
As
offered
mercy
is
.
What
was
the
last
That
he
spake
to
thee
?
It
was
his
queen
,
his
queen
!
ACT 1. SC. 3
Then
waved
his
handkerchief
?
And
kissed
it
,
madam
.
Senseless
linen
,
happier
therein
than
I
.
And
that
was
all
?
No
,
madam
.
For
so
long
As
he
could
make
me
with
this
eye
or
ear
Distinguish
him
from
others
,
he
did
keep
The
deck
,
with
glove
or
hat
or
handkerchief
Still
waving
,
as
the
fits
and
stirs
of
’s
mind
Could
best
express
how
slow
his
soul
sailed
on
,
How
swift
his
ship
.
Thou
shouldst
have
made
him
As
little
as
a
crow
,
or
less
,
ere
left
To
after-eye
him
.
Madam
,
so
I
did
.
I
would
have
broke
mine
eyestrings
,
cracked
them
,
but
To
look
upon
him
till
the
diminution
Of
space
had
pointed
him
sharp
as
my
needle
;
Nay
,
followed
him
till
he
had
melted
from
The
smallness
of
a
gnat
to
air
;
and
then
Have
turned
mine
eye
and
wept
.
But
,
good
Pisanio
,
When
shall
we
hear
from
him
?
Be
assured
,
madam
,
With
his
next
vantage
.
I
did
not
take
my
leave
of
him
,
but
had
Most
pretty
things
to
say
.
Ere
I
could
tell
him
How
I
would
think
on
him
at
certain
hours
Such
thoughts
and
such
;
or
I
could
make
him
swear
The
shes
of
Italy
should
not
betray
Mine
interest
and
his
honor
;
or
have
charged
him
At
the
sixth
hour
of
morn
,
at
noon
,
at
midnight
ACT 1. SC. 4
T’
encounter
me
with
orisons
,
for
then
I
am
in
heaven
for
him
;
or
ere
I
could
Give
him
that
parting
kiss
which
I
had
set
Betwixt
two
charming
words
,
comes
in
my
father
,
And
like
the
tyrannous
breathing
of
the
north
Shakes
all
our
buds
from
growing
.
Enter
a
Lady
.
The
Queen
,
madam
,
Desires
your
Highness’
company
.
,
to
Pisanio
Those
things
I
bid
you
do
,
get
them
dispatched
.
I
will
attend
the
Queen
.
Madam
,
I
shall
.
They
exit
.
Scene
4
Enter
Philario
,
Iachimo
,
a
Frenchman
,
a
Dutchman
,
and
a
Spaniard
.
Believe
it
,
sir
,
I
have
seen
him
in
Britain
.
He
was
then
of
a
crescent
note
,
expected
to
prove
so
worthy
as
since
he
hath
been
allowed
the
name
of
.
But
I
could
then
have
looked
on
him
without
the
help
of
admiration
,
though
the
catalogue
of
his
endowments
had
been
tabled
by
his
side
and
I
to
peruse
him
by
items
.
You
speak
of
him
when
he
was
less
furnished
than
now
he
is
with
that
which
makes
him
both
without
and
within
.
I
have
seen
him
in
France
.
We
had
very
many
there
could
behold
the
sun
with
as
firm
eyes
as
he
.
This
matter
of
marrying
his
king’s
daughter
,
wherein
he
must
be
weighed
rather
by
her
value
ACT 1. SC. 4
than
his
own
,
words
him
,
I
doubt
not
,
a
great
deal
from
the
matter
.
And
then
his
banishment
.
Ay
,
and
the
approbation
of
those
that
weep
this
lamentable
divorce
under
her
colors
are
wonderfully
to
extend
him
,
be
it
but
to
fortify
her
judgment
,
which
else
an
easy
battery
might
lay
flat
for
taking
a
beggar
without
less
quality
.
—
But
how
comes
it
he
is
to
sojourn
with
you
?
How
creeps
acquaintance
?
His
father
and
I
were
soldiers
together
,
to
whom
I
have
been
often
bound
for
no
less
than
my
life
.
Enter
Posthumus
.
Here
comes
the
Briton
.
Let
him
be
so
entertained
amongst
you
as
suits
,
with
gentlemen
of
your
knowing
,
to
a
stranger
of
his
quality
.
—
I
beseech
you
all
,
be
better
known
to
this
gentleman
,
whom
I
commend
to
you
as
a
noble
friend
of
mine
.
How
worthy
he
is
I
will
leave
to
appear
hereafter
rather
than
story
him
in
his
own
hearing
.
,
to
Posthumus
Sir
,
we
have
known
together
in
Orleans
.
Since
when
I
have
been
debtor
to
you
for
courtesies
which
I
will
be
ever
to
pay
and
yet
pay
still
.
Sir
,
you
o’errate
my
poor
kindness
.
I
was
glad
I
did
atone
my
countryman
and
you
.
It
had
been
pity
you
should
have
been
put
together
with
so
mortal
a
purpose
as
then
each
bore
,
upon
importance
of
so
slight
and
trivial
a
nature
.
By
your
pardon
,
sir
,
I
was
then
a
young
traveler
,
rather
shunned
to
go
even
with
what
I
heard
than
in
my
every
action
to
be
guided
by
others’
experiences
.
But
upon
my
mended
judgment
—
ACT 1. SC. 4
if
I
offend
not
to
say
it
is
mended
—
my
quarrel
was
not
altogether
slight
.
Faith
,
yes
,
to
be
put
to
the
arbitrament
of
swords
,
and
by
such
two
that
would
by
all
likelihood
have
confounded
one
the
other
or
have
fall’n
both
.
Can
we
with
manners
ask
what
was
the
difference
?
Safely
,
I
think
.
’Twas
a
contention
in
public
,
which
may
without
contradiction
suffer
the
report
.
It
was
much
like
an
argument
that
fell
out
last
night
,
where
each
of
us
fell
in
praise
of
our
country
mistresses
,
this
gentleman
at
that
time
vouching
—
and
upon
warrant
of
bloody
affirmation
—
his
to
be
more
fair
,
virtuous
,
wise
,
chaste
,
constant
,
qualified
,
and
less
attemptable
than
any
the
rarest
of
our
ladies
in
France
.
That
lady
is
not
now
living
,
or
this
gentleman’s
opinion
by
this
worn
out
.
She
holds
her
virtue
still
,
and
I
my
mind
.
You
must
not
so
far
prefer
her
’fore
ours
of
Italy
.
Being
so
far
provoked
as
I
was
in
France
,
I
would
abate
her
nothing
,
though
I
profess
myself
her
adorer
,
not
her
friend
.
As
fair
and
as
good
—
a
kind
of
hand-in-hand
comparison
—
had
been
something
too
fair
and
too
good
for
any
lady
in
Britain
.
If
she
went
before
others
I
have
seen
,
as
that
diamond
of
yours
outlusters
many
I
have
beheld
,
I
could
not
but
believe
she
excelled
many
.
But
I
have
not
seen
the
most
precious
diamond
that
is
,
nor
you
the
lady
.
I
praised
her
as
I
rated
her
.
So
do
I
my
stone
.
What
do
you
esteem
it
at
?
More
than
the
world
enjoys
.
ACT 1. SC. 4
Either
your
unparagoned
mistress
is
dead
,
or
she’s
outprized
by
a
trifle
.
You
are
mistaken
.
The
one
may
be
sold
or
given
,
or
if
there
were
wealth
enough
for
the
purchase
or
merit
for
the
gift
.
The
other
is
not
a
thing
for
sale
,
and
only
the
gift
of
the
gods
.
Which
the
gods
have
given
you
?
Which
,
by
their
graces
,
I
will
keep
.
You
may
wear
her
in
title
yours
,
but
you
know
strange
fowl
light
upon
neighboring
ponds
.
Your
ring
may
be
stolen
too
.
So
your
brace
of
unprizable
estimations
,
the
one
is
but
frail
and
the
other
casual
.
A
cunning
thief
or
a
that-way-accomplished
courtier
would
hazard
the
winning
both
of
first
and
last
.
Your
Italy
contains
none
so
accomplished
a
courtier
to
convince
the
honor
of
my
mistress
,
if
in
the
holding
or
loss
of
that
,
you
term
her
frail
.
I
do
nothing
doubt
you
have
store
of
thieves
;
notwithstanding
,
I
fear
not
my
ring
.
Let
us
leave
here
,
gentlemen
.
Sir
,
with
all
my
heart
.
This
worthy
signior
,
I
thank
him
,
makes
no
stranger
of
me
.
We
are
familiar
at
first
.
With
five
times
so
much
conversation
I
should
get
ground
of
your
fair
mistress
,
make
her
go
back
even
to
the
yielding
,
had
I
admittance
and
opportunity
to
friend
.
No
,
no
.
I
dare
thereupon
pawn
the
moiety
of
my
estate
to
your
ring
,
which
in
my
opinion
o’ervalues
it
something
.
But
I
make
my
wager
rather
against
your
confidence
than
her
reputation
,
and
,
to
bar
your
offense
herein
too
,
I
durst
attempt
it
against
any
lady
in
the
world
.
You
are
a
great
deal
abused
in
too
bold
a
ACT 1. SC. 4
persuasion
,
and
I
doubt
not
you
sustain
what
you’re
worthy
of
by
your
attempt
.
What’s
that
?
A
repulse
—
though
your
attempt
,
as
you
call
it
,
deserve
more
:
a
punishment
,
too
.
Gentlemen
,
enough
of
this
.
It
came
in
too
suddenly
.
Let
it
die
as
it
was
born
,
and
,
I
pray
you
,
be
better
acquainted
.
Would
I
had
put
my
estate
and
my
neighbor’s
on
th’
approbation
of
what
I
have
spoke
.
What
lady
would
you
choose
to
assail
?
Yours
,
whom
in
constancy
you
think
stands
so
safe
.
I
will
lay
you
ten
thousand
ducats
to
your
ring
that
,
commend
me
to
the
court
where
your
lady
is
,
with
no
more
advantage
than
the
opportunity
of
a
second
conference
,
and
I
will
bring
from
thence
that
honor
of
hers
which
you
imagine
so
reserved
.
I
will
wage
against
your
gold
,
gold
to
it
.
My
ring
I
hold
dear
as
my
finger
;
’tis
part
of
it
.
You
are
a
friend
,
and
therein
the
wiser
.
If
you
buy
ladies’
flesh
at
a
million
a
dram
,
you
cannot
preserve
it
from
tainting
.
But
I
see
you
have
some
religion
in
you
,
that
you
fear
.
This
is
but
a
custom
in
your
tongue
.
You
bear
a
graver
purpose
,
I
hope
.
I
am
the
master
of
my
speeches
and
would
undergo
what’s
spoken
,
I
swear
.
Will
you
?
I
shall
but
lend
my
diamond
till
your
return
.
Let
there
be
covenants
drawn
between
’s
.
My
mistress
exceeds
in
goodness
the
hugeness
of
your
unworthy
thinking
.
I
dare
you
to
this
match
.
Here’s
my
ring
.
I
will
have
it
no
lay
.
By
the
gods
,
it
is
one
!
—
If
I
bring
you
no
sufficient
testimony
that
I
have
enjoyed
the
dearest
ACT 1. SC. 5
bodily
part
of
your
mistress
,
my
ten
thousand
ducats
are
yours
;
so
is
your
diamond
too
.
If
I
come
off
and
leave
her
in
such
honor
as
you
have
trust
in
,
she
your
jewel
,
this
your
jewel
,
and
my
gold
are
yours
,
provided
I
have
your
commendation
for
my
more
free
entertainment
.
I
embrace
these
conditions
.
Let
us
have
articles
betwixt
us
.
Only
thus
far
you
shall
answer
:
if
you
make
your
voyage
upon
her
and
give
me
directly
to
understand
you
have
prevailed
,
I
am
no
further
your
enemy
;
she
is
not
worth
our
debate
.
If
she
remain
unseduced
,
you
not
making
it
appear
otherwise
,
for
your
ill
opinion
and
th’
assault
you
have
made
to
her
chastity
,
you
shall
answer
me
with
your
sword
.
Your
hand
;
a
covenant
.
(
They
shake
hands
.
)
We
will
have
these
things
set
down
by
lawful
counsel
,
and
straight
away
for
Britain
,
lest
the
bargain
should
catch
cold
and
starve
.
I
will
fetch
my
gold
and
have
our
two
wagers
recorded
.
Agreed
.
Iachimo
and
Posthumus
exit
.
Will
this
hold
,
think
you
?
Signior
Iachimo
will
not
from
it
.
Pray
,
let
us
follow
’em
.
They
exit
.
Scene
5
Enter
Queen
,
Ladies
,
and
Cornelius
.
Whiles
yet
the
dew’s
on
ground
,
gather
those
flowers
.
Make
haste
.
Who
has
the
note
of
them
?
I
,
madam
.
Dispatch
.
Ladies
exit
.
Now
,
Master
Doctor
,
have
you
brought
those
drugs
?
ACT 1. SC. 5
Pleaseth
your
Highness
,
ay
.
Here
they
are
,
madam
.
He
hands
her
a
small
box
.
But
I
beseech
your
Grace
,
without
offense
—
My
conscience
bids
me
ask
—
wherefore
you
have
Commanded
of
me
these
most
poisonous
compounds
,
Which
are
the
movers
of
a
languishing
death
,
But
though
slow
,
deadly
.
I
wonder
,
doctor
,
Thou
ask’st
me
such
a
question
.
Have
I
not
been
Thy
pupil
long
?
Hast
thou
not
learned
me
how
To
make
perfumes
,
distil
,
preserve
—
yea
,
so
That
our
great
king
himself
doth
woo
me
oft
For
my
confections
?
Having
thus
far
proceeded
,
Unless
thou
think’st
me
devilish
,
is
’t
not
meet
That
I
did
amplify
my
judgment
in
Other
conclusions
?
I
will
try
the
forces
Of
these
thy
compounds
on
such
creatures
as
We
count
not
worth
the
hanging
—
but
none
human
—
To
try
the
vigor
of
them
and
apply
Allayments
to
their
act
,
and
by
them
gather
Their
several
virtues
and
effects
.
Your
Highness
Shall
from
this
practice
but
make
hard
your
heart
.
Besides
,
the
seeing
these
effects
will
be
Both
noisome
and
infectious
.
O
,
content
thee
.
Enter
Pisanio
.
Aside
.
Here
comes
a
flattering
rascal
.
Upon
him
Will
I
first
work
.
He’s
for
his
master
And
enemy
to
my
son
.
—
How
now
,
Pisanio
?
—
Doctor
,
your
service
for
this
time
is
ended
.
Take
your
own
way
.
,
aside
I
do
suspect
you
,
madam
,
But
you
shall
do
no
harm
.
ACT 1. SC. 5
,
to
Pisanio
Hark
thee
,
a
word
.
,
aside
I
do
not
like
her
.
She
doth
think
she
has
Strange
ling’ring
poisons
.
I
do
know
her
spirit
,
And
will
not
trust
one
of
her
malice
with
A
drug
of
such
damned
nature
.
Those
she
has
Will
stupefy
and
dull
the
sense
awhile
,
Which
first
perchance
she’ll
prove
on
cats
and
dogs
,
Then
afterward
up
higher
.
But
there
is
No
danger
in
what
show
of
death
it
makes
,
More
than
the
locking-up
the
spirits
a
time
,
To
be
more
fresh
,
reviving
.
She
is
fooled
With
a
most
false
effect
,
and
I
the
truer
So
to
be
false
with
her
.
No
further
service
,
doctor
,
Until
I
send
for
thee
.
I
humbly
take
my
leave
.
He
exits
.
Weeps
she
still
,
sayst
thou
?
Dost
thou
think
in
time
She
will
not
quench
and
let
instructions
enter
Where
folly
now
possesses
?
Do
thou
work
.
When
thou
shalt
bring
me
word
she
loves
my
son
,
I’ll
tell
thee
on
the
instant
thou
art
then
As
great
as
is
thy
master
;
greater
,
for
His
fortunes
all
lie
speechless
,
and
his
name
Is
at
last
gasp
.
Return
he
cannot
,
nor
Continue
where
he
is
.
To
shift
his
being
Is
to
exchange
one
misery
with
another
,
And
every
day
that
comes
comes
to
decay
A
day’s
work
in
him
.
What
shalt
thou
expect
,
To
be
depender
on
a
thing
that
leans
,
Who
cannot
be
new
built
,
nor
has
no
friends
So
much
as
but
to
prop
him
?
(
She
drops
the
box
and
Pisanio
picks
it
up
.
)
Thou
tak’st
up
Thou
know’st
not
what
.
But
take
it
for
thy
labor
.
It
is
a
thing
I
made
which
hath
the
King
ACT 1. SC. 5
Five
times
redeemed
from
death
.
I
do
not
know
What
is
more
cordial
.
Nay
,
I
prithee
,
take
it
.
It
is
an
earnest
of
a
farther
good
That
I
mean
to
thee
.
Tell
thy
mistress
how
The
case
stands
with
her
.
Do
’t
as
from
thyself
.
Think
what
a
chance
thou
changest
on
,
but
think
Thou
hast
thy
mistress
still
;
to
boot
,
my
son
,
Who
shall
take
notice
of
thee
.
I’ll
move
the
King
To
any
shape
of
thy
preferment
such
As
thou
’lt
desire
;
and
then
myself
,
I
chiefly
,
That
set
thee
on
to
this
desert
,
am
bound
To
load
thy
merit
richly
.
Call
my
women
.
Think
on
my
words
.
Pisanio
exits
.
A
sly
and
constant
knave
,
Not
to
be
shaked
;
the
agent
for
his
master
And
the
remembrancer
of
her
to
hold
The
handfast
to
her
lord
.
I
have
given
him
that
Which
,
if
he
take
,
shall
quite
unpeople
her
Of
liegers
for
her
sweet
,
and
which
she
after
,
Except
she
bend
her
humor
,
shall
be
assured
To
taste
of
too
.
Enter
Pisanio
and
Ladies
carrying
flowers
.
To
the
Ladies
.
So
,
so
.
Well
done
,
well
done
.
The
violets
,
cowslips
,
and
the
primroses
Bear
to
my
closet
.
—
Fare
thee
well
,
Pisanio
.
Think
on
my
words
.
Queen
and
Ladies
exit
.
And
shall
do
.
But
when
to
my
good
lord
I
prove
untrue
,
I’ll
choke
myself
;
there’s
all
I’ll
do
for
you
.
He
exits
.
ACT 1. SC. 6
Scene
6
Enter
Imogen
alone
.
A
father
cruel
and
a
stepdame
false
,
A
foolish
suitor
to
a
wedded
lady
That
hath
her
husband
banished
.
O
,
that
husband
,
My
supreme
crown
of
grief
and
those
repeated
Vexations
of
it
!
Had
I
been
thief-stol’n
,
As
my
two
brothers
,
happy
;
but
most
miserable
Is
the
desire
that’s
glorious
.
Blessed
be
those
,
How
mean
soe’er
,
that
have
their
honest
wills
,
Which
seasons
comfort
.
Who
may
this
be
?
Fie
!
Enter
Pisanio
and
Iachimo
.
Madam
,
a
noble
gentleman
of
Rome
Comes
from
my
lord
with
letters
.
Change
you
,
madam
?
The
worthy
Leonatus
is
in
safety
And
greets
your
Highness
dearly
.
He
gives
her
a
letter
.
Thanks
,
good
sir
.
You’re
kindly
welcome
.
,
aside
All
of
her
that
is
out
of
door
,
most
rich
!
If
she
be
furnished
with
a
mind
so
rare
,
She
is
alone
th’
Arabian
bird
,
and
I
Have
lost
the
wager
.
Boldness
be
my
friend
.
Arm
me
,
audacity
,
from
head
to
foot
,
Or
like
the
Parthian
I
shall
flying
fight
—
Rather
,
directly
fly
.
reads
:
He
is
one
of
the
noblest
note
,
to
whose
kindnesses
I
am
most
infinitely
tied
.
Reflect
upon
him
accordingly
as
you
value
your
trust
.
Leonatus
.
ACT 1. SC. 6
So
far
I
read
aloud
.
But
even
the
very
middle
of
my
heart
Is
warmed
by
th’
rest
and
takes
it
thankfully
.
—
You
are
as
welcome
,
worthy
sir
,
as
I
Have
words
to
bid
you
,
and
shall
find
it
so
In
all
that
I
can
do
.
Thanks
,
fairest
lady
.
—
What
,
are
men
mad
?
Hath
nature
given
them
eyes
To
see
this
vaulted
arch
and
the
rich
crop
Of
sea
and
land
,
which
can
distinguish
’twixt
The
fiery
orbs
above
and
the
twinned
stones
Upon
the
numbered
beach
,
and
can
we
not
Partition
make
with
spectacles
so
precious
’Twixt
fair
and
foul
?
What
makes
your
admiration
?
It
cannot
be
i’
th’
eye
,
for
apes
and
monkeys
’Twixt
two
such
shes
would
chatter
this
way
and
Contemn
with
mows
the
other
;
nor
i’
th’
judgment
,
For
idiots
in
this
case
of
favor
would
Be
wisely
definite
;
nor
i’
th’
appetite
—
Sluttery
to
such
neat
excellence
opposed
Should
make
desire
vomit
emptiness
,
Not
so
allured
to
feed
.
What
is
the
matter
,
trow
?
The
cloyèd
will
,
That
satiate
yet
unsatisfied
desire
,
that
tub
Both
filled
and
running
,
ravening
first
the
lamb
,
Longs
after
for
the
garbage
.
What
,
dear
sir
,
Thus
raps
you
?
Are
you
well
?
Thanks
,
madam
,
well
.
(
To
Pisanio
.
)
Beseech
you
,
sir
,
Desire
my
man’s
abode
where
I
did
leave
him
.
He’s
strange
and
peevish
.
ACT 1. SC. 6
I
was
going
,
sir
,
To
give
him
welcome
.
He
exits
.
Continues
well
my
lord
?
His
health
,
beseech
you
?
Well
,
madam
.
Is
he
disposed
to
mirth
?
I
hope
he
is
.
Exceeding
pleasant
.
None
a
stranger
there
So
merry
and
so
gamesome
.
He
is
called
The
Briton
Reveler
.
When
he
was
here
He
did
incline
to
sadness
,
and
ofttimes
Not
knowing
why
.
I
never
saw
him
sad
.
There
is
a
Frenchman
his
companion
,
one
An
eminent
monsieur
that
,
it
seems
,
much
loves
A
Gallian
girl
at
home
.
He
furnaces
The
thick
sighs
from
him
,
whiles
the
jolly
Briton
—
Your
lord
,
I
mean
—
laughs
from
’s
free
lungs
,
cries
O
,
Can
my
sides
hold
to
think
that
man
who
knows
By
history
,
report
,
or
his
own
proof
What
woman
is
,
yea
,
what
she
cannot
choose
But
must
be
,
will
’s
free
hours
languish
for
Assurèd
bondage
?
Will
my
lord
say
so
?
Ay
,
madam
,
with
his
eyes
in
flood
with
laughter
.
It
is
a
recreation
to
be
by
And
hear
him
mock
the
Frenchman
.
But
heavens
know
Some
men
are
much
to
blame
.
Not
he
,
I
hope
.
Not
he
—
but
yet
heaven’s
bounty
towards
him
might
Be
used
more
thankfully
.
In
himself
’tis
much
;
ACT 1. SC. 6
In
you
,
which
I
account
his
,
beyond
all
talents
.
Whilst
I
am
bound
to
wonder
,
I
am
bound
To
pity
too
.
What
do
you
pity
,
sir
?
Two
creatures
heartily
.
Am
I
one
,
sir
?
You
look
on
me
.
What
wrack
discern
you
in
me
Deserves
your
pity
?
Lamentable
!
What
,
To
hide
me
from
the
radiant
sun
and
solace
I’
th’
dungeon
by
a
snuff
?
I
pray
you
,
sir
,
Deliver
with
more
openness
your
answers
To
my
demands
.
Why
do
you
pity
me
?
That
others
do
—
I
was
about
to
say
,
enjoy
your
—
but
It
is
an
office
of
the
gods
to
venge
it
,
Not
mine
to
speak
on
’t
.
You
do
seem
to
know
Something
of
me
or
what
concerns
me
.
Pray
you
,
Since
doubting
things
go
ill
often
hurts
more
Than
to
be
sure
they
do
—
for
certainties
Either
are
past
remedies
,
or
,
timely
knowing
,
The
remedy
then
born
—
discover
to
me
What
both
you
spur
and
stop
.
Had
I
this
cheek
To
bathe
my
lips
upon
;
this
hand
,
whose
touch
,
Whose
every
touch
,
would
force
the
feeler’s
soul
To
th’
oath
of
loyalty
;
this
object
which
Takes
prisoner
the
wild
motion
of
mine
eye
,
Fixing
it
only
here
;
should
I
,
damned
then
,
Slaver
with
lips
as
common
as
the
stairs
That
mount
the
Capitol
,
join
gripes
with
hands
Made
hard
with
hourly
falsehood
—
falsehood
as
With
labor
;
then
by-peeping
in
an
eye
ACT 1. SC. 6
Base
and
illustrous
as
the
smoky
light
That’s
fed
with
stinking
tallow
;
it
were
fit
That
all
the
plagues
of
hell
should
at
one
time
Encounter
such
revolt
.
My
lord
,
I
fear
,
Has
forgot
Britain
.
And
himself
.
Not
I
,
Inclined
to
this
intelligence
,
pronounce
The
beggary
of
his
change
,
but
’tis
your
graces
That
from
my
mutest
conscience
to
my
tongue
Charms
this
report
out
.
Let
me
hear
no
more
.
O
dearest
soul
,
your
cause
doth
strike
my
heart
With
pity
that
doth
make
me
sick
.
A
lady
So
fair
,
and
fastened
to
an
empery
Would
make
the
great’st
king
double
,
to
be
partnered
With
tomboys
hired
with
that
self
exhibition
Which
your
own
coffers
yield
,
with
diseased
ventures
That
play
with
all
infirmities
for
gold
Which
rottenness
can
lend
nature
;
such
boiled
stuff
As
well
might
poison
poison
.
Be
revenged
,
Or
she
that
bore
you
was
no
queen
,
and
you
Recoil
from
your
great
stock
.
Revenged
?
How
should
I
be
revenged
?
If
this
be
true
—
As
I
have
such
a
heart
that
both
mine
ears
Must
not
in
haste
abuse
—
if
it
be
true
,
How
should
I
be
revenged
?
Should
he
make
me
Live
like
Diana’s
priest
betwixt
cold
sheets
,
Whiles
he
is
vaulting
variable
ramps
,
In
your
despite
,
upon
your
purse
?
Revenge
it
.
I
dedicate
myself
to
your
sweet
pleasure
,
More
noble
than
that
runagate
to
your
bed
,
ACT 1. SC. 6
And
will
continue
fast
to
your
affection
,
Still
close
as
sure
.
What
ho
,
Pisanio
!
Let
me
my
service
tender
on
your
lips
.
Away
!
I
do
condemn
mine
ears
that
have
So
long
attended
thee
.
If
thou
wert
honorable
,
Thou
wouldst
have
told
this
tale
for
virtue
,
not
For
such
an
end
thou
seek’st
,
as
base
as
strange
.
Thou
wrong’st
a
gentleman
who
is
as
far
From
thy
report
as
thou
from
honor
,
and
Solicits
here
a
lady
that
disdains
Thee
and
the
devil
alike
.
—
What
ho
,
Pisanio
!
—
The
King
my
father
shall
be
made
acquainted
Of
thy
assault
.
If
he
shall
think
it
fit
A
saucy
stranger
in
his
court
to
mart
As
in
a
Romish
stew
and
to
expound
His
beastly
mind
to
us
,
he
hath
a
court
He
little
cares
for
and
a
daughter
who
He
not
respects
at
all
.
—
What
ho
,
Pisanio
!
O
happy
Leonatus
!
I
may
say
The
credit
that
thy
lady
hath
of
thee
Deserves
thy
trust
,
and
thy
most
perfect
goodness
Her
assured
credit
.
—
Blessèd
live
you
long
,
A
lady
to
the
worthiest
sir
that
ever
Country
called
his
;
and
you
his
mistress
,
only
For
the
most
worthiest
fit
.
Give
me
your
pardon
.
I
have
spoke
this
to
know
if
your
affiance
Were
deeply
rooted
,
and
shall
make
your
lord
That
which
he
is
,
new
o’er
;
and
he
is
one
The
truest
mannered
,
such
a
holy
witch
That
he
enchants
societies
into
him
.
Half
all
men’s
hearts
are
his
.
You
make
amends
.
ACT 1. SC. 6
He
sits
’mongst
men
like
a
descended
god
.
He
hath
a
kind
of
honor
sets
him
off
More
than
a
mortal
seeming
.
Be
not
angry
,
Most
mighty
princess
,
that
I
have
adventured
To
try
your
taking
of
a
false
report
,
which
hath
Honored
with
confirmation
your
great
judgment
In
the
election
of
a
sir
so
rare
,
Which
you
know
cannot
err
.
The
love
I
bear
him
Made
me
to
fan
you
thus
,
but
the
gods
made
you
,
Unlike
all
others
,
chaffless
.
Pray
,
your
pardon
.
All’s
well
,
sir
.
Take
my
power
i’
th’
court
for
yours
.
My
humble
thanks
.
I
had
almost
forgot
T’
entreat
your
Grace
but
in
a
small
request
,
And
yet
of
moment
too
,
for
it
concerns
.
Your
lord
,
myself
,
and
other
noble
friends
Are
partners
in
the
business
.
Pray
,
what
is
’t
?
Some
dozen
Romans
of
us
and
your
lord
—
The
best
feather
of
our
wing
—
have
mingled
sums
To
buy
a
present
for
the
Emperor
;
Which
I
,
the
factor
for
the
rest
,
have
done
In
France
.
’Tis
plate
of
rare
device
and
jewels
Of
rich
and
exquisite
form
,
their
values
great
.
And
I
am
something
curious
,
being
strange
,
To
have
them
in
safe
stowage
.
May
it
please
you
To
take
them
in
protection
?
Willingly
;
And
pawn
mine
honor
for
their
safety
.
Since
My
lord
hath
interest
in
them
,
I
will
keep
them
In
my
bedchamber
.
They
are
in
a
trunk
Attended
by
my
men
.
I
will
make
bold
ACT 1. SC. 6
To
send
them
to
you
,
only
for
this
night
.
I
must
aboard
tomorrow
.
O
no
,
no
.
Yes
,
I
beseech
,
or
I
shall
short
my
word
By
length’ning
my
return
.
From
Gallia
I
crossed
the
seas
on
purpose
and
on
promise
To
see
your
Grace
.
I
thank
you
for
your
pains
.
But
not
away
tomorrow
.
O
,
I
must
,
madam
.
Therefore
I
shall
beseech
you
,
if
you
please
To
greet
your
lord
with
writing
,
do
’t
tonight
.
I
have
outstood
my
time
,
which
is
material
To
th’
tender
of
our
present
.
I
will
write
.
Send
your
trunk
to
me
;
it
shall
safe
be
kept
And
truly
yielded
you
.
You’re
very
welcome
.
They
exit
.
ACT
2
Scene
1
Enter
Cloten
and
the
two
Lords
.
Was
there
ever
man
had
such
luck
?
When
I
kissed
the
jack
,
upon
an
upcast
to
be
hit
away
?
I
had
a
hundred
pound
on
’t
.
And
then
a
whoreson
jackanapes
must
take
me
up
for
swearing
,
as
if
I
borrowed
mine
oaths
of
him
and
might
not
spend
them
at
my
pleasure
.
What
got
he
by
that
?
You
have
broke
his
pate
with
your
bowl
.
,
aside
If
his
wit
had
been
like
him
that
broke
it
,
it
would
have
run
all
out
.
When
a
gentleman
is
disposed
to
swear
,
it
is
not
for
any
standers-by
to
curtail
his
oaths
,
ha
?
No
,
my
lord
,
(
aside
)
nor
crop
the
ears
of
them
.
Whoreson
dog
!
I
gave
him
satisfaction
.
Would
he
had
been
one
of
my
rank
.
,
aside
To
have
smelled
like
a
fool
.
I
am
not
vexed
more
at
anything
in
th’
Earth
earth
.
A
pox
on
’t
!
I
had
rather
not
be
so
noble
as
I
am
.
They
dare
not
fight
with
me
because
of
the
Queen
my
mother
.
Every
jack-slave
hath
his
bellyful
of
fighting
,
and
I
must
go
up
and
down
like
a
cock
that
nobody
can
match
.
ACT 2. SC. 1
,
aside
You
are
cock
and
capon
too
,
and
you
crow
cock
with
your
comb
on
.
Sayest
thou
?
It
is
not
fit
your
Lordship
should
undertake
every
companion
that
you
give
offense
to
.
No
,
I
know
that
,
but
it
is
fit
I
should
commit
offense
to
my
inferiors
.
Ay
,
it
is
fit
for
your
Lordship
only
.
Why
,
so
I
say
.
Did
you
hear
of
a
stranger
that’s
come
to
court
tonight
?
A
stranger
,
and
I
not
know
on
’t
?
,
aside
He’s
a
strange
fellow
himself
and
knows
it
not
.
There’s
an
Italian
come
,
and
’tis
thought
one
of
Leonatus’
friends
.
Leonatus
?
A
banished
rascal
;
and
he’s
another
,
whatsoever
he
be
.
Who
told
you
of
this
stranger
?
One
of
your
Lordship’s
pages
.
Is
it
fit
I
went
to
look
upon
him
?
Is
there
no
derogation
in
’t
?
You
cannot
derogate
,
my
lord
.
Not
easily
,
I
think
.
,
aside
You
are
a
fool
granted
;
therefore
your
issues
,
being
foolish
,
do
not
derogate
.
Come
,
I’ll
go
see
this
Italian
.
What
I
have
lost
today
at
bowls
I’ll
win
tonight
of
him
.
Come
,
go
.
I’ll
attend
your
Lordship
.
Cloten
and
First
Lord
exit
.
That
such
a
crafty
devil
as
is
his
mother
Should
yield
the
world
this
ass
!
A
woman
that
Bears
all
down
with
her
brain
,
and
this
her
son
Cannot
take
two
from
twenty
,
for
his
heart
,
And
leave
eighteen
.
Alas
,
poor
princess
,
Thou
divine
Imogen
,
what
thou
endur’st
,
Betwixt
a
father
by
thy
stepdame
governed
,
ACT 2. SC. 2
A
mother
hourly
coining
plots
,
a
wooer
More
hateful
than
the
foul
expulsion
is
Of
thy
dear
husband
,
than
that
horrid
act
Of
the
divorce
he’d
make
!
The
heavens
hold
firm
The
walls
of
thy
dear
honor
,
keep
unshaked
That
temple
,
thy
fair
mind
,
that
thou
mayst
stand
T’
enjoy
thy
banished
lord
and
this
great
land
.
He
exits
.
Scene
2
A
trunk
is
brought
in
.
Enter
Imogen
,
reading
,
in
her
bed
,
and
a
Lady
.
Who’s
there
?
My
woman
Helen
?
Please
you
,
madam
.
What
hour
is
it
?
Almost
midnight
,
madam
.
I
have
read
three
hours
then
.
Mine
eyes
are
weak
.
She
hands
the
Lady
her
book
.
Fold
down
the
leaf
where
I
have
left
.
To
bed
.
Take
not
away
the
taper
;
leave
it
burning
.
And
if
thou
canst
awake
by
four
o’
th’
clock
,
I
prithee
,
call
me
.
(
Lady
exits
.
)
Sleep
hath
seized
me
wholly
.
To
your
protection
I
commend
me
,
gods
.
From
fairies
and
the
tempters
of
the
night
Guard
me
,
beseech
you
.
Sleeps
.
Iachimo
from
the
trunk
.
The
crickets
sing
,
and
man’s
o’erlabored
sense
Repairs
itself
by
rest
.
Our
Tarquin
thus
ACT 2. SC. 2
Did
softly
press
the
rushes
ere
he
wakened
The
chastity
he
wounded
.
—
Cytherea
,
How
bravely
thou
becom’st
thy
bed
,
fresh
lily
,
And
whiter
than
the
sheets
.
—
That
I
might
touch
!
But
kiss
,
one
kiss
!
Rubies
unparagoned
,
How
dearly
they
do
’t
.
’Tis
her
breathing
that
Perfumes
the
chamber
thus
.
The
flame
o’
th’
taper
Bows
toward
her
and
would
underpeep
her
lids
To
see
th’
enclosèd
lights
,
now
canopied
Under
these
windows
,
white
and
azure-laced
With
blue
of
heaven’s
own
tinct
.
But
my
design
:
To
note
the
chamber
.
I
will
write
all
down
.
He
begins
to
write
.
Such
and
such
pictures
;
there
the
window
;
such
Th’
adornment
of
her
bed
;
the
arras
,
figures
,
Why
,
such
and
such
;
and
the
contents
o’
th’
story
.
He
continues
to
write
.
Ah
,
but
some
natural
notes
about
her
body
Above
ten
thousand
meaner
movables
Would
testify
t’
enrich
mine
inventory
.
O
sleep
,
thou
ape
of
death
,
lie
dull
upon
her
,
And
be
her
sense
but
as
a
monument
Thus
in
a
chapel
lying
.
(
He
begins
to
remove
her
bracelet
.
)
Come
off
,
come
off
;
As
slippery
as
the
Gordian
knot
was
hard
.
’Tis
mine
,
and
this
will
witness
outwardly
As
strongly
as
the
conscience
does
within
To
th’
madding
of
her
lord
.
On
her
left
breast
A
mole
cinque-spotted
,
like
the
crimson
drops
I’
th’
bottom
of
a
cowslip
.
Here’s
a
voucher
Stronger
than
ever
law
could
make
.
This
secret
Will
force
him
think
I
have
picked
the
lock
and
ta’en
The
treasure
of
her
honor
.
No
more
.
To
what
end
?
Why
should
I
write
this
down
that’s
riveted
,
Screwed
to
my
memory
?
She
hath
been
reading
late
ACT 2. SC. 3
The
tale
of
Tereus
;
here
the
leaf’s
turned
down
Where
Philomel
gave
up
.
I
have
enough
.
To
th’
trunk
again
,
and
shut
the
spring
of
it
.
Swift
,
swift
,
you
dragons
of
the
night
,
that
dawning
May
bare
the
raven’s
eye
.
I
lodge
in
fear
.
Though
this
a
heavenly
angel
,
hell
is
here
.
Clock
strikes
.
One
,
two
,
three
.
Time
,
time
!
He
exits
into
the
trunk
.
The
trunk
and
bed
are
removed
.
Scene
3
Enter
Cloten
and
Lords
.
Your
Lordship
is
the
most
patient
man
in
loss
,
the
most
coldest
that
ever
turned
up
ace
.
It
would
make
any
man
cold
to
lose
.
But
not
every
man
patient
after
the
noble
temper
of
your
Lordship
.
You
are
most
hot
and
furious
when
you
win
.
Winning
will
put
any
man
into
courage
.
If
I
could
get
this
foolish
Imogen
,
I
should
have
gold
enough
.
It’s
almost
morning
,
is
’t
not
?
Day
,
my
lord
.
I
would
this
music
would
come
.
I
am
advised
to
give
her
music
a-mornings
;
they
say
it
will
penetrate
.
Enter
Musicians
.
Come
on
,
tune
.
If
you
can
penetrate
her
with
your
fingering
,
so
.
We’ll
try
with
tongue
,
too
.
If
none
will
do
,
let
her
remain
,
but
I’ll
never
give
o’er
.
First
,
a
very
excellent
good-conceited
thing
;
after
,
a
wonderful
sweet
air
,
with
admirable
rich
words
to
it
,
and
then
let
her
consider
.
ACT 2. SC. 3
Musicians
begin
to
play
.
Song
.
Hark
,
hark
,
the
lark
at
heaven’s
gate
sings
,
And
Phoebus
gins
arise
,
His
steeds
to
water
at
those
springs
On
chaliced
flowers
that
lies
;
And
winking
Mary-buds
begin
To
ope
their
golden
eyes
.
With
everything
that
pretty
is
,
My
lady
sweet
,
arise
,
Arise
,
arise
.
So
,
get
you
gone
.
If
this
penetrate
,
I
will
consider
your
music
the
better
.
If
it
do
not
,
it
is
a
vice
in
her
ears
which
horsehairs
and
calves’
guts
,
nor
the
voice
of
unpaved
eunuch
to
boot
,
can
never
amend
.
Musicians
exit
.
Enter
Cymbeline
and
Queen
,
with
Attendants
.
Here
comes
the
King
.
I
am
glad
I
was
up
so
late
,
for
that’s
the
reason
I
was
up
so
early
.
He
cannot
choose
but
take
this
service
I
have
done
fatherly
.
—
Good
morrow
to
your
Majesty
and
to
my
gracious
mother
.
Attend
you
here
the
door
of
our
stern
daughter
?
Will
she
not
forth
?
I
have
assailed
her
with
musics
,
but
she
vouchsafes
no
notice
.
The
exile
of
her
minion
is
too
new
;
She
hath
not
yet
forgot
him
.
Some
more
time
Must
wear
the
print
of
his
remembrance
on
’t
,
And
then
she’s
yours
.
,
to
Cloten
You
are
most
bound
to
th’
King
,
Who
lets
go
by
no
vantages
that
may
ACT 2. SC. 3
Prefer
you
to
his
daughter
.
Frame
yourself
To
orderly
solicits
and
be
friended
With
aptness
of
the
season
.
Make
denials
Increase
your
services
.
So
seem
as
if
You
were
inspired
to
do
those
duties
which
You
tender
to
her
;
that
you
in
all
obey
her
,
Save
when
command
to
your
dismission
tends
,
And
therein
you
are
senseless
.
Senseless
?
Not
so
.
Enter
a
Messenger
.
,
to
Cymbeline
So
like
you
,
sir
,
ambassadors
from
Rome
;
The
one
is
Caius
Lucius
.
Messenger
exits
.
A
worthy
fellow
,
Albeit
he
comes
on
angry
purpose
now
.
But
that’s
no
fault
of
his
.
We
must
receive
him
According
to
the
honor
of
his
sender
,
And
towards
himself
,
his
goodness
forespent
on
us
,
We
must
extend
our
notice
.
—
Our
dear
son
,
When
you
have
given
good
morning
to
your
mistress
,
Attend
the
Queen
and
us
.
We
shall
have
need
T’
employ
you
towards
this
Roman
.
—
Come
,
our
queen
.
Cymbeline
and
Queen
exit
,
with
Lords
and
Attendants
.
If
she
be
up
,
I’ll
speak
with
her
;
if
not
,
Let
her
lie
still
and
dream
.
(
He
knocks
.
)
By
your
leave
,
ho
!
—
I
know
her
women
are
about
her
.
What
If
I
do
line
one
of
their
hands
?
’Tis
gold
Which
buys
admittance
—
oft
it
doth
—
yea
,
and
makes
Diana’s
rangers
false
themselves
,
yield
up
Their
deer
to
th’
stand
o’
th’
stealer
;
and
’tis
gold
Which
makes
the
true
man
killed
and
saves
the
thief
,
ACT 2. SC. 3
Nay
,
sometime
hangs
both
thief
and
true
man
.
What
Can
it
not
do
and
undo
?
I
will
make
One
of
her
women
lawyer
to
me
,
for
I
yet
not
understand
the
case
myself
.
By
your
leave
.
Knocks
.
Enter
a
Lady
.
Who’s
there
that
knocks
?
A
gentleman
.
No
more
?
Yes
,
and
a
gentlewoman’s
son
.
That’s
more
Than
some
whose
tailors
are
as
dear
as
yours
Can
justly
boast
of
.
What’s
your
Lordship’s
pleasure
?
Your
lady’s
person
.
Is
she
ready
?
Ay
,
To
keep
her
chamber
.
There
is
gold
for
you
.
Sell
me
your
good
report
.
He
offers
a
purse
.
How
,
my
good
name
?
Or
to
report
of
you
What
I
shall
think
is
good
?
Enter
Imogen
.
The
Princess
.
Lady
exits
.
Good
morrow
,
fairest
sister
.
Your
sweet
hand
.
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
.
ACT 2. SC. 3
Still
I
swear
I
love
you
.
If
you
but
said
so
,
’twere
as
deep
with
me
.
If
you
swear
still
,
your
recompense
is
still
That
I
regard
it
not
.
This
is
no
answer
.
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
.
To
leave
you
in
your
madness
’twere
my
sin
.
I
will
not
.
Fools
are
not
mad
folks
.
Do
you
call
me
fool
?
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
pronounce
,
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
.
You
sin
against
Obedience
,
which
you
owe
your
father
.
For
The
contract
you
pretend
with
that
base
wretch
—
One
bred
of
alms
and
fostered
with
cold
dishes
,
With
scraps
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
ACT 2. SC. 3
But
brats
and
beggary
,
in
self-figured
knot
;
Yet
you
are
curbed
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
.
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
styled
The
under-hangman
of
his
kingdom
and
hated
For
being
preferred
so
well
.
The
south
fog
rot
him
!
He
never
can
meet
more
mischance
than
come
To
be
but
named
of
thee
.
His
mean’st
garment
That
ever
hath
but
clipped
his
body
is
dearer
In
my
respect
than
all
the
hairs
above
thee
,
Were
they
all
made
such
men
.
—
How
now
,
Pisanio
!
Enter
Pisanio
.
His
garment
?
Now
the
devil
—
,
to
Pisanio
To
Dorothy
,
my
woman
,
hie
thee
presently
.
His
garment
?
,
to
Pisanio
I
am
sprighted
with
a
fool
,
Frighted
and
angered
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
kissed
it
.
ACT 2. SC. 4
I
hope
it
be
not
gone
to
tell
my
lord
That
I
kiss
aught
but
he
.
’Twill
not
be
lost
.
I
hope
so
.
Go
and
search
.
Pisanio
exits
.
You
have
abused
me
.
His
meanest
garment
?
Ay
,
I
said
so
,
sir
.
If
you
will
make
’t
an
action
,
call
witness
to
’t
.
I
will
inform
your
father
.
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
.
She
exits
.
I’ll
be
revenged
!
His
mean’st
garment
?
Well
.
He
exits
.
Scene
4
Enter
Posthumus
and
Philario
.
Fear
it
not
,
sir
.
I
would
I
were
so
sure
To
win
the
King
as
I
am
bold
her
honor
Will
remain
hers
.
What
means
do
you
make
to
him
?
Not
any
,
but
abide
the
change
of
time
,
Quake
in
the
present
winter’s
state
,
and
wish
That
warmer
days
would
come
.
In
these
feared
hopes
I
barely
gratify
your
love
;
they
failing
,
I
must
die
much
your
debtor
.
ACT 2. SC. 4
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
.
I
do
believe
,
Statist
though
I
am
none
nor
like
to
be
,
That
this
will
prove
a
war
;
and
you
shall
hear
The
legion
now
in
Gallia
sooner
landed
In
our
not-fearing
Britain
than
have
tidings
Of
any
penny
tribute
paid
.
Our
countrymen
Are
men
more
ordered
than
when
Julius
Caesar
Smiled
at
their
lack
of
skill
but
found
their
courage
Worthy
his
frowning
at
.
Their
discipline
,
Now
wingèd
with
their
courages
,
will
make
known
To
their
approvers
they
are
people
such
That
mend
upon
the
world
.
Enter
Iachimo
.
See
,
Iachimo
!
The
swiftest
harts
have
posted
you
by
land
,
And
winds
of
all
the
corners
kissed
your
sails
To
make
your
vessel
nimble
.
Welcome
,
sir
.
I
hope
the
briefness
of
your
answer
made
The
speediness
of
your
return
.
Your
lady
Is
one
of
the
fairest
that
I
have
looked
upon
.
And
therewithal
the
best
,
or
let
her
beauty
Look
thorough
a
casement
to
allure
false
hearts
And
be
false
with
them
.
ACT 2. SC. 4
,
handing
him
a
paper
Here
are
letters
for
you
.
Their
tenor
good
,
I
trust
.
’Tis
very
like
.
Posthumus
reads
the
letter
.
Was
Caius
Lucius
in
the
Briton
court
When
you
were
there
?
He
was
expected
then
,
but
not
approached
.
All
is
well
yet
.
Sparkles
this
stone
as
it
was
wont
,
or
is
’t
not
Too
dull
for
your
good
wearing
?
He
indicates
his
ring
.
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
.
The
stone’s
too
hard
to
come
by
.
Not
a
whit
,
Your
lady
being
so
easy
.
Make
not
,
sir
,
Your
loss
your
sport
.
I
hope
you
know
that
we
Must
not
continue
friends
.
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
honor
,
Together
with
your
ring
,
and
not
the
wronger
Of
her
or
you
,
having
proceeded
but
By
both
your
wills
.
If
you
can
make
’t
apparent
That
you
have
tasted
her
in
bed
,
my
hand
ACT 2. SC. 4
And
ring
is
yours
.
If
not
,
the
foul
opinion
You
had
of
her
pure
honor
gains
or
loses
Your
sword
or
mine
,
or
masterless
leave
both
To
who
shall
find
them
.
Sir
,
my
circumstances
,
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
.
Proceed
.
First
,
her
bedchamber
—
Where
I
confess
I
slept
not
,
but
profess
Had
that
was
well
worth
watching
—
it
was
hanged
With
tapestry
of
silk
and
silver
,
the
story
Proud
Cleopatra
when
she
met
her
Roman
And
Cydnus
swelled
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
workmanship
and
value
,
which
I
wondered
Could
be
so
rarely
and
exactly
wrought
Since
the
true
life
on
’t
was
—
This
is
true
,
And
this
you
might
have
heard
of
here
,
by
me
Or
by
some
other
.
More
particulars
Must
justify
my
knowledge
.
So
they
must
,
Or
do
your
honor
injury
.
The
chimney
Is
south
the
chamber
,
and
the
chimney-piece
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
.
ACT 2. SC. 4
This
is
a
thing
Which
you
might
from
relation
likewise
reap
,
Being
,
as
it
is
,
much
spoke
of
.
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
.
This
is
her
honor
?
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
.
Then
if
you
can
Be
pale
,
I
beg
but
leave
to
air
this
jewel
.
See
—
He
shows
the
bracelet
.
And
now
’tis
up
again
.
It
must
be
married
To
that
your
diamond
.
I’ll
keep
them
.
Jove
!
Once
more
let
me
behold
it
.
Is
it
that
Which
I
left
with
her
?
Sir
,
I
thank
her
,
that
.
She
stripped
it
from
her
arm
.
I
see
her
yet
.
Her
pretty
action
did
outsell
her
gift
And
yet
enriched
it
too
.
She
gave
it
me
And
said
she
prized
it
once
.
Maybe
she
plucked
it
off
To
send
it
me
.
She
writes
so
to
you
,
doth
she
?
O
,
no
,
no
,
no
,
’tis
true
.
Here
,
take
this
too
.
He
gives
Iachimo
the
ring
.
It
is
a
basilisk
unto
mine
eye
,
Kills
me
to
look
on
’t
.
Let
there
be
no
honor
Where
there
is
beauty
,
truth
where
semblance
,
love
Where
there’s
another
man
.
The
vows
of
women
ACT 2. SC. 4
Of
no
more
bondage
be
to
where
they
are
made
Than
they
are
to
their
virtues
,
which
is
nothing
.
O
,
above
measure
false
!
Have
patience
,
sir
,
And
take
your
ring
again
.
’Tis
not
yet
won
.
It
may
be
probable
she
lost
it
;
or
Who
knows
if
one
her
women
,
being
corrupted
,
Hath
stol’n
it
from
her
.
Very
true
,
And
so
I
hope
he
came
by
’t
.
—
Back
,
my
ring
!
He
takes
back
the
ring
.
Render
to
me
some
corporal
sign
about
her
More
evident
than
this
,
for
this
was
stol’n
.
By
Jupiter
,
I
had
it
from
her
arm
.
Hark
you
,
he
swears
!
By
Jupiter
he
swears
.
’Tis
true
—
nay
,
keep
the
ring
—
’tis
true
.
He
holds
out
the
ring
.
I
am
sure
She
would
not
lose
it
.
Her
attendants
are
All
sworn
and
honorable
.
They
induced
to
steal
it
?
And
by
a
stranger
?
No
,
he
hath
enjoyed
her
.
The
cognizance
of
her
incontinency
Is
this
.
She
hath
bought
the
name
of
whore
thus
dearly
.
There
,
take
thy
hire
,
and
all
the
fiends
of
hell
Divide
themselves
between
you
!
He
gives
the
ring
to
Iachimo
.
Sir
,
be
patient
.
This
is
not
strong
enough
to
be
believed
Of
one
persuaded
well
of
.
Never
talk
on
’t
.
She
hath
been
colted
by
him
.
If
you
seek
For
further
satisfying
,
under
her
breast
,
ACT 2. SC. 5
Worthy
the
pressing
,
lies
a
mole
,
right
proud
Of
that
most
delicate
lodging
.
By
my
life
,
I
kissed
it
,
and
it
gave
me
present
hunger
To
feed
again
,
though
full
.
You
do
remember
This
stain
upon
her
?
Ay
,
and
it
doth
confirm
Another
stain
as
big
as
hell
can
hold
,
Were
there
no
more
but
it
.
Will
you
hear
more
?
Spare
your
arithmetic
;
Never
count
the
turns
.
Once
,
and
a
million
!
I’ll
be
sworn
—
No
swearing
.
If
you
will
swear
you
have
not
done
’t
,
you
lie
,
And
I
will
kill
thee
if
thou
dost
deny
Thou
’st
made
me
cuckold
.
I’ll
deny
nothing
.
O
,
that
I
had
her
here
,
to
tear
her
limb-meal
!
I
will
go
there
and
do
’t
i’
th’
court
,
before
Her
father
.
I’ll
do
something
.
He
exits
.
Quite
beside
The
government
of
patience
.
You
have
won
.
Let’s
follow
him
and
pervert
the
present
wrath
He
hath
against
himself
.
With
all
my
heart
.
They
exit
.
Scene
5
Enter
Posthumus
.
Is
there
no
way
for
men
to
be
,
but
women
Must
be
half-workers
?
We
are
all
bastards
,
And
that
most
venerable
man
which
I
ACT 2. SC. 5
Did
call
my
father
was
I
know
not
where
When
I
was
stamped
.
Some
coiner
with
his
tools
Made
me
a
counterfeit
;
yet
my
mother
seemed
The
Dian
of
that
time
;
so
doth
my
wife
The
nonpareil
of
this
.
O
,
vengeance
,
vengeance
!
Me
of
my
lawful
pleasure
she
restrained
And
prayed
me
oft
forbearance
;
did
it
with
A
pudency
so
rosy
the
sweet
view
on
’t
Might
well
have
warmed
old
Saturn
,
that
I
thought
her
As
chaste
as
unsunned
snow
.
O
,
all
the
devils
!
This
yellow
Iachimo
in
an
hour
,
was
’t
not
?
Or
less
?
At
first
?
Perchance
he
spoke
not
,
but
,
Like
a
full-acorned
boar
,
a
German
one
,
Cried
O
!
and
mounted
;
found
no
opposition
But
what
he
looked
for
should
oppose
and
she
Should
from
encounter
guard
.
Could
I
find
out
The
woman’s
part
in
me
—
for
there’s
no
motion
That
tends
to
vice
in
man
but
I
affirm
It
is
the
woman’s
part
:
be
it
lying
,
note
it
,
The
woman’s
;
flattering
,
hers
;
deceiving
,
hers
;
Lust
and
rank
thoughts
,
hers
,
hers
;
revenges
,
hers
;
Ambitions
,
covetings
,
change
of
prides
,
disdain
,
Nice
longing
,
slanders
,
mutability
,
All
faults
that
have
a
name
,
nay
,
that
hell
knows
,
Why
,
hers
,
in
part
or
all
,
but
rather
all
.
For
even
to
vice
They
are
not
constant
,
but
are
changing
still
One
vice
but
of
a
minute
old
for
one
Not
half
so
old
as
that
.
I’ll
write
against
them
,
Detest
them
,
curse
them
.
Yet
’tis
greater
skill
In
a
true
hate
to
pray
they
have
their
will
;
The
very
devils
cannot
plague
them
better
.
He
exits
.
ACT
3
Scene
1
Enter
in
state
Cymbeline
,
Queen
,
Cloten
,
and
Lords
at
one
door
,
and
,
at
another
,
Caius
Lucius
and
Attendants
.
Now
say
,
what
would
Augustus
Caesar
with
us
?
When
Julius
Caesar
,
whose
remembrance
yet
Lives
in
men’s
eyes
and
will
to
ears
and
tongues
Be
theme
and
hearing
ever
,
was
in
this
Britain
And
conquered
it
,
Cassibelan
,
thine
uncle
,
Famous
in
Caesar’s
praises
no
whit
less
Than
in
his
feats
deserving
it
,
for
him
And
his
succession
granted
Rome
a
tribute
,
Yearly
three
thousand
pounds
,
which
by
thee
lately
Is
left
untendered
.
And
,
to
kill
the
marvel
,
Shall
be
so
ever
.
There
be
many
Caesars
Ere
such
another
Julius
.
Britain’s
a
world
By
itself
,
and
we
will
nothing
pay
For
wearing
our
own
noses
.
That
opportunity
Which
then
they
had
to
take
from
’s
,
to
resume
We
have
again
.
—
Remember
,
sir
,
my
liege
,
The
Kings
your
ancestors
,
together
with
The
natural
bravery
of
your
isle
,
which
stands
ACT 3. SC. 1
As
Neptune’s
park
,
ribbed
and
palèd
in
With
rocks
unscalable
and
roaring
waters
,
With
sands
that
will
not
bear
your
enemies’
boats
But
suck
them
up
to
th’
topmast
.
A
kind
of
conquest
Caesar
made
here
,
but
made
not
here
his
brag
Of
came
,
and
saw
,
and
overcame
.
With
shame
—
The
first
that
ever
touched
him
—
he
was
carried
From
off
our
coast
,
twice
beaten
;
and
his
shipping
,
Poor
ignorant
baubles
,
on
our
terrible
seas
Like
eggshells
moved
upon
their
surges
,
cracked
As
easily
’gainst
our
rocks
.
For
joy
whereof
The
famed
Cassibelan
,
who
was
once
at
point
—
O
,
giglet
Fortune
!
—
to
master
Caesar’s
sword
,
Made
Lud’s
Town
with
rejoicing
fires
bright
And
Britons
strut
with
courage
.
Come
,
there’s
no
more
tribute
to
be
paid
.
Our
kingdom
is
stronger
than
it
was
at
that
time
,
and
,
as
I
said
,
there
is
no
more
such
Caesars
.
Other
of
them
may
have
crooked
noses
,
but
to
owe
such
straight
arms
,
none
.
Son
,
let
your
mother
end
.
We
have
yet
many
among
us
can
grip
as
hard
as
Cassibelan
.
I
do
not
say
I
am
one
,
but
I
have
a
hand
.
Why
tribute
?
Why
should
we
pay
tribute
?
If
Caesar
can
hide
the
sun
from
us
with
a
blanket
or
put
the
moon
in
his
pocket
,
we
will
pay
him
tribute
for
light
;
else
,
sir
,
no
more
tribute
,
pray
you
now
.
,
to
Lucius
You
must
know
,
Till
the
injurious
Romans
did
extort
This
tribute
from
us
,
we
were
free
.
Caesar’s
ambition
,
Which
swelled
so
much
that
it
did
almost
stretch
The
sides
o’
th’
world
,
against
all
color
here
Did
put
the
yoke
upon
’s
,
which
to
shake
off
Becomes
a
warlike
people
,
whom
we
reckon
Ourselves
to
be
.
We
do
say
,
then
,
to
Caesar
,
Our
ancestor
was
that
Mulmutius
which
ACT 3. SC. 1
Ordained
our
laws
,
whose
use
the
sword
of
Caesar
Hath
too
much
mangled
,
whose
repair
and
franchise
Shall
,
by
the
power
we
hold
,
be
our
good
deed
,
Though
Rome
be
therefore
angry
.
Mulmutius
made
our
laws
,
Who
was
the
first
of
Britain
which
did
put
His
brows
within
a
golden
crown
and
called
Himself
a
king
.
I
am
sorry
,
Cymbeline
,
That
I
am
to
pronounce
Augustus
Caesar
—
Caesar
,
that
hath
more
kings
his
servants
than
Thyself
domestic
officers
—
thine
enemy
.
Receive
it
from
me
,
then
:
war
and
confusion
In
Caesar’s
name
pronounce
I
’gainst
thee
.
Look
For
fury
not
to
be
resisted
.
Thus
defied
,
I
thank
thee
for
myself
.
Thou
art
welcome
,
Caius
.
Thy
Caesar
knighted
me
;
my
youth
I
spent
Much
under
him
.
Of
him
I
gathered
honor
,
Which
he
to
seek
of
me
again
perforce
Behooves
me
keep
at
utterance
.
I
am
perfect
That
the
Pannonians
and
Dalmatians
for
Their
liberties
are
now
in
arms
,
a
precedent
Which
not
to
read
would
show
the
Britons
cold
.
So
Caesar
shall
not
find
them
.
Let
proof
speak
.
His
Majesty
bids
you
welcome
.
Make
pastime
with
us
a
day
or
two
,
or
longer
.
If
you
seek
us
afterwards
in
other
terms
,
you
shall
find
us
in
our
saltwater
girdle
;
if
you
beat
us
out
of
it
,
it
is
yours
.
If
you
fall
in
the
adventure
,
our
crows
shall
fare
the
better
for
you
,
and
there’s
an
end
.
So
,
sir
.
I
know
your
master’s
pleasure
,
and
he
mine
.
All
the
remain
is
welcome
.
They
exit
.
ACT 3. SC. 2
Scene
2
Enter
Pisanio
reading
of
a
letter
.
How
?
Of
adultery
?
Wherefore
write
you
not
What
monsters
her
accuse
?
Leonatus
,
O
master
,
what
a
strange
infection
Is
fall’n
into
thy
ear
!
What
false
Italian
,
As
poisonous-tongued
as
handed
,
hath
prevailed
On
thy
too
ready
hearing
?
Disloyal
?
No
.
She’s
punished
for
her
truth
and
undergoes
,
More
goddesslike
than
wifelike
,
such
assaults
As
would
take
in
some
virtue
.
O
my
master
,
Thy
mind
to
her
is
now
as
low
as
were
Thy
fortunes
.
How
?
That
I
should
murder
her
,
Upon
the
love
and
truth
and
vows
which
I
Have
made
to
thy
command
?
I
her
?
Her
blood
?
If
it
be
so
to
do
good
service
,
never
Let
me
be
counted
serviceable
.
How
look
I
That
I
should
seem
to
lack
humanity
So
much
as
this
fact
comes
to
?
(
He
reads
:
)
Do
’t
!
The
letter
That
I
have
sent
her
,
by
her
own
command
Shall
give
thee
opportunity
.
O
damned
paper
,
Black
as
the
ink
that’s
on
thee
!
Senseless
bauble
,
Art
thou
a
fedary
for
this
act
,
and
look’st
So
virginlike
without
?
Lo
,
here
she
comes
.
Enter
Imogen
.
I
am
ignorant
in
what
I
am
commanded
.
How
now
,
Pisanio
?
Madam
,
here
is
a
letter
from
my
lord
.
He
gives
her
a
paper
.
Who
,
thy
lord
that
is
my
lord
,
Leonatus
?
ACT 3. SC. 2
O
,
learned
indeed
were
that
astronomer
That
knew
the
stars
as
I
his
characters
!
He’d
lay
the
future
open
.
You
good
gods
,
Let
what
is
here
contained
relish
of
love
,
Of
my
lord’s
health
,
of
his
content
(
yet
not
That
we
two
are
asunder
;
let
that
grieve
him
.
Some
griefs
are
med’cinable
;
that
is
one
of
them
,
For
it
doth
physic
love
)
of
his
content
All
but
in
that
.
Good
wax
,
thy
leave
.
She
opens
the
letter
.
Blest
be
You
bees
that
make
these
locks
of
counsel
.
Lovers
And
men
in
dangerous
bonds
pray
not
alike
;
Though
forfeiters
you
cast
in
prison
,
yet
You
clasp
young
Cupid’s
tables
.
Good
news
,
gods
!
Reads
.
Justice
and
your
father’s
wrath
,
should
he
take
me
in
his
dominion
,
could
not
be
so
cruel
to
me
as
you
,
O
the
dearest
of
creatures
,
would
even
renew
me
with
your
eyes
.
Take
notice
that
I
am
in
Cambria
at
Milford
Haven
.
What
your
own
love
will
out
of
this
advise
you
,
follow
.
So
he
wishes
you
all
happiness
,
that
remains
loyal
to
his
vow
,
and
your
increasing
in
love
.
Leonatus
Posthumus
.
O
,
for
a
horse
with
wings
!
Hear’st
thou
,
Pisanio
?
He
is
at
Milford
Haven
.
Read
,
and
tell
me
How
far
’tis
thither
.
If
one
of
mean
affairs
May
plod
it
in
a
week
,
why
may
not
I
Glide
thither
in
a
day
?
Then
,
true
Pisanio
,
Who
long’st
like
me
to
see
thy
lord
,
who
long’st
—
O
,
let
me
bate
—
but
not
like
me
,
yet
long’st
But
in
a
fainter
kind
—
O
,
not
like
me
,
For
mine’s
beyond
beyond
—
say
,
and
speak
thick
—
Love’s
counselor
should
fill
the
bores
of
hearing
To
th’
smothering
of
the
sense
—
how
far
it
is
To
this
same
blessèd
Milford
.
And
by
th’
way
ACT 3. SC. 3
Tell
me
how
Wales
was
made
so
happy
as
T’
inherit
such
a
haven
.
But
first
of
all
,
How
we
may
steal
from
hence
,
and
for
the
gap
That
we
shall
make
in
time
from
our
hence-going
And
our
return
,
to
excuse
.
But
first
,
how
get
hence
?
Why
should
excuse
be
born
or
ere
begot
?
We’ll
talk
of
that
hereafter
.
Prithee
speak
,
How
many
score
of
miles
may
we
well
rid
’Twixt
hour
and
hour
?
One
score
’twixt
sun
and
sun
,
Madam
,
’s
enough
for
you
,
and
too
much
too
.
Why
,
one
that
rode
to
’s
execution
,
man
,
Could
never
go
so
slow
.
I
have
heard
of
riding
wagers
Where
horses
have
been
nimbler
than
the
sands
That
run
i’
th’
clock’s
behalf
.
But
this
is
fool’ry
.
Go
,
bid
my
woman
feign
a
sickness
,
say
She’ll
home
to
her
father
;
and
provide
me
presently
A
riding
suit
no
costlier
than
would
fit
A
franklin’s
huswife
.
Madam
,
you’re
best
consider
.
I
see
before
me
,
man
.
Nor
here
,
nor
here
,
Nor
what
ensues
,
but
have
a
fog
in
them
That
I
cannot
look
through
.
Away
,
I
prithee
.
Do
as
I
bid
thee
.
There’s
no
more
to
say
.
Accessible
is
none
but
Milford
way
.
They
exit
.
Scene
3
Enter
,
as
from
a
cave
,
Belarius
as
Morgan
,
Guiderius
as
Polydor
,
and
Arviragus
as
Cadwal
.
,
as
Morgan
A
goodly
day
not
to
keep
house
with
such
ACT 3. SC. 3
Whose
roof’s
as
low
as
ours
!
Stoop
,
boys
.
This
gate
Instructs
you
how
t’
adore
the
heavens
and
bows
you
To
a
morning’s
holy
office
.
The
gates
of
monarchs
Are
arched
so
high
that
giants
may
jet
through
And
keep
their
impious
turbans
on
,
without
Good
morrow
to
the
sun
.
Hail
,
thou
fair
heaven
!
We
house
i’
th’
rock
,
yet
use
thee
not
so
hardly
As
prouder
livers
do
.
,
as
Polydor
Hail
,
heaven
!
,
as
Cadwal
Hail
,
heaven
!
,
as
Morgan
Now
for
our
mountain
sport
.
Up
to
yond
hill
;
Your
legs
are
young
.
I’ll
tread
these
flats
.
Consider
,
When
you
above
perceive
me
like
a
crow
,
That
it
is
place
which
lessens
and
sets
off
,
And
you
may
then
revolve
what
tales
I
have
told
you
Of
courts
,
of
princes
,
of
the
tricks
in
war
.
This
service
is
not
service
,
so
being
done
,
But
being
so
allowed
.
To
apprehend
thus
Draws
us
a
profit
from
all
things
we
see
,
And
often
,
to
our
comfort
,
shall
we
find
The
sharded
beetle
in
a
safer
hold
Than
is
the
full-winged
eagle
.
O
,
this
life
Is
nobler
than
attending
for
a
check
,
Richer
than
doing
nothing
for
a
robe
,
Prouder
than
rustling
in
unpaid-for
silk
:
Such
gain
the
cap
of
him
that
makes
him
fine
Yet
keeps
his
book
uncrossed
.
No
life
to
ours
.
,
as
Polydor
Out
of
your
proof
you
speak
.
We
poor
unfledged
Have
never
winged
from
view
o’
th’
nest
,
nor
know
not
What
air
’s
from
home
.
Haply
this
life
is
best
If
quiet
life
be
best
,
sweeter
to
you
That
have
a
sharper
known
,
well
corresponding
With
your
stiff
age
;
but
unto
us
it
is
ACT 3. SC. 3
A
cell
of
ignorance
,
traveling
abed
,
A
prison
for
a
debtor
that
not
dares
To
stride
a
limit
.
,
as
Cadwal
What
should
we
speak
of
When
we
are
old
as
you
?
When
we
shall
hear
The
rain
and
wind
beat
dark
December
,
how
In
this
our
pinching
cave
shall
we
discourse
The
freezing
hours
away
?
We
have
seen
nothing
.
We
are
beastly
:
subtle
as
the
fox
for
prey
,
Like
warlike
as
the
wolf
for
what
we
eat
.
Our
valor
is
to
chase
what
flies
.
Our
cage
We
make
a
choir
,
as
doth
the
prisoned
bird
,
And
sing
our
bondage
freely
.
,
as
Morgan
How
you
speak
!
Did
you
but
know
the
city’s
usuries
And
felt
them
knowingly
;
the
art
o’
th’
court
,
As
hard
to
leave
as
keep
,
whose
top
to
climb
Is
certain
falling
,
or
so
slipp’ry
that
The
fear’s
as
bad
as
falling
;
the
toil
o’
th’
war
,
A
pain
that
only
seems
to
seek
out
danger
I’
th’
name
of
fame
and
honor
,
which
dies
i’
th’
search
And
hath
as
oft
a
sland’rous
epitaph
As
record
of
fair
act
—
nay
,
many
times
Doth
ill
deserve
by
doing
well
;
what’s
worse
,
Must
curtsy
at
the
censure
.
O
boys
,
this
story
The
world
may
read
in
me
.
My
body’s
marked
With
Roman
swords
,
and
my
report
was
once
First
with
the
best
of
note
.
Cymbeline
loved
me
,
And
when
a
soldier
was
the
theme
,
my
name
Was
not
far
off
.
Then
was
I
as
a
tree
Whose
boughs
did
bend
with
fruit
.
But
in
one
night
A
storm
or
robbery
,
call
it
what
you
will
,
Shook
down
my
mellow
hangings
,
nay
,
my
leaves
,
And
left
me
bare
to
weather
.
,
as
Polydor
Uncertain
favor
!
ACT 3. SC. 3
,
as
Morgan
My
fault
being
nothing
,
as
I
have
told
you
oft
,
But
that
two
villains
,
whose
false
oaths
prevailed
Before
my
perfect
honor
,
swore
to
Cymbeline
I
was
confederate
with
the
Romans
.
So
Followed
my
banishment
;
and
this
twenty
years
This
rock
and
these
demesnes
have
been
my
world
,
Where
I
have
lived
at
honest
freedom
,
paid
More
pious
debts
to
heaven
than
in
all
The
fore-end
of
my
time
.
But
up
to
th’
mountains
!
This
is
not
hunters’
language
.
He
that
strikes
The
venison
first
shall
be
the
lord
o’
th’
feast
;
To
him
the
other
two
shall
minister
,
And
we
will
fear
no
poison
,
which
attends
In
place
of
greater
state
.
I’ll
meet
you
in
the
valleys
.
Guiderius
and
Arviragus
exit
.
How
hard
it
is
to
hide
the
sparks
of
nature
!
These
boys
know
little
they
are
sons
to
th’
King
,
Nor
Cymbeline
dreams
that
they
are
alive
.
They
think
they
are
mine
,
and
,
though
trained
up
thus
meanly
,
I’
th’
cave
wherein
they
bow
,
their
thoughts
do
hit
The
roofs
of
palaces
,
and
nature
prompts
them
In
simple
and
low
things
to
prince
it
much
Beyond
the
trick
of
others
.
This
Polydor
,
The
heir
of
Cymbeline
and
Britain
,
who
The
King
his
father
called
Guiderius
—
Jove
!
When
on
my
three-foot
stool
I
sit
and
tell
The
warlike
feats
I
have
done
,
his
spirits
fly
out
Into
my
story
;
say
Thus
mine
enemy
fell
,
And
thus
I
set
my
foot
on
’s
neck
,
even
then
The
princely
blood
flows
in
his
cheek
,
he
sweats
,
Strains
his
young
nerves
,
and
puts
himself
in
posture
That
acts
my
words
.
The
younger
brother
,
Cadwal
,
Once
Arviragus
,
in
as
like
a
figure
ACT 3. SC. 4
Strikes
life
into
my
speech
and
shows
much
more
His
own
conceiving
.
Hark
,
the
game
is
roused
!
O
Cymbeline
,
heaven
and
my
conscience
knows
Thou
didst
unjustly
banish
me
;
whereon
,
At
three
and
two
years
old
I
stole
these
babes
,
Thinking
to
bar
thee
of
succession
as
Thou
refts
me
of
my
lands
.
Euriphile
,
Thou
wast
their
nurse
;
they
took
thee
for
their
mother
,
And
every
day
do
honor
to
her
grave
.
Myself
,
Belarius
,
that
am
Morgan
called
,
They
take
for
natural
father
.
The
game
is
up
!
He
exits
.
Scene
4
Enter
Pisanio
and
Imogen
.
Thou
told’st
me
,
when
we
came
from
horse
,
the
place
Was
near
at
hand
.
Ne’er
longed
my
mother
so
To
see
me
first
as
I
have
now
.
Pisanio
,
man
,
Where
is
Posthumus
?
What
is
in
thy
mind
That
makes
thee
stare
thus
?
Wherefore
breaks
that
sigh
From
th’
inward
of
thee
?
One
but
painted
thus
Would
be
interpreted
a
thing
perplexed
Beyond
self-explication
.
Put
thyself
Into
a
havior
of
less
fear
,
ere
wildness
Vanquish
my
staider
senses
.
What’s
the
matter
?
Pisanio
hands
her
a
paper
.
Why
tender’st
thou
that
paper
to
me
with
A
look
untender
?
If
’t
be
summer
news
,
Smile
to
’t
before
;
if
winterly
,
thou
need’st
But
keep
that
count’nance
still
.
My
husband’s
hand
!
ACT 3. SC. 4
That
drug-damned
Italy
hath
out-craftied
him
,
And
he’s
at
some
hard
point
.
Speak
,
man
!
Thy
tongue
May
take
off
some
extremity
,
which
to
read
Would
be
even
mortal
to
me
.
Please
you
read
,
And
you
shall
find
me
,
wretched
man
,
a
thing
The
most
disdained
of
fortune
.
reads
:
Thy
mistress
,
Pisanio
,
hath
played
the
strumpet
in
my
bed
,
the
testimonies
whereof
lies
bleeding
in
me
.
I
speak
not
out
of
weak
surmises
but
from
proof
as
strong
as
my
grief
and
as
certain
as
I
expect
my
revenge
.
That
part
thou
,
Pisanio
,
must
act
for
me
,
if
thy
faith
be
not
tainted
with
the
breach
of
hers
.
Let
thine
own
hands
take
away
her
life
.
I
shall
give
thee
opportunity
at
Milford
Haven
—
she
hath
my
letter
for
the
purpose
—
where
,
if
thou
fear
to
strike
and
to
make
me
certain
it
is
done
,
thou
art
the
pander
to
her
dishonor
and
equally
to
me
disloyal
.
,
aside
What
shall
I
need
to
draw
my
sword
?
The
paper
Hath
cut
her
throat
already
.
No
,
’tis
slander
,
Whose
edge
is
sharper
than
the
sword
,
whose
tongue
Outvenoms
all
the
worms
of
Nile
,
whose
breath
Rides
on
the
posting
winds
and
doth
belie
All
corners
of
the
world
.
Kings
,
queens
,
and
states
,
Maids
,
matrons
,
nay
,
the
secrets
of
the
grave
This
viperous
slander
enters
.
—
What
cheer
,
madam
?
False
to
his
bed
?
What
is
it
to
be
false
?
To
lie
in
watch
there
and
to
think
on
him
?
To
weep
’twixt
clock
and
clock
?
If
sleep
charge
nature
,
To
break
it
with
a
fearful
dream
of
him
And
cry
myself
awake
?
That’s
false
to
’s
bed
,
is
it
?
Alas
,
good
lady
!
I
false
?
Thy
conscience
witness
!
Iachimo
,
ACT 3. SC. 4
Thou
didst
accuse
him
of
incontinency
.
Thou
then
looked’st
like
a
villain
.
Now
methinks
Thy
favor’s
good
enough
.
Some
jay
of
Italy
,
Whose
mother
was
her
painting
,
hath
betrayed
him
.
Poor
I
am
stale
,
a
garment
out
of
fashion
,
And
,
for
I
am
richer
than
to
hang
by
th’
walls
,
I
must
be
ripped
.
To
pieces
with
me
!
O
,
Men’s
vows
are
women’s
traitors
!
All
good
seeming
,
By
thy
revolt
,
O
husband
,
shall
be
thought
Put
on
for
villainy
,
not
born
where
’t
grows
,
But
worn
a
bait
for
ladies
.
Good
madam
,
hear
me
.
True
honest
men
,
being
heard
like
false
Aeneas
,
Were
in
his
time
thought
false
,
and
Sinon’s
weeping
Did
scandal
many
a
holy
tear
,
took
pity
From
most
true
wretchedness
.
So
thou
,
Posthumus
,
Wilt
lay
the
leaven
on
all
proper
men
;
Goodly
and
gallant
shall
be
false
and
perjured
From
thy
great
fail
.
—
Come
,
fellow
,
be
thou
honest
;
Do
thou
thy
master’s
bidding
.
When
thou
seest
him
,
A
little
witness
my
obedience
.
Look
,
I
draw
the
sword
myself
.
She
draws
Pisanio’s
sword
from
its
scabbard
and
hands
it
to
him
.
Take
it
,
and
hit
The
innocent
mansion
of
my
love
,
my
heart
.
Fear
not
;
’tis
empty
of
all
things
but
grief
.
Thy
master
is
not
there
,
who
was
indeed
The
riches
of
it
.
Do
his
bidding
;
strike
.
Thou
mayst
be
valiant
in
a
better
cause
,
But
now
thou
seem’st
a
coward
.
,
throwing
down
the
sword
Hence
,
vile
instrument
!
Thou
shalt
not
damn
my
hand
.
Why
,
I
must
die
,
ACT 3. SC. 4
And
if
I
do
not
by
thy
hand
,
thou
art
No
servant
of
thy
master’s
.
Against
self-slaughter
There
is
a
prohibition
so
divine
That
cravens
my
weak
hand
.
Come
,
here’s
my
heart
—
Something’s
afore
’t
.
Soft
,
soft
!
We’ll
no
defense
—
Obedient
as
the
scabbard
.
What
is
here
?
She
takes
papers
from
her
bodice
.
The
scriptures
of
the
loyal
Leonatus
,
All
turned
to
heresy
?
Away
,
away
!
She
throws
away
the
letters
.
Corrupters
of
my
faith
,
you
shall
no
more
Be
stomachers
to
my
heart
.
Thus
may
poor
fools
Believe
false
teachers
.
Though
those
that
are
betrayed
Do
feel
the
treason
sharply
,
yet
the
traitor
Stands
in
worse
case
of
woe
.
And
thou
,
Posthumus
,
That
didst
set
up
My
disobedience
’gainst
the
King
my
father
And
make
me
put
into
contempt
the
suits
Of
princely
fellows
,
shalt
hereafter
find
It
is
no
act
of
common
passage
,
but
A
strain
of
rareness
:
and
I
grieve
myself
To
think
,
when
thou
shalt
be
disedged
by
her
That
now
thou
tirest
on
,
how
thy
memory
Will
then
be
panged
by
me
.
—
Prithee
,
dispatch
.
The
lamb
entreats
the
butcher
.
Where’s
thy
knife
?
Thou
art
too
slow
to
do
thy
master’s
bidding
When
I
desire
it
too
.
O
gracious
lady
,
Since
I
received
command
to
do
this
business
I
have
not
slept
one
wink
.
Do
’t
,
and
to
bed
,
then
.
I’ll
wake
mine
eyeballs
out
first
.
Wherefore
then
Didst
undertake
it
?
Why
hast
thou
abused
So
many
miles
with
a
pretense
?
This
place
?
ACT 3. SC. 4
Mine
action
and
thine
own
?
Our
horses’
labor
?
The
time
inviting
thee
?
The
perturbed
court
For
my
being
absent
,
whereunto
I
never
Purpose
return
?
Why
hast
thou
gone
so
far
To
be
unbent
when
thou
hast
ta’en
thy
stand
,
Th’
elected
deer
before
thee
?
But
to
win
time
To
lose
so
bad
employment
,
in
the
which
I
have
considered
of
a
course
.
Good
lady
,
Hear
me
with
patience
.
Talk
thy
tongue
weary
.
Speak
.
I
have
heard
I
am
a
strumpet
,
and
mine
ear
,
Therein
false
struck
,
can
take
no
greater
wound
,
Nor
tent
to
bottom
that
.
But
speak
.
Then
,
madam
,
I
thought
you
would
not
back
again
.
Most
like
,
Bringing
me
here
to
kill
me
.
Not
so
,
neither
.
But
if
I
were
as
wise
as
honest
,
then
My
purpose
would
prove
well
.
It
cannot
be
But
that
my
master
is
abused
.
Some
villain
,
Ay
,
and
singular
in
his
art
,
hath
done
You
both
this
cursèd
injury
.
Some
Roman
courtesan
?
No
,
on
my
life
.
I’ll
give
but
notice
you
are
dead
,
and
send
him
Some
bloody
sign
of
it
,
for
’tis
commanded
I
should
do
so
.
You
shall
be
missed
at
court
,
And
that
will
well
confirm
it
.
Why
,
good
fellow
,
What
shall
I
do
the
while
?
Where
bide
?
How
live
?
Or
in
my
life
what
comfort
when
I
am
Dead
to
my
husband
?
ACT 3. SC. 4
If
you’ll
back
to
th’
court
—
No
court
,
no
father
,
nor
no
more
ado
With
that
harsh
,
noble
,
simple
nothing
,
That
Cloten
,
whose
love
suit
hath
been
to
me
As
fearful
as
a
siege
.
If
not
at
court
,
Then
not
in
Britain
must
you
bide
.
Where
,
then
?
Hath
Britain
all
the
sun
that
shines
?
Day
,
night
,
Are
they
not
but
in
Britain
?
I’
th’
world’s
volume
Our
Britain
seems
as
of
it
,
but
not
in
’t
,
In
a
great
pool
a
swan’s
nest
.
Prithee
think
There’s
livers
out
of
Britain
.
I
am
most
glad
You
think
of
other
place
.
Th’
ambassador
,
Lucius
the
Roman
,
comes
to
Milford
Haven
Tomorrow
.
Now
,
if
you
could
wear
a
mind
Dark
as
your
fortune
is
,
and
but
disguise
That
which
t’
appear
itself
must
not
yet
be
But
by
self-danger
,
you
should
tread
a
course
Pretty
and
full
of
view
:
yea
,
haply
near
The
residence
of
Posthumus
;
so
nigh
,
at
least
,
That
though
his
actions
were
not
visible
,
yet
Report
should
render
him
hourly
to
your
ear
As
truly
as
he
moves
.
O
,
for
such
means
,
Though
peril
to
my
modesty
,
not
death
on
’t
,
I
would
adventure
.
Well
then
,
here’s
the
point
:
You
must
forget
to
be
a
woman
;
change
Command
into
obedience
,
fear
and
niceness
—
The
handmaids
of
all
women
,
or
,
more
truly
,
Woman
it
pretty
self
—
into
a
waggish
courage
,
Ready
in
gibes
,
quick-answered
,
saucy
,
and
ACT 3. SC. 4
As
quarrelous
as
the
weasel
.
Nay
,
you
must
Forget
that
rarest
treasure
of
your
cheek
,
Exposing
it
—
but
O
,
the
harder
heart
!
Alack
,
no
remedy
—
to
the
greedy
touch
Of
common-kissing
Titan
,
and
forget
Your
laborsome
and
dainty
trims
,
wherein
You
made
great
Juno
angry
.
Nay
,
be
brief
.
I
see
into
thy
end
and
am
almost
A
man
already
.
First
,
make
yourself
but
like
one
.
Forethinking
this
,
I
have
already
fit
—
’Tis
in
my
cloakbag
—
doublet
,
hat
,
hose
,
all
That
answer
to
them
.
Would
you
,
in
their
serving
,
And
with
what
imitation
you
can
borrow
From
youth
of
such
a
season
,
’fore
noble
Lucius
Present
yourself
,
desire
his
service
,
tell
him
Wherein
you’re
happy
—
which
will
make
him
know
,
If
that
his
head
have
ear
in
music
—
doubtless
With
joy
he
will
embrace
you
,
for
he’s
honorable
And
,
doubling
that
,
most
holy
.
Your
means
abroad
:
You
have
me
,
rich
,
and
I
will
never
fail
Beginning
nor
supplyment
.
,
taking
the
cloakbag
Thou
art
all
the
comfort
The
gods
will
diet
me
with
.
Prithee
,
away
.
There’s
more
to
be
considered
,
but
we’ll
even
All
that
good
time
will
give
us
.
This
attempt
I
am
soldier
to
,
and
will
abide
it
with
A
prince’s
courage
.
Away
,
I
prithee
.
Well
,
madam
,
we
must
take
a
short
farewell
,
Lest
,
being
missed
,
I
be
suspected
of
Your
carriage
from
the
court
.
My
noble
mistress
,
Here
is
a
box
.
I
had
it
from
the
Queen
.
He
hands
her
the
box
.
ACT 3. SC. 5
What’s
in
’t
is
precious
.
If
you
are
sick
at
sea
Or
stomach-qualmed
at
land
,
a
dram
of
this
Will
drive
away
distemper
.
To
some
shade
,
And
fit
you
to
your
manhood
.
May
the
gods
Direct
you
to
the
best
.
Amen
.
I
thank
thee
.
They
exit
.
Scene
5
Enter
Cymbeline
,
Queen
,
Cloten
,
Lucius
,
Lords
,
and
Attendants
.
Thus
far
,
and
so
farewell
.
Thanks
,
royal
sir
.
My
emperor
hath
wrote
I
must
from
hence
,
And
am
right
sorry
that
I
must
report
you
My
master’s
enemy
.
Our
subjects
,
sir
,
Will
not
endure
his
yoke
,
and
for
ourself
To
show
less
sovereignty
than
they
must
needs
Appear
unkinglike
.
So
,
sir
.
I
desire
of
you
A
conduct
overland
to
Milford
Haven
.
—
Madam
,
all
joy
befall
your
Grace
—
and
you
.
,
to
Lords
My
lords
,
you
are
appointed
for
that
office
.
The
due
of
honor
in
no
point
omit
.
—
So
,
farewell
,
noble
Lucius
.
,
to
Cloten
Your
hand
,
my
lord
.
Receive
it
friendly
,
but
from
this
time
forth
I
wear
it
as
your
enemy
.
Sir
,
the
event
Is
yet
to
name
the
winner
.
Fare
you
well
.
ACT 3. SC. 5
Leave
not
the
worthy
Lucius
,
good
my
lords
,
Till
he
have
crossed
the
Severn
.
Happiness
!
Exit
Lucius
and
Lords
.
He
goes
hence
frowning
,
but
it
honors
us
That
we
have
given
him
cause
.
’Tis
all
the
better
.
Your
valiant
Britons
have
their
wishes
in
it
.
Lucius
hath
wrote
already
to
the
Emperor
How
it
goes
here
.
It
fits
us
therefore
ripely
Our
chariots
and
our
horsemen
be
in
readiness
.
The
powers
that
he
already
hath
in
Gallia
Will
soon
be
drawn
to
head
,
from
whence
he
moves
His
war
for
Britain
.
’Tis
not
sleepy
business
,
But
must
be
looked
to
speedily
and
strongly
.
Our
expectation
that
it
would
be
thus
Hath
made
us
forward
.
But
,
my
gentle
queen
,
Where
is
our
daughter
?
She
hath
not
appeared
Before
the
Roman
,
nor
to
us
hath
tendered
The
duty
of
the
day
.
She
looks
us
like
A
thing
more
made
of
malice
than
of
duty
.
We
have
noted
it
.
—
Call
her
before
us
,
for
We
have
been
too
slight
in
sufferance
.
An
Attendant
exits
.
Royal
sir
,
Since
the
exile
of
Posthumus
,
most
retired
Hath
her
life
been
,
the
cure
whereof
,
my
lord
,
’Tis
time
must
do
.
Beseech
your
Majesty
,
Forbear
sharp
speeches
to
her
.
She’s
a
lady
So
tender
of
rebukes
that
words
are
strokes
And
strokes
death
to
her
.
Enter
Attendant
.
ACT 3. SC. 5
Where
is
she
,
sir
?
How
Can
her
contempt
be
answered
?
Please
you
,
sir
,
Her
chambers
are
all
locked
,
and
there’s
no
answer
That
will
be
given
to
th’
loud’st
noise
we
make
.
My
lord
,
when
last
I
went
to
visit
her
,
She
prayed
me
to
excuse
her
keeping
close
;
Whereto
constrained
by
her
infirmity
,
She
should
that
duty
leave
unpaid
to
you
Which
daily
she
was
bound
to
proffer
.
This
She
wished
me
to
make
known
,
but
our
great
court
Made
me
to
blame
in
memory
.
Her
doors
locked
?
Not
seen
of
late
?
Grant
,
heavens
,
that
which
I
Fear
prove
false
!
He
exits
with
Attendant
.
Son
,
I
say
,
follow
the
King
.
That
man
of
hers
,
Pisanio
,
her
old
servant
I
have
not
seen
these
two
days
.
Go
,
look
after
.
Cloten
exits
.
Aside
.
Pisanio
,
thou
that
stand’st
so
for
Posthumus
—
He
hath
a
drug
of
mine
.
I
pray
his
absence
Proceed
by
swallowing
that
,
for
he
believes
It
is
a
thing
most
precious
.
But
for
her
,
Where
is
she
gone
?
Haply
despair
hath
seized
her
,
Or
,
winged
with
fervor
of
her
love
,
she’s
flown
To
her
desired
Posthumus
.
Gone
she
is
To
death
or
to
dishonor
,
and
my
end
Can
make
good
use
of
either
.
She
being
down
,
I
have
the
placing
of
the
British
crown
.
Enter
Cloten
.
How
now
,
my
son
?
’Tis
certain
she
is
fled
.
ACT 3. SC. 5
Go
in
and
cheer
the
King
.
He
rages
;
none
Dare
come
about
him
.
,
aside
All
the
better
.
May
This
night
forestall
him
of
the
coming
day
!
Queen
exits
,
with
Attendants
.
I
love
and
hate
her
,
for
she’s
fair
and
royal
,
And
that
she
hath
all
courtly
parts
more
exquisite
Than
lady
,
ladies
,
woman
.
From
every
one
The
best
she
hath
,
and
she
,
of
all
compounded
,
Outsells
them
all
.
I
love
her
therefore
,
but
Disdaining
me
and
throwing
favors
on
The
low
Posthumus
slanders
so
her
judgment
That
what’s
else
rare
is
choked
.
And
in
that
point
I
will
conclude
to
hate
her
,
nay
,
indeed
,
To
be
revenged
upon
her
.
For
,
when
fools
Shall
—
Enter
Pisanio
.
Who
is
here
?
What
,
are
you
packing
,
sirrah
?
Come
hither
.
Ah
,
you
precious
pander
!
Villain
,
Where
is
thy
lady
?
In
a
word
,
or
else
Thou
art
straightway
with
the
fiends
.
He
draws
his
sword
.
O
,
good
my
lord
—
Where
is
thy
lady
?
Or
,
by
Jupiter
—
I
will
not
ask
again
.
Close
villain
,
I’ll
have
this
secret
from
thy
heart
or
rip
Thy
heart
to
find
it
.
Is
she
with
Posthumus
,
From
whose
so
many
weights
of
baseness
cannot
A
dram
of
worth
be
drawn
?
Alas
,
my
lord
,
How
can
she
be
with
him
?
When
was
she
missed
?
He
is
in
Rome
.
Where
is
she
,
sir
?
Come
nearer
.
ACT 3. SC. 5
No
farther
halting
.
Satisfy
me
home
What
is
become
of
her
.
O
,
my
all-worthy
lord
!
All-worthy
villain
!
Discover
where
thy
mistress
is
at
once
,
At
the
next
word
.
No
more
of
worthy
lord
!
Speak
,
or
thy
silence
on
the
instant
is
Thy
condemnation
and
thy
death
.
Then
,
sir
,
This
paper
is
the
history
of
my
knowledge
Touching
her
flight
.
He
gives
Cloten
a
paper
.
Let’s
see
’t
.
I
will
pursue
her
Even
to
Augustus’
throne
.
,
aside
Or
this
or
perish
.
She’s
far
enough
,
and
what
he
learns
by
this
May
prove
his
travail
,
not
her
danger
.
Humh
!
,
aside
I’ll
write
to
my
lord
she’s
dead
.
O
Imogen
,
Safe
mayst
thou
wander
,
safe
return
again
!
Sirrah
,
is
this
letter
true
?
Sir
,
as
I
think
.
It
is
Posthumus’
hand
,
I
know
’t
.
Sirrah
,
if
thou
wouldst
not
be
a
villain
,
but
do
me
true
service
,
undergo
those
employments
wherein
I
should
have
cause
to
use
thee
with
a
serious
industry
—
that
is
,
what
villainy
soe’er
I
bid
thee
do
to
perform
it
directly
and
truly
—
I
would
think
thee
an
honest
man
.
Thou
shouldst
neither
want
my
means
for
thy
relief
nor
my
voice
for
thy
preferment
.
Well
,
my
good
lord
.
Wilt
thou
serve
me
?
For
since
patiently
and
constantly
thou
hast
stuck
to
the
bare
fortune
of
that
beggar
Posthumus
,
thou
canst
not
in
the
course
of
gratitude
but
be
a
diligent
follower
of
mine
.
Wilt
thou
serve
me
?
ACT 3. SC. 5
Sir
,
I
will
.
Give
me
thy
hand
.
Here’s
my
purse
.
Gives
him
money
.
Hast
any
of
thy
late
master’s
garments
in
thy
possession
?
I
have
,
my
lord
,
at
my
lodging
the
same
suit
he
wore
when
he
took
leave
of
my
lady
and
mistress
.
The
first
service
thou
dost
me
,
fetch
that
suit
hither
.
Let
it
be
thy
first
service
.
Go
.
I
shall
,
my
lord
.
He
exits
.
Meet
thee
at
Milford
Haven
!
—
I
forgot
to
ask
him
one
thing
;
I’ll
remember
’t
anon
.
Even
there
,
thou
villain
Posthumus
,
will
I
kill
thee
.
I
would
these
garments
were
come
.
She
said
upon
a
time
—
the
bitterness
of
it
I
now
belch
from
my
heart
—
that
she
held
the
very
garment
of
Posthumus
in
more
respect
than
my
noble
and
natural
person
,
together
with
the
adornment
of
my
qualities
.
With
that
suit
upon
my
back
will
I
ravish
her
.
First
,
kill
him
,
and
in
her
eyes
.
There
shall
she
see
my
valor
,
which
will
then
be
a
torment
to
her
contempt
.
He
on
the
ground
,
my
speech
of
insultment
ended
on
his
dead
body
,
and
when
my
lust
hath
dined
—
which
,
as
I
say
,
to
vex
her
I
will
execute
in
the
clothes
that
she
so
praised
—
to
the
court
I’ll
knock
her
back
,
foot
her
home
again
.
She
hath
despised
me
rejoicingly
,
and
I’ll
be
merry
in
my
revenge
.
Enter
Pisanio
with
the
clothes
.
Be
those
the
garments
?
Ay
,
my
noble
lord
.
How
long
is
’t
since
she
went
to
Milford
Haven
?
She
can
scarce
be
there
yet
.
Bring
this
apparel
to
my
chamber
;
that
is
the
second
thing
that
I
have
commanded
thee
.
The
third
is
that
thou
wilt
be
a
voluntary
mute
to
my
ACT 3. SC. 6
design
.
Be
but
duteous
,
and
true
preferment
shall
tender
itself
to
thee
.
My
revenge
is
now
at
Milford
.
Would
I
had
wings
to
follow
it
!
Come
,
and
be
true
.
He
exits
.
Thou
bidd’st
me
to
my
loss
,
for
true
to
thee
Were
to
prove
false
,
which
I
will
never
be
,
To
him
that
is
most
true
.
To
Milford
go
,
And
find
not
her
whom
thou
pursuest
.
Flow
,
flow
,
You
heavenly
blessings
,
on
her
.
This
fool’s
speed
Be
crossed
with
slowness
.
Labor
be
his
meed
.
He
exits
.
Scene
6
Enter
Imogen
alone
,
dressed
as
a
boy
,
Fidele
.
I
see
a
man’s
life
is
a
tedious
one
.
I
have
tired
myself
,
and
for
two
nights
together
Have
made
the
ground
my
bed
.
I
should
be
sick
But
that
my
resolution
helps
me
.
Milford
,
When
from
the
mountain
top
Pisanio
showed
thee
,
Thou
wast
within
a
ken
.
O
Jove
,
I
think
Foundations
fly
the
wretched
—
such
,
I
mean
,
Where
they
should
be
relieved
.
Two
beggars
told
me
I
could
not
miss
my
way
.
Will
poor
folks
lie
,
That
have
afflictions
on
them
,
knowing
’tis
A
punishment
or
trial
?
Yes
.
No
wonder
,
When
rich
ones
scarce
tell
true
.
To
lapse
in
fullness
Is
sorer
than
to
lie
for
need
,
and
falsehood
Is
worse
in
kings
than
beggars
.
My
dear
lord
,
Thou
art
one
o’
th’
false
ones
.
Now
I
think
on
thee
,
My
hunger’s
gone
;
but
even
before
,
I
was
At
point
to
sink
for
food
.
But
what
is
this
?
Here
is
a
path
to
’t
.
’Tis
some
savage
hold
.
ACT 3. SC. 6
I
were
best
not
call
;
I
dare
not
call
.
Yet
famine
,
Ere
clean
it
o’erthrow
nature
,
makes
it
valiant
.
Plenty
and
peace
breeds
cowards
;
hardness
ever
Of
hardiness
is
mother
.
—
Ho
!
Who’s
here
?
If
anything
that’s
civil
,
speak
;
if
savage
,
Take
or
lend
.
Ho
!
—
No
answer
?
Then
I’ll
enter
.
Best
draw
my
sword
;
an
if
mine
enemy
But
fear
the
sword
like
me
,
he’ll
scarcely
look
on
’t
.
She
draws
her
sword
.
Such
a
foe
,
good
heavens
!
She
exits
,
as
into
the
cave
.
Enter
Belarius
as
Morgan
,
Guiderius
as
Polydor
,
and
Arviragus
as
Cadwal
.
,
as
Morgan
You
,
Polydor
,
have
proved
best
woodman
and
Are
master
of
the
feast
.
Cadwal
and
I
Will
play
the
cook
and
servant
;
’tis
our
match
.
The
sweat
of
industry
would
dry
and
die
But
for
the
end
it
works
to
.
Come
,
our
stomachs
Will
make
what’s
homely
savory
.
Weariness
Can
snore
upon
the
flint
when
resty
sloth
Finds
the
down
pillow
hard
.
Now
peace
be
here
,
Poor
house
,
that
keep’st
thyself
.
,
as
Polydor
I
am
throughly
weary
.
,
as
Cadwal
I
am
weak
with
toil
,
yet
strong
in
appetite
.
,
as
Polydor
There
is
cold
meat
i’
th’
cave
.
We’ll
browse
on
that
Whilst
what
we
have
killed
be
cooked
.
,
as
Morgan
,
looking
into
the
cave
Stay
,
come
not
in
!
But
that
it
eats
our
victuals
,
I
should
think
Here
were
a
fairy
.
,
as
Polydor
What’s
the
matter
,
sir
?
ACT 3. SC. 6
,
as
Morgan
By
Jupiter
,
an
angel
!
Or
,
if
not
,
An
earthly
paragon
.
Behold
divineness
No
elder
than
a
boy
.
Enter
Imogen
as
Fidele
.
,
as
Fidele
Good
masters
,
harm
me
not
.
Before
I
entered
here
,
I
called
,
and
thought
To
have
begged
or
bought
what
I
have
took
.
Good
troth
,
I
have
stol’n
naught
,
nor
would
not
,
though
I
had
found
Gold
strewed
i’
th’
floor
.
Here’s
money
for
my
meat
.
She
offers
money
.
I
would
have
left
it
on
the
board
so
soon
As
I
had
made
my
meal
,
and
parted
With
prayers
for
the
provider
.
,
as
Polydor
Money
,
youth
?
,
as
Cadwal
All
gold
and
silver
rather
turn
to
dirt
,
As
’tis
no
better
reckoned
but
of
those
Who
worship
dirty
gods
.
,
as
Fidele
I
see
you’re
angry
.
Know
,
if
you
kill
me
for
my
fault
,
I
should
Have
died
had
I
not
made
it
.
,
as
Morgan
Whither
bound
?
,
as
Fidele
To
Milford
Haven
.
,
as
Morgan
What’s
your
name
?
,
as
Fidele
Fidele
,
sir
.
I
have
a
kinsman
who
Is
bound
for
Italy
.
He
embarked
at
Milford
,
To
whom
being
going
,
almost
spent
with
hunger
,
I
am
fall’n
in
this
offense
.
,
as
Morgan
Prithee
,
fair
youth
,
Think
us
no
churls
,
nor
measure
our
good
minds
By
this
rude
place
we
live
in
.
Well
encountered
!
’Tis
almost
night
;
you
shall
have
better
cheer
ACT 3. SC. 6
Ere
you
depart
,
and
thanks
to
stay
and
eat
it
.
—
Boys
,
bid
him
welcome
.
,
as
Polydor
Were
you
a
woman
,
youth
,
I
should
woo
hard
but
be
your
groom
in
honesty
,
Ay
,
bid
for
you
as
I
do
buy
.
,
as
Cadwal
I’ll
make
’t
my
comfort
He
is
a
man
.
I’ll
love
him
as
my
brother
.
—
And
such
a
welcome
as
I’d
give
to
him
After
long
absence
,
such
is
yours
.
Most
welcome
.
Be
sprightly
,
for
you
fall
’mongst
friends
.
,
as
Fidele
’Mongst
friends
?
If
brothers
—
(
aside
)
Would
it
had
been
so
,
that
they
Had
been
my
father’s
sons
!
Then
had
my
prize
Been
less
,
and
so
more
equal
ballasting
To
thee
,
Posthumus
.
,
as
Morgan
He
wrings
at
some
distress
.
,
as
Polydor
Would
I
could
free
’t
!
,
as
Cadwal
Or
I
,
whate’er
it
be
,
What
pain
it
cost
,
what
danger
.
Gods
!
,
as
Morgan
Hark
,
boys
.
They
talk
aside
.
Great
men
That
had
a
court
no
bigger
than
this
cave
,
That
did
attend
themselves
and
had
the
virtue
Which
their
own
conscience
sealed
them
,
laying
by
That
nothing-gift
of
differing
multitudes
,
Could
not
outpeer
these
twain
.
Pardon
me
,
gods
!
I’d
change
my
sex
to
be
companion
with
them
,
Since
Leonatus
false
.
,
as
Morgan
It
shall
be
so
.
Boys
,
we’ll
go
dress
our
hunt
.
—
Fair
youth
,
come
in
.
Discourse
is
heavy
,
fasting
.
When
we
have
supped
,
We’ll
mannerly
demand
thee
of
thy
story
So
far
as
thou
wilt
speak
it
.
ACT 3. SC. 7
,
as
Polydor
Pray
,
draw
near
.
,
as
Cadwal
The
night
to
th’
owl
and
morn
to
th’
lark
less
welcome
.
,
as
Fidele
Thanks
,
sir
.
,
as
Cadwal
I
pray
,
draw
near
.
They
exit
.
Scene
7
Enter
two
Roman
Senators
,
and
Tribunes
.
This
is
the
tenor
of
the
Emperor’s
writ
:
That
since
the
common
men
are
now
in
action
’Gainst
the
Pannonians
and
Dalmatians
,
And
that
the
legions
now
in
Gallia
are
Full
weak
to
undertake
our
wars
against
The
fall’n-off
Britons
,
that
we
do
incite
The
gentry
to
this
business
.
He
creates
Lucius
proconsul
;
and
to
you
the
tribunes
For
this
immediate
levy
,
he
commends
His
absolute
commission
.
Long
live
Caesar
!
Is
Lucius
general
of
the
forces
?
Ay
.
Remaining
now
in
Gallia
?
With
those
legions
Which
I
have
spoke
of
,
whereunto
your
levy
Must
be
supplyant
.
The
words
of
your
commission
Will
tie
you
to
the
numbers
and
the
time
Of
their
dispatch
.
We
will
discharge
our
duty
.
They
exit
.
ACT
4
Scene
1
Enter
Cloten
alone
,
dressed
in
Posthumus’s
garments
.
I
am
near
to
th’
place
where
they
should
meet
,
if
Pisanio
have
mapped
it
truly
.
How
fit
his
garments
serve
me
!
Why
should
his
mistress
,
who
was
made
by
him
that
made
the
tailor
,
not
be
fit
too
?
The
rather
,
saving
reverence
of
the
word
,
for
’tis
said
a
woman’s
fitness
comes
by
fits
.
Therein
I
must
play
the
workman
.
I
dare
speak
it
to
myself
,
for
it
is
not
vainglory
for
a
man
and
his
glass
to
confer
in
his
own
chamber
.
I
mean
,
the
lines
of
my
body
are
as
well
drawn
as
his
,
no
less
young
,
more
strong
;
not
beneath
him
in
fortunes
,
beyond
him
in
the
advantage
of
the
time
,
above
him
in
birth
,
alike
conversant
in
general
services
,
and
more
remarkable
in
single
oppositions
.
Yet
this
imperceiverant
thing
loves
him
in
my
despite
.
What
mortality
is
!
Posthumus
,
thy
head
,
which
now
is
growing
upon
thy
shoulders
,
shall
within
this
hour
be
off
,
thy
mistress
enforced
,
thy
garments
cut
to
pieces
before
thy
face
;
and
all
this
done
,
spurn
her
home
to
her
father
,
who
may
haply
be
a
little
angry
or
my
so
rough
usage
.
But
my
mother
,
having
power
of
his
testiness
,
shall
turn
all
into
my
commendations
.
My
horse
is
tied
up
safe
.
Out
,
sword
,
and
to
a
sore
purpose
.
Fortune
,
put
them
into
my
ACT 4. SC. 2
hand
!
This
is
the
very
description
of
their
meeting
place
,
and
the
fellow
dares
not
deceive
me
.
He
draws
his
sword
and
exits
.
Scene
2
Enter
Belarius
as
Morgan
,
Guiderius
as
Polydor
,
Arviragus
as
Cadwal
,
and
Imogen
as
Fidele
,
from
the
cave
.
,
as
Morgan
,
to
Fidele
You
are
not
well
.
Remain
here
in
the
cave
.
We’ll
come
to
you
after
hunting
.
,
as
Cadwal
,
to
Fidele
Brother
,
stay
here
.
Are
we
not
brothers
?
,
as
Fidele
So
man
and
man
should
be
,
But
clay
and
clay
differs
in
dignity
,
Whose
dust
is
both
alike
.
I
am
very
sick
.
,
as
Polydor
,
to
Morgan
and
Cadwal
Go
you
to
hunting
.
I’ll
abide
with
him
.
,
as
Fidele
So
sick
I
am
not
,
yet
I
am
not
well
;
But
not
so
citizen
a
wanton
as
To
seem
to
die
ere
sick
.
So
please
you
,
leave
me
.
Stick
to
your
journal
course
.
The
breach
of
custom
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
sick
,
Since
I
can
reason
of
it
.
Pray
you
trust
me
here
—
I’ll
rob
none
but
myself
—
and
let
me
die
,
Stealing
so
poorly
.
,
as
Polydor
I
love
thee
—
I
have
spoke
it
—
How
much
the
quantity
,
the
weight
as
much
As
I
do
love
my
father
.
,
as
Morgan
What
?
How
,
how
?
ACT 4. SC. 2
,
as
Cadwal
If
it
be
sin
to
say
so
,
sir
,
I
yoke
me
In
my
good
brother’s
fault
.
I
know
not
why
I
love
this
youth
,
and
I
have
heard
you
say
Love’s
reason’s
without
reason
.
The
bier
at
door
,
And
a
demand
who
is
’t
shall
die
,
I’d
say
My
father
,
not
this
youth
.
,
aside
O
,
noble
strain
!
O
,
worthiness
of
nature
,
breed
of
greatness
!
Cowards
father
cowards
and
base
things
sire
base
;
Nature
hath
meal
and
bran
,
contempt
and
grace
.
I’m
not
their
father
,
yet
who
this
should
be
Doth
miracle
itself
,
loved
before
me
.
—
’Tis
the
ninth
hour
o’
th’
morn
.
,
as
Cadwal
,
to
Fidele
Brother
,
farewell
.
,
as
Fidele
I
wish
you
sport
.
,
as
Cadwal
You
health
.
—
So
please
you
,
sir
.
,
aside
These
are
kind
creatures
.
Gods
,
what
lies
I
have
heard
!
Our
courtiers
say
all’s
savage
but
at
court
;
Experience
,
O
,
thou
disprov’st
report
!
Th’
imperious
seas
breeds
monsters
;
for
the
dish
Poor
tributary
rivers
as
sweet
fish
.
I
am
sick
still
,
heart-sick
.
Pisanio
,
I’ll
now
taste
of
thy
drug
.
She
swallows
the
drug
.
,
as
Polydor
,
to
Morgan
and
Cadwal
I
could
not
stir
him
.
He
said
he
was
gentle
but
unfortunate
,
Dishonestly
afflicted
but
yet
honest
.
,
as
Cadwal
Thus
did
he
answer
me
,
yet
said
hereafter
I
might
know
more
.
,
as
Morgan
To
th’
field
,
to
th’
field
!
ACT 4. SC. 2
To
Fidele
.
We’ll
leave
you
for
this
time
.
Go
in
and
rest
.
,
as
Cadwal
We’ll
not
be
long
away
.
,
as
Morgan
Pray
,
be
not
sick
,
For
you
must
be
our
huswife
.
,
as
Fidele
Well
or
ill
,
I
am
bound
to
you
.
,
as
Morgan
And
shalt
be
ever
.
Imogen
exits
as
into
the
cave
.
This
youth
,
howe’er
distressed
,
appears
he
hath
had
Good
ancestors
.
,
as
Cadwal
How
angel-like
he
sings
!
,
as
Polydor
But
his
neat
cookery
!
He
cut
our
roots
in
characters
And
sauced
our
broths
as
Juno
had
been
sick
And
he
her
dieter
.
,
as
Cadwal
Nobly
he
yokes
A
smiling
with
a
sigh
,
as
if
the
sigh
Was
that
it
was
for
not
being
such
a
smile
,
The
smile
mocking
the
sigh
that
it
would
fly
From
so
divine
a
temple
to
commix
With
winds
that
sailors
rail
at
.
,
as
Polydor
I
do
note
That
grief
and
patience
,
rooted
in
them
both
,
Mingle
their
spurs
together
.
,
as
Cadwal
Grow
,
patience
,
And
let
the
stinking
elder
,
grief
,
untwine
His
perishing
root
with
the
increasing
vine
!
,
as
Morgan
It
is
great
morning
.
Come
,
away
.
Who’s
there
?
Enter
Cloten
.
,
to
himself
I
cannot
find
those
runagates
.
That
villain
Hath
mocked
me
.
I
am
faint
.
ACT 4. SC. 2
,
as
Morgan
,
to
Polydor
and
Cadwal
Those
runagates
?
Means
he
not
us
?
I
partly
know
him
.
’Tis
Cloten
,
the
son
o’
th’
Queen
.
I
fear
some
ambush
.
I
saw
him
not
these
many
years
,
and
yet
I
know
’tis
he
.
We
are
held
as
outlaws
.
Hence
.
,
as
Polydor
He
is
but
one
.
You
and
my
brother
search
What
companies
are
near
.
Pray
you
,
away
.
Let
me
alone
with
him
.
Belarius
and
Arviragus
exit
.
Soft
,
what
are
you
That
fly
me
thus
?
Some
villain
mountaineers
?
I
have
heard
of
such
.
—
What
slave
art
thou
?
,
as
Polydor
A
thing
More
slavish
did
I
ne’er
than
answering
A
slave
without
a
knock
.
Thou
art
a
robber
,
A
lawbreaker
,
a
villain
.
Yield
thee
,
thief
.
,
as
Polydor
To
who
?
To
thee
?
What
art
thou
?
Have
not
I
An
arm
as
big
as
thine
?
A
heart
as
big
?
Thy
words
,
I
grant
,
are
bigger
,
for
I
wear
not
My
dagger
in
my
mouth
.
Say
what
thou
art
,
Why
I
should
yield
to
thee
.
Thou
villain
base
,
Know’st
me
not
by
my
clothes
?
,
as
Polydor
No
,
nor
thy
tailor
,
rascal
.
Who
is
thy
grandfather
?
He
made
those
clothes
,
Which
,
as
it
seems
,
make
thee
.
Thou
precious
varlet
,
My
tailor
made
them
not
.
,
as
Polydor
Hence
then
,
and
thank
The
man
that
gave
them
thee
.
Thou
art
some
fool
.
I
am
loath
to
beat
thee
.
Thou
injurious
thief
,
Hear
but
my
name
,
and
tremble
.
ACT 4. SC. 2
,
as
Polydor
What’s
thy
name
?
Cloten
,
thou
villain
.
,
as
Polydor
Cloten
,
thou
double
villain
,
be
thy
name
,
I
cannot
tremble
at
it
.
Were
it
Toad
,
or
Adder
,
Spider
,
’Twould
move
me
sooner
.
To
thy
further
fear
,
Nay
,
to
thy
mere
confusion
,
thou
shalt
know
I
am
son
to
th’
Queen
.
,
as
Polydor
I
am
sorry
for
’t
,
not
seeming
So
worthy
as
thy
birth
.
Art
not
afeard
?
,
as
Polydor
Those
that
I
reverence
,
those
I
fear
—
the
wise
;
At
fools
I
laugh
,
not
fear
them
.
Die
the
death
!
When
I
have
slain
thee
with
my
proper
hand
,
I’ll
follow
those
that
even
now
fled
hence
And
on
the
gates
of
Lud’s
Town
set
your
heads
.
Yield
,
rustic
mountaineer
!
They
fight
and
exit
.
Enter
Belarius
as
Morgan
and
Arviragus
as
Cadwal
.
,
as
Morgan
No
company’s
abroad
?
,
as
Cadwal
None
in
the
world
.
You
did
mistake
him
sure
.
,
as
Morgan
I
cannot
tell
.
Long
is
it
since
I
saw
him
,
But
time
hath
nothing
blurred
those
lines
of
favor
Which
then
he
wore
.
The
snatches
in
his
voice
And
burst
of
speaking
were
as
his
.
I
am
absolute
’Twas
very
Cloten
.
,
as
Cadwal
In
this
place
we
left
them
.
I
wish
my
brother
make
good
time
with
him
,
You
say
he
is
so
fell
.
ACT 4. SC. 2
,
as
Morgan
Being
scarce
made
up
,
I
mean
to
man
,
he
had
not
apprehension
Of
roaring
terrors
;
for
defect
of
judgment
Is
oft
the
cause
of
fear
.
Enter
Guiderius
as
Polydor
,
carrying
Cloten’s
head
.
But
see
,
thy
brother
.
,
as
Polydor
This
Cloten
was
a
fool
,
an
empty
purse
;
There
was
no
money
in
’t
.
Not
Hercules
Could
have
knocked
out
his
brains
,
for
he
had
none
.
Yet
I
not
doing
this
,
the
fool
had
borne
My
head
as
I
do
his
.
,
as
Morgan
What
hast
thou
done
?
,
as
Polydor
I
am
perfect
what
:
cut
off
one
Cloten’s
head
,
Son
to
the
Queen
,
after
his
own
report
,
Who
called
me
traitor
mountaineer
,
and
swore
With
his
own
single
hand
he’d
take
us
in
,
Displace
our
heads
where
,
thank
the
gods
,
they
grow
,
And
set
them
on
Lud’s
Town
.
,
as
Morgan
We
are
all
undone
.
,
as
Polydor
Why
,
worthy
father
,
what
have
we
to
lose
But
that
he
swore
to
take
,
our
lives
?
The
law
Protects
not
us
.
Then
why
should
we
be
tender
To
let
an
arrogant
piece
of
flesh
threat
us
,
Play
judge
and
executioner
all
himself
,
For
we
do
fear
the
law
?
What
company
Discover
you
abroad
?
,
as
Morgan
No
single
soul
Can
we
set
eye
on
,
but
in
all
safe
reason
He
must
have
some
attendants
.
Though
his
humor
Was
nothing
but
mutation
—
ay
,
and
that
From
one
bad
thing
to
worse
—
not
frenzy
,
ACT 4. SC. 2
Not
absolute
madness
could
so
far
have
raved
To
bring
him
here
alone
.
Although
perhaps
It
may
be
heard
at
court
that
such
as
we
Cave
here
,
hunt
here
,
are
outlaws
,
and
in
time
May
make
some
stronger
head
,
the
which
he
hearing
—
As
it
is
like
him
—
might
break
out
and
swear
He’d
fetch
us
in
,
yet
is
’t
not
probable
To
come
alone
,
either
he
so
undertaking
Or
they
so
suffering
.
Then
on
good
ground
we
fear
,
If
we
do
fear
this
body
hath
a
tail
More
perilous
than
the
head
.
,
as
Cadwal
Let
ord’nance
Come
as
the
gods
foresay
it
.
Howsoe’er
,
My
brother
hath
done
well
.
,
as
Morgan
I
had
no
mind
To
hunt
this
day
.
The
boy
Fidele’s
sickness
Did
make
my
way
long
forth
.
,
as
Polydor
With
his
own
sword
,
Which
he
did
wave
against
my
throat
,
I
have
ta’en
His
head
from
him
.
I’ll
throw
’t
into
the
creek
Behind
our
rock
,
and
let
it
to
the
sea
And
tell
the
fishes
he’s
the
Queen’s
son
,
Cloten
.
That’s
all
I
reck
.
He
exits
.
,
as
Morgan
I
fear
’twill
be
revenged
.
Would
,
Polydor
,
thou
hadst
not
done
’t
,
though
valor
Becomes
thee
well
enough
.
,
as
Cadwal
Would
I
had
done
’t
,
So
the
revenge
alone
pursued
me
.
Polydor
,
I
love
thee
brotherly
,
but
envy
much
Thou
hast
robbed
me
of
this
deed
.
I
would
revenges
That
possible
strength
might
meet
would
seek
us
through
And
put
us
to
our
answer
.
,
as
Morgan
Well
,
’tis
done
.
We’ll
hunt
no
more
today
,
nor
seek
for
danger
ACT 4. SC. 2
Where
there’s
no
profit
.
I
prithee
,
to
our
rock
.
You
and
Fidele
play
the
cooks
.
I’ll
stay
Till
hasty
Polydor
return
,
and
bring
him
To
dinner
presently
.
,
as
Cadwal
Poor
sick
Fidele
.
I’ll
willingly
to
him
.
To
gain
his
color
I’d
let
a
parish
of
such
Clotens
blood
,
And
praise
myself
for
charity
.
He
exits
.
O
thou
goddess
,
Thou
divine
Nature
,
thou
thyself
thou
blazon’st
In
these
two
princely
boys
!
They
are
as
gentle
As
zephyrs
blowing
below
the
violet
,
Not
wagging
his
sweet
head
;
and
yet
as
rough
,
Their
royal
blood
enchafed
,
as
the
rud’st
wind
That
by
the
top
doth
take
the
mountain
pine
And
make
him
stoop
to
th’
vale
.
’Tis
wonder
That
an
invisible
instinct
should
frame
them
To
royalty
unlearned
,
honor
untaught
,
Civility
not
seen
from
other
,
valor
That
wildly
grows
in
them
but
yields
a
crop
As
if
it
had
been
sowed
.
Yet
still
it’s
strange
What
Cloten’s
being
here
to
us
portends
,
Or
what
his
death
will
bring
us
.
Enter
Guiderius
as
Polydor
.
,
as
Polydor
Where’s
my
brother
?
I
have
sent
Cloten’s
clotpole
down
the
stream
In
embassy
to
his
mother
.
His
body’s
hostage
For
his
return
.
Solemn
music
.
,
as
Morgan
My
ingenious
instrument
!
Hark
,
Polydor
,
it
sounds
!
But
what
occasion
Hath
Cadwal
now
to
give
it
motion
?
Hark
.
,
as
Polydor
Is
he
at
home
?
,
as
Morgan
He
went
hence
even
now
.
ACT 4. SC. 2
,
as
Polydor
What
does
he
mean
?
Since
death
of
my
dear’st
mother
It
did
not
speak
before
.
All
solemn
things
Should
answer
solemn
accidents
.
The
matter
?
Triumphs
for
nothing
and
lamenting
toys
Is
jollity
for
apes
and
grief
for
boys
.
Is
Cadwal
mad
?
Enter
Arviragus
as
Cadwal
,
with
Imogen
as
dead
,
bearing
her
in
his
arms
.
,
as
Morgan
Look
,
here
he
comes
,
And
brings
the
dire
occasion
in
his
arms
Of
what
we
blame
him
for
.
,
as
Cadwal
The
bird
is
dead
That
we
have
made
so
much
on
.
I
had
rather
Have
skipped
from
sixteen
years
of
age
to
sixty
,
To
have
turned
my
leaping
time
into
a
crutch
,
Than
have
seen
this
.
,
as
Polydor
O
sweetest
,
fairest
lily
!
My
brother
wears
thee
not
the
one
half
so
well
As
when
thou
grew’st
thyself
.
,
as
Morgan
O
melancholy
,
Whoever
yet
could
sound
thy
bottom
,
find
The
ooze
,
to
show
what
coast
thy
sluggish
crare
Might
eas’liest
harbor
in
?
—
Thou
blessèd
thing
,
Jove
knows
what
man
thou
mightst
have
made
;
but
I
,
Thou
died’st
,
a
most
rare
boy
,
of
melancholy
.
—
How
found
you
him
?
,
as
Cadwal
Stark
,
as
you
see
;
Thus
smiling
,
as
some
fly
had
tickled
slumber
,
Not
as
Death’s
dart
being
laughed
at
;
his
right
cheek
Reposing
on
a
cushion
.
,
as
Polydor
Where
?
,
as
Cadwal
O’
th’
floor
,
His
arms
thus
leagued
.
I
thought
he
slept
,
and
put
ACT 4. SC. 2
My
clouted
brogues
from
off
my
feet
,
whose
rudeness
Answered
my
steps
too
loud
.
,
as
Polydor
Why
,
he
but
sleeps
.
If
he
be
gone
,
he’ll
make
his
grave
a
bed
;
With
female
fairies
will
his
tomb
be
haunted
—
And
worms
will
not
come
to
thee
.
,
as
Cadwal
With
fairest
flowers
,
Whilst
summer
lasts
and
I
live
here
,
Fidele
,
I’ll
sweeten
thy
sad
grave
.
Thou
shalt
not
lack
The
flower
that’s
like
thy
face
,
pale
primrose
;
nor
The
azured
harebell
,
like
thy
veins
;
no
,
nor
The
leaf
of
eglantine
whom
,
not
to
slander
,
Out-sweetened
not
thy
breath
.
The
ruddock
would
With
charitable
bill
—
O
bill
,
sore
shaming
Those
rich-left
heirs
that
let
their
fathers
lie
Without
a
monument
—
bring
thee
all
this
,
Yea
,
and
furred
moss
besides
,
when
flowers
are
none
To
winter-ground
thy
corse
.
,
as
Polydor
Prithee
,
have
done
,
And
do
not
play
in
wench-like
words
with
that
Which
is
so
serious
.
Let
us
bury
him
And
not
protract
with
admiration
what
Is
now
due
debt
.
To
th’
grave
.
,
as
Cadwal
Say
,
where
shall
’s
lay
him
?
,
as
Polydor
By
good
Euriphile
,
our
mother
.
,
as
Cadwal
Be
’t
so
.
And
let
us
,
Polydor
,
though
now
our
voices
Have
got
the
mannish
crack
,
sing
him
to
th’
ground
As
once
to
our
mother
;
use
like
note
and
words
,
Save
that
Euriphile
must
be
Fidele
.
,
as
Polydor
Cadwal
,
I
cannot
sing
.
I’ll
weep
,
and
word
it
with
thee
,
For
notes
of
sorrow
,
out
of
tune
,
are
worse
Than
priests
and
fanes
that
lie
.
,
as
Cadwal
We’ll
speak
it
then
.
ACT 4. SC. 2
,
as
Morgan
Great
griefs
,
I
see
,
med’cine
the
less
,
for
Cloten
Is
quite
forgot
.
He
was
a
queen’s
son
,
boys
,
And
though
he
came
our
enemy
,
remember
He
was
paid
for
that
.
Though
mean
and
mighty
,
Rotting
together
,
have
one
dust
,
yet
reverence
,
That
angel
of
the
world
,
doth
make
distinction
Of
place
’tween
high
and
low
.
Our
foe
was
princely
,
And
though
you
took
his
life
as
being
our
foe
,
Yet
bury
him
as
a
prince
.
,
as
Polydor
,
to
Morgan
Pray
you
fetch
him
hither
.
Thersites’
body
is
as
good
as
Ajax’
When
neither
are
alive
.
,
as
Cadwal
,
to
Morgan
If
you’ll
go
fetch
him
,
We’ll
say
our
song
the
whilst
.
—
Brother
,
begin
.
Belarius
exits
.
,
as
Polydor
Nay
,
Cadwal
,
we
must
lay
his
head
to
th’
east
;
My
father
hath
a
reason
for
’t
.
,
as
Cadwal
’Tis
true
.
,
as
Polydor
Come
on
then
,
and
remove
him
.
They
move
Imogen’s
body
.
,
as
Cadwal
So
,
begin
.
Song
.
,
as
Polydor
Fear
no
more
the
heat
o’
th’
sun
,
Nor
the
furious
winter’s
rages
;
Thou
thy
worldly
task
hast
done
,
Home
art
gone
and
ta’en
thy
wages
.
Golden
lads
and
girls
all
must
,
As
chimney-sweepers
,
come
to
dust
.
,
as
Cadwal
Fear
no
more
the
frown
o’
th’
great
;
Thou
art
past
the
tyrant’s
stroke
.
ACT 4. SC. 2
Care
no
more
to
clothe
and
eat
;
To
thee
the
reed
is
as
the
oak
.
The
scepter
,
learning
,
physic
must
All
follow
this
and
come
to
dust
.
,
as
Polydor
Fear
no
more
the
lightning
flash
.
,
as
Cadwal
Nor
th’
all-dreaded
thunderstone
.
,
as
Polydor
Fear
not
slander
,
censure
rash
;
,
as
Cadwal
Thou
hast
finished
joy
and
moan
.
All
lovers
young
,
all
lovers
must
Consign
to
thee
and
come
to
dust
.
,
as
Polydor
No
exorciser
harm
thee
,
,
as
Cadwal
Nor
no
witchcraft
charm
thee
.
,
as
Polydor
Ghost
unlaid
forbear
thee
.
,
as
Cadwal
Nothing
ill
come
near
thee
.
Quiet
consummation
have
,
And
renownèd
be
thy
grave
.
Enter
Belarius
as
Morgan
,
with
the
body
of
Cloten
.
,
as
Polydor
We
have
done
our
obsequies
.
Come
,
lay
him
down
.
Cloten’s
body
is
placed
by
Imogen’s
.
,
as
Morgan
Here’s
a
few
flowers
,
but
’bout
midnight
more
.
The
herbs
that
have
on
them
cold
dew
o’
th’
night
Are
strewings
fitt’st
for
graves
.
Upon
their
faces
.
—
You
were
as
flowers
,
now
withered
.
Even
so
ACT 4. SC. 2
These
herblets
shall
,
which
we
upon
you
strew
.
—
Come
on
,
away
;
apart
upon
our
knees
.
The
ground
that
gave
them
first
has
them
again
.
Their
pleasures
here
are
past
;
so
is
their
pain
.
They
exit
.
Imogen
awakes
.
Yes
,
sir
,
to
Milford
Haven
.
Which
is
the
way
?
I
thank
you
.
By
yond
bush
?
Pray
,
how
far
thither
?
Ods
pittikins
,
can
it
be
six
mile
yet
?
I
have
gone
all
night
.
Faith
,
I’ll
lie
down
and
sleep
.
She
sees
Cloten’s
headless
body
.
But
soft
!
No
bedfellow
?
O
gods
and
goddesses
!
These
flowers
are
like
the
pleasures
of
the
world
,
This
bloody
man
the
care
on
’t
.
I
hope
I
dream
,
For
so
I
thought
I
was
a
cave-keeper
And
cook
to
honest
creatures
.
But
’tis
not
so
.
’Twas
but
a
bolt
of
nothing
,
shot
at
nothing
,
Which
the
brain
makes
of
fumes
.
Our
very
eyes
Are
sometimes
like
our
judgments
,
blind
.
Good
faith
,
I
tremble
still
with
fear
;
but
if
there
be
Yet
left
in
heaven
as
small
a
drop
of
pity
As
a
wren’s
eye
,
feared
gods
,
a
part
of
it
!
The
dream’s
here
still
.
Even
when
I
wake
it
is
Without
me
as
within
me
,
not
imagined
,
felt
.
A
headless
man
?
The
garments
of
Posthumus
?
I
know
the
shape
of
’s
leg
.
This
is
his
hand
,
His
foot
Mercurial
,
his
Martial
thigh
,
The
brawns
of
Hercules
;
but
his
Jovial
face
—
Murder
in
heaven
!
How
?
’Tis
gone
.
Pisanio
,
All
curses
madded
Hecuba
gave
the
Greeks
,
And
mine
to
boot
,
be
darted
on
thee
!
Thou
,
Conspired
with
that
irregulous
devil
Cloten
,
Hath
here
cut
off
my
lord
.
To
write
and
read
ACT 4. SC. 2
Be
henceforth
treacherous
.
Damned
Pisanio
Hath
with
his
forgèd
letters
—
damned
Pisanio
—
From
this
most
bravest
vessel
of
the
world
Struck
the
maintop
.
O
Posthumus
,
alas
,
Where
is
thy
head
?
Where’s
that
?
Ay
me
,
where’s
that
?
Pisanio
might
have
killed
thee
at
the
heart
And
left
this
head
on
.
How
should
this
be
?
Pisanio
?
’Tis
he
and
Cloten
.
Malice
and
lucre
in
them
Have
laid
this
woe
here
.
O
,
’tis
pregnant
,
pregnant
!
The
drug
he
gave
me
,
which
he
said
was
precious
And
cordial
to
me
,
have
I
not
found
it
Murd’rous
to
th’
senses
?
That
confirms
it
home
.
This
is
Pisanio’s
deed
,
and
Cloten
.
O
,
Give
color
to
my
pale
cheek
with
thy
blood
,
That
we
the
horrider
may
seem
to
those
Which
chance
to
find
us
.
O
my
lord
!
My
lord
!
Enter
Lucius
,
Captains
,
Soldiers
,
and
a
Soothsayer
.
To
them
the
legions
garrisoned
in
Gallia
,
After
your
will
,
have
crossed
the
sea
,
attending
You
here
at
Milford
Haven
with
your
ships
.
They
are
here
in
readiness
.
But
what
from
Rome
?
The
Senate
hath
stirred
up
the
confiners
And
gentlemen
of
Italy
,
most
willing
spirits
That
promise
noble
service
,
and
they
come
Under
the
conduct
of
bold
Iachimo
,
Siena’s
brother
.
When
expect
you
them
?
With
the
next
benefit
o’
th’
wind
.
This
forwardness
Makes
our
hopes
fair
.
Command
our
present
numbers
ACT 4. SC. 2
Be
mustered
;
bid
the
Captains
look
to
’t
.
—
Now
,
sir
,
What
have
you
dreamed
of
late
of
this
war’s
purpose
?
Last
night
the
very
gods
showed
me
a
vision
—
I
fast
and
prayed
for
their
intelligence
—
thus
:
I
saw
Jove’s
bird
,
the
Roman
eagle
,
winged
From
the
spongy
south
to
this
part
of
the
west
,
There
vanished
in
the
sunbeams
,
which
portends
—
Unless
my
sins
abuse
my
divination
—
Success
to
th’
Roman
host
.
Dream
often
so
,
And
never
false
.
—
Soft
,
ho
,
what
trunk
is
here
Without
his
top
?
The
ruin
speaks
that
sometime
It
was
a
worthy
building
.
How
,
a
page
?
Or
dead
or
sleeping
on
him
?
But
dead
rather
,
For
nature
doth
abhor
to
make
his
bed
With
the
defunct
or
sleep
upon
the
dead
.
Let’s
see
the
boy’s
face
.
He’s
alive
,
my
lord
.
He’ll
then
instruct
us
of
this
body
.
—
Young
one
,
Inform
us
of
thy
fortunes
,
for
it
seems
They
crave
to
be
demanded
.
Who
is
this
Thou
mak’st
thy
bloody
pillow
?
Or
who
was
he
That
,
otherwise
than
noble
nature
did
,
Hath
altered
that
good
picture
?
What’s
thy
interest
In
this
sad
wrack
?
How
came
’t
?
Who
is
’t
?
What
art
thou
?
,
as
Fidele
I
am
nothing
;
or
if
not
,
Nothing
to
be
were
better
.
This
was
my
master
,
A
very
valiant
Briton
,
and
a
good
,
That
here
by
mountaineers
lies
slain
.
Alas
,
There
is
no
more
such
masters
.
I
may
wander
From
east
to
occident
,
cry
out
for
service
,
Try
many
,
all
good
,
serve
truly
,
never
Find
such
another
master
.
ACT 4. SC. 2
’Lack
,
good
youth
,
Thou
mov’st
no
less
with
thy
complaining
than
Thy
master
in
bleeding
.
Say
his
name
,
good
friend
.
,
as
Fidele
Richard
du
Champ
.
Aside
.
If
I
do
lie
and
do
No
harm
by
it
,
though
the
gods
hear
,
I
hope
They’ll
pardon
it
.
—
Say
you
,
sir
?
Thy
name
?
,
as
Fidele
Fidele
,
sir
.
Thou
dost
approve
thyself
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
mastered
,
but
be
sure
No
less
beloved
.
The
Roman
Emperor’s
letters
Sent
by
a
consul
to
me
should
not
sooner
Than
thine
own
worth
prefer
thee
.
Go
with
me
.
,
as
Fidele
I’ll
follow
,
sir
.
But
first
,
an
’t
please
the
gods
,
I’ll
hide
my
master
from
the
flies
as
deep
As
these
poor
pickaxes
can
dig
;
and
when
With
wild-wood
leaves
and
weeds
I
ha’
strewed
his
grave
And
on
it
said
a
century
of
prayers
,
Such
as
I
can
,
twice
o’er
,
I’ll
weep
and
sigh
,
And
leaving
so
his
service
,
follow
you
,
So
please
you
entertain
me
.
Ay
,
good
youth
,
And
rather
father
thee
than
master
thee
.
—
My
friends
,
The
boy
hath
taught
us
manly
duties
.
Let
us
Find
out
the
prettiest
daisied
plot
we
can
,
And
make
him
with
our
pikes
and
partisans
A
grave
.
Come
,
arm
him
.
—
Boy
,
he’s
preferred
By
thee
to
us
,
and
he
shall
be
interred
As
soldiers
can
.
Be
cheerful
;
wipe
thine
eyes
.
Some
falls
are
means
the
happier
to
arise
.
They
exit
,
the
Soldiers
carrying
Cloten’s
body
.
ACT 4. SC. 3
Scene
3
Enter
Cymbeline
,
Lords
,
Pisanio
,
and
Attendants
.
Again
,
and
bring
me
word
how
’tis
with
her
.
An
Attendant
exits
.
A
fever
,
with
the
absence
of
her
son
;
A
madness
,
of
which
her
life’s
in
danger
.
Heavens
,
How
deeply
you
at
once
do
touch
me
!
Imogen
,
The
great
part
of
my
comfort
,
gone
;
my
queen
Upon
a
desperate
bed
,
and
in
a
time
When
fearful
wars
point
at
me
;
her
son
gone
,
So
needful
for
this
present
.
It
strikes
me
past
The
hope
of
comfort
.
—
But
for
thee
,
fellow
,
Who
needs
must
know
of
her
departure
and
Dost
seem
so
ignorant
,
we’ll
enforce
it
from
thee
By
a
sharp
torture
.
Sir
,
my
life
is
yours
.
I
humbly
set
it
at
your
will
.
But
for
my
mistress
,
I
nothing
know
where
she
remains
,
why
gone
,
Nor
when
she
purposes
return
.
Beseech
your
Highness
,
Hold
me
your
loyal
servant
.
Good
my
liege
,
The
day
that
she
was
missing
,
he
was
here
.
I
dare
be
bound
he’s
true
and
shall
perform
All
parts
of
his
subjection
loyally
.
For
Cloten
,
There
wants
no
diligence
in
seeking
him
,
And
will
no
doubt
be
found
.
The
time
is
troublesome
.
To
Pisanio
.
We’ll
slip
you
for
a
season
,
but
our
jealousy
Does
yet
depend
.
So
please
your
Majesty
,
The
Roman
legions
,
all
from
Gallia
drawn
,
Are
landed
on
your
coast
with
a
supply
Of
Roman
gentlemen
by
the
Senate
sent
.
ACT 4. SC. 4
Now
for
the
counsel
of
my
son
and
queen
!
I
am
amazed
with
matter
.
Good
my
liege
,
Your
preparation
can
affront
no
less
Than
what
you
hear
of
.
Come
more
,
for
more
you’re
ready
.
The
want
is
but
to
put
those
powers
in
motion
That
long
to
move
.
I
thank
you
.
Let’s
withdraw
,
And
meet
the
time
as
it
seeks
us
.
We
fear
not
What
can
from
Italy
annoy
us
,
but
We
grieve
at
chances
here
.
Away
.
They
exit
.
Pisanio
remains
.
I
heard
no
letter
from
my
master
since
I
wrote
him
Imogen
was
slain
.
’Tis
strange
.
Nor
hear
I
from
my
mistress
,
who
did
promise
To
yield
me
often
tidings
.
Neither
know
I
What
is
betid
to
Cloten
,
but
remain
Perplexed
in
all
.
The
heavens
still
must
work
.
Wherein
I
am
false
I
am
honest
;
not
true
,
to
be
true
.
These
present
wars
shall
find
I
love
my
country
,
Even
to
the
note
o’
th’
King
,
or
I’ll
fall
in
them
.
All
other
doubts
,
by
time
let
them
be
cleared
.
Fortune
brings
in
some
boats
that
are
not
steered
.
He
exits
.
Scene
4
Enter
Belarius
as
Morgan
,
Guiderius
as
Polydor
,
and
Arviragus
as
Cadwal
.
,
as
Polydor
The
noise
is
round
about
us
.
,
as
Morgan
Let
us
from
it
.
ACT 4. SC. 4
,
as
Cadwal
What
pleasure
,
sir
,
find
we
in
life
,
to
lock
it
From
action
and
adventure
?
,
as
Polydor
Nay
,
what
hope
Have
we
in
hiding
us
?
This
way
the
Romans
Must
or
for
Britons
slay
us
or
receive
us
For
barbarous
and
unnatural
revolts
During
their
use
,
and
slay
us
after
.
,
as
Morgan
Sons
,
We’ll
higher
to
the
mountains
,
there
secure
us
.
To
the
King’s
party
there’s
no
going
.
Newness
Of
Cloten’s
death
—
we
being
not
known
,
not
mustered
Among
the
bands
—
may
drive
us
to
a
render
Where
we
have
lived
,
and
so
extort
from
’s
that
Which
we
have
done
,
whose
answer
would
be
death
Drawn
on
with
torture
.
,
as
Polydor
This
is
,
sir
,
a
doubt
In
such
a
time
nothing
becoming
you
Nor
satisfying
us
.
,
as
Cadwal
It
is
not
likely
That
when
they
hear
the
Roman
horses
neigh
,
Behold
their
quartered
fires
,
have
both
their
eyes
And
ears
so
cloyed
importantly
as
now
,
That
they
will
waste
their
time
upon
our
note
,
To
know
from
whence
we
are
.
,
as
Morgan
O
,
I
am
known
Of
many
in
the
army
.
Many
years
,
Though
Cloten
then
but
young
,
you
see
not
wore
him
From
my
remembrance
.
And
besides
,
the
King
Hath
not
deserved
my
service
nor
your
loves
,
Who
find
in
my
exile
the
want
of
breeding
,
The
certainty
of
this
hard
life
,
aye
hopeless
To
have
the
courtesy
your
cradle
promised
,
But
to
be
still
hot
summer’s
tanlings
and
The
shrinking
slaves
of
winter
.
,
as
Polydor
Than
be
so
ACT 4. SC. 4
Better
to
cease
to
be
.
Pray
,
sir
,
to
th’
army
.
I
and
my
brother
are
not
known
;
yourself
So
out
of
thought
,
and
thereto
so
o’ergrown
,
Cannot
be
questioned
.
,
as
Cadwal
By
this
sun
that
shines
,
I’ll
thither
.
What
thing
is
’t
that
I
never
Did
see
man
die
,
scarce
ever
looked
on
blood
But
that
of
coward
hares
,
hot
goats
,
and
venison
!
Never
bestrid
a
horse
save
one
that
had
A
rider
like
myself
,
who
ne’er
wore
rowel
Nor
iron
on
his
heel
!
I
am
ashamed
To
look
upon
the
holy
sun
,
to
have
The
benefit
of
his
blest
beams
,
remaining
So
long
a
poor
unknown
.
,
as
Polydor
By
heavens
,
I’ll
go
!
If
you
will
bless
me
,
sir
,
and
give
me
leave
,
I’ll
take
the
better
care
,
but
if
you
will
not
,
The
hazard
therefore
due
fall
on
me
by
The
hands
of
Romans
.
,
as
Cadwal
So
say
I
.
Amen
.
,
as
Morgan
No
reason
I
—
since
of
your
lives
you
set
So
slight
a
valuation
—
should
reserve
My
cracked
one
to
more
care
.
Have
with
you
,
boys
!
If
in
your
country
wars
you
chance
to
die
,
That
is
my
bed
,
too
,
lads
,
and
there
I’ll
lie
.
Lead
,
lead
.
Aside
.
The
time
seems
long
;
their
blood
thinks
scorn
Till
it
fly
out
and
show
them
princes
born
.
They
exit
.
ACT
5
Scene
1
Enter
Posthumus
alone
,
wearing
Roman
garments
and
carrying
a
bloody
cloth
.
Yea
,
bloody
cloth
,
I’ll
keep
thee
,
for
I
wished
Thou
shouldst
be
colored
thus
.
You
married
ones
,
If
each
of
you
should
take
this
course
,
how
many
Must
murder
wives
much
better
than
themselves
For
wrying
but
a
little
!
O
Pisanio
,
Every
good
servant
does
not
all
commands
;
No
bond
but
to
do
just
ones
.
Gods
,
if
you
Should
have
ta’en
vengeance
on
my
faults
,
I
never
Had
lived
to
put
on
this
;
so
had
you
saved
The
noble
Imogen
to
repent
,
and
struck
Me
,
wretch
more
worth
your
vengeance
.
But
,
alack
,
You
snatch
some
hence
for
little
faults
;
that’s
love
,
To
have
them
fall
no
more
;
you
some
permit
To
second
ills
with
ills
,
each
elder
worse
,
And
make
them
dread
it
,
to
the
doers’
thrift
.
But
Imogen
is
your
own
.
Do
your
best
wills
,
And
make
me
blest
to
obey
.
I
am
brought
hither
Among
th’
Italian
gentry
,
and
to
fight
Against
my
lady’s
kingdom
.
’Tis
enough
That
,
Britain
,
I
have
killed
thy
mistress
.
Peace
,
I’ll
give
no
wound
to
thee
.
Therefore
,
good
heavens
,
ACT 5. SC. 2
Hear
patiently
my
purpose
.
I’ll
disrobe
me
Of
these
Italian
weeds
and
suit
myself
As
does
a
Briton
peasant
.
So
I’ll
fight
Against
the
part
I
come
with
;
so
I’ll
die
For
thee
,
O
Imogen
,
even
for
whom
my
life
Is
every
breath
a
death
.
And
thus
,
unknown
,
Pitied
nor
hated
,
to
the
face
of
peril
Myself
I’ll
dedicate
.
Let
me
make
men
know
More
valor
in
me
than
my
habits
show
.
Gods
,
put
the
strength
o’
th’
Leonati
in
me
.
To
shame
the
guise
o’
th’
world
,
I
will
begin
The
fashion
:
less
without
and
more
within
.
He
exits
.
Scene
2
Enter
Lucius
,
Iachimo
,
and
the
Roman
army
at
one
door
,
and
the
Briton
army
at
another
,
Leonatus
Posthumus
following
like
a
poor
soldier
.
They
march
over
and
go
out
.
Then
enter
again
,
in
skirmish
,
Iachimo
and
Posthumus
.
He
vanquisheth
and
disarmeth
Iachimo
,
and
then
leaves
him
.
The
heaviness
and
guilt
within
my
bosom
Takes
off
my
manhood
.
I
have
belied
a
lady
,
The
Princess
of
this
country
,
and
the
air
on
’t
Revengingly
enfeebles
me
;
or
could
this
carl
,
A
very
drudge
of
nature’s
,
have
subdued
me
In
my
profession
?
Knighthoods
and
honors
,
borne
As
I
wear
mine
,
are
titles
but
of
scorn
.
If
that
thy
gentry
,
Britain
,
go
before
This
lout
as
he
exceeds
our
lords
,
the
odds
Is
that
we
scarce
are
men
and
you
are
gods
.
He
exits
.
ACT 5. SC. 3
The
battle
continues
.
The
Britons
fly
;
Cymbeline
is
taken
.
Then
enter
,
to
his
rescue
,
Belarius
as
Morgan
,
Guiderius
as
Polydor
,
and
Arviragus
as
Cadwal
.
,
as
Morgan
Stand
,
stand
!
We
have
th’
advantage
of
the
ground
.
The
lane
is
guarded
.
Nothing
routs
us
but
The
villainy
of
our
fears
.
Stand
,
stand
,
and
fight
!
Enter
Posthumus
,
and
seconds
the
Britons
.
They
rescue
Cymbeline
and
exit
.
Then
enter
Lucius
,
Iachimo
,
and
Imogen
as
Fidele
.
,
to
Fidele
Away
,
boy
,
from
the
troops
,
and
save
thyself
,
For
friends
kill
friends
,
and
the
disorder’s
such
As
war
were
hoodwinked
.
’Tis
their
fresh
supplies
.
It
is
a
day
turned
strangely
.
Or
betimes
Let’s
reinforce
,
or
fly
.
They
exit
.
Scene
3
Enter
Posthumus
and
a
Briton
Lord
.
Cam’st
thou
from
where
they
made
the
stand
?
I
did
,
Though
you
,
it
seems
,
come
from
the
fliers
.
Ay
.
No
blame
be
to
you
,
sir
,
for
all
was
lost
,
But
that
the
heavens
fought
.
The
King
himself
ACT 5. SC. 3
Of
his
wings
destitute
,
the
army
broken
,
And
but
the
backs
of
Britons
seen
,
all
flying
Through
a
strait
lane
;
the
enemy
full-hearted
,
Lolling
the
tongue
with
slaught’ring
,
having
work
More
plentiful
than
tools
to
do
’t
,
struck
down
Some
mortally
,
some
slightly
touched
,
some
falling
Merely
through
fear
,
that
the
strait
pass
was
dammed
With
dead
men
hurt
behind
and
cowards
living
To
die
with
lengthened
shame
.
Where
was
this
lane
?
Close
by
the
battle
,
ditched
,
and
walled
with
turf
;
Which
gave
advantage
to
an
ancient
soldier
,
An
honest
one
,
I
warrant
,
who
deserved
So
long
a
breeding
as
his
white
beard
came
to
,
In
doing
this
for
’s
country
.
Athwart
the
lane
,
He
with
two
striplings
—
lads
more
like
to
run
The
country
base
than
to
commit
such
slaughter
,
With
faces
fit
for
masks
,
or
rather
fairer
Than
those
for
preservation
cased
or
shame
—
Made
good
the
passage
,
cried
to
those
that
fled
Our
Britain’s
harts
die
flying
,
not
our
men
.
To
darkness
fleet
souls
that
fly
backwards
.
Stand
,
Or
we
are
Romans
and
will
give
you
that
Like
beasts
which
you
shun
beastly
,
and
may
save
But
to
look
back
in
frown
.
Stand
,
stand
!
These
three
,
Three
thousand
confident
,
in
act
as
many
—
For
three
performers
are
the
file
when
all
The
rest
do
nothing
—
with
this
word
Stand
,
stand
,
Accommodated
by
the
place
,
more
charming
With
their
own
nobleness
,
which
could
have
turned
A
distaff
to
a
lance
,
gilded
pale
looks
,
Part
shame
,
part
spirit
renewed
;
that
some
,
turned
coward
But
by
example
—
O
,
a
sin
in
war
,
Damned
in
the
first
beginners
!
—
gan
to
look
ACT 5. SC. 3
The
way
that
they
did
and
to
grin
like
lions
Upon
the
pikes
o’
th’
hunters
.
Then
began
A
stop
i’
th’
chaser
,
a
retire
;
anon
A
rout
,
confusion
thick
.
Forthwith
they
fly
Chickens
the
way
which
they
stooped
eagles
;
slaves
The
strides
they
victors
made
;
and
now
our
cowards
,
Like
fragments
in
hard
voyages
,
became
The
life
o’
th’
need
.
Having
found
the
backdoor
open
Of
the
unguarded
hearts
,
heavens
,
how
they
wound
!
Some
slain
before
,
some
dying
,
some
their
friends
O’erborne
i’
th’
former
wave
,
ten
chased
by
one
,
Are
now
each
one
the
slaughterman
of
twenty
.
Those
that
would
die
or
ere
resist
are
grown
The
mortal
bugs
o’
th’
field
.
This
was
strange
chance
:
A
narrow
lane
,
an
old
man
,
and
two
boys
.
Nay
,
do
not
wonder
at
it
.
You
are
made
Rather
to
wonder
at
the
things
you
hear
Than
to
work
any
.
Will
you
rhyme
upon
’t
And
vent
it
for
a
mock’ry
?
Here
is
one
:
Two
boys
,
an
old
man
twice
a
boy
,
a
lane
,
Preserved
the
Britons
,
was
the
Romans’
bane
.
Nay
,
be
not
angry
,
sir
.
’Lack
,
to
what
end
?
Who
dares
not
stand
his
foe
,
I’ll
be
his
friend
;
For
if
he’ll
do
as
he
is
made
to
do
,
I
know
he’ll
quickly
fly
my
friendship
too
.
You
have
put
me
into
rhyme
.
Farewell
.
You’re
angry
.
He
exits
.
Still
going
?
This
is
a
lord
!
O
noble
misery
,
To
be
i’
th’
field
and
ask
What
news
?
of
me
!
ACT 5. SC. 3
Today
how
many
would
have
given
their
honors
To
have
saved
their
carcasses
,
took
heel
to
do
’t
,
And
yet
died
too
!
I
,
in
mine
own
woe
charmed
,
Could
not
find
Death
where
I
did
hear
him
groan
,
Nor
feel
him
where
he
struck
.
Being
an
ugly
monster
,
’Tis
strange
he
hides
him
in
fresh
cups
,
soft
beds
,
Sweet
words
,
or
hath
more
ministers
than
we
That
draw
his
knives
i’
th’
war
.
Well
,
I
will
find
him
;
For
being
now
a
favorer
to
the
Briton
,
No
more
a
Briton
.
(
He
removes
his
peasant
costume
.
)
I
have
resumed
again
The
part
I
came
in
.
Fight
I
will
no
more
,
But
yield
me
to
the
veriest
hind
that
shall
Once
touch
my
shoulder
.
Great
the
slaughter
is
Here
made
by
th’
Roman
;
great
the
answer
be
Britons
must
take
.
For
me
,
my
ransom’s
death
.
On
either
side
I
come
to
spend
my
breath
,
Which
neither
here
I’ll
keep
nor
bear
again
,
But
end
it
by
some
means
for
Imogen
.
Enter
two
Briton
Captains
,
and
Soldiers
.
Great
Jupiter
be
praised
,
Lucius
is
taken
!
’Tis
thought
the
old
man
and
his
sons
were
angels
.
There
was
a
fourth
man
in
a
silly
habit
That
gave
th’
affront
with
them
.
So
’tis
reported
,
But
none
of
’em
can
be
found
.
—
Stand
.
Who’s
there
?
A
Roman
,
Who
had
not
now
been
drooping
here
if
seconds
Had
answered
him
.
Lay
hands
on
him
.
A
dog
,
A
leg
of
Rome
shall
not
return
to
tell
What
crows
have
pecked
them
here
.
He
brags
his
service
As
if
he
were
of
note
.
Bring
him
to
th’
King
.
ACT 5. SC. 4
Enter
Cymbeline
,
Attendants
,
Belarius
as
Morgan
,
Guiderius
as
Polydor
,
Arviragus
as
Cadwal
,
Pisanio
,
Soldiers
,
and
Roman
captives
.
The
Captains
present
Posthumus
to
Cymbeline
,
who
delivers
him
over
to
a
Jailer
.
They
exit
.
Scene
4
Enter
Posthumus
in
chains
,
and
two
Jailers
.
You
shall
not
now
be
stol’n
;
you
have
locks
upon
you
.
So
graze
as
you
find
pasture
.
Ay
,
or
a
stomach
.
Jailers
exit
.
Most
welcome
,
bondage
,
for
thou
art
a
way
,
I
think
,
to
liberty
.
Yet
am
I
better
Than
one
that’s
sick
o’
th’
gout
,
since
he
had
rather
Groan
so
in
perpetuity
than
be
cured
By
th’
sure
physician
,
Death
,
who
is
the
key
T’
unbar
these
locks
.
My
conscience
,
thou
art
fettered
More
than
my
shanks
and
wrists
.
You
good
gods
,
give
me
The
penitent
instrument
to
pick
that
bolt
,
Then
free
forever
.
Is
’t
enough
I
am
sorry
?
So
children
temporal
fathers
do
appease
;
Gods
are
more
full
of
mercy
.
Must
I
repent
,
I
cannot
do
it
better
than
in
gyves
,
Desired
more
than
constrained
.
To
satisfy
,
If
of
my
freedom
’tis
the
main
part
,
take
No
stricter
render
of
me
than
my
all
.
I
know
you
are
more
clement
than
vile
men
,
Who
of
their
broken
debtors
take
a
third
,
A
sixth
,
a
tenth
,
letting
them
thrive
again
ACT 5. SC. 4
On
their
abatement
.
That’s
not
my
desire
.
For
Imogen’s
dear
life
take
mine
;
and
though
’Tis
not
so
dear
,
yet
’tis
a
life
;
you
coined
it
.
’Tween
man
and
man
they
weigh
not
every
stamp
;
Though
light
,
take
pieces
for
the
figure’s
sake
;
You
rather
mine
,
being
yours
.
And
so
,
great
powers
,
If
you
will
take
this
audit
,
take
this
life
And
cancel
these
cold
bonds
.
O
Imogen
,
I’ll
speak
to
thee
in
silence
.
He
lies
down
and
sleeps
.
Solemn
music
.
Enter
,
as
in
an
apparition
,
Sicilius
Leonatus
,
father
to
Posthumus
,
an
old
man
attired
like
a
warrior
;
leading
in
his
hand
an
ancient
matron
,
his
wife
and
mother
to
Posthumus
,
with
music
before
them
.
Then
,
after
other
music
,
follows
the
two
young
Leonati
,
brothers
to
Posthumus
,
with
wounds
as
they
died
in
the
wars
.
They
circle
Posthumus
round
as
he
lies
sleeping
.
No
more
,
thou
Thunder-master
,
show
Thy
spite
on
mortal
flies
.
With
Mars
fall
out
,
with
Juno
chide
,
That
thy
adulteries
Rates
and
revenges
.
Hath
my
poor
boy
done
aught
but
well
,
Whose
face
I
never
saw
?
I
died
whilst
in
the
womb
he
stayed
,
Attending
nature’s
law
;
Whose
father
then
—
as
men
report
Thou
orphans’
father
art
—
Thou
shouldst
have
been
,
and
shielded
him
From
this
earth-vexing
smart
.
Lucina
lent
not
me
her
aid
,
But
took
me
in
my
throes
,
ACT 5. SC. 4
That
from
me
was
Posthumus
ripped
,
Came
crying
’mongst
his
foes
,
A
thing
of
pity
.
Great
Nature
,
like
his
ancestry
,
Molded
the
stuff
so
fair
That
he
deserved
the
praise
o’
th’
world
As
great
Sicilius’
heir
.
When
once
he
was
mature
for
man
,
In
Britain
where
was
he
That
could
stand
up
his
parallel
Or
fruitful
object
be
In
eye
of
Imogen
,
that
best
Could
deem
his
dignity
?
With
marriage
wherefore
was
he
mocked
,
To
be
exiled
and
thrown
From
Leonati
seat
,
and
cast
From
her
,
his
dearest
one
,
Sweet
Imogen
?
Why
did
you
suffer
Iachimo
,
Slight
thing
of
Italy
,
To
taint
his
nobler
heart
and
brain
With
needless
jealousy
,
And
to
become
the
geck
and
scorn
O’
th’
other’s
villainy
?
For
this
,
from
stiller
seats
we
came
,
Our
parents
and
us
twain
,
That
striking
in
our
country’s
cause
Fell
bravely
and
were
slain
,
Our
fealty
and
Tenantius’
right
With
honor
to
maintain
.
ACT 5. SC. 4
Like
hardiment
Posthumus
hath
To
Cymbeline
performed
.
Then
,
Jupiter
,
thou
king
of
gods
,
Why
hast
thou
thus
adjourned
The
graces
for
his
merits
due
,
Being
all
to
dolors
turned
?
Thy
crystal
window
ope
;
look
out
.
No
longer
exercise
Upon
a
valiant
race
thy
harsh
And
potent
injuries
.
Since
,
Jupiter
,
our
son
is
good
,
Take
off
his
miseries
.
Peep
through
thy
marble
mansion
.
Help
,
Or
we
poor
ghosts
will
cry
To
th’
shining
synod
of
the
rest
Against
thy
deity
.
Help
,
Jupiter
,
or
we
appeal
And
from
thy
justice
fly
.
Jupiter
descends
in
thunder
and
lightning
,
sitting
upon
an
eagle
.
He
throws
a
thunderbolt
.
The
Ghosts
fall
on
their
knees
.
No
more
,
you
petty
spirits
of
region
low
,
Offend
our
hearing
!
Hush
.
How
dare
you
ghosts
Accuse
the
Thunderer
,
whose
bolt
,
you
know
,
Sky-planted
,
batters
all
rebelling
coasts
.
Poor
shadows
of
Elysium
,
hence
,
and
rest
Upon
your
never-withering
banks
of
flowers
.
Be
not
with
mortal
accidents
oppressed
.
No
care
of
yours
it
is
;
you
know
’tis
ours
.
ACT 5. SC. 4
Whom
best
I
love
I
cross
,
to
make
my
gift
,
The
more
delayed
,
delighted
.
Be
content
.
Your
low-laid
son
our
godhead
will
uplift
.
His
comforts
thrive
,
his
trials
well
are
spent
.
Our
Jovial
star
reigned
at
his
birth
,
and
in
Our
temple
was
he
married
.
Rise
,
and
fade
.
He
shall
be
lord
of
Lady
Imogen
,
And
happier
much
by
his
affliction
made
.
He
hands
Sicilius
a
tablet
.
This
tablet
lay
upon
his
breast
,
wherein
Our
pleasure
his
full
fortune
doth
confine
.
And
so
away
.
No
farther
with
your
din
Express
impatience
,
lest
you
stir
up
mine
.
—
Mount
,
eagle
,
to
my
palace
crystalline
.
Ascends
.
He
came
in
thunder
.
His
celestial
breath
Was
sulphurous
to
smell
.
The
holy
eagle
Stooped
as
to
foot
us
.
His
ascension
is
More
sweet
than
our
blest
fields
;
his
royal
bird
Preens
the
immortal
wing
and
cloys
his
beak
,
As
when
his
god
is
pleased
.
Thanks
,
Jupiter
.
The
marble
pavement
closes
;
he
is
entered
His
radiant
roof
.
Away
,
and
,
to
be
blest
,
Let
us
with
care
perform
his
great
behest
.
He
places
the
tablet
on
Posthumus’
breast
.
They
vanish
.
,
waking
Sleep
,
thou
hast
been
a
grandsire
and
begot
A
father
to
me
,
and
thou
hast
created
A
mother
and
two
brothers
.
But
,
O
scorn
,
Gone
!
They
went
hence
so
soon
as
they
were
born
.
And
so
I
am
awake
.
Poor
wretches
that
depend
On
greatness’
favor
dream
as
I
have
done
,
Wake
,
and
find
nothing
.
But
,
alas
,
I
swerve
.
Many
dream
not
to
find
,
neither
deserve
,
ACT 5. SC. 4
And
yet
are
steeped
in
favors
;
so
am
I
That
have
this
golden
chance
and
know
not
why
.
Finding
the
tablet
.
What
fairies
haunt
this
ground
?
A
book
?
O
rare
one
,
Be
not
,
as
is
our
fangled
world
,
a
garment
Nobler
than
that
it
covers
.
Let
thy
effects
So
follow
,
to
be
,
most
unlike
our
courtiers
,
As
good
as
promise
.
(
Reads
.
)
Whenas
a
lion’s
whelp
shall
,
to
himself
unknown
,
without
seeking
find
,
and
be
embraced
by
a
piece
of
tender
air
;
and
when
from
a
stately
cedar
shall
be
lopped
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
.
Enter
Jailer
.
Come
,
sir
,
are
you
ready
for
death
?
Over-roasted
rather
;
ready
long
ago
.
Hanging
is
the
word
,
sir
.
If
you
be
ready
for
that
,
you
are
well
cooked
.
So
,
if
I
prove
a
good
repast
to
the
spectators
,
the
dish
pays
the
shot
.
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
,
ACT 5. SC. 4
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
.
I
am
merrier
to
die
than
thou
art
to
live
.
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
.
Yes
,
indeed
do
I
,
fellow
.
Your
Death
has
eyes
in
’s
head
,
then
.
I
have
not
seen
him
so
pictured
.
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
.
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
.
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
.
Knock
off
his
manacles
;
bring
your
prisoner
to
the
King
.
Thou
bring’st
good
news
.
I
am
called
to
be
made
free
.
ACT 5. SC. 5
I’ll
be
hanged
then
.
He
removes
Posthumus’s
chains
.
Thou
shalt
be
then
freer
than
a
jailer
.
No
bolts
for
the
dead
.
All
but
the
Jailer
exit
.
Unless
a
man
would
marry
a
gallows
and
beget
young
gibbets
,
I
never
saw
one
so
prone
.
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
jailers
and
gallowses
!
I
speak
against
my
present
profit
,
but
my
wish
hath
a
preferment
in
’t
.
He
exits
.
Scene
5
Enter
Cymbeline
,
Belarius
as
Morgan
,
Guiderius
as
Polydor
,
Arviragus
as
Cadwal
,
Pisanio
,
Attendants
,
and
Lords
.
,
to
Morgan
,
Polydor
,
and
Cadwal
Stand
by
my
side
,
you
whom
the
gods
have
made
Preservers
of
my
throne
.
Woe
is
my
heart
That
the
poor
soldier
that
so
richly
fought
,
Whose
rags
shamed
gilded
arms
,
whose
naked
breast
Stepped
before
targes
of
proof
,
cannot
be
found
.
He
shall
be
happy
that
can
find
him
,
if
Our
grace
can
make
him
so
.
,
as
Morgan
I
never
saw
Such
noble
fury
in
so
poor
a
thing
,
Such
precious
deeds
in
one
that
promised
naught
But
beggary
and
poor
looks
.
No
tidings
of
him
?
He
hath
been
searched
among
the
dead
and
living
,
But
no
trace
of
him
.
ACT 5. SC. 5
,
to
Morgan
,
Polydor
,
and
Cadwal
To
my
grief
,
I
am
The
heir
of
his
reward
,
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
.
,
as
Morgan
Sir
,
In
Cambria
are
we
born
,
and
gentlemen
.
Further
to
boast
were
neither
true
nor
modest
,
Unless
I
add
we
are
honest
.
Bow
your
knees
.
They
kneel
.
He
taps
their
shoulders
with
his
sword
.
Arise
my
knights
o’
th’
battle
.
I
create
you
Companions
to
our
person
,
and
will
fit
you
With
dignities
becoming
your
estates
.
They
rise
.
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
.
Hail
,
great
king
.
To
sour
your
happiness
I
must
report
The
Queen
is
dead
.
Who
worse
than
a
physician
Would
this
report
become
?
But
I
consider
By
med’cine
life
may
be
prolonged
,
yet
death
Will
seize
the
doctor
too
.
How
ended
she
?
With
horror
,
madly
dying
,
like
her
life
,
Which
,
being
cruel
to
the
world
,
concluded
Most
cruel
to
herself
.
What
she
confessed
I
will
report
,
so
please
you
.
These
her
women
Can
trip
me
if
I
err
,
who
with
wet
cheeks
Were
present
when
she
finished
.
Prithee
,
say
.
ACT 5. SC. 5
First
,
she
confessed
she
never
loved
you
,
only
Affected
greatness
got
by
you
,
not
you
;
Married
your
royalty
,
was
wife
to
your
place
,
Abhorred
your
person
.
She
alone
knew
this
,
And
but
she
spoke
it
dying
,
I
would
not
Believe
her
lips
in
opening
it
.
Proceed
.
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
.
O
,
most
delicate
fiend
!
Who
is
’t
can
read
a
woman
?
Is
there
more
?
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
purposed
,
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
;
opened
,
in
despite
Of
heaven
and
men
,
her
purposes
;
repented
The
evils
she
hatched
were
not
effected
;
so
Despairing
died
.
Heard
you
all
this
,
her
women
?
We
did
,
so
please
your
Highness
.
Mine
eyes
Were
not
in
fault
,
for
she
was
beautiful
;
Mine
ears
that
heard
her
flattery
;
nor
my
heart
,
ACT 5. SC. 5
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
,
Soothsayer
,
and
other
Roman
prisoners
,
Posthumus
Leonatus
behind
,
and
Imogen
as
Fidele
,
with
Briton
Soldiers
as
guards
.
Thou
com’st
not
,
Caius
,
now
for
tribute
.
That
The
Britons
have
razed
out
,
though
with
the
loss
Of
many
a
bold
one
,
whose
kinsmen
have
made
suit
That
their
good
souls
may
be
appeased
with
slaughter
Of
you
their
captives
,
which
ourself
have
granted
.
So
think
of
your
estate
.
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
threatened
Our
prisoners
with
the
sword
.
But
since
the
gods
Will
have
it
thus
,
that
nothing
but
our
lives
May
be
called
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
ransomed
.
Never
master
had
A
page
so
kind
,
so
duteous
,
diligent
,
So
tender
over
his
occasions
,
true
,
So
feat
,
so
nurselike
.
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
served
a
Roman
.
Save
him
,
sir
,
And
spare
no
blood
beside
.
I
have
surely
seen
him
.
His
favor
is
familiar
to
me
.
—
Boy
,
ACT 5. SC. 5
Thou
hast
looked
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
noblest
ta’en
.
,
as
Fidele
I
humbly
thank
your
Highness
.
I
do
not
bid
thee
beg
my
life
,
good
lad
,
And
yet
I
know
thou
wilt
.
,
as
Fidele
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
.
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
perplexed
?
Imogen
stares
at
Iachimo
.
What
would’st
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
?
,
as
Fidele
He
is
a
Roman
,
no
more
kin
to
me
Than
I
to
your
Highness
,
who
,
being
born
your
vassal
,
Am
something
nearer
.
Wherefore
ey’st
him
so
?
,
as
Fidele
I’ll
tell
you
,
sir
,
in
private
,
if
you
please
To
give
me
hearing
.
Ay
,
with
all
my
heart
,
And
lend
my
best
attention
.
What’s
thy
name
?
ACT 5. SC. 5
,
as
Fidele
Fidele
,
sir
.
Thou
’rt
my
good
youth
,
my
page
.
I’ll
be
thy
master
.
Walk
with
me
.
Speak
freely
.
Cymbeline
and
Imogen
walk
aside
and
talk
.
,
as
Morgan
Is
not
this
boy
revived
from
death
?
,
as
Cadwal
One
sand
another
Not
more
resembles
that
sweet
rosy
lad
Who
died
,
and
was
Fidele
.
What
think
you
?
,
as
Polydor
The
same
dead
thing
alive
.
,
as
Morgan
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
.
,
as
Polydor
But
we
see
him
dead
.
,
as
Morgan
Be
silent
.
Let’s
see
further
.
,
aside
It
is
my
mistress
!
Since
she
is
living
,
let
the
time
run
on
To
good
or
bad
.
Cymbeline
and
Imogen
come
forward
.
,
to
Imogen
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
honor
,
bitter
torture
shall
Winnow
the
truth
from
falsehood
.
—
On
.
Speak
to
him
.
,
as
Fidele
,
pointing
to
Iachimo’s
hand
My
boon
is
that
this
gentleman
may
render
Of
whom
he
had
this
ring
.
,
aside
What’s
that
to
him
?
That
diamond
upon
your
finger
,
say
How
came
it
yours
.
ACT 5. SC. 5
Thou
’lt
torture
me
to
leave
unspoken
that
Which
to
be
spoke
would
torture
thee
.
How
?
Me
?
I
am
glad
to
be
constrained
to
utter
that
Which
torments
me
to
conceal
.
By
villainy
I
got
this
ring
.
’Twas
Leonatus’
jewel
,
Whom
thou
didst
banish
,
and
—
which
more
may
grieve
thee
,
As
it
doth
me
—
a
nobler
sir
ne’er
lived
’Twixt
sky
and
ground
.
Wilt
thou
hear
more
,
my
lord
?
All
that
belongs
to
this
.
That
paragon
,
thy
daughter
,
For
whom
my
heart
drops
blood
and
my
false
spirits
Quail
to
remember
—
Give
me
leave
;
I
faint
.
My
daughter
?
What
of
her
?
Renew
thy
strength
.
I
had
rather
thou
shouldst
live
while
nature
will
Than
die
ere
I
hear
more
.
Strive
,
man
,
and
speak
.
Upon
a
time
—
unhappy
was
the
clock
That
struck
the
hour
!
—
it
was
in
Rome
—
accursed
The
mansion
where
!
—
’twas
at
a
feast
—
O
,
would
Our
viands
had
been
poisoned
,
or
at
least
Those
which
I
heaved
to
head
!
—
the
good
Posthumus
—
What
should
I
say
?
He
was
too
good
to
be
Where
ill
men
were
,
and
was
the
best
of
all
Amongst
the
rar’st
of
good
ones
—
sitting
sadly
,
Hearing
us
praise
our
loves
of
Italy
For
beauty
that
made
barren
the
swelled
boast
Of
him
that
best
could
speak
;
for
feature
,
laming
The
shrine
of
Venus
or
straight-pight
Minerva
,
Postures
beyond
brief
nature
;
for
condition
,
ACT 5. SC. 5
A
shop
of
all
the
qualities
that
man
Loves
woman
for
,
besides
that
hook
of
wiving
,
Fairness
which
strikes
the
eye
—
I
stand
on
fire
.
Come
to
the
matter
.
All
too
soon
I
shall
,
Unless
thou
wouldst
grieve
quickly
.
This
Posthumus
,
Most
like
a
noble
lord
in
love
and
one
That
had
a
royal
lover
,
took
his
hint
,
And
,
not
dispraising
whom
we
praised
—
therein
He
was
as
calm
as
virtue
—
he
began
His
mistress’
picture
;
which
by
his
tongue
being
made
And
then
a
mind
put
in
’t
,
either
our
brags
Were
cracked
of
kitchen
trulls
,
or
his
description
Proved
us
unspeaking
sots
.
Nay
,
nay
,
to
th’
purpose
.
Your
daughter’s
chastity
—
there
it
begins
.
He
spake
of
her
as
Dian
had
hot
dreams
And
she
alone
were
cold
;
whereat
I
,
wretch
,
Made
scruple
of
his
praise
and
wagered
with
him
Pieces
of
gold
’gainst
this
,
which
then
he
wore
Upon
his
honored
finger
,
to
attain
In
suit
the
place
of
’s
bed
and
win
this
ring
By
hers
and
mine
adultery
.
He
,
true
knight
,
No
lesser
of
her
honor
confident
Than
I
did
truly
find
her
,
stakes
this
ring
,
And
would
so
,
had
it
been
a
carbuncle
Of
Phoebus’
wheel
,
and
might
so
safely
,
had
it
Been
all
the
worth
of
’s
car
.
Away
to
Britain
Post
I
in
this
design
.
Well
may
you
,
sir
,
Remember
me
at
court
,
where
I
was
taught
Of
your
chaste
daughter
the
wide
difference
’Twixt
amorous
and
villainous
.
Being
thus
quenched
Of
hope
,
not
longing
,
mine
Italian
brain
Gan
in
your
duller
Britain
operate
ACT 5. SC. 5
Most
vilely
;
for
my
vantage
,
excellent
.
And
to
be
brief
,
my
practice
so
prevailed
That
I
returned
with
simular
proof
enough
To
make
the
noble
Leonatus
mad
By
wounding
his
belief
in
her
renown
With
tokens
thus
and
thus
;
averring
notes
Of
chamber-hanging
,
pictures
,
this
her
bracelet
—
O
,
cunning
how
I
got
it
!
—
nay
,
some
marks
Of
secret
on
her
person
,
that
he
could
not
But
think
her
bond
of
chastity
quite
cracked
,
I
having
ta’en
the
forfeit
.
Whereupon
—
Methinks
I
see
him
now
—
,
coming
forward
Ay
,
so
thou
dost
,
Italian
fiend
.
—
Ay
me
,
most
credulous
fool
,
Egregious
murderer
,
thief
,
anything
That’s
due
to
all
the
villains
past
,
in
being
,
To
come
.
O
,
give
me
cord
,
or
knife
,
or
poison
,
Some
upright
justicer
.
—
Thou
,
king
,
send
out
For
torturers
ingenious
.
It
is
I
That
all
th’
abhorrèd
things
o’
th’
Earth
earth
amend
By
being
worse
than
they
.
I
am
Posthumus
,
That
killed
thy
daughter
—
villainlike
,
I
lie
—
That
caused
a
lesser
villain
than
myself
,
A
sacrilegious
thief
,
to
do
’t
.
The
temple
Of
virtue
was
she
,
yea
,
and
she
herself
.
Spit
and
throw
stones
,
cast
mire
upon
me
,
set
The
dogs
o’
th’
street
to
bay
me
.
Every
villain
Be
called
Posthumus
Leonatus
,
and
Be
villainy
less
than
’twas
.
O
Imogen
!
My
queen
,
my
life
,
my
wife
!
O
Imogen
,
Imogen
,
Imogen
!
,
running
to
Posthumus
Peace
,
my
lord
!
Hear
,
hear
—
Shall
’s
have
a
play
of
this
?
Thou
scornful
page
,
There
lie
thy
part
.
He
pushes
her
away
;
she
falls
.
ACT 5. SC. 5
O
,
gentlemen
,
help
!
—
Mine
and
your
mistress
!
O
my
lord
Posthumus
,
You
ne’er
killed
Imogen
till
now
!
Help
,
help
!
Mine
honored
lady
—
Does
the
world
go
round
?
How
comes
these
staggers
on
me
?
Wake
,
my
mistress
.
If
this
be
so
,
the
gods
do
mean
to
strike
me
To
death
with
mortal
joy
.
How
fares
my
mistress
?
O
,
get
thee
from
my
sight
!
Thou
gav’st
me
poison
.
Dangerous
fellow
,
hence
.
Breathe
not
where
princes
are
.
The
tune
of
Imogen
!
Lady
,
the
gods
throw
stones
of
sulfur
on
me
if
That
box
I
gave
you
was
not
thought
by
me
A
precious
thing
.
I
had
it
from
the
Queen
.
New
matter
still
.
It
poisoned
me
.
O
gods
!
To
Pisanio
.
I
left
out
one
thing
which
the
Queen
confessed
,
Which
must
approve
thee
honest
.
If
Pisanio
Have
,
said
she
,
given
his
mistress
that
confection
Which
I
gave
him
for
cordial
,
she
is
served
As
I
would
serve
a
rat
.
What’s
this
,
Cornelius
?
The
Queen
,
sir
,
very
oft
importuned
me
To
temper
poisons
for
her
,
still
pretending
The
satisfaction
of
her
knowledge
only
In
killing
creatures
vile
,
as
cats
and
dogs
,
ACT 5. SC. 5
Of
no
esteem
.
I
,
dreading
that
her
purpose
Was
of
more
danger
,
did
compound
for
her
A
certain
stuff
which
,
being
ta’en
,
would
cease
The
present
power
of
life
,
but
in
short
time
All
offices
of
nature
should
again
Do
their
due
functions
.
—
Have
you
ta’en
of
it
?
Most
like
I
did
,
for
I
was
dead
.
,
as
Morgan
,
aside
to
Guiderius
and
Arviragus
My
boys
,
There
was
our
error
.
,
as
Polydor
This
is
sure
Fidele
.
,
to
Posthumus
Why
did
you
throw
your
wedded
lady
from
you
?
Think
that
you
are
upon
a
rock
,
and
now
Throw
me
again
.
She
embraces
him
.
Hang
there
like
fruit
,
my
soul
,
Till
the
tree
die
.
,
to
Imogen
How
now
,
my
flesh
,
my
child
?
What
,
mak’st
thou
me
a
dullard
in
this
act
?
Wilt
thou
not
speak
to
me
?
,
kneeling
Your
blessing
,
sir
.
,
as
Morgan
,
aside
to
Guiderius
and
Arviragus
Though
you
did
love
this
youth
,
I
blame
you
not
.
You
had
a
motive
for
’t
.
,
to
Imogen
My
tears
that
fall
Prove
holy
water
on
thee
.
Imogen
,
Thy
mother’s
dead
.
I
am
sorry
for
’t
,
my
lord
.
She
rises
.
O
,
she
was
naught
,
and
long
of
her
it
was
That
we
meet
here
so
strangely
.
But
her
son
Is
gone
,
we
know
not
how
nor
where
.
My
lord
,
Now
fear
is
from
me
,
I’ll
speak
truth
.
Lord
Cloten
,
ACT 5. SC. 5
Upon
my
lady’s
missing
,
came
to
me
With
his
sword
drawn
,
foamed
at
the
mouth
,
and
swore
,
If
I
discovered
not
which
way
she
was
gone
,
It
was
my
instant
death
.
By
accident
,
I
had
a
feignèd
letter
of
my
master’s
Then
in
my
pocket
,
which
directed
him
To
seek
her
on
the
mountains
near
to
Milford
;
Where
,
in
a
frenzy
,
in
my
master’s
garments
,
Which
he
enforced
from
me
,
away
he
posts
With
unchaste
purpose
and
with
oath
to
violate
My
lady’s
honor
.
What
became
of
him
I
further
know
not
.
,
as
Polydor
Let
me
end
the
story
.
I
slew
him
there
.
Marry
,
the
gods
forfend
!
I
would
not
thy
good
deeds
should
from
my
lips
Pluck
a
hard
sentence
.
Prithee
,
valiant
youth
,
Deny
’t
again
.
,
as
Polydor
I
have
spoke
it
,
and
I
did
it
.
He
was
a
prince
.
,
as
Polydor
A
most
incivil
one
.
The
wrongs
he
did
me
Were
nothing
princelike
,
for
he
did
provoke
me
With
language
that
would
make
me
spurn
the
sea
If
it
could
so
roar
to
me
.
I
cut
off
’s
head
,
And
am
right
glad
he
is
not
standing
here
To
tell
this
tale
of
mine
.
I
am
sorrow
for
thee
.
By
thine
own
tongue
thou
art
condemned
and
must
Endure
our
law
.
Thou
’rt
dead
.
That
headless
man
I
thought
had
been
my
lord
.
Bind
the
offender
,
And
take
him
from
our
presence
.
Attendants
bind
Guiderius
.
ACT 5. SC. 5
,
as
Morgan
Stay
,
sir
king
.
This
man
is
better
than
the
man
he
slew
,
As
well
descended
as
thyself
,
and
hath
More
of
thee
merited
than
a
band
of
Clotens
Had
ever
scar
for
.
—
Let
his
arms
alone
.
They
were
not
born
for
bondage
.
Why
,
old
soldier
,
Wilt
thou
undo
the
worth
thou
art
unpaid
for
By
tasting
of
our
wrath
?
How
of
descent
As
good
as
we
?
,
as
Cadwal
In
that
he
spake
too
far
.
,
to
Morgan
And
thou
shalt
die
for
’t
.
,
as
Morgan
We
will
die
all
three
But
I
will
prove
that
two
on
’s
are
as
good
As
I
have
given
out
him
.
—
My
sons
,
I
must
For
mine
own
part
unfold
a
dangerous
speech
,
Though
haply
well
for
you
.
,
as
Cadwal
Your
danger’s
ours
.
,
as
Polydor
And
our
good
his
.
,
as
Morgan
Have
at
it
,
then
.
—
By
leave
,
Thou
hadst
,
great
king
,
a
subject
who
Was
called
Belarius
.
What
of
him
?
He
is
A
banished
traitor
.
He
it
is
that
hath
Assumed
this
age
;
indeed
a
banished
man
,
I
know
not
how
a
traitor
.
Take
him
hence
.
The
whole
world
shall
not
save
him
.
Not
too
hot
.
First
pay
me
for
the
nursing
of
thy
sons
And
let
it
be
confiscate
all
,
so
soon
As
I
have
received
it
.
Nursing
of
my
sons
?
ACT 5. SC. 5
I
am
too
blunt
and
saucy
.
Here’s
my
knee
.
He
kneels
.
Ere
I
arise
I
will
prefer
my
sons
,
Then
spare
not
the
old
father
.
Mighty
sir
,
These
two
young
gentlemen
that
call
me
father
And
think
they
are
my
sons
are
none
of
mine
.
They
are
the
issue
of
your
loins
,
my
liege
,
And
blood
of
your
begetting
.
How
?
My
issue
?
So
sure
as
you
your
father’s
.
I
,
old
Morgan
,
Am
that
Belarius
whom
you
sometime
banished
.
Your
pleasure
was
my
mere
offense
,
my
punishment
Itself
,
and
all
my
treason
.
That
I
suffered
Was
all
the
harm
I
did
.
These
gentle
princes
—
For
such
and
so
they
are
—
these
twenty
years
Have
I
trained
up
;
those
arts
they
have
as
I
Could
put
into
them
.
My
breeding
was
,
sir
,
as
Your
Highness
knows
.
Their
nurse
Euriphile
,
Whom
for
the
theft
I
wedded
,
stole
these
children
Upon
my
banishment
.
I
moved
her
to
’t
,
Having
received
the
punishment
before
For
that
which
I
did
then
.
Beaten
for
loyalty
Excited
me
to
treason
.
Their
dear
loss
,
The
more
of
you
’twas
felt
,
the
more
it
shaped
Unto
my
end
of
stealing
them
.
But
,
gracious
sir
,
Here
are
your
sons
again
,
and
I
must
lose
Two
of
the
sweet’st
companions
in
the
world
.
The
benediction
of
these
covering
heavens
Fall
on
their
heads
like
dew
,
for
they
are
worthy
To
inlay
heaven
with
stars
.
He
weeps
.
Thou
weep’st
and
speak’st
.
The
service
that
you
three
have
done
is
more
Unlike
than
this
thou
tell’st
.
I
lost
my
children
.
If
these
be
they
,
I
know
not
how
to
wish
A
pair
of
worthier
sons
.
ACT 5. SC. 5
Be
pleased
awhile
.
This
gentleman
whom
I
call
Polydor
,
Most
worthy
prince
,
as
yours
is
true
Guiderius
;
This
gentleman
,
my
Cadwal
,
Arviragus
,
Your
younger
princely
son
.
He
,
sir
,
was
lapped
In
a
most
curious
mantle
,
wrought
by
th’
hand
Of
his
queen
mother
,
which
for
more
probation
I
can
with
ease
produce
.
Guiderius
had
Upon
his
neck
a
mole
,
a
sanguine
star
.
It
was
a
mark
of
wonder
.
This
is
he
,
Who
hath
upon
him
still
that
natural
stamp
.
It
was
wise
Nature’s
end
in
the
donation
To
be
his
evidence
now
.
O
,
what
am
I
,
A
mother
to
the
birth
of
three
?
Ne’er
mother
Rejoiced
deliverance
more
.
—
Blest
pray
you
be
,
That
after
this
strange
starting
from
your
orbs
,
You
may
reign
in
them
now
.
—
O
Imogen
,
Thou
hast
lost
by
this
a
kingdom
!
No
,
my
lord
.
I
have
got
two
worlds
by
’t
.
—
O
my
gentle
brothers
,
Have
we
thus
met
?
O
,
never
say
hereafter
But
I
am
truest
speaker
.
You
called
me
brother
When
I
was
but
your
sister
;
I
you
brothers
When
we
were
so
indeed
.
Did
you
e’er
meet
?
Ay
,
my
good
lord
.
And
at
first
meeting
loved
,
Continued
so
until
we
thought
he
died
.
By
the
Queen’s
dram
she
swallowed
.
,
to
Imogen
O
,
rare
instinct
!
ACT 5. SC. 5
When
shall
I
hear
all
through
?
This
fierce
abridgment
Hath
to
it
circumstantial
branches
which
Distinction
should
be
rich
in
.
Where
,
how
lived
you
?
And
when
came
you
to
serve
our
Roman
captive
?
How
parted
with
your
brothers
?
How
first
met
them
?
Why
fled
you
from
the
court
?
And
whither
?
To
Belarius
.
These
,
And
your
three
motives
to
the
battle
,
with
I
know
not
how
much
more
,
should
be
demanded
,
And
all
the
other
by-dependences
From
chance
to
chance
;
but
nor
the
time
nor
place
Will
serve
our
long
interrogatories
.
See
,
Posthumus
anchors
upon
Imogen
;
And
she
,
like
harmless
lightning
,
throws
her
eye
On
him
,
her
brothers
,
me
,
her
master
,
hitting
Each
object
with
a
joy
;
the
counterchange
Is
severally
in
all
.
Let’s
quit
this
ground
,
And
smoke
the
temple
with
our
sacrifices
.
Thou
art
my
brother
,
so
we’ll
hold
thee
ever
.
,
to
Belarius
You
are
my
father
too
,
and
did
relieve
me
To
see
this
gracious
season
.
All
o’erjoyed
Save
these
in
bonds
;
let
them
be
joyful
too
,
For
they
shall
taste
our
comfort
.
,
to
Lucius
My
good
master
,
I
will
yet
do
you
service
.
Happy
be
you
!
The
forlorn
soldier
that
so
nobly
fought
,
He
would
have
well
becomed
this
place
and
graced
The
thankings
of
a
king
.
I
am
,
sir
,
The
soldier
that
did
company
these
three
ACT 5. SC. 5
In
poor
beseeming
;
’twas
a
fitment
for
The
purpose
I
then
followed
.
That
I
was
he
,
Speak
,
Iachimo
.
I
had
you
down
and
might
Have
made
you
finish
.
,
kneeling
I
am
down
again
,
But
now
my
heavy
conscience
sinks
my
knee
,
As
then
your
force
did
.
Take
that
life
,
beseech
you
,
Which
I
so
often
owe
;
but
your
ring
first
,
And
here
the
bracelet
of
the
truest
princess
That
ever
swore
her
faith
.
He
holds
out
the
ring
and
bracelet
.
Kneel
not
to
me
.
The
power
that
I
have
on
you
is
to
spare
you
;
The
malice
towards
you
to
forgive
you
.
Live
And
deal
with
others
better
.
Nobly
doomed
.
We’ll
learn
our
freeness
of
a
son-in-law
:
Pardon’s
the
word
to
all
.
Iachimo
rises
.
,
to
Posthumus
You
holp
us
,
sir
,
As
you
did
mean
indeed
to
be
our
brother
.
Joyed
are
we
that
you
are
.
Your
servant
,
princes
.
—
Good
my
lord
of
Rome
,
Call
forth
your
soothsayer
.
As
I
slept
,
methought
Great
Jupiter
upon
his
eagle
backed
Appeared
to
me
,
with
other
spritely
shows
Of
mine
own
kindred
.
When
I
waked
,
I
found
This
label
on
my
bosom
,
whose
containing
Is
so
from
sense
in
hardness
that
I
can
Make
no
collection
of
it
.
Let
him
show
His
skill
in
the
construction
.
Philarmonus
!
,
coming
forward
Here
,
my
good
lord
.
Read
,
and
declare
the
meaning
.
reads
.
Whenas
a
lion’s
whelp
shall
,
to
ACT 5. SC. 5
himself
unknown
,
without
seeking
find
,
and
be
embraced
by
a
piece
of
tender
air
;
and
when
from
a
stately
cedar
shall
be
lopped
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
.
Thou
,
Leonatus
,
art
the
lion’s
whelp
.
The
fit
and
apt
construction
of
thy
name
,
Being
Leo-natus
,
doth
import
so
much
.
To
Cymbeline
.
The
piece
of
tender
air
thy
virtuous
daughter
,
Which
we
call
mollis
aer
,
and
mollis
aer
We
term
it
mulier
,
which
mulier
I
divine
Is
this
most
constant
wife
;
who
,
even
now
,
Answering
the
letter
of
the
oracle
,
To
Posthumus
Unknown
to
you
,
unsought
,
were
clipped
about
With
this
most
tender
air
.
This
hath
some
seeming
.
The
lofty
cedar
,
royal
Cymbeline
,
Personates
thee
;
and
thy
lopped
branches
point
Thy
two
sons
forth
,
who
,
by
Belarius
stol’n
,
For
many
years
thought
dead
,
are
now
revived
,
To
the
majestic
cedar
joined
,
whose
issue
Promises
Britain
peace
and
plenty
.
Well
,
My
peace
we
will
begin
.
And
,
Caius
Lucius
,
Although
the
victor
,
we
submit
to
Caesar
And
to
the
Roman
Empire
,
promising
To
pay
our
wonted
tribute
,
from
the
which
We
were
dissuaded
by
our
wicked
queen
,
Whom
heavens
in
justice
both
on
her
and
hers
Have
laid
most
heavy
hand
.
ACT 5. SC. 5
The
fingers
of
the
powers
above
do
tune
The
harmony
of
this
peace
.
The
vision
Which
I
made
known
to
Lucius
ere
the
stroke
Of
this
yet
scarce-cold
battle
at
this
instant
Is
full
accomplished
.
For
the
Roman
eagle
,
From
south
to
west
on
wing
soaring
aloft
,
Lessened
herself
and
in
the
beams
o’
th’
sun
So
vanished
;
which
foreshowed
our
princely
eagle
,
Th’
imperial
Caesar
,
should
again
unite
His
favor
with
the
radiant
Cymbeline
,
Which
shines
here
in
the
west
.
Laud
we
the
gods
,
And
let
our
crooked
smokes
climb
to
their
nostrils
From
our
blest
altars
.
Publish
we
this
peace
To
all
our
subjects
.
Set
we
forward
.
Let
A
Roman
and
a
British
ensign
wave
Friendly
together
.
So
through
Lud’s
Town
march
,
And
in
the
temple
of
great
Jupiter
Our
peace
we’ll
ratify
,
seal
it
with
feasts
.
Set
on
there
.
Never
was
a
war
did
cease
,
Ere
bloody
hands
were
washed
,
with
such
a
peace
.
They
exit
.
all or part of a full metrical line
all or part of a prose speech
a short line which cannot be joined with other lines to form a full metrical line, or which may not be definitively identified asverse or prose
editorial emendation