Iach. The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd | 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. SONG Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, His steeds to water at those springs : So, get you gone: If this penetrate, I will consider your musick the better if it do not, it is a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs, and cats-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend. [Exeunt Musicians. Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN. 2 Lord. Here comes the king. Clo. 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 mor row to your majesty, and to my gracious mother. Cym. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter? Will she not forth? Clo. I have assailed her with musick, but she vouchsafes no notice. Cym. The exile of her minion is too new; She hath not yet forgot him: some more time Must wear the print of his remembrance out, And then she's yours. Queen. You are most bound to the king. Who lets go by no vantages, that may 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 inspir'd 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. Clo. Imo. As I am mad, I do : That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce, (To accuse myself) I hate you; which I had rather Quake in the present winter's state, and wish You felt, than make't my boast. Clo. You sin against Obedience, which you owe your father. For The contract you pretend with that base wretch, (One, bred of alms, and foster'd with cold dishes, With scraps o'the court,) it is no contract, none : And though it be allow'd in meaner parties, (Yet who, than he, more mean?) to knit their souls (On whom there is no more dependency That warmer days would come: In these fear'd hopes, I barely gratify your love; they failing, I must die much your debtor. Phi. 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 his commission throughly: And, I think, He'll grant the tribute, send the arrearages, Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance Is yet fresh in their grief. Post. I do believe, (Statist though am none, nor like to be,) That this will prove a war; and you shall hear The legions, now in Gallia, sooner landed In our not-fearing Britain, than have tidings Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen Are men more order'd, than when Julius Cæsar Smil'd at their lack of skill, but found their courage Worthy his frowning at Their discipline (Now mingled with their courages) will make known To their approvers, they are people, such That mend upon the world. Iach. First, her bed-chamber, (Where, I confess, I slept not; but, profess, Had that was well worth watching,) It was hang'd With tapestry of silk and silver; the story Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman, And Cydnus swell'd above the banks, or for The press of boats, or pride: A piece of work So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive In workmanship, and value; which I wonder'd, Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, Since the true life on't was Or do your honour injury. Is south the chamber; and the chimney-piece, Post. This is a thing, Which you might from relation likewise reap; Being, as it is, much spoke of. Iach. The roof o'the 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. Post. This is her honour! Let it be granted, you have seen all this, (and praise Be given to your remembrance) the description Of what is in her chamber, nothing saves The wager you have laid. Iach. Then, if you can, Once more let me behold it: Is it that Not a whit, Which I left with her? Make not, sir, Your loss your sport: I hope, you know that we Must not continue friends. Iach. Good sir, we must, If you keep covenant: Had I not brought The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant We were to question further: but I now Profess myself the winner of her honour, Together with your ring; and not the wronger Of her, or you, having proceeded but By both your wills. Post. If you can make't apparent That you have tasted Iach. Jove! Sir, (I thank her,) that: She stripp'd it from her arm; I see her yet; Her pretty action did outsell her gift, And yet enrich'd it too: She gave it me, and said, She priz'd it once. Post. To send it me. May be, she pluck'd it off, Post. Is there no way for men to be, but women Did call my father, was I know not where Might well have warm'd old Saturn; that I thought her As chaste as unsunn'd snow: devils! - .0, all the This yellow lachimo, in an hour, was't not?- It is the woman's part: Be it lying, note it, All faults that may be nam'd, nay, that hells knows, They are not constant, but are changing still ACT III. Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, and Lords, at one door; and at another, CAIUS LUCIVE and Attendants. Cym. Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with us? Luc. When Julius Cæsar (whose remembrance yet Lives in men's eyes; and will to ears, and tongues, Be theme, and hearing ever,) was in this Britain, And his succession, granted Rome a tribute, But suck them up to the top-mast. A kind of conquest Cæsar made here; but made not here his brag Of, came, and saw, and overcame with shame (The first that ever touch'd him,) he was carried From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping (Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas, Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd As easily 'gainst our rocks: For joy whereof, The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point (0, giglot fortune!) to master Cæsar's sword, Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright, And Britons strut with courage. Clo. 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. Cym. Son, let your mother end. - Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan: I do not say, I am one; but I have a hand. - Why tribute? why should we pay tribute? If Cæsar 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. Cym. You must know, Till the injurious Romans did extort This tribute from us, we were free: Cæsar's ambi tion, (Which swell'd so much, that it did almost stretch Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, Luc. Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius. Thy Cæsar knighted me; my youth I spent Much under him; of him I gather'd honour; Which he to seek of me again, perforce, Behoves 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 Cæsar shall not find them. That I have sent her, by her own command I am ignorant in what I am commanded. Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord. He'd lay the future open. You good gods, - Let what is here contain'd 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 physick love; - of his content, All but in that! — Good wax, thy leave: - Bless'd be, 1 You bees, that make these locks of counsel! Lovers, [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 not 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, increasLEONATUS POSTHUMUS. ing in love, O, for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio? |