Authors: William Shakespeare
Cymbeline (12 page)
Exeunt
running scene 8
Enter Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus
From their cave
BELARIUS
A goodly day not to
keep house
with such
1
Whose roof’s as low as ours. Stoop, boys: this
gate
2
Instructs you how t’adore the heavens
3
, and bows you
To a morning’s holy
office.
4
The gates of monarchs
Are arched so high that giants may
jet
5
through
And keep their
impious turbans
6
on, without
Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!
We house i’th’rock, yet
use
thee not so
hardly
8
As
prouder livers
9
do.
GUIDERIUS
Hail, heaven!
ARVIRAGUS
Hail, heaven!
BELARIUS
Now for our mountain sport. Up to yond hill,
Your legs are young: I’ll tread
these flats.
13
Consider,
When you above perceive me like a crow,
That it is
place
which
lessens and sets off
15
,
And you may then
revolve
16
what tales I have told you
Of courts, of princes, of the
tricks
17
in war.
This service is not service, so being done,
But being
so allowed.
To
apprehend thus
19
Draws us a profit from all things we see:
And often, to our comfort, shall we find
The
sharded
beetle in a safer
hold
22
Than is the full-winged eagle. O, this life
Is nobler than
attending
for
a
check
24
,
Richer than doing nothing for a
robe
25
,
Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
Such
gain the cap of him that makes ’em
fine
27
,
Yet keeps his book uncrossed
: no life
to
28
ours.
GUIDERIUS
Out of your
proof
you speak: we poor
unfledged
29
Have never winged from view o’th’nest, nor know not
What
air’s from home.
Haply
31
this life is best,
If quiet life be best: sweeter to you
That have a sharper known, well corresponding
With your
stiff
34
age; but unto us it is
A cell of ignorance,
travelling abed
35
,
A prison for a debtor that not dares
ARVIRAGUS
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
41
cave, shall we discourse
The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing:
We are
beastly
43
: subtle as the fox for prey,
Like
44
warlike as the wolf for what we eat:
Our valour is to chase
what flies
45
: our cage
We make a choir, as doth the prisoned bird,
And sing our bondage freely.
BELARIUS
How you speak!
Did you but know the city’s
usuries
49
,
And felt them
knowingly
: the
art
50
o’th’court,
As hard to leave as
keep
51
, 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
54
that only seems to seek out danger
I’th’name of fame and honour, which dies i’th’search,
And hath as
oft
56
a sland’rous epitaph
As
record of fair act.
57
Nay, many times
Doth ill deserve
58
by doing well: what’s worse,
Must
curtsy at the censure.
59
O boys, this story
The world may read in me: my body’s marked
With Roman swords, and my
report
61
was once
First with the
best of note.
62
Cymbeline loved me,
And when a soldier was the
theme
63
, my name
Was not far off: then was I
as
64
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
67
, nay, my leaves,
And left me bare to
weather.
68
GUIDERIUS
Uncertain
favour!
69
BELARIUS
My fault being nothing — as I have told you oft —
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevailed
Before my
perfect
72
honour, swore to Cymbeline
I was confederate with the Romans: so
Followed my banishment, and
this
74
twenty years
This rock and these
demesnes
75
have been my world
Where I have lived
at
76
honest freedom, paid
More pious debts to heaven than in all
The
fore-end
of my
time.
78
But up to th’mountains!
This is not hunters’ language. He that strikes
The
venison
80
first shall be the lord o’th’feast,
To him the other two shall
minister
81
,
And we will fear no poison, which
attends
82
In place of greater state. I’ll meet you in the valleys.
Exeunt
[
Guid. and Arv.
]
How hard it is to hide the
sparks of nature!
84
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
87
I’th’cave wherein
they bow
, their thoughts do
hit
88
The roofs of palaces and nature prompts them
In simple and low things to
prince it
90
much
Beyond the
trick
91
of others. This Polydore,
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who
The king his father called Guiderius — Jove!
When on my
three-foot
94
stool I sit, and tell
The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out
Into my story:
say
96
‘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
99
, and puts himself in posture
That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,
Once Arviragus,
in as like a figure
101
Strikes life into my speech, and shows
much more
102
A horn sounds
His own
conceiving.
Hark, the game is roused!
103
O Cymbeline, heaven and my conscience knows
Thou didst unjustly banish me:
whereon
105
,
At three and two years old, I stole these babes,
Thinking to
bar
thee of
succession
107
, as
Thou
reft’st
108
me of my lands. Euriphile,
Thou wast their
nurse
109
, they took thee for their mother,
And every day do honour to
her
110
grave:
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan called,
They take for natural father. The game is up.
Exit
running scene 9
Enter Pisanio and Innogen
Innogen in a riding-suit
INNOGEN
Thou told’st me when we
came from horse
1
the place
Was near at hand:
ne’er longed my mother so
2
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
6
Would be interpreted a thing
perplexed
7
Beyond
self-explication.
Put thyself
8
Into a ’haviour of less fear,
ere
9
wildness
Vanquish my
staider
10
senses. What’s the matter?
Why
tender’st thou
that
paper
11
to me with
A look untender? If’t be
summer
12
news,
Smile
to’t before
: if
winterly
13
, thou need’st
But
keep that count’nance still. My husband’s
hand?
14
That
drug-damned Italy
hath
out-craftied
15
him,
And he’s at some
hard point.
Speak, man, thy
tongue
16
May take off some extremity, which to read
Would be even
mortal
18
to me.
PISANIO
Please you read,
And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
The most disdained of fortune.
INNOGEN
Reads
‘Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the
strumpet in my bed: the
testimonies
whereof
lies bleeding in
23
me. I speak not out of weak surmises, but from proof as
strong as my
grief
25
, and as certain as I expect my revenge.
That part thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not
tainted
27
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
30
to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal.’
Aside
PISANIO
What
32
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
35
, whose breath
Rides on the
posting winds
, and doth
belie
36
All corners of the world. Kings, queens and
states
37
,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam?
INNOGEN
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
42
nature,
To break it with a fearful dream of him,
And cry myself awake? That’s false to’s bed, is it?
PISANIO
Alas, good lady.
INNOGEN
I false?
Thy conscience witness
46
: Iachimo,
Thou didst accuse him of
incontinency.
47
Thou then looked’st like a villain: now methinks
Thy
favour’s
good enough. Some
jay
49
of Italy,
Whose mother was her
painting
50
, hath betrayed him:
Poor I am
stale
51
, a garment out of fashion,
And for I am
richer than to hang by th’walls
52
,
I must be
ripped
53
: to pieces with me! O,
Men’s vows are women’s traitors. All good
seeming
54
,
By thy
revolt
55
, O husband, shall be thought
Put on for villainy; not
born where’t grows
56
,
PISANIO
Good madam, hear me.
INNOGEN
True honest men
being heard like
false
Aeneas
59
Were in his time thought false: and
Sinon’s
60
weeping
Did
scandal
many a holy tear,
took pity
61
From most true wretchedness. So thou, Posthumus,
Wilt lay the
leaven
63
on all proper men;
Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjured
To Pisanio