Act III · Scene V
A room in Cymbeline's palace.
Hover a speech to translate it — or press play to hear it performed.
Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, Lords, and Attendants
CYMBELINE
Thus far; and so farewell.
CAIUS LUCIUS
Thanks, royal sir.My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence;And am right sorry that I must report yeMy master's enemy.
CYMBELINE
Our subjects, sir,Will not endure his yoke; and for ourselfTo show less sovereignty than they, must needsAppear unkinglike.
CAIUS LUCIUS
So, sir: I desire of youA conduct over-land to Milford-Haven.Madam, all joy befal your grace!
QUEEN
And you!
CYMBELINE
My lords, you are appointed for that office;The due of honour in no point omit.So farewell, noble Lucius.
CAIUS LUCIUS
Your hand, my lord.
CLOTEN
Receive it friendly; but from this time forthI wear it as your enemy.
CAIUS LUCIUS
Sir, the eventIs yet to name the winner: fare you well.
CYMBELINE
Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness!
Exeunt LUCIUS and Lords
QUEEN
He goes hence frowning: but it honours usThat we have given him cause.
CLOTEN
'Tis all the better;Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.
CYMBELINE
Lucius hath wrote already to the emperorHow it goes here. It fits us therefore ripelyOur chariots and our horsemen be in readiness:The powers that he already hath in GalliaWill soon be drawn to head, from whence he movesHis war for Britain.
QUEEN
'Tis not sleepy business;But must be look'd to speedily and strongly.
CYMBELINE
Our expectation that it would be thusHath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'dBefore the Roman, nor to us hath tender'dThe duty of the day: she looks us likeA thing more made of malice than of duty:We have noted it. Call her before us; forWe have been too slight in sufferance.
Exit an Attendant
QUEEN
Royal sir,Since the exile of Posthumus, most retiredHath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,'Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty,Forbear sharp speeches to her: she's a ladySo tender of rebukes that words are strokesAnd strokes death to her.
Re-enter Attendant
CYMBELINE
Where is she, sir? HowCan her contempt be answer'd?
Attendant
Please you, sir,Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answerThat will be given to the loudest noise we make.
QUEEN
My lord, when last I went to visit her,She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close,Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity,She should that duty leave unpaid to you,Which daily she was bound to proffer: thisShe wish'd me to make known; but our great courtMade me to blame in memory.
CYMBELINE
Her doors lock'd?Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fearProve false!
Exit
QUEEN
Son, I say, follow the king.
CLOTEN
That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,have not seen these two days.
QUEEN
Go, look after.
Exit CLOTEN
QUEEN
Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus!He hath a drug of mine; I pray his absenceProceed by swallowing that, for he believesIt is a thing most precious. But for her,Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seized her,Or, wing'd with fervor of her love, she's flownTo her desired Posthumus: gone she isTo death or to dishonour; and my endCan make good use of either: she being down,I have the placing of the British crown.
Re-enter CLOTEN
QUEEN
How now, my son!
CLOTEN
'Tis certain she is fled.Go in and cheer the king: he rages; noneDare come about him.
QUEEN
[Aside] All the better: mayThis night forestall him of the coming day!
Exit
CLOTEN
I love and hate her: for she's fair and royal,And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisiteThan lady, ladies, woman; from every oneThe best she hath, and she, of all compounded,Outsells them all; I love her therefore: butDisdaining me and throwing favours onThe low Posthumus slanders so her judgmentThat what's else rare is choked; and in that pointI will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,To be revenged upon her. For when fools Shall--
Enter PISANIO
CLOTEN
Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?Come hither: ah, you precious pander! Villain,Where is thy lady? In a word; or elseThou art straightway with the fiends.
PISANIO
O, good my lord!
CLOTEN
Where is thy lady? Or, by Jupiter,--I will not ask again. Close villain,I'll have this secret from thy heart, or ripThy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?From whose so many weights of baseness cannotA dram of worth be drawn.
PISANIO
Alas, my lord,How can she be with him? When was she missed?He is in Rome.
CLOTEN
Where is she, sir? Come nearer;No further halting: satisfy me homeWhat is become of her.
PISANIO
O, my all-worthy lord!
CLOTEN
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 isThy condemnation and thy death.
PISANIO
Then, sir,This paper is the history of my knowledgeTouching her flight.
Presenting a letter
CLOTEN
Let's see't. I will pursue herEven to Augustus' throne.
PISANIO
[Aside] Or this, or perish.She's far enough; and what he learns by thisMay prove his travel, not her danger.
CLOTEN
Hum!
PISANIO
[Aside] I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen,Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!
CLOTEN
Sirrah, is this letter true?
PISANIO
Sir, as I think.
CLOTEN
It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. Sirrah, if thouwouldst not be a villain, but do me true service,undergo those employments wherein I should havecause to use thee with a serious industry, that is,what villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform itdirectly and truly, I would think thee an honestman: thou shouldst neither want my means for thyrelief nor my voice for thy preferment.
PISANIO
Well, my good lord.
CLOTEN
Wilt thou serve me? for since patiently andconstantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune ofthat beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in thecourse of gratitude, but be a diligent follower ofmine: wilt thou serve me?
PISANIO
Sir, I will.
CLOTEN
Give me thy hand; here's my purse. Hast any of thylate master's garments in thy possession?
PISANIO
I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit hewore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.
CLOTEN
The first service thou dost me, fetch that suithither: let it be thy lint service; go.
PISANIO
I shall, my lord.
Exit
CLOTEN
Meet thee at Milford-Haven!--I forgot to ask him onething; I'll remember't anon:--even there, thouvillain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would thesegarments were come. She said upon a time--thebitterness of it I now belch from my heart--that sheheld the very garment of Posthumus in more respectthan my noble and natural person together with theadornment of my qualities. With that suit upon myback, will I ravish her: first kill him, and in hereyes; there shall she see my valour, which will thenbe a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, myspeech of insultment ended on his dead body, andwhen my lust hath dined,--which, as I say, to vexher I will execute in the clothes that she sopraised,--to the court I'll knock her back, foother home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly,and I'll be merry in my revenge.
Re-enter PISANIO, with the clothes
CLOTEN
Be those the garments?
PISANIO
Ay, my noble lord.
CLOTEN
How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven?
PISANIO
She can scarce be there yet.
CLOTEN
Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the secondthing that I have commanded thee: the third is,that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Bebut duteous, and true preferment shall tender itselfto thee. My revenge is now at Milford: would I hadwings to follow it! Come, and be true.
Exit
PISANIO
Thou bid'st me to my loss: for true to theeWere 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 speedBe cross'd with slowness; labour be his meed!
Exit