Cymbeline — Act 4, Scene 2 · Shakespeare for Bharat

BELARIUS

[To IMOGEN] You are not well: remain here in the cave;We'll come to you after hunting.

ARVIRAGUS

[To IMOGEN] Brother, stay hereAre we not brothers?

IMOGEN

So man and man should be;But clay and clay differs in dignity,Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.

GUIDERIUS

Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him.

IMOGEN

So sick I am not, yet I am not well;But not so citizen a wanton asTo seem to die ere sick: so please you, leave me;Stick to your journal course: the breach of customIs breach of all. I am ill, but your being by meCannot amend me; society is no comfortTo 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.

GUIDERIUS

I love thee; I have spoke itHow much the quantity, the weight as much,As I do love my father.

BELARIUS

What! how! how!

ARVIRAGUS

If it be sin to say so, I yoke meIn my good brother's fault: I know not whyI 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.'

BELARIUS

[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' the morn.

ARVIRAGUS

Brother, farewell.

IMOGEN

I wish ye sport.

ARVIRAGUS

You health. So please you, sir.

IMOGEN

[Aside] These are kind creatures. Gods, what liesI have heard!Our courtiers say all's savage but at court:Experience, O, thou disprovest report!The imperious seas breed monsters, for the dishPoor tributary rivers as sweet fish.I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio,I'll now taste of thy drug.

GUIDERIUS

I could not stir him:He said he was gentle, but unfortunate;Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.

ARVIRAGUS

Thus did he answer me: yet said, hereafterI might know more.

BELARIUS

To the field, to the field!We'll leave you for this time: go in and rest.

ARVIRAGUS

We'll not be long away.

BELARIUS

Pray, be not sick,For you must be our housewife.

IMOGEN

Well or ill,I am bound to you.

BELARIUS

And shalt be ever.

BELARIUS

This youth, how'er distress'd, appears he hath hadGood ancestors.

ARVIRAGUS

How angel-like he sings!

GUIDERIUS

But his neat cookery! he cut our rootsIn characters,And sauced our broths, as Juno had been sickAnd he her dieter.

ARVIRAGUS

Nobly he yokesA smiling with a sigh, as if the sighWas that it was, for not being such a smile;The smile mocking the sigh, that it would flyFrom so divine a temple, to commixWith winds that sailors rail at.

GUIDERIUS

I do noteThat grief and patience, rooted in him both,Mingle their spurs together.

ARVIRAGUS

Grow, patience!And let the stinking elder, grief, untwineHis perishing root with the increasing vine!

BELARIUS

It is great morning. Come, away!--Who's there?

CLOTEN

I cannot find those runagates; that villainHath mock'd me. I am faint.

BELARIUS

'Those runagates!'Means he not us? I partly know him: 'tisCloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some ambush.I saw him not these many years, and yetI know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws: hence!

GUIDERIUS

He is but one: you and my brother searchWhat companies are near: pray you, away;Let me alone with him.

CLOTEN

Soft! What are youThat fly me thus? some villain mountaineers?I have heard of such. What slave art thou?

GUIDERIUS

A thingMore slavish did I ne'er than answeringA slave without a knock.

CLOTEN

Thou art a robber,A law-breaker, a villain: yield thee, thief.

GUIDERIUS

To who? to thee? What art thou? Have not IAn arm as big as thine? a heart as big?Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear notMy dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art,Why I should yield to thee?

CLOTEN

Thou villain base,Know'st me not by my clothes?

GUIDERIUS

No, nor thy tailor, rascal,Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes,Which, as it seems, make thee.

CLOTEN

Thou precious varlet,My tailor made them not.

GUIDERIUS

Hence, then, and thankThe man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool;I am loath to beat thee.

CLOTEN

Thou injurious thief,Hear but my name, and tremble.

GUIDERIUS

What's thy name?

CLOTEN

Cloten, thou villain.

GUIDERIUS

Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name,I cannot tremble at it: were it Toad, orAdder, Spider,'Twould move me sooner.

CLOTEN

To thy further fear,Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt knowI am son to the queen.

GUIDERIUS

I am sorry for 't; not seemingSo worthy as thy birth.

CLOTEN

Art not afeard?

GUIDERIUS

Those that I reverence those I fear, the wise:At fools I laugh, not fear them.

CLOTEN

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.

BELARIUS

No companies abroad?

ARVIRAGUS

None in the world: you did mistake him, sure.

BELARIUS

I cannot tell: long is it since I saw him,But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favourWhich then he wore; the snatches in his voice,And burst of speaking, were as his: I am absolute'Twas very Cloten.

ARVIRAGUS

In this place we left them:I wish my brother make good time with him,You say he is so fell.

BELARIUS

Being scarce made up,I mean, to man, he had not apprehensionOf roaring terrors; for the effect of judgmentIs oft the cause of fear. But, see, thy brother.

GUIDERIUS

This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse;There was no money in't: not HerculesCould have knock'd out his brains, for he had none:Yet I not doing this, the fool had borneMy head as I do his.

BELARIUS

What hast thou done?

GUIDERIUS

I am perfect what: cut off one Cloten's head,Son to the queen, after his own report;Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and sworeWith his own single hand he'ld take us inDisplace our heads where--thank the gods!--they grow,And set them on Lud's-town.

BELARIUS

We are all undone.

GUIDERIUS

Why, worthy father, what have we to lose,But that he swore to take, our lives? The lawProtects not us: then why should we be tenderTo let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us,Play judge and executioner all himself,For we do fear the law? What companyDiscover you abroad?

BELARIUS

No single soulCan we set eye on; but in all safe reasonHe must have some attendants. Though his humourWas nothing but mutation, ay, and thatFrom one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, notAbsolute madness could so far have ravedTo bring him here alone; although perhapsIt may be heard at court that such as weCave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in timeMay make some stronger head; the which he hearing--As it is like him--might break out, and swearHe'ld fetch us in; yet is't not probableTo come alone, either he so undertaking,Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear,If we do fear this body hath a tailMore perilous than the head.

ARVIRAGUS

Let ordinanceCome as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er,My brother hath done well.

BELARIUS

I had no mindTo hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sicknessDid make my way long forth.

GUIDERIUS

With his own sword,Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'enHis head from him: I'll throw't into the creekBehind our rock; and let it to the sea,And tell the fishes he's the queen's son, Cloten:That's all I reck.

BELARIUS

I fear 'twill be revenged:Would, Polydote, thou hadst not done't! though valourBecomes thee well enough.

ARVIRAGUS

Would I had done'tSo the revenge alone pursued me! Polydore,I love thee brotherly, but envy muchThou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would revenges,That possible strength might meet, would seek us throughAnd put us to our answer.

BELARIUS

Well, 'tis done:We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for dangerWhere there's no profit. I prithee, to our rock;You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stayTill hasty Polydote return, and bring himTo dinner presently.

ARVIRAGUS

Poor sick Fidele!I'll weringly to him: to gain his colourI'ld let a parish of such Clotens' blood,And praise myself for charity.

BELARIUS

O thou goddess,Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'stIn these two princely boys! They are as gentleAs zephyrs blowing below the violet,Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind,That by the top doth take the mountain pine,And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderThat an invisible instinct should frame themTo royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,Civility not seen from other, valourThat wildly grows in them, but yields a cropAs if it had been sow'd. Yet still it's strangeWhat Cloten's being here to us portends,Or what his death will bring us.

GUIDERIUS

Where's my brother?I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,In embassy to his mother: his body's hostageFor his return.

BELARIUS

My ingenious instrument!Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasionHath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!

GUIDERIUS

Is he at home?

BELARIUS

He went hence even now.

GUIDERIUS

What does he mean? since death of my dear'st motherit did not speak before. All solemn thingsShould answer solemn accidents. The matter?Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toysIs jollity for apes and grief for boys.Is Cadwal mad?

BELARIUS

Look, here he comes,And brings the dire occasion in his armsOf what we blame him for.

ARVIRAGUS

The bird is deadThat we have made so much on. I had ratherHave skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch,Than have seen this.

GUIDERIUS

O sweetest, fairest lily!My brother wears thee not the one half so wellAs when thou grew'st thyself.

BELARIUS

O melancholy!Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? findThe ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crareMight easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing!Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy.How found you him?

ARVIRAGUS

Stark, as you see:Thus smiling, as some fly hid tickled slumber,Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at; hisright cheekReposing on a cushion.

GUIDERIUS

Where?

ARVIRAGUS

O' the floor;His arms thus leagued: I thought he slept, and putMy clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudenessAnswer'd my steps too loud.

GUIDERIUS

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.

ARVIRAGUS

With fairest flowersWhilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lackThe flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, norThe azured harebell, like thy veins, no, norThe leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would,With charitable bill,--O bill, sore-shamingThose rich-left heirs that let their fathers lieWithout a monument!--bring thee all this;Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,To winter-ground thy corse.

GUIDERIUS

Prithee, have done;And do not play in wench-like words with thatWhich is so serious. Let us bury him,And not protract with admiration whatIs now due debt. To the grave!

ARVIRAGUS

Say, where shall's lay him?

GUIDERIUS

By good Euriphile, our mother.

ARVIRAGUS

Be't so:And let us, Polydore, though now our voicesHave got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground,As once our mother; use like note and words,Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

GUIDERIUS

Cadwal,I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee;For notes of sorrow out of tune are worseThan priests and fanes that lie.

ARVIRAGUS

We'll speak it, then.

BELARIUS

Great griefs, I see, medicine the less; for ClotenIs quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys;And though he came our enemy, rememberHe was paid for that: though mean andmighty, rottingTogether, have one dust, yet reverence,That angel of the world, doth make distinctionOf place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princelyAnd though you took his life, as being our foe,Yet bury him as a prince.

GUIDERIUS

Pray You, fetch him hither.Thersites' body is as good as Ajax',When neither are alive.

ARVIRAGUS

If you'll go fetch him,We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.

GUIDERIUS

Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east;My father hath a reason for't.

ARVIRAGUS

'Tis true.

GUIDERIUS

Come on then, and remove him.

ARVIRAGUS

So. Begin.

GUIDERIUS

Fear no more the heat o' the 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.

ARVIRAGUS

Fear no more the frown o' the great;Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;Care no more to clothe and eat;To thee the reed is as the oak:The sceptre, learning, physic, mustAll follow this, and come to dust.

GUIDERIUS

Fear no more the lightning flash,

ARVIRAGUS

Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;

GUIDERIUS

Fear not slander, censure rash;

ARVIRAGUS

Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:

ARVIRAGUS

All lovers young, all lovers mustConsign to thee, and come to dust.

GUIDERIUS

No exorciser harm thee!

ARVIRAGUS

Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

GUIDERIUS

Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

ARVIRAGUS

Nothing ill come near thee!

ARVIRAGUS

Quiet consummation have;And renowned be thy grave!

GUIDERIUS

We have done our obsequies: come, lay him down.

BELARIUS

Here's a few flowers; but 'bout midnight, more:The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the nightAre strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their faces.You were as flowers, now wither'd: even soThese 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.

IMOGEN

[Awaking] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; which isthe 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.But, soft! no bedfellow!--O god s and goddesses!

IMOGEN

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 eyesAre sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,I tremble stiff with fear: but if there beYet left in heaven as small a drop of pityAs a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it!The dream's here still: even when I wake, it isWithout 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 faceMurder 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,Hast here cut off my lord. To write and readBe henceforth treacherous! Damn'd PisanioHath with his forged letters,--damn'd Pisanio--From this most bravest vessel of the worldStruck the main-top! O Posthumus! alas,Where is thy head? where's that? Ay me!where's that?Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio?'Tis he and Cloten: malice and lucre in themHave laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!The drug he gave me, which he said was preciousAnd cordial to me, have I not found itMurderous to the senses? That confirms it home:This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O!Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,That we the horrider may seem to thoseWhich chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord!

Captain

To them the legions garrison'd in Gailia,After your will, have cross'd the sea, attendingYou here at Milford-Haven with your ships:They are in readiness.

CAIUS LUCIUS

But what from Rome?

Captain

The senate hath stirr'd up the confinersAnd gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits,That promise noble service: and they comeUnder the conduct of bold Iachimo,Syenna's brother.

CAIUS LUCIUS

When expect you them?

Captain

With the next benefit o' the wind.

CAIUS LUCIUS

This forwardnessMakes our hopes fair. Command our present numbersBe muster'd; bid the captains look to't. Now, sir,What have you dream'd of late of this war's purpose?

Soothsayer

Last night the very gods show'd me a vision--I fast and pray'd for their intelligence--thus:I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'dFrom the spongy south to this part of the west,There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends--Unless my sins abuse my divination--Success to the Roman host.

CAIUS LUCIUS

Dream often so,And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is hereWithout his top? The ruin speaks that sometimeIt was a worthy building. How! a page!Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather;For nature doth abhor to make his bedWith the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.Let's see the boy's face.

Captain

He's alive, my lord.

CAIUS LUCIUS

He'll then instruct us of this body. Young one,Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seemsThey crave to be demanded. Who is thisThou makest thy bloody pillow? Or who was heThat, otherwise than noble nature did,Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interestIn this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it?What art thou?

IMOGEN

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 wanderFrom east to occident, cry out for service,Try many, all good, serve truly, neverFind such another master.

CAIUS LUCIUS

'Lack, good youth!Thou movest no less with thy complaining thanThy master in bleeding: say his name, good friend.

IMOGEN

Richard du Champ.

IMOGEN

If I do lie and doNo harm by it, though the gods hear, I hopeThey'll pardon it.--Say you, sir?

CAIUS LUCIUS

Thy name?

IMOGEN

Fidele, sir.

CAIUS LUCIUS

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 sayThou shalt be so well master'd, but, be sure,No less beloved. The Roman emperor's letters,Sent by a consul to me, should not soonerThan thine own worth prefer thee: go with me.

IMOGEN

I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods,I'll hide my master from the flies, as deepAs these poor pickaxes can dig; and whenWith wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd 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.

CAIUS LUCIUS

Ay, good youth!And rather father thee than master thee.My friends,The boy hath taught us manly duties: let usFind out the prettiest daisied plot we can,And make him with our pikes and partisansA grave: come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr'dBy thee to us, and he shall be interr'dAs soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyesSome falls are means the happier to arise.