CYMBELINE

Thou basest thing, avoid hence, from my sighed: If after this command thou fraught the Court With thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away, Thou'rt poison to my blood. Oh disloyal thing, That shouldst repair my youth, thou heapest A years age on me Passed Grace? Obedience? That mightest have had The sole Son of my Queen. Thou tookest a Beggar, wouldst have made my Throne, a Seat for baseness. Oh thou vild one! What? art thou mad? Thou foolish thing; They were again together: you have done Not after our command. Away with her, And pen her up. Nay let her languish A drop of blood a day, and being aged Die of this Folly. Attend you here the door of our stern daughter Will she not forth? The Exile of her Minion is too new, She hath not yet forgotten him, some more time Must wear the print of his remembrance on't, And then she's yours. A worthy Fellow, Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; But that's no fault of his: we must receive him According to the Honour of his Sender, And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us We must extend our notice: Our deer Son, When you have given good morning to your Mistress, Attend the Queen, and us, we shall have need to employ you towards this Roman. Come our Queen. Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us? Son, let your Mother end. You must know, Till the injurious Roman, did extort This Tribute from us, we were free. Caesars Ambition, Which swelled so much, that it did almost stretch The sides of the World, against all colour here, Did put the yoke upon's; which to shake off Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon Our selves to be, we do. Say then to Caesar, Our Ancestor was that Mulmutius, which 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 Room 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. Thou art welcome Caius, Thy Caesar Knighted me; my youth I spent Much under him; of him, I gathered Honour, 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 President Which not to read, would show the Britain's cold: So Caesar shall not find them. I know your Master's pleasure, and he mine: All the Remain, is welcome. Thus far, and so fare well. Our Subjects (Sir) Will not endure his yoke; and for our self To show less Sovereignty then they, must needs Appear vn-Kinglike. My Lords, you are appointed for that Office: The endue of Honour, in no point omit: So farewell Noble Lucius. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my Lords Till he have crossed the Severn Happiness. 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. 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 look us Like A thing more made of malice, then of duty, We have noted it. Call her before us, for We have been too slight in sufferance. Where is she Sir? How Can her contempt be answered? Her doors locked? Not seen of late? Grant Heavens, that which I Fear, prove false. Again: and bring me word how it's with her, A Favour 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 partly 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, passed 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. The time is troublesome: We'll slip you for a season, but our jealousy Do's yet depend. Now for the Counsel of my Son and Queen, I am amazed with matter. 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. 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 Ta ges of proof, cannot be found: He shall be happy that can find him, if Our Grace can make him so. No tidings of him? 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. It's now the time To ask of whence you are. Report it. Bow your knees: Arise my Knights of the Battle, I create you Companions to our person, and will fit you With Dignities becoming your estates. There's business in these faces: why so sadly Greet you our Victory? you look Like Romans, And not of the Court of Britain. Who worse then a Physician Would this report become? But I consider, By Medicine life may be prolonged, yet death Will seize the Doctor too. How ended she? Prithee say. She alone knew this: And but she spoke it dying, I would not Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. Oh most delicate Fiend! Who is't can read a Woman? Is there more? Herd you all this, her Women? Mine eyes Were not in fault, for she was beautiful: Mine ears that hear her flattery, nor my heart, 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 mayest say, And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all. Thou comest not Caius now for Tribute, that The Britain's have raced out, though with the lose Of many a bold one: whose Kinsmen have made suit That their good souls may be appeased, with slaughter Of you their Captives, which our self have granted, So think of your estate. I have surely seen him: His favour is familiar to me: Boy, Thou hast looked thy self into my grace, And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore, To say, live boy: never 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 taken. What wouldst thou Boy? I love thee more, and more: think more and more What's best to ask. Knowest him thou lookest on? speak Wilt have him live? Is he thy Kin? thy Friend? Wherefore ey'st him so? I, with all my heart, And lend my best attention. What's thy name? Thou'rt my good youth: my Page I'll be thy Master: walk with me: speak freely. Come, stand thou by our side, Make thy demand aloud. 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 Honour) bitter torture shall Winnow the truth from falsehood. One speak to him. That Diamond upon your Finger, say How came it yours? How? me? All that belongs to this. My Daughter? what of his? Renew thy strength I had rather thou shouldst live, while Nature will, Then die ere I hear more: strive man, and speak. I stand on fire. Come to the matter. Nay, nay, to the purpose. Does the world go round? If this be so, the Gods do mean to strike me To death, with mortal joy. The tune of Imogen. New matter still. What's this, Cornelius ? How now, my Flesh? my Child? What, makest thou me a dullard in this Act? Wilt thou not speak to me? My tears that fallen Prove holy-water on thee; Imogen, Thy Mother's dead. O, she was nought; and long of her it was That we meet here so strangely: but her Son Is gone, we know not how, nor where. Marry, the Gods forefend. I would not thy good deeds, should from my lips Pluck a hard sentence: Prithee valiant youth Deny't again. He was a Prince. I am sorrow for thee: By thine own tongue thou art condemned, and must Endure our Law: Thou'rt dead. Bind the Offender, And take him from our presence. Why old Soldier: Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for By tasting of our wrath? How of descent As good as we? And thou shalt die for't. What of him? He is a banished Traitor. Take him hence, The whole world shall not save him. Nursing of my Sons? How? my Issue. Thou weepest, and speakest: The Service that you three have done, is more Unlike, then this thou tellest. I lost my Children, If these be they, I know not how to wish A pair of worthier Sons. Guiderius had Upon his neck a Mole, a sanguine Star, It was a mark of wonder. O, what am I A Mother to the birth of three? Near Mother Rejoiced deliverance more: Blessed, 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. Did you ere meet? Oh rare instinct! 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 Brother? How first met them? Why fled you from the Court? And whither these? And your three motives to the Battle? with I know not how much more should be demanded, And all the other by-dependances 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 Brother's, 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. All overjoyed Save these in bonds, let them be joyful too, For they shall taste our Comfort. The forlorn Soldier, that no Nobly fought He would have well becomed this place, and graced The thankings of a King. Nobly doomed: We'll learn our Freeness of a Sonne-in-Law: Pardon's the word to all. This hath some seeming. 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. Laud we the Gods, And let our crooked Smokes climb to their Nostrils From our blessed Altars. Publish we this Peace To all our Subjects. Set we forward: Let A Roman, and a British Ensign wave Friendly together: so through Luds-Towne 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.