The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (827 page)

Will force him think I have pick'd the lock and ta'en

The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end?

Why should I write this down that's riveted,

Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late

The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down

Where Philomel gave up. I have enough.

To th' trunk again, and shut the spring of it.

Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning

May bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear;

Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. [Clock strikes]

One, two, three. Time, time!

Exit into the trunk

The crickets are singing, and men's overworked minds

repair themselves with rest. This is how our Tarquin

crept across the floor before he woke

the chastity he wounded. Venus,

how well you suit your bed! A fresh lily,

whiter than the sheets! If only I could touch you!

Just a kiss; one kiss! Matchless rubies,

how sweetly they do it! It's her breath that

makes the room smells so sweet. The flame of the candle

bows towards her and wants to peep under her eyelids

to see the hidden lights, now covered by these

windows, white and azure, laced with

the blue of heaven. But to my plan.

I must describe the chamber: or write it all down:

these are the pictures: there is the window, this

is how her bed is made; the tapestry, statues,

this, this and this; and the contents of the room.

Ah, but some description of her distinguishing marks

would be proof which enriched my list more than

ten thousand bits of furniture.

O sleep, you imitator of death, lie heavy upon her,

let her be only as conscious as an effigy,

lying in a chapel. Come off, come off;

[taking off her bracelet]

that was as easy as the Gordian knot was hard.

It's mine, and this will give outward proof

which will be the match of the inward proof

which will enrage her lord. On her left breast

there's a five spotted mole: it's like the red spots

at the bottom of a cowslip. His proof,

stronger than the law could ever ask for; this secret

will force him to think that I have picked the lock and taken

the treasure of her honour. That's enough, why would you need more?

Why should I write this down, now it's riveted,

screwed to my memory? She has been recently reading

the tale of Tereus, the page is turned down

where Philomel gave in. I have enough:

back to the trunk, and I'll shut the lid.

Hurry, you dragons of the night, bring

the sunrise to the raven's eye! I hide in fear;

though she is a heavenly angel, I am surrounded by hell. [clock strikes]

one, two, three: it's time, time!

Enter CLOTEN and LORDS

FIRST LORD.

Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the

most

coldest that ever turn'd up ace.

Your lordship is the calmest man ever to face a loss,

the coolest to ever roll a one.

CLOTEN.

It would make any man cold to lose.

Any man would be cold when he loses.

FIRST LORD.

But not every man patient after the noble temper of

your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win.

But not every man would be able to follow the noble example

of your lordship.You are very hot and raging when you win.

CLOTEN.

Winning will put any man into courage. If I could get

this

foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough. It's almost

morning,

is't not?

Anyone can be brave when he wins.If I could get this

foolish Imogen, I will have enough money.It's almost morning, isn't it?

FIRST LORD.

Day, my lord.

It's day, my lord.

CLOTEN.

I would this music would come. I am advised to give her

music a mornings; they say it will penetrate.

Enter musicians

Come on, tune. If you can penetrate her with your 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.

I wish those musicians would come.I have been told to give her

music in the mornings; they say that will get through to her.

Come on, tune up.If you can get through to her with your music

we'll try singing too.If nothing works she can stay there, but I'll

never give in.First we'll have a beautifully written piece, then a

lovely sweet song, with splendid rich words to it - and then let her think about it.

SONG

Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

And Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs

On chalic'd flow'rs that lies;

And winking Mary-buds begin

To ope their golden eyes.

With everything that pretty bin,

My lady sweet, arise;

Arise, arise!

So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider your

music

the better; if it do not, it is a vice in her ears which

horsehairs and calves' guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch

to

boot, can never amend.

Exeunt musicians

Listen, listen!The lark is singing at heaven's gate,

and the sun begins to rise,

to water his horses at the pools

that stand in the cups of the flowers;

and winking marigolds begin

to open their golden eyes.

My sweet lady, arise

with everything else that's beautiful,

arise, arise!

So, off you go.If this gets through to her, I will think more of your music;

if it doesn't, there's a fault in her ears that your strings and bows, nor the voice of the treble, can't cure.

Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN

SECOND LORD.

Here comes the King.

Here comes the king.

CLOTEN.

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 morrow to your Majesty and to my gracious

mother.

I am glad I was up so late, because that meant I was up early.

He can't help but think well of me for this.

Good day to your majesty and to my gracious mother.

CYMBELINE.

Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?

Will she not forth?

Are you waiting at the door of my obstinate daughter?

Will she not come out?

CLOTEN.

I have assail'd her with musics, but she vouchsafes no

notice.

I have tried her with music, but she takes no notice.

CYMBELINE.

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.

Her favourite's exile is too recent;

she hasn't yet forgotten him; some more time

is needed to erase his memory,

and then she'll be yours.

QUEEN.

You are most bound to th' King,

Who lets go by no vantages that may

Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself

To orderly soliciting, 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.

You should be very grateful to the King,

who misses no opportunity of advancing

your cause with his daughter. Prepare yourself

to be patient and polite,

let time take its course; make rejection

make you work harder; look as if

love is inspiring you to do things for her;

show her that you obey her in all things,

except when her orders involve rejecting you,

and you just should ignore them.

CLOTEN.

Senseless? Not so.

Enter a MESSENGER

Ignorant? I'm not.

MESSENGER.

So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;

The one is Caius Lucius.

If you please, sir, here are some ambassadors from Rome;

one of them is Caius Lucius.

CYMBELINE.

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 dear son,

When you have given good morning to your mistress,

Attend the Queen and us; we shall have need

T' employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.

Exeunt all but CLOTEN

A good fellow,

even if he's come now on an angry errand;

but that's not his fault. We must welcome him

in a way which fits the honour of the one who sent him;

and we must treat him well for his own sake in recognition

of the kindnesses he has done us in the past. My dear son,

when you have said good morning to your mistress,

wait on the Queen and me; we shall be needing you

in our dealings with this Roman. Come, my queen.

CLOTEN.

If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not,

Let her lie still and dream. By your leave, ho! [Knocks]

I know her women are about her; what

If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold

Which buys admittance; oft it doth-yea, and makes

Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up

Their deer to th' stand o' th' stealer; and 'tis gold