William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition (544 page)

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Authors: William Shakespeare

Tags: #Drama, #Literary Criticism, #Shakespeare

BOOK: William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition
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CLOTEN
Your lady’s person. Is she ready?
LADY Ay.
⌈Aside⌉ To keep her chamber.
CLOTEN
There is gold for you.
Sell me your good report.
LADY
How, my good name?—or to report of you
What I shall think is good?
Enter
Innogen
 
The Princess.

Exit

CLOTEN
Good morrow, fairest. Sister, your sweet hand.
INNOGEN
Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains
For purchasing but trouble. The thanks I give
Is telling you that I am poor of thanks,
And scarce can spare them.
CLOTEN
Still I swear I love you.
INNOGEN
If you but said so, ’twere as deep with me.
If you swear still, your recompense is still
That I regard it not.
CLOTEN
This is no answer.
INNOGEN
But that you shall not say I yield being silent,
I would not speak. I pray you, spare me. Faith,
I shall unfold equal discourtesy
To your best kindness. One of your great knowing
Should learn, being taught, forbearance.
CLOTEN
To leave you in your madness, ’twere my sin.
I will not.
INNOGEN
Fools cure not mad folks.
CLOTEN
Do you call me fool?
INNOGEN
As I am mad, I do.
If you’ll be patient, I’ll no more be mad;
That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir,
You put me to forget a lady’s manners
By being so verbal; and learn now for all
That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce
By th’ very truth of it: I care not for you,
And am so near the lack of charity
To accuse myself I hate you, which I had rather
You felt than make’t my boast.
CLOTEN
You sin against
Obedience which you owe your father. For
The contract you pretend with that base wretch,
One bred of alms and fostered with cold dishes,
With scraps o‘th’ court, it is no contract, none.
And though it be allowed in meaner parties—
Yet who than he more mean?—to knit their souls,
On whom there is no more dependency
But brats and beggary, in self-figured knot,
Yet you are curbed from that enlargement by
The consequence o’th’ crown, and must not foil
The precious note of it with a base slave,
A hilding for a livery, a squire’s cloth,
A pantler—not so eminent.
INNOGEN
Profane fellow,
Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more
But what thou art besides, thou wert too base
To be his groom; thou wert dignified enough,
Even to the point of envy, if ’twere made
Comparative for your virtues to be styled
The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
For being preferred so well.
CLOTEN
The south-fog rot him!
INNOGEN
He never can meet more mischance than come
To be but named of thee. His meanest garment
That ever hath but clipped his body is dearer
In my respect than all the hairs above thee,
Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio!
Enter Pisanio
 
CLOTEN His garment? Now the devil—
INNOGEN (
to Pisanio)
To Dorothy, my woman, hie thee presently.
CLOTEN
His garment?
INNOGEN (
to Pisanio
) I am sprited with a fool,
Frighted, and angered worse. Go bid my woman
Search for a jewel that too casually
Hath left mine arm. It was thy master’s. ‘Shrew me
If I would lose it for a revenue
Of any king’s in Europe! I do think
I saw’t this morning; confident I am
Last night ’twas on mine arm; I kissed it.
I hope it be not gone to tell my lord
That I kiss aught but he.
PISANIO
’Twill not be lost.
INNOGEN
I hope so. Go and search.
Exit Pisanio
CLOTEN
You have abused me.
‘His meanest garment’?
INNOGEN
Ay, I said so, sir.
If you will make’t an action, call witness to’t.
CLOTEN
I will inform your father.
INNOGEN
Your mother too.
She’s my good lady, and will conceive, I hope,
But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,
To th’ worst of discontent.
Exit
CLOTEN
I’ll be revenged.
‘His meanest garment’? Well! Exit
2.4
Enter Posthumus and Filario
 
POSTHUMUS
Fear it not, sir. I would I were so sure
To win the King as I am bold her honour
Will remain hers.
FILARIO
What means do you make to him?
POSTHUMUS
Not any; but abide the change of time,
Quake in the present winter’s state, and wish
That warmer days would come. In these seared hopes
I barely gratify your love; they failing,
I must die much your debtor.
FILARIO
Your very goodness and your company
O‘erpays all I can do. By this, your king
Hath heard of great Augustus. Caius Lucius
Will do ’s commission throughly. And I think
He’ll grant the tribute, send th’arrearages,
Ere look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in their grief.
POSTHUMUS
I do believe,
Statist though I am none, nor like to be,
That this will prove a war, and you shall hear
The legions now in Gallia sooner landed
In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
Are men more ordered than when Julius Caesar
Smiled at their lack of skill but found their courage
Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline,
Now wing-led with their courage, will make known
To their approvers they are people such
That mend upon the world.
Enter Giacomo
 
FILARIO
See, Giacomo.
POSTHUMUS (
to Giacomo
)
The swiftest harts have posted you by land,
And winds of all the corners kissed your sails
To make your vessel nimble.
FILARIO (
to Giacomo
)
Welcome, sir.
POSTHUMUS (to Giacomo)
I hope the briefness of your answer made
The speediness of your return.
GIACOMO
Your lady is
One of the fair’st that I have looked upon—
POSTHUMUS
And therewithal the best, or let her beauty
Look through a casement to allure false hearts,
And be false with them.
GIACOMO
Here are letters for you.
POSTHUMUS
Their tenor good, I trust.
GIACOMO
’Tis very like.
Posthumus reads the letters
 
⌈FILARIO⌉
Was Caius Lucius in the Briton court
When you were there?
GIACOMO
He was expected then,
But not approached.
POSTHUMUS
All is well yet.
Sparkles this stone as it was wont, or is’t not
Too dull for your good wearing?
GIACOMO
If I had lost it
I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
I’ll make a journey twice as far t’enjoy
A second night of such sweet shortness which
Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.
POSTHUMOUS
The stone’s too hard to come by.
GIACOMO
Not a whit,
Your lady being so easy.
POSTHUMUS
Make not, sir,
Your loss your sport. I hope you know that we
Must not continue friends.
GIACOMO
Good sir, we must,
If you keep covenant. Had I not brought
The knowledge of your mistress home I grant
We were to question farther, but I now
Profess myself the winner of her honour,
Together with your ring, and not the wronger
Of her or you, having proceeded but
By both your wills.
POSTHUMUS
If you can make’t apparent
That you have tasted her in bed, my hand
And ring is yours. If not, the foul opinion
You had of her pure honour gains or loses
Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both
To who shall find them.
GIACOMO
Sir, my circumstances,
Being so near the truth as I will make them,
Must first induce you to believe; whose strength
I will confirm with oath, which I doubt not
You’ll give me leave to spare when you shall find
You need it not.
POSTHUMUS
Proceed.
GIACOMO
First, her bedchamber—
Where I confess I slept not, but profess
Had that was well worth watching—it was hanged
With tapestry of silk and silver; the story
Proud Cleopatra when she met her Roman,
And Cydnus swelled above the banks, or for
The press of boats or pride: a piece of work
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
In workmanship and value; which I wondered
Could be so rarely and exactly wrought,
Such the true life on’t was.
POSTHUMUS
This is true,
And this you might have heard of here, by me
Or by some other.
GIACOMO
More particulars
Must justify my knowledge.
POSTHUMUS
So they must,
Or do your honour injury.
GIACOMO
The chimney
Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece
Chaste Dian bathing. Never saw I figures
So likely to report themselves; the cutter
Was as another nature; dumb, outwent her,
Motion and breath left out.
POSTHUMUS
This is a thing
Which you might from relation likewise reap,
Being, as it is, much spoke of.
GIACOMO
The roof o’th’ chamber
With golden cherubins is fretted. Her andirons—
I had forgot them—were two winking Cupids
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
Depending on their brands.
POSTHUMUS
This is her honour!
Let it be granted you have seen all this—and praise
Be given to your remembrance—the description
Of what is in her chamber nothing saves
The wager you have laid.
GIACOMO
Then, if you can
Be pale, I beg but leave to air this jewel. See!
He shows the bracelet
 
And now ’tis up again; it must be married
To that your diamond. I’ll keep them.
POSTHUMUS
Jove!
Once more let me behold it. Is it that
Which I left with her?
GIACOMO
Sir, I thank her, that.
She stripped it from her arm. I see her yet.
Her pretty action did outsell her gift,
And yet enriched it too. She gave it me,
And said she prized it once.
POSTHUMUS
Maybe she plucked it off
To send it me.
GIACOMO
She writes so to you, doth she?
POSTHUMUS
O, no, no, no—’tis true! Here, take this too.
He gives Giacomo his ring
 
It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
Kills me to look on’t. Let there be no honour
Where there is beauty, truth where semblance, love
Where there’s another man. The vows of women
Of no more bondage be to where they are made
Than they are to their virtues, which is nothing!
O, above measure false!

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