Read William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition Online
Authors: William Shakespeare
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William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition (546 page)
BOOK: William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition
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PISANIO
One score ’twixt sun and sun,
Madam, ’s enough for you, and too much too.
INNOGEN
Why, one that rode to ’s execution, man,
Could never go so slow. I have heard of riding wagers
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
That run i‘th’ clock’s behalf. But this is fool’ry.
Go bid my woman feign a sickness, say
She’ll home to her father; and provide me presently
A riding-suit no costlier than would fit
A franklin’s housewife.
Could never go so slow. I have heard of riding wagers
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
That run i‘th’ clock’s behalf. But this is fool’ry.
Go bid my woman feign a sickness, say
She’ll home to her father; and provide me presently
A riding-suit no costlier than would fit
A franklin’s housewife.
PISANIO
Madam, you’re best consider.
INNOGEN
I see before me, man. Nor here, nor here,
Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them
That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee,
Do as I bid thee. There’s no more to say:
Accessible is none but Milford way.
Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them
That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee,
Do as I bid thee. There’s no more to say:
Accessible is none but Milford way.
Exeunt
3.3Enter Belarius, followed by Guiderius and Arviragus,
⌈
from a cave in the woods
⌉
BELARIUS
A goodly day not to keep house with such
Whose roof’s as low as ours. Stoop, boys; this gate
Instructs you how t‘adore the heavens, and bows you
To a morning’s holy office. The gates of monarchs
Are arched so high that giants may jet through
And keep their impious turbans on without
Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!
We house i’th’ rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.
Whose roof’s as low as ours. Stoop, boys; this gate
Instructs you how t‘adore the heavens, and bows you
To a morning’s holy office. The gates of monarchs
Are arched so high that giants may jet through
And keep their impious turbans on without
Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!
We house i’th’ rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.
GUIDERIUS
Hail, heaven!
ARVIRAGUS
Hail, heaven!
BELARIUS
Now for our mountain sport. Up to yon hill,
Your legs are young; I’ll tread these flats. Consider,
When you above perceive me like a crow,
That it is place which lessens and sets off,
And you may then revolve what tales I have told you
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war;
That service is not service, so being done,
But being so allowed. To apprehend thus
Draws us a profit from all things we see,
And often to our comfort shall we find
The sharded beetle in a safer hold
Than is the full-winged eagle. O, this life
Is nobler than attending for a check,
Richer than doing nothing for a bauble,
Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk;
Such gain the cap of him that makes ’em fine,
Yet keeps his book uncrossed. No life to ours.
Your legs are young; I’ll tread these flats. Consider,
When you above perceive me like a crow,
That it is place which lessens and sets off,
And you may then revolve what tales I have told you
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war;
That service is not service, so being done,
But being so allowed. To apprehend thus
Draws us a profit from all things we see,
And often to our comfort shall we find
The sharded beetle in a safer hold
Than is the full-winged eagle. O, this life
Is nobler than attending for a check,
Richer than doing nothing for a bauble,
Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk;
Such gain the cap of him that makes ’em fine,
Yet keeps his book uncrossed. No life to ours.
GUIDERIUS
Out of your proof you speak. We, poor unfledged,
Have never winged from view o’th’ nest, nor know
not
What air’s from home. Haply this life is best,
If quiet life be best; sweeter to you
That have a sharper known; well corresponding
With your stiff age, but unto us it is
A cell of ignorance, travelling abed,
A prison for a debtor, that not dares
To stride a limit.
Have never winged from view o’th’ nest, nor know
not
What air’s from home. Haply this life is best,
If quiet life be best; sweeter to you
That have a sharper known; well corresponding
With your stiff age, but unto us it is
A cell of ignorance, travelling abed,
A prison for a debtor, that not dares
To stride a limit.
ARVIRAGUS (to
Belarius
) What should we speak of
Belarius
) What should we speak of
When we are old as you? When we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December, how,
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing.
We are beastly: subtle as the fox for prey,
Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat.
Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage
We make a choir, as doth the prisoned bird,
And sing our bondage freely.
The rain and wind beat dark December, how,
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing.
We are beastly: subtle as the fox for prey,
Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat.
Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage
We make a choir, as doth the prisoned bird,
And sing our bondage freely.
BELARIUS
How you speak!
Did you but know the city’s usuries,
And felt them knowingly; the art o‘th’ court,
As hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb
Is certain falling, or so slipp’ry that
The fear’s as bad as falling; the toil o‘th’ war,
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
I’th’ name of fame and honour, which dies i‘th’ search
And hath as oft a sland’rous epitaph
As record of fair act; nay, many times
Doth ill deserve by doing well; what’s worse,
Must curtsy at the censure. O boys, this story
The world may read in me. My body’s marked
With Roman swords, and my report was once
First with the best of note. Cymbeline loved me,
And when a soldier was the theme my name
Was not far off. Then was I as a tree
Whose boughs did bend with fruit; but in one night
A storm or robbery, call it what you will,
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
And left me bare to weather.
And felt them knowingly; the art o‘th’ court,
As hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb
Is certain falling, or so slipp’ry that
The fear’s as bad as falling; the toil o‘th’ war,
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
I’th’ name of fame and honour, which dies i‘th’ search
And hath as oft a sland’rous epitaph
As record of fair act; nay, many times
Doth ill deserve by doing well; what’s worse,
Must curtsy at the censure. O boys, this story
The world may read in me. My body’s marked
With Roman swords, and my report was once
First with the best of note. Cymbeline loved me,
And when a soldier was the theme my name
Was not far off. Then was I as a tree
Whose boughs did bend with fruit; but in one night
A storm or robbery, call it what you will,
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
And left me bare to weather.
GUIDERIUS
Uncertain favour!
BELARIUS
My fault being nothing, as I have told you oft,
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevailed
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline
I was confederate with the Romans. So
Followed my banishment, and this twenty years
This rock and these demesnes have been my world,
Where I have lived at honest freedom, paid
More pious debts to heaven than in all
The fore-end of my time. But up to th’ mountains!
This is not hunter’s language. He that strikes
The venison first shall be the lord o’th’ feast,
To him the other two shall minister,
And we will fear no poison which attends
In place of greater state. I’ll meet you in the valleys.
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevailed
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline
I was confederate with the Romans. So
Followed my banishment, and this twenty years
This rock and these demesnes have been my world,
Where I have lived at honest freedom, paid
More pious debts to heaven than in all
The fore-end of my time. But up to th’ mountains!
This is not hunter’s language. He that strikes
The venison first shall be the lord o’th’ feast,
To him the other two shall minister,
And we will fear no poison which attends
In place of greater state. I’ll meet you in the valleys.
Exeunt Guiderius and Arviragus
How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
These boys know little they are sons to th’ King,
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think they are mine, and though trained up
thus meanly
I‘th’ cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them
In simple and low things to prince it much
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who
The King his father called Guiderius—Jove,
When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell
The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out
Into my story: say ‘Thus mine enemy fell,
And thus I set my foot on ’s neck’, even then
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture
That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,
Once Arviragus, in as like a figure
Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more
His own conceiving.
These boys know little they are sons to th’ King,
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think they are mine, and though trained up
thus meanly
I‘th’ cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them
In simple and low things to prince it much
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who
The King his father called Guiderius—Jove,
When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell
The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out
Into my story: say ‘Thus mine enemy fell,
And thus I set my foot on ’s neck’, even then
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture
That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,
Once Arviragus, in as like a figure
Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more
His own conceiving.
⌈
A hunting-horn sounds
⌉
Hark, the game is roused!
O Cymbeline, heaven and my conscience knows
Thou didst unjustly banish me, whereon
At three and two years old I stole these babes,
Thinking to bar thee of succession as
Thou reft’st me of my lands. Euriphile,
Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their
mother,
And every day do honour to her grave.
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan called,
They take for natural father.
Thou didst unjustly banish me, whereon
At three and two years old I stole these babes,
Thinking to bar thee of succession as
Thou reft’st me of my lands. Euriphile,
Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their
mother,
And every day do honour to her grave.
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan called,
They take for natural father.
⌈
A hunting-horn sounds
⌉
The game is up.
Exit
3.4Enter Pisanio
,
and Innogen in a riding-suit
INNOGEN
Thou told‘st me when we came from horse the place
Was near at hand. Ne’er longed my mother so
To see me first as I have now. Pisanio, man,
Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind
That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that
sigh
From th’inward of thee? One but painted thus
Would be interpreted a thing perplexed
Beyond self-explication. Put thyself
Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my staider senses. What’s the matter?
Was near at hand. Ne’er longed my mother so
To see me first as I have now. Pisanio, man,
Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind
That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that
sigh
From th’inward of thee? One but painted thus
Would be interpreted a thing perplexed
Beyond self-explication. Put thyself
Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my staider senses. What’s the matter?
Pisanio gives her a letter
Why tender‘st thou that paper to me with
A look untender? If’t be summer news,
Smile to’t before; if winterly, thou need’st
But keep that count’nance still. My husband’s hand?
That drug-damned Italy hath out-craftied him,
And he’s at some hard point. Speak, man. Thy tongue
May take off some extremity which to read
Would be even mortal to me.
A look untender? If’t be summer news,
Smile to’t before; if winterly, thou need’st
But keep that count’nance still. My husband’s hand?
That drug-damned Italy hath out-craftied him,
And he’s at some hard point. Speak, man. Thy tongue
May take off some extremity which to read
Would be even mortal to me.
PISANIO
Please you read,
And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
The most disdained of fortune.
The most disdained of fortune.
INNOGEN (
reads
) ‘Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the strumpet in my bed, the testimonies whereof lies bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away her life. I shall give thee opportunity at Milford Haven. She hath my letter for the purpose, where if thou fear to strike and to make me certain it is done, thou art the pander to her dishonour and equally to me disloyal.’
reads
) ‘Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the strumpet in my bed, the testimonies whereof lies bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away her life. I shall give thee opportunity at Milford Haven. She hath my letter for the purpose, where if thou fear to strike and to make me certain it is done, thou art the pander to her dishonour and equally to me disloyal.’
PISANIO (
aside
)
aside
)
What shall I need to draw my sword? The paper
Hath cut her throat already. No, ’tis slander,
Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath
Rides on the posting winds and doth belie
All corners of the world. Kings, queens, and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters. (
To Innogen
) What cheer,
madam?
Hath cut her throat already. No, ’tis slander,
Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath
Rides on the posting winds and doth belie
All corners of the world. Kings, queens, and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters. (
To Innogen
) What cheer,
madam?
INNOGEN
False to his bed? What is it to be false?
To lie in watch there and to think on him?
To weep ’twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge nature,
To break it with a fearful dream of him
And cry myself awake? That’s false to ’s bed, is it?
To lie in watch there and to think on him?
To weep ’twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge nature,
To break it with a fearful dream of him
And cry myself awake? That’s false to ’s bed, is it?
PISANIO Alas, good lady.
INNOGEN
I false? Thy conscience witness, Giacomo,
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency.
Thou then lookedst like a villain; now, methinks,
Thy favour’s good enough. Some jay of Italy,
Whose mother was her painting, hath betrayed him.
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion,
And for I am richer than to hang by th’ walls
I must be ripped. To pieces with me! O,
Men’s vows are women’s traitors. All good seeming,
By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
Put on for villainy; not born where’t grows,
But worn a bait for ladies.
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency.
Thou then lookedst like a villain; now, methinks,
Thy favour’s good enough. Some jay of Italy,
Whose mother was her painting, hath betrayed him.
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion,
And for I am richer than to hang by th’ walls
I must be ripped. To pieces with me! O,
Men’s vows are women’s traitors. All good seeming,
By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
Put on for villainy; not born where’t grows,
But worn a bait for ladies.
PISANIO
Good madam, hear me.
INNOGEN
True honest men being heard like false Aeneas
Were in his time thought false, and Sinon’s weeping
Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity
From most true wretchedness. So thou, Posthumus,
Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men.
Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjured
From thy great fail. (
To Pisanio
) Come, fellow, be thou
honest,
Do thou thy master’s bidding. When thou seest
him,
A little witness my obedience. Look,
I draw the sword myself. Take it, and hit
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart.
Fear not, ‘tis empty of all things but grief.
Thy master is not there, who was indeed
The riches of it. Do his bidding; strike.
Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause,
But now thou seem’st a coward.
Were in his time thought false, and Sinon’s weeping
Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity
From most true wretchedness. So thou, Posthumus,
Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men.
Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjured
From thy great fail. (
To Pisanio
) Come, fellow, be thou
honest,
Do thou thy master’s bidding. When thou seest
him,
A little witness my obedience. Look,
I draw the sword myself. Take it, and hit
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart.
Fear not, ‘tis empty of all things but grief.
Thy master is not there, who was indeed
The riches of it. Do his bidding; strike.
Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause,
But now thou seem’st a coward.
PISANIO
Hence, vile instrument,
Thou shalt not damn my hand!
INNOGEN
Why, I must die,
And if I do not by thy hand thou art
No servant of thy master’s. Against self-slaughter
There is a prohibition so divine
That cravens my weak hand. Come, here’s my heart.
Something’s afore’t. Soft, soft, we’ll no defence;
Obedient as the scabbard. What is here?
No servant of thy master’s. Against self-slaughter
There is a prohibition so divine
That cravens my weak hand. Come, here’s my heart.
Something’s afore’t. Soft, soft, we’ll no defence;
Obedient as the scabbard. What is here?
She takes letters from her bosom
The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus,
All turned to heresy? Away, away,
Corrupters of my faith, you shall no more
Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools
Believe false teachers. Though those that are betrayed
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe. And thou, Posthumus,
That didst set up my disobedience ’gainst the King
My father, and make me put into contempt the suits
Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
It is no act of common passage but
A strain of rareness; and I grieve myself
To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her
That now thou tirest on, how thy memory
Will then be panged by me. (
To Pisanio
) Prithee,
dispatch.
The lamb entreats the butcher. Where’s thy knife?
Thou art too slow to do thy master’s bidding
When I desire it too.
All turned to heresy? Away, away,
Corrupters of my faith, you shall no more
Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools
Believe false teachers. Though those that are betrayed
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe. And thou, Posthumus,
That didst set up my disobedience ’gainst the King
My father, and make me put into contempt the suits
Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
It is no act of common passage but
A strain of rareness; and I grieve myself
To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her
That now thou tirest on, how thy memory
Will then be panged by me. (
To Pisanio
) Prithee,
dispatch.
The lamb entreats the butcher. Where’s thy knife?
Thou art too slow to do thy master’s bidding
When I desire it too.
PISANIO
O gracious lady,
Since I received command to do this business
I have not slept one wink.
I have not slept one wink.
INNOGEN
Do’t, and to bed, then.
PISANIO
I’ll wake mine eyeballs out first.
INNOGEN
Wherefore then
Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abused
So many miles with a pretence?—this place,
Mine action, and thine own? Our horses’ labour,
The time inviting thee? The perturbed court,
For my being absent, whereunto I never
Purpose return? Why hast thou gone so far
To be unbent when thou hast ta‘en thy stand,
Th’elected deer before thee?
So many miles with a pretence?—this place,
Mine action, and thine own? Our horses’ labour,
The time inviting thee? The perturbed court,
For my being absent, whereunto I never
Purpose return? Why hast thou gone so far
To be unbent when thou hast ta‘en thy stand,
Th’elected deer before thee?
PISANIO
But to win time
To lose so bad employment, in the which
I have considered of a course. Good lady,
Hear me with patience.
I have considered of a course. Good lady,
Hear me with patience.
INNOGEN
Talk thy tongue weary. Speak.
I have heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear,
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.
BOOK: William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition
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