Cymbeline By William Shakespeare

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Cymbeline

William Shakespeare

Published: 1611

Categorie(s): Fiction, Drama, Romance

Source: http://shakespeare.mit.edu/ About Shakespeare:

William Shakespeare (baptised 26 April 1564 – died 23 April 1616) was an English poet and playwright, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist. He is often called England's national poet and the "Bard of Avon" (or simply "The Bard"). His surviving works consist of 38 plays, 154 sonnets, two long narrative poems, and several other poems. His plays have been translated into every major living language, and are performed more often than those of any other playwright. Shakespeare was born and raised in Stratford-upon-Avon. At the age of 18 he married Anne Hathaway, who bore him three children: Susanna, and twins Hamnet and Judith. Between 1585 and 1592 he began a successful career in London as an actor, writer, and part owner of the playing company the Lord Chamberlain's Men, later known as the King's Men. He appears to have retired to Stratford around 1613, where he died three years later. Few records of Shakespeare's private life survive, and there has been considerable speculation about such matters as his sexuality, religious beliefs, and whether the works attributed to him were written by others. Shakespeare produced most of his known work between 1590 and 1613. His early plays were mainly comedies and histories, genres he raised to the peak of sophistication and artistry by the end of the sixteenth century. Next he wrote mainly tragedies until about 1608, including Hamlet, King Lear, and Macbeth, considered some of the finest examples in the English language. In his last phase, he wrote tragicomedies, also known as romances, and collaborated with other playwrights. Many of his plays were published in editions of varying quality and accuracy during his lifetime, and in 1623 two of his former theatrical colleagues published the First Folio, a collected edition of his dramatic works that included all but two of the plays now recognised as Shakespeare's. Shakespeare was a respected poet and playwright in his own day, but his reputation did not rise to its present heights until the nineteenth century. The Romantics, in particular, acclaimed Shakespeare's genius, and the Victorians hero-worshipped Shakespeare with a reverence that George Bernard Shaw called "bardolatry". In the twentieth century, his work was repeatedly adopted and rediscovered by new movements in scholarship and performance. His plays remain highly popular today and are consistently performed and reinterpreted in diverse cultural and political contexts throughout the world. Source: Wikipedia

Also available on Feedbooks Shakespeare:

- Romeo and Juliet (1597)

- Hamlet (1599)

- Macbeth (1606)

- A Midsummer Night's Dream (1596)

- Julius Caesar (1599)

- Othello (1603)

- The Merchant of Venice (1598)

- Much Ado About Nothing (1600)

- King Lear (1606)

- The Taming of the Shrew (1594)

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Act I

SCENE I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline's palace.

> Enter two Gentlemen

First Gentleman

> You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods

> No more obey the heavens than our courtiers

> Still seem as does the king.

Second Gentleman

> But what's the matter?

First Gentleman

> His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom

> He purposed to his wife's sole son—a widow

> That late he married—hath referr'd herself

> Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: she's wedded;

> Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd: all

> Is outward sorrow; though I think the king

> Be touch'd at very heart.

Second Gentleman

> None but the king?

First Gentleman

> He that hath lost her too; so is the queen,

> That most desired the match; but not a courtier,

> Although they wear their faces to the bent

> Of the king's look's, hath a heart that is not

> Glad at the thing they scowl at.

Second Gentleman

> And why so?

First Gentleman

> He that hath miss'd the princess is a thing

> Too bad for bad report: and he that hath her—

> I mean, that married her, alack, good man!

> And therefore banish'd—is a creature such

> As, to seek through the regions of the earth

> For one his like, there would be something failing

> In him that should compare. I do not think

> So fair an outward and such stuff within

> Endows a man but he.

Second Gentleman

> You speak him far.

First Gentleman

> I do extend him, sir, within himself,

> Crush him together rather than unfold

> His measure duly.

Second Gentleman

> What's his name and birth?

First Gentleman

> I cannot delve him to the root: his father

> Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour

> Against the Romans with Cassibelan,

> But had his titles by Tenantius whom

> He served with glory and admired success,

> So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus;

> And had, besides this gentleman in question,

> Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time

> Died with their swords in hand; for which

> their father,

> Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow

> That he quit being, and his gentle lady,

> Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased

> As he was born. The king he takes the babe

> To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus,

> Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber,

> Puts to him all the learnings that his time

> Could make him the receiver of; which he took,

> As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd,

> And in's spring became a harvest, lived in court—

> Which rare it is to do—most praised, most loved,

> A sample to the youngest, to the more mature

> A glass that feated them, and to the graver

> A child that guided dotards; to his mistress,

> For whom he now is banish'd, her own price

> Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue;

> By her election may be truly read

> What kind of man he is.

Second Gentleman

> I honour him

> Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me,

> Is she sole child to the king?

First Gentleman

> His only child.

> He had two sons: if this be worth your hearing,

> Mark it: the eldest of them at three years old,

> I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery

> Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in knowledge

> Which way they went.

Second Gentleman

> How long is this ago?

First Gentleman

> Some twenty years.

Second Gentleman

> That a king's children should be so convey'd,

> So slackly guarded, and the search so slow,

> That could not trace them!

First Gentleman

> Howsoe'er 'tis strange,

> Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at,

> Yet is it true, sir.

Second Gentleman

> I do well believe you.

First Gentleman

> We must forbear: here comes the gentleman,

> The queen, and princess.

>

> Exeunt

>

> Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and IMOGEN

QUEEN

> No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter,

> After the slander of most stepmothers,

> Evil-eyed unto you: you're my prisoner, but

> Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys

> That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus,

> So soon as I can win the offended king,

> I will be known your advocate: marry, yet

> The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good

> You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience

> Your wisdom may inform you.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS

> Please your highness,

> I will from hence to-day.

QUEEN

> You know the peril.

> I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying

> The pangs of barr'd affections, though the king

> Hath charged you should not speak together.

>

> Exit

IMOGEN

> O

> Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant

> Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband,

> I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing—

> Always reserved my holy duty—what

> His rage can do on me: you must be gone;

> And I shall here abide the hourly shot

> Of angry eyes, not comforted to live,

> But that there is this jewel in the world

> That I may see again.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS

> My queen! my mistress!

> O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause

> To be suspected of more tenderness

> Than doth become a man. I will remain

> The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth:

> My residence in Rome at one Philario's,

> Who to my father was a friend, to me

> Known but by letter: thither write, my queen,

> And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send,

> Though ink be made of gall.

>

> Re-enter QUEEN

QUEEN

> Be brief, I pray you:

> If the king come, I shall incur I know not

> How much of his displeasure.

>

> Aside

>

> Yet I'll move him

> To walk this way: I never do him wrong,

> But he does buy my injuries, to be friends;

> Pays dear for my offences.

>

> Exit

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS

> Should we be taking leave

> As long a term as yet we have to live,

> The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu!

IMOGEN

> Nay, stay a little:

> Were you but riding forth to air yourself,

> Such parting were too petty. Look here, love;

> This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart;

> But keep it till you woo another wife,

> When Imogen is dead.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS

> How, how! another?

> You gentle gods, give me but this I have,

> And sear up my embracements from a next

> With bonds of death!

>

> Putting on the ring

>

> Remain, remain thou here

> While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest,

> As I my poor self did exchange for you,

> To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles

> I still win of you: for my sake wear this;

> It is a manacle of love; I'll place it

> Upon this fairest prisoner.

>

> Putting a bracelet upon her arm

IMOGEN

> O the gods!

> When shall we see again?

>

> Enter CYMBELINE and Lords

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS

> Alack, the king!

CYMBELINE

> Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight!

> If after this command thou fraught the court

> With thy unworthiness, thou diest: away!

> Thou'rt poison to my blood.

POSTHUMUS LEONATUS

> The gods protect you!

> And bless the good remainders of the court! I am gone.

>

> Exit

IMOGEN

> There cannot be a pinch in death

> More sharp than this is.

CYMBELINE

> O disloyal thing,

> That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st

> A year's age on me.

IMOGEN

> I beseech you, sir,

> Harm not yourself with your vexation

> I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare

> Subdues all pangs, all fears.

CYMBELINE

> Past grace? obedience?

IMOGEN

> Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace.

CYMBELINE

> That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!

IMOGEN

> O blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle,

> And did avoid a puttock.

CYMBELINE

> Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne

> A seat for baseness.

IMOGEN

> No; I rather added

> A lustre to it.

CYMBELINE

> O thou vile one!

IMOGEN

> Sir,

> It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus:

> You bred him as my playfellow, and he is

> A man worth any woman, overbuys me

> Almost the sum he pays.

CYMBELINE

> What, art thou mad?

IMOGEN

> Almost, sir: heaven restore me! Would I were

> A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus

> Our neighbour shepherd's son!

CYMBELINE

> Thou foolish thing!

>

> Re-enter QUEEN

>

> They were again together: you have done

> Not after our command. Away with her,

> And pen her up.

QUEEN

> Beseech your patience. Peace,

> Dear lady daughter, peace! Sweet sovereign,

> Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some comfort

> Out of your best advice.

CYMBELINE

> Nay, let her languish

> A drop of blood a day; and, being aged,

> Die of this folly!

>

> Exeunt CYMBELINE and Lords

QUEEN

> Fie! you must give way.

>

> Enter PISANIO

>

> Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news?

PISANIO

> My lord your son drew on my master.

QUEEN

> Ha!

> No harm, I trust, is done?

PISANIO

> There might have been,

> But that my master rather play'd than fought

> And had no help of anger: they were parted

> By gentlemen at hand.

QUEEN

> I am very glad on't.

IMOGEN

> Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part.

> To draw upon an exile! O brave sir!

> I would they were in Afric both together;

> Myself by with a needle, that I might prick

> The goer-back. Why came you from your master?

PISANIO

> On his command: he would not suffer me

> To bring him to the haven; left these notes

> Of what commands I should be subject to,

> When 't pleased you to employ me.

QUEEN

> This hath been

> Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour

> He will remain so.

PISANIO

> I humbly thank your highness.

QUEEN

> Pray, walk awhile.

IMOGEN

> About some half-hour hence,

> I pray you, speak with me: you shall at least

> Go see my lord aboard: for this time leave me.

>

> Exeunt

SCENE II. The same. A public place.

> Enter CLOTEN and two Lords

First Lord

> Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the

> violence of action hath made you reek as a

> sacrifice: where air comes out, air comes in:

> there's none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.

CLOTEN

> If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him?

Second Lord

> [Aside] No, 'faith; not so much as his patience.

First Lord

> Hurt him! his body's a passable carcass, if he be

> not hurt: it is a thoroughfare for steel, if it be not hurt.

Second Lord

> [Aside] His steel was in debt; it went o' the

> backside the town.

CLOTEN

> The villain would not stand me.

Second Lord

> [Aside] No; but he fled forward still, toward your face.

First Lord

> Stand you! You have land enough of your own: but

> he added to your having; gave you some ground.

Second Lord

> [Aside] As many inches as you have oceans. Puppies!

CLOTEN

> I would they had not come between us.

Second Lord

> [Aside] So would I, till you had measured how long

> a fool you were upon the ground.

CLOTEN

> And that she should love this fellow and refuse me!

Second Lord

> [Aside] If it be a sin to make a true election, she

> is damned.

First Lord

> Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain

> go not together: she's a good sign, but I have seen

> small reflection of her wit.

Second Lord

> [Aside] She shines not upon fools, lest the

> reflection should hurt her.

CLOTEN

> Come, I'll to my chamber. Would there had been some

> hurt done!

Second Lord

> [Aside] I wish not so; unless it had been the fall

> of an ass, which is no great hurt.

CLOTEN

> You'll go with us?

First Lord

> I'll attend your lordship.

CLOTEN

> Nay, come, let's go together.

Second Lord

> Well, my lord.

>

> Exeunt

SCENE III. A room in Cymbeline's palace.

> Enter IMOGEN and PISANIO

IMOGEN

> I would thou grew'st unto the shores o' the haven,

> And question'dst every sail: if he should write

> And not have it, 'twere a paper lost,

> As offer'd mercy is. What was the last

> That he spake to thee?