Cymbeline by William Shakespeare
Act 1 - Scene 6
The same. Another room in the palace.
Imogen : A father cruel, and a step-dame false;
[p]A foolish suitor to a wedded
lady,
[p]That hath her husband banish'd;--O, that husband!
[p]My
supreme crown of grief! and those repeated
[p]Vexations of it! Had I
been thief-stol'n,
[p]As my two brothers, happy! but most
miserable
[p]Is the desire that's glorious: blest be those,
[p]How
mean soe'er, that have their honest wills,
[p]Which seasons comfort.
Who may this be? Fie!
Pisanio : Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome,
[p]Comes from my lord with letters.
Iachimo : Change you, madam?
[p]The worthy Leonatus is in safety
[p]And greets
your highness dearly.
Imogen : Thanks, good sir:
[p]You're kindly welcome.
Iachimo : [Aside] All of her that is out of door most rich!
[p]If she be
furnish'd with a mind so rare,
[p]She is alone the Arabian bird, and
I
[p]Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
[p]Arm me, audacity,
from head to foot!
[p]Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying
fight;
[p]Rather directly fly.
Imogen : [Reads] 'He is one of the noblest note, to whose
[p]kindnesses I am
most infinitely tied. Reflect upon
[p]him accordingly, as you value
your trust--
[p]LEONATUS.'
[p]So far I read aloud:
[p]But even the
very middle of my heart
[p]Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it
thankfully.
[p]You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I
[p]Have words to
bid you, and shall find it so
[p]In all that I can do.
Iachimo : Thanks, fairest lady.
[p]What, are men mad? Hath nature given them
eyes
[p]To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
[p]Of sea and
land, which can distinguish 'twixt
[p]The fiery orbs above and the
twinn'd stones
[p]Upon the number'd beach? and can we not
[p]Partition
make with spectacles so precious
[p]'Twixt fair and foul?
Imogen : What makes your admiration?
Iachimo : It cannot be i' the eye, for apes and monkeys
[p]'Twixt two such shes
would chatter this way and
[p]Contemn with mows the other; nor i' the
judgment,
[p]For idiots in this case of favour would
[p]Be wisely
definite; nor i' the appetite;
[p]Sluttery to such neat excellence
opposed
[p]Should make desire vomit emptiness,
[p]Not so allured to
feed.
Imogen : What is the matter, trow?
Iachimo : The cloyed will,
[p]That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that
tub
[p]Both fill'd and running, ravening first the lamb
[p]Longs after
for the garbage.
Imogen : What, dear sir,
[p]Thus raps you? Are you well?
Iachimo : Thanks, madam; well.
[p][To PISANIO]
[p]Beseech you, sir, desire
[p]My
man's abode where I did leave him: he
[p]Is strange and peevish.
Pisanio : I was going, sir,
[p]To give him welcome.
Imogen : Continues well my lord? His health, beseech you?
Iachimo : Well, madam.
Imogen : Is he disposed to mirth? I hope he is.
Iachimo : Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there
[p]So merry and so gamesome:
he is call'd
[p]The Briton reveller.
Imogen : When he was here,
[p]He did incline to sadness, and oft-times
[p]Not
knowing why.
Iachimo : I never saw him sad.
[p]There is a Frenchman his companion, one
[p]An
eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves
[p]A Gallian girl at
home; he furnaces
[p]The thick sighs from him, whiles the jolly
Briton--
[p]Your lord, I mean--laughs from's free lungs, cries
'O,
[p]Can my sides hold, to think that man, who knows
[p]By history,
report, or his own proof,
[p]What woman is, yea, what she cannot
choose
[p]But must be, will his free hours languish for
[p]Assured
bondage?'
Imogen : Will my lord say so?
Iachimo : Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter:
[p]It is a recreation
to be by
[p]And hear him mock the Frenchman. But, heavens
know,
[p]Some men are much to blame.
Imogen : Not he, I hope.
Iachimo : Not he: but yet heaven's bounty towards him might
[p]Be used more
thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
[p]In you, which I account his
beyond all talents,
[p]Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
[p]To
pity too.
Imogen : What do you pity, sir?
Iachimo : Two creatures heartily.
Imogen : Am I one, sir?
[p]You look on me: what wreck discern you in
me
[p]Deserves your pity?
Iachimo : Lamentable! What,
[p]To hide me from the radiant sun and solace
[p]I'
the dungeon by a snuff?
Imogen : I pray you, sir,
[p]Deliver with more openness your answers
[p]To my
demands. Why do you pity me?
Iachimo : That others do--
[p]I was about to say--enjoy your--But
[p]It is an
office of the gods to venge it,
[p]Not mine to speak on 't.
Imogen : You do seem to know
[p]Something of me, or what concerns me: pray
you,--
[p]Since doubling things go ill often hurts more
[p]Than to be
sure they do; for certainties
[p]Either are past remedies, or, timely
knowing,
[p]The remedy then born--discover to me
[p]What both you spur
and stop.
Iachimo : Had I this cheek
[p]To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose
touch,
[p]Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
[p]To the
oath of loyalty; this object, which
[p]Takes prisoner the wild motion
of mine eye,
[p]Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then,
[p]Slaver
with lips as common as the stairs
[p]That mount the Capitol; join
gripes with hands
[p]Made hard with hourly falsehood--falsehood,
as
[p]With labour; then by-peeping in an eye
[p]Base and unlustrous as
the smoky light
[p]That's fed with stinking tallow; it were
fit
[p]That all the plagues of hell should at one time
[p]Encounter
such revolt.
Imogen : My lord, I fear,
[p]Has forgot Britain.
Iachimo : And himself. Not I,
[p]Inclined to this intelligence, pronounce
[p]The
beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces
[p]That from pay mutest
conscience to my tongue
[p]Charms this report out.
Imogen : Let me hear no more.
Iachimo : O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart
[p]With pity, that
doth make me sick. A lady
[p]So fair, and fasten'd to an
empery,
[p]Would make the great'st king double,--to be
partner'd
[p]With tomboys hired with that self-exhibition
[p]Which
your own coffers yield! with diseased ventures
[p]That play with all
infirmities for gold
[p]Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd
stuff
[p]As well might poison poison! Be revenged;
[p]Or she that bore
you was no queen, and you
[p]Recoil from your great stock.
Imogen : Revenged!
[p]How should I be revenged? If this be true,--
[p]As I have
such a heart that both mine ears
[p]Must not in haste abuse--if it be
true,
[p]How should I be revenged?
Iachimo : Should he make me
[p]Live, like Diana's priest, betwixt cold
sheets,
[p]Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps,
[p]In your despite,
upon your purse? Revenge it.
[p]I dedicate myself to your sweet
pleasure,
[p]More noble than that runagate to your bed,
[p]And will
continue fast to your affection,
[p]Still close as sure.
Imogen : What, ho, Pisanio!
Iachimo : Let me my service tender on your lips.
Imogen : Away! I do condemn mine ears that have
[p]So long attended thee. If
thou wert honourable,
[p]Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue,
not
[p]For such an end thou seek'st,--as base as strange.
[p]Thou
wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far
[p]From thy report as thou from
honour, and
[p]Solicit'st here a lady that disdains
[p]Thee and the
devil alike. What ho, Pisanio!
[p]The king my father shall be made
acquainted
[p]Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit,
[p]A saucy
stranger in his court to mart
[p]As in a Romish stew and to
expound
[p]His beastly mind to us, he hath a court
[p]He little cares
for and a daughter who
[p]He not respects at all. What, ho, Pisanio!
Iachimo : O happy Leonatus! I may say
[p]The credit that thy lady hath of
thee
[p]Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness
[p]Her
assured credit. Blessed live you long!
[p]A lady to the worthiest sir
that ever
[p]Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only
[p]For the
most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.
[p]I have spoke this, to know
if your affiance
[p]Were deeply rooted; and shall make your
lord,
[p]That which he is, new o'er: and he is one
[p]The truest
manner'd; such a holy witch
[p]That he enchants societies into
him;
[p]Half all men's hearts are his.
Imogen : You make amends.
Iachimo : He sits 'mongst men like a descended god:
[p]He hath a kind of honour
sets him off,
[p]More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,
[p]Most
mighty princess, that I have adventured
[p]To try your taking a false
report; which hath
[p]Honour'd with confirmation your great
judgment
[p]In the election of a sir so rare,
[p]Which you know cannot
err: the love I bear him
[p]Made me to fan you thus, but the gods made
you,
[p]Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.
Imogen : All's well, sir: take my power i' the court
[p]for yours.
Iachimo : My humble thanks. I had almost forgot
[p]To entreat your grace but in
a small request,
[p]And yet of moment to, for it concerns
[p]Your
lord; myself and other noble friends,
[p]Are partners in the
business.
Imogen : Pray, what is't?
Iachimo : Some dozen Romans of us and your lord--
[p]The best feather of our
wing--have mingled sums
[p]To buy a present for the emperor
[p]Which
I, the factor for the rest, have done
[p]In France: 'tis plate of rare
device, and jewels
[p]Of rich and exquisite form; their values
great;
[p]And I am something curious, being strange,
[p]To have them
in safe stowage: may it please you
[p]To take them in protection?
Imogen : Willingly;
[p]And pawn mine honour for their safety: since
[p]My lord
hath interest in them, I will keep them
[p]In my bedchamber.
Iachimo : They are in a trunk,
[p]Attended by my men: I will make bold
[p]To
send them to you, only for this night;
[p]I must aboard to-morrow.
Imogen : O, no, no.
Iachimo : Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word
[p]By lengthening my return.
From Gallia
[p]I cross'd the seas on purpose and on promise
[p]To see
your grace.
Imogen : I thank you for your pains:
[p]But not away to-morrow!
Iachimo : O, I must, madam:
[p]Therefore I shall beseech you, if you
please
[p]To greet your lord with writing, do't to-night:
[p]I have
outstood my time; which is material
[p]To the tender of our present.
Imogen : I will write.
[p]Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept,
[p]And
truly yielded you. You're very welcome.
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Next: Act 2 - Scene 1
