Cymbeline by William Shakespeare
Act 3 - Scene 1
Britain. A hall in Cymbeline’s palace.
Cymbeline : Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us?
Caius Lucius : When Julius Caesar, whose remembrance yet
[p]Lives in men's eyes and
will to ears and tongues
[p]Be theme and hearing ever, was in this
Britain
[p]And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,--
[p]Famous in
Caesar's praises, no whit less
[p]Than in his feats deserving it--for
him
[p]And his succession granted Rome a tribute,
[p]Yearly three
thousand pounds, which by thee lately
[p]Is left untender'd.
Queen : And, to kill the marvel,
[p]Shall be so ever.
Cloten : There be many Caesars,
[p]Ere such another Julius. Britain is
[p]A
world by itself; and we will nothing pay
[p]For wearing our own
noses.
Queen : That opportunity
[p]Which then they had to take from 's, to
resume
[p]We have again. Remember, sir, my liege,
[p]The kings your
ancestors, together with
[p]The natural bravery of your isle, which
stands
[p]As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in
[p]With rocks
unscalable and roaring waters,
[p]With sands that will not bear your
enemies' boats,
[p]But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of
conquest
[p]Caesar made here; but made not here his brag
[p]Of 'Came'
and 'saw' and 'overcame: ' with shame--
[p]That first that ever
touch'd him--he was carried
[p]From off our coast, twice beaten; and
his shipping--
[p]Poor ignorant baubles!-- upon our terrible
seas,
[p]Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crack'd
[p]As easily
'gainst our rocks: for joy whereof
[p]The famed Cassibelan, who was
once at point--
[p]O giglot fortune!--to master Caesar's sword,Made
Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright
[p]And Britons strut with
courage.
Cloten : Come, there's no more tribute to be paid: our
[p]kingdom is stronger
than it was at that time; and,
[p]as I said, there is no moe such
Caesars: other of
[p]them may have crook'd noses, but to owe
such
[p]straight arms, none.
Cymbeline : Son, let your mother end.
Cloten : We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as
[p]Cassibelan: I do not
say I am one; but I have a
[p]hand. Why tribute? why should we pay
tribute? If
[p]Caesar can hide the sun from us with a blanket,
or
[p]put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute
[p]for
light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now.
Cymbeline : You must know,
[p]Till the injurious Romans did extort
[p]This tribute
from us, we were free:
[p]Caesar's ambition,
[p]Which swell'd so much
that it did almost stretch
[p]The sides o' the world, against all
colour here
[p]Did put the yoke upon 's; which to shake off
[p]Becomes
a warlike people, whom we reckon
[p]Ourselves to be.
Cloten : [with Lords] We do.
Cymbeline : Say, then, to Caesar,
[p]Our ancestor was that Mulmutius
which
[p]Ordain'd our laws, whose use the sword of Caesar
[p]Hath too
much mangled; whose repair and franchise
[p]Shall, by the power we
hold, be our good deed,
[p]Though Rome be therefore angry: Mulmutius
made our laws,
[p]Who was the first of Britain which did put
[p]His
brows within a golden crown and call'd
[p]Himself a king.
Caius Lucius : I am sorry, Cymbeline,
[p]That I am to pronounce Augustus
Caesar--
[p]Caesar, that hath more kings his servants than
[p]Thyself
domestic officers--thine enemy:
[p]Receive it from me, then: war and
confusion
[p]In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look
[p]For
fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,
[p]I thank thee for myself.
Cymbeline : Thou art welcome, Caius.
[p]Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I
spent
[p]Much under him; of him I gather'd honour;
[p]Which he to seek
of me again, perforce,
[p]Behoves me keep at utterance. I am
perfect
[p]That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for
[p]Their liberties
are now in arms; a precedent
[p]Which not to read would show the
Britons cold:
[p]So Caesar shall not find them.
Caius Lucius : Let proof speak.
Cloten : His majesty bids you welcome. Make
[p]pastime with us a day or two, or
longer: if
[p]you seek us afterwards in other terms, you
[p]shall find
us in our salt-water girdle: if you
[p]beat us out of it, it is yours;
if you fall in
[p]the adventure, our crows shall fare the
better
[p]for you; and there's an end.
Caius Lucius : So, sir.
Cymbeline : I know your master's pleasure and he mine:
[p]All the remain is
'Welcome!'
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Next: Act 3 - Scene 2
