Cymbeline by William Shakespeare

Act 3 - Scene 4

Country near Milford-Haven.

Imogen : Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place [p]Was near at
hand: ne'er long'd my mother so [p]To see me first, as I have now.
Pisanio! man! [p]Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind, [p]That
makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh [p]From the inward
of thee? One, but painted thus, [p]Would be interpreted a thing
perplex'd [p]Beyond self-explication: put thyself [p]Into a havior of
less fear, ere wildness [p]Vanquish my staider senses. What's the
matter? [p]Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with [p]A look
untender? If't be summer news, [p]Smile to't before; if winterly, thou
need'st [p]But keep that countenance still. My husband's hand! [p]That
drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him, [p]And he's at some hard
point. Speak, man: thy tongue [p]May take off some extremity, which to
read [p]Would be even mortal to me.

Pisanio : Please you, read; [p]And you shall find me, wretched man, a
thing [p]The most disdain'd of fortune.

Imogen : [Reads] 'Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the [p]strumpet in my bed;
the testimonies whereof lie [p]bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak
surmises, [p]but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain [p]as
I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio, [p]must act for me, if
thy faith be not tainted with [p]the breach of hers. Let thine own
hands take away [p]her life: I shall give thee opportunity
at [p]Milford-Haven. She hath my letter for the purpose [p]where, if
thou fear to strike and to make me certain [p]it is done, thou art the
pandar to her dishonour and [p]equally to me disloyal.'

Pisanio : What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper [p]Hath cut her throat
already. No, 'tis slander, [p]Whose edge is sharper than the sword,
whose tongue [p]Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath [p]Rides
on the posting winds and doth belie [p]All corners of the world:
kings, queens and states, [p]Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the
grave [p]This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam?

Imogen : False to his bed! What is it to be false? [p]To lie in watch there and
to think on him? [p]To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep [p]charge
nature, [p]To break it with a fearful dream of him [p]And cry myself
awake? that's false to's bed, is it?

Pisanio : Alas, good lady!

Imogen : I false! Thy conscience witness: Iachimo, [p]Thou didst accuse him of
incontinency; [p]Thou then look'dst like a villain; now
methinks [p]Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy [p]Whose
mother was her painting, hath betray'd him: [p]Poor I am stale, a
garment out of fashion; [p]And, for I am richer than to hang by the
walls, [p]I must be ripp'd:--to pieces with me!--O, [p]Men's vows are
women's traitors! All good seeming, [p]By thy revolt, O husband, shall
be thought [p]Put on for villany; not born where't grows, [p]But worn
a bait for ladies.

Pisanio : Good madam, hear me.

Imogen : True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas, [p]Were in his time
thought false, and Sinon's weeping [p]Did scandal many a holy tear,
took pity [p]From most true wretchedness: so thou, Posthumus, [p]Wilt
lay the leaven on all proper men; [p]Goodly and gallant shall be false
and perjured [p]From thy great fall. Come, fellow, be thou
honest: [p]Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou see'st him, [p]A
little witness my obedience: look! [p]I draw the sword myself: take
it, and hit [p]The innocent mansion of my love, my heart; [p]Fear not;
'tis empty of all things but grief; [p]Thy master is not there, who
was indeed [p]The riches of it: do his bidding; strike [p]Thou mayst
be valiant in a better cause; [p]But now thou seem'st a coward.

Pisanio : Hence, vile instrument! [p]Thou shalt not damn my hand.

Imogen : Why, I must die; [p]And if I do not by thy hand, thou art [p]No
servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter [p]There is a
prohibition so divine [p]That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my
heart. [p]Something's afore't. Soft, soft! we'll no
defence; [p]Obedient as the scabbard. What is here? [p]The scriptures
of the loyal Leonatus, [p]All turn'd to heresy? Away,
away, [p]Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more [p]Be stomachers to
my heart. Thus may poor fools [p]Believe false teachers: though those
that [p]are betray'd [p]Do feel the treason sharply, yet the
traitor [p]Stands in worse case of woe. [p]And thou, Posthumus, thou
that didst set up [p]My disobedience 'gainst the king my father [p]And
make me put into contempt the suits [p]Of princely fellows, shalt
hereafter find [p]It is no act of common passage, but [p]A strain of
rareness: and I grieve myself [p]To think, when thou shalt be disedged
by her [p]That now thou tirest on, how thy memory [p]Will then be
pang'd by me. Prithee, dispatch: [p]The lamb entreats the butcher:
where's thy knife? [p]Thou art too slow to do thy master's
bidding, [p]When I desire it too.

Pisanio : O gracious lady, [p]Since I received command to do this business [p]I
have not slept one wink.

Imogen : Do't, and to bed then.

Pisanio : I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first.

Imogen : Wherefore then [p]Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abused [p]So many
miles with a pretence? this place? [p]Mine action and thine own? our
horses' labour? [p]The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court, [p]For
my being absent? whereunto I never [p]Purpose return. Why hast thou
gone so far, [p]To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand, [p]The
elected deer before thee?

Pisanio : But to win time [p]To lose so bad employment; in the which [p]I have
consider'd of a course. Good lady, [p]Hear me with patience.

Imogen : Talk thy tongue weary; speak [p]I have heard I am a strumpet; and mine
ear [p]Therein false struck, can take no greater wound, [p]Nor tent to
bottom that. But speak.

Pisanio : Then, madam, [p]I thought you would not back again.

Imogen : Most like; [p]Bringing me here to kill me.

Pisanio : Not so, neither: [p]But if I were as wise as honest, then [p]My
purpose would prove well. It cannot be [p]But that my master is
abused: [p]Some villain, ay, and singular in his art. [p]Hath done you
both this cursed injury.

Imogen : Some Roman courtezan.

Pisanio : No, on my life. [p]I'll give but notice you are dead and send
him [p]Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded [p]I should do so:
you shall be miss'd at court, [p]And that will well confirm it.

Imogen : Why good fellow, [p]What shall I do the where? where bide? how
live? [p]Or in my life what comfort, when I am [p]Dead to my husband?

Pisanio : If you'll back to the court--

Imogen : No court, no father; nor no more ado [p]With that harsh, noble, simple
nothing, [p]That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me [p]As fearful
as a siege.

Pisanio : If not at court, [p]Then not in Britain must you bide.

Imogen : Where then [p]Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night, [p]Are
they not but in Britain? I' the world's volume [p]Our Britain seems as
of it, but not in 't; [p]In a great pool a swan's nest: prithee,
think [p]There's livers out of Britain.

Pisanio : I am most glad [p]You think of other place. The ambassador, [p]Lucius
the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven [p]To-morrow: now, if you could wear
a mind [p]Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise [p]That which, to
appear itself, must not yet be [p]But by self-danger, you should tread
a course [p]Pretty and full of view; yea, haply, near [p]The residence
of Posthumus; so nigh at least [p]That though his actions were not
visible, yet [p]Report should render him hourly to your ear [p]As
truly as he moves.

Imogen : O, for such means! [p]Though peril to my modesty, not death on't, [p]I
would adventure.

Pisanio : Well, then, here's the point: [p]You must forget to be a woman;
change [p]Command into obedience: fear and niceness-- [p]The handmaids
of all women, or, more truly, [p]Woman its pretty self--into a waggish
courage: [p]Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy and [p]As quarrelous
as the weasel; nay, you must [p]Forget that rarest treasure of your
cheek, [p]Exposing it--but, O, the harder heart! [p]Alack, no
remedy!--to the greedy touch [p]Of common-kissing Titan, and
forget [p]Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein [p]You made great
Juno angry.

Imogen : Nay, be brief [p]I see into thy end, and am almost [p]A man already.

Pisanio : First, make yourself but like one. [p]Fore-thinking this, I have
already fit-- [p]'Tis in my cloak-bag--doublet, hat, hose, all [p]That
answer to them: would you in their serving, [p]And with what imitation
you can borrow [p]From youth of such a season, 'fore noble
Lucius [p]Present yourself, desire his service, tell him [p]wherein
you're happy,--which you'll make him know, [p]If that his head have
ear in music,--doubtless [p]With joy he will embrace you, for he's
honourable [p]And doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad, [p]You
have me, rich; and I will never fail [p]Beginning nor supplyment.

Imogen : Thou art all the comfort [p]The gods will diet me with. Prithee,
away: [p]There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even [p]All that
good time will give us: this attempt [p]I am soldier to, and will
abide it with [p]A prince's courage. Away, I prithee.

Pisanio : Well, madam, we must take a short farewell, [p]Lest, being miss'd, I
be suspected of [p]Your carriage from the court. My noble
mistress, [p]Here is a box; I had it from the queen: [p]What's in't is
precious; if you are sick at sea, [p]Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a
dram of this [p]Will drive away distemper. To some shade, [p]And fit
you to your manhood. May the gods [p]Direct you to the best!

Imogen : Amen: I thank thee.

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