1609 Cymbeline
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Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 Next page To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool'd With a most false effect; and I the truer So to be false with her. QUEEN. No further service, Doctor, Until I send for thee. CORNELIUS. I humbly take my leave. Exit QUEEN. Weeps she still, say'st thou? Dost thou think in time She will not quench, and let instructions enter Where folly now possesses? Do thou work. When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son, I'll tell thee on the instant thou art then As great as is thy master; greater, for His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name Is at last gasp. Return he cannot, nor Continue where he is. To shift his being Is to exchange one misery with another, And every day that comes comes comes to A day's work in him. What shalt thou expect To be depender on a thing that leans, Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends So much as but to prop him? [The QUEEN drops the box. PISANIO takes it up] Thou tak'st up Thou know'st not what; but take it for thy labour. It is a thing I made, which hath the King Five times redeem'd from death. I do not know What is more cordial. Nay, I prithee take it; It is an earnest of a further good That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how The case stands with her; do't as from thyself. Think what a chance thou changest on; but think Thou hast thy mistress still; to boot, my son, Who shall take notice of thee. I'll move the King To any shape of thy preferment, such As thou'lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly, That set thee on to this desert, am bound To load thy merit richly. Call my women. Think on my words. Exit PISANIO A sly and constant knave, Not to be shak'd; the agent for his master, And the remembrancer of her to hold The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her Of leigers for her sweet; and which she after, Except she bend her humour, shall be assur'd To taste of too. Re-enter PISANIO and LADIES So, so. Well done, well done. The violets, cowslips, and the primroses, Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio; Think on my words. Exeunt QUEEN and LADIES PISANIO. And shall do. But when to my good lord I prove untrue I'll choke myself- there's all I'll do for you. Exit SCENE VI. Britain. The palace Enter IMOGEN alone IMOGEN. A father cruel and a step-dame false; A foolish suitor to a wedded lady That hath her husband banish'd. O, that husband! My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol'n, As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable Is the desire that's glorious. Blessed be those, How mean soe'er, that have their honest wills, Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie! Enter PISANIO and IACHIMO PISANIO. Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome Comes from my lord with letters. IACHIMO. Change you, madam? The worthy Leonatus is in safety, And greets your Highness dearly. [Presents a letter] IMOGEN. Thanks, good sir. You're kindly welcome. IACHIMO. [Aside] All of her that is out of door most rich! If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare, She is alone th' Arabian bird, and I Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend! Arm me, audacity, from head to foot! Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight; Rather, directly fly. IMOGEN. [Reads] 'He is one of the noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your trust. LEONATUS.' So far I read aloud; But even the very middle of my heart Is warm'd by th' rest and takes it thankfully. You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I Have words to bid you; and shall find it so In all that I can do. IACHIMO. Thanks, fairest lady. What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes To see this vaulted arch and the rich crop Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt The fiery orbs above and the twinn'd stones Upon the number'd beach, and can we not Partition make with spectacles so precious 'Twixt fair and foul? IMOGEN. What makes your admiration? IACHIMO. It cannot be i' th' eye, for apes and monkeys, 'Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way and Contemn with mows the other; nor i' th' judgment, For idiots in this case of favour would Be wisely definite; nor i' th' appetite; Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos'd, Should make desire vomit emptiness, Not so allur'd to feed. IMOGEN. What is the matter, trow? IACHIMO. The cloyed will- That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub Both fill'd and running- ravening first the lamb, Longs after for the garbage. IMOGEN. What, dear sir, Thus raps you? Are you well? IACHIMO. Thanks, madam; well.- Beseech you, sir, Desire my man's abode where I did leave him. He's strange and peevish. PISANIO. I was going, sir, To give him welcome. Exit IMOGEN. Continues well my lord? His health beseech you? IACHIMO. Well, madam. IMOGEN. Is he dispos'd to mirth? I hope he is. IACHIMO. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there So merry and so gamesome. He is call'd The Britain reveller. IMOGEN. When he was here He did incline to sadness, and oft-times Not knowing why. IACHIMO. I never saw him sad. There is a Frenchman his companion, one An eminent monsieur that, it seems, much loves A Gallian girl at home. He furnaces The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton- Your lord, I mean- laughs from's free lungs, cries 'O, Can my sides hold, to think that man- who knows By history, report, or his own proof, What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose But must be- will's free hours languish for Assured bondage?' IMOGEN. Will my lord say so? IACHIMO. Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter. It is a recreation to be by And hear him mock the Frenchman. But heavens know Some men are much to blame. IMOGEN. Not he, I hope. IACHIMO. Not he; but yet heaven's bounty towards him might Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much; In you, which I account his, beyond all talents. Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound To pity too. IMOGEN. What do you pity, sir? IACHIMO. Two creatures heartily. IMOGEN. Am I one, sir? You look on me: what wreck discern you in me Deserves your pity? IACHIMO. Lamentable! What, To hide me from the radiant sun and solace I' th' dungeon by a snuff? IMOGEN. I pray you, sir, Deliver with more openness your answers To my demands. Why do you pity me? IACHIMO. That others do, I was about to say, enjoy your- But It is an office of the gods to venge it, Not mine to speak on't. IMOGEN. You do seem to know Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you- Since doubting things go ill often hurts more Than to be sure they do; for certainties Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing, The remedy then born- discover to me What both you spur and stop. IACHIMO. Had I this cheek To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch, Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul To th' oath of loyalty; this object, which Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, Fixing it only here; should I, damn'd then, Slaver with lips as common as the stairs That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands Made hard with hourly falsehood- falsehood as With labour; then by-peeping in an eye Base and illustrious as the smoky light That's fed with stinking tallow- it were fit That all the plagues of hell should at one time Encounter such revolt. IMOGEN. My lord, I fear, Has forgot Britain. IACHIMO. And himself. Not I |
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