The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works
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As truly as he moves.
IMOGEN O, for such means,
Though peril to my modesty, not death on’t,
I would adventure!
PISANIO Well then, here’s the point:
You must forget to be a woman: change
Command into obedience: fear, and niceness
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(The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
Woman it pretty self) into a waggish courage,
Ready in gibes, quick-answer’d, saucy, and
As quarrelous as the weasel: nay, you must
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
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Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart!
Alack, no remedy) to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan: and forget
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
You made great Juno angry.
IMOGEN Nay, be brief:
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I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already.
PISANIO First, make yourself but like one.
Fore-thinking this, I have already fit
(’Tis in my cloak-bag) doublet, hat, hose, all
That answer to them: would you, in their serving
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(And with what imitation you can borrow
From youth of such a season) ’fore noble Lucius
Present yourself, desire his service: tell him
Wherein you’re happy; which will make him know,
If that his head have ear in music, doubtless
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With joy he will embrace you: for he’s honourable,
And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad:
You have me, rich, and I will never fail
Beginning, nor supplyment.
IMOGEN Thou art all the comfort
The gods will diet me with. Prithee away,
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There’s more to be consider’d: but we’ll even
All that good time will give us. This attempt
I am soldier to, and will abide it with
A prince’s courage. Away, I prithee.
PISANIO Well, madam, we must take a short farewell,
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Lest being miss’d, I be suspected of
Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress,
Here is a box, I had it from the queen,
What’s in’t is precious: if you are sick at sea,
Or stomach-qualm’d at land, a dram of this
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Will drive away distemper. To some shade,
And fit you to your manhood: may the gods
Direct you to the best!
IMOGEN Amen: I thank thee.
Exeunt severally.
3.5 Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS and lords.
CYMBELINE Thus far, and so farewell.
LUCIUS Thanks, royal sir:
My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence,
And am right sorry that I must report ye
My master’s enemy.
CYMBELINE Our subjects, sir,
Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
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To show less sovereignty than they, must needs
Appear unkinglike.
LUCIUS So, sir: I desire of you
A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.
Madam, all joy befal your grace, and you!
CYMBELINE
My lords, you are appointed for that office:
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The due of honour in no point omit.
So farewell, noble Lucius.
LUCIUS Your hand, my lord.
CLOTEN Receive it friendly: but from this time forth
I wear it as your enemy.
LUCIUS Sir, the event
Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.
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CYMBELINE
Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords,
Till he have cross’d the Severn. Happiness!
Exeunt Lucius and lords.
QUEEN He goes hence frowning: but it honours us
That we have given him cause.
CLOTEN ’Tis all the better,
Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.
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CYMBELINE Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness:
The powers that he already hath in Gallia
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
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His war for Britain.
QUEEN ’Tis not sleepy business,
But must be look’d to speedily, and strongly.
CYMBELINE Our expectation that it would be thus
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,
Where is our daughter? She hath not appear’d
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Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender’d
The duty of the day. She looks us like
A thing more made of malice than of duty,
We have noted it. Call her before us, for
We have been too slight in sufferance.
Exit an Attendant.
QUEEN Royal sir,
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Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir’d
Hath her life been: the cure whereof, my lord,
’Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty,
Forbear sharp speeches to her. She’s a lady
So tender of rebukes that words are strokes,
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And strokes death to her.
Re-enter Attendant.
CYMBELINE Where is she, sir? How
Can her contempt be answer’d?
ATTENDANT Please you, sir,
Her chambers are all lock’d, and there’s no answer
That will be given to th’ loud of noise we make.
QUEEN My lord, when last I went to visit her,
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She pray’d me to excuse her keeping close,
Whereto constrain’d by her infirmity,
She should that duty leave unpaid to you
Which daily she was bound to proffer: this
She wish’d me to make known: but our great court
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Made me to blame in memory.
CYMBELINE Her doors lock’d?
Not seen of late? Grant heavens, that which I fear
Prove false! Exit.
QUEEN Son, I say, follow the king.
CLOTEN That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,
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I have not seen these two days.
QUEEN Go, look after:
Exit Cloten.
Pisanio, thou that stand’st so for Posthumus –
He hath a drug of mine: I pray his absence
Proceed by swallowing that. For he believes
It is a thing most precious. But for her,
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Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seiz’d her:
Or, wing’d with fervour of her love, she’s flown
To her desir’d Posthumus: gone she is,
To death, or to dishonour, and my end
Can make good use of either. She being down,
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I have the placing of the British crown.
Re-enter CLOTEN.
How now, my son?
CLOTEN ’Tis certain she is fled:
Go in and cheer the king, he rages, none
Dare come about him.
QUEEN [aside] All the better: may
This night forestall him of the coming day! Exit.
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CLOTEN I love, and hate her: for she’s fair and royal,
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman, from every one
The best she hath, and she of all compounded
Outsells them all. I love her therefore, but
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Disdaining me, and throwing favours on
The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgement
That what’s else rare is chok’d: and in that point
I will conclude to hate her, nay indeed,
To be reveng’d upon her. For, when fools
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Shall –
Enter PISANIO.
Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?
Come hither: ah, you precious pandar! Villain,
Where is thy lady? In a word, or else
Thou art straightway with the fiends.
PISANIO O, good my lord!
CLOTEN Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter –
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I will not ask again. Close villain,
I’ll have this secret from thy heart, or rip
Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus?
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.
PISANIO Alas, my lord,
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How can she be with him? When was she miss’d?
He is in Rome.
CLOTEN Where is she, sir? Come nearer:
No farther halting: satisfy me home,
What is become of her?
PISANIO O, my all-worthy lord!
CLOTEN All-worthy villain!
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Discover where thy mistress is, at once,
At the next word: no more of ‘worthy lord!’
Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
Thy condemnation and thy death.
PISANIO Then, sir:
This paper is the history of my knowledge
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Touching her flight. [presenting a letter]
CLOTEN Let’s see’t: I will pursue her
Even to Augustus’ throne.
PISANIO [aside] Or this, or perish.
She’s far enough, and what he learns by this
May prove his travel, not her danger.
CLOTEN Hum!
PISANIO [aside]
I’ll write to my lord she’s dead: O Imogen,
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Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again!
CLOTEN Sirrah, is this letter true?
PISANIO Sir, as I think.
CLOTEN It is Posthumus’ hand, I know’t. Sirrah, if thou
wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service,
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undergo those employments wherein I should have
cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is,
what villainy soe’er I bid thee do, to perform it,
directly and truly, I would think thee an honest man:
thou shouldst neither want my means for thy relief,
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nor my voice for thy preferment.
PISANIO Well, my good lord.
CLOTEN Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently and
constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of that
beggar Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of
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gratitude but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt
thou serve me?
PISANIO Sir, I will.
CLOTEN Give me thy hand, here’s my purse. Hast any
of thy late master’s garments in thy possession?
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PISANIO I have my lord, at my lodging the same suit he
wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress.
CLOTEN The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit
hither, let it be thy first service, go.
PISANIO I shall, my lord. Exit.
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CLOTEN Meet thee at Milford-Haven! (I forgot to ask
him one thing, I’ll remember’t anon) even there, thou
villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these
garments were come. She said upon a time (the
bitterness of it I now belch from my heart) that she
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held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect
than my noble and natural person; together with the
adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my
back, will I ravish her: first kill him, and in her eyes;
there shall she see my valour, which will then be a
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torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my
speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and
when my lust hath dined (which, as I say, to vex her I
will execute in the clothes that she so prais’d) to the
court I’ll knock her back, foot her home again. She
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hath despis’d me rejoicingly, and I’ll be merry in my
revenge.