Читать книгу Cymbeline (The Unabridged Play) + The Classic Biography: The Life of William Shakespeare - William Shakespeare - Страница 22

Enter Cymbeline, Queene, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords.

Cym. Thus farre, and so farewell

Luc. Thankes, Royall Sir:

My Emperor hath wrote, I must from hence,

And am right sorry, that I must report ye

My Masters Enemy

Cym. Our Subiects (Sir)

Will not endure his yoake; and for our selfe

To shew lesse Soueraignty then they, must needs

Appeare vn-Kinglike

Luc. So Sir: I desire of you

A Conduct ouer Land, to Milford-Hauen.

Madam, all ioy befall your Grace, and you

Cym. My Lords, you are appointed for that Office:

The due of Honor, in no point omit:

So farewell Noble Lucius

Luc. Your hand, my Lord

Clot. Receiue it friendly: but from this time forth

I weare it as your Enemy

Luc. Sir, the Euent

Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well

Cym. Leaue not the worthy Lucius, good my Lords

Till he haue crost the Seuern. Happines.

Exit Lucius, &c

Qu. He goes hence frowning: but it honours vs

That we haue giuen him cause

Clot. ‘Tis all the better,

Your valiant Britaines haue their wishes in it

Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor

How it goes heere. It fits vs therefore ripely

Our Chariots, and our Horsemen be in readinesse:

The Powres that he already hath in Gallia

Will soone be drawne to head, from whence he moues

His warre for Britaine

Qu. ‘Tis not sleepy businesse,

But must be look’d too speedily, and strongly

Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus

Hath made vs forward. But my gentle Queene,

Where is our Daughter? She hath not appear’d

Before the Roman, nor to vs hath tender’d

The duty of the day. She looke vs like

A thing more made of malice, then of duty,

We haue noted it. Call her before vs, for

We haue beene too slight in sufferance

Qu. Royall Sir,

Since the exile of Posthumus, most retyr’d

Hath her life bin: the Cure whereof, my Lord,

‘Tis time must do. Beseech your Maiesty,

Forbeare sharpe speeches to her. Shee’s a Lady

So tender of rebukes, that words are stroke;

And strokes death to her.

Enter a Messenger.

Cym. Where is she Sir? How

Can her contempt be answer’d?

Mes. Please you Sir,

Her Chambers are all lock’d, and there’s no answer

That will be giuen to’th’ lowd of noise, we make

Qu. My Lord, when last I went to visit her,

She pray’d me to excuse her keeping close,

Whereto constrain’d by her infirmitie,

She should that dutie leaue vnpaide to you

Which dayly she was bound to proffer: this

She wish’d me to make knowne: but our great Court

Made me too blame in memory

Cym. Her doores lock’d?

Not seene of late? Grant Heauens, that which I

Feare, proue false.

Enter.

Qu. Sonne, I say, follow the King Clot. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old Seruant

I haue not seene these two dayes.

Enter.

Qu. Go, looke after:

Pisanio, thou that stand’st so for Posthumus,

He hath a Drugge of mine: I pray, his absence

Proceed by swallowing that. For he beleeues

It is a thing most precious. But for her,

Where is she gone? Haply dispaire hath seiz’d her:

Or wing’d with feruour of her loue, she’s flowne

To her desir’d Posthumus: gone she is,

To death, or to dishonor, and my end

Can make good vse of either. Shee being downe,

I haue the placing of the Brittish Crowne.

Enter Cloten.

How now, my Sonne?

Clot. ‘Tis certaine she is fled:

Go in and cheere the King, he rages, none

Dare come about him

Qu. All the better: may

This night forestall him of the comming day.

Exit Qu.

Clo. I loue, and hate her: for she’s Faire and Royall,

And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite

Then Lady, Ladies, Woman, from euery one

The best she hath, and she of all compounded

Out-selles them all. I loue her therefore, but

Disdaining me, and throwing Fauours on

The low Posthumus, slanders so her iudgement,

That what’s else rare, is choak’d: and in that point

I will conclude to hate her, nay indeede,

To be reueng’d vpon her. For, when Fooles shall-

Enter Pisanio.

Who is heere? What, are you packing sirrah?

Come hither: Ah you precious Pandar, Villaine,

Where is thy Lady? In a word, or else

Thou art straightway with the Fiends

Pis. Oh, good my Lord

Clo. Where is thy Lady? Or, by Iupiter,

I will not aske againe. Close Villaine,

Ile haue this Secret from thy heart, or rip

Thy heart to finde it. Is she with Posthumus?

From whose so many waights of basenesse, cannot

A dram of worth be drawne

Pis. Alas, nay Lord,

How can she be with him? When was she miss’d?

He is in Rome

Clot. Where is she Sir? Come neerer:

No farther halting: satisfie me home,

What is become of her?

Pis. Oh, my all-worthy Lord

Clo. All-worthy Villaine,

Discouer where thy Mistris is, at once,

At the next word: no more of worthy Lord:

Speake, or thy silence on the instant, is

Thy condemnation, and thy death

Pis. Then Sir:

This Paper is the historie of my knowledge

Touching her flight

Clo. Let’s see’t: I will pursue her

Euen to Augustus Throne

Pis. Or this, or perish.

She’s farre enough, and what he learnes by this,

May proue his trauell, not her danger

Clo. Humh Pis. Ile write to my Lord she’s dead: Oh Imogen,

Safe mayst thou wander, safe returne agen

Clot. Sirra, is this Letter true?

Pis. Sir, as I thinke

Clot. It is Posthumus hand, I know’t. Sirrah, if thou would’st not be a Villain, but do me true seruice: vndergo those Imployments wherin I should haue cause to vse thee with a serious industry, that is, what villainy soere I bid thee do to performe it, directly and truely, I would thinke thee an honest man: thou should’st neither want my meanes for thy releefe, nor my voyce for thy preferment

Pis. Well, my good Lord

Clot. Wilt thou serue mee? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stucke to the bare Fortune of that Begger Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serue mee? Pis. Sir, I will

Clo. Giue mee thy hand, heere’s my purse. Hast any

of thy late Masters Garments in thy possession?

Pisan. I haue (my Lord) at my Lodging, the same

Suite he wore, when he tooke leaue of my Ladie & Mistresse

Clo. The first seruice thou dost mee, fetch that Suite

hither, let it be thy first seruice, go

Pis. I shall my Lord.

Enter.

Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Hauen: (I forgot to aske him one thing, Ile remember’t anon:) euen there, thou villaine Posthumus will I kill thee. I would these Garments were come. She saide vpon a time (the bitternesse of it, I now belch from my heart) that shee held the very Garment of Posthumus, in more respect, then my Noble and naturall person; together with the adornement of my Qualities. With that Suite vpon my backe wil I rauish her: first kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see my valour, which wil then be a torment to hir contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insulment ended on his dead bodie, and when my Lust hath dined (which, as I say, to vex her, I will execute in the Cloathes that she so prais’d:) to the Court Ile knock her backe, foot her home againe. She hath despis’d mee reioycingly, and Ile bee merry in my Reuenge. Enter Pisanio.

Be those the Garments?

Pis. I, my Noble Lord

Clo. How long is’t since she went to Milford-Hauen?

Pis. She can scarse be there yet

Clo. Bring this Apparrell to my Chamber, that is the second thing that I haue commanded thee. The third is, that thou wilt be a voluntarie Mute to my designe. Be but dutious, and true preferment shall tender it selfe to thee. My Reuenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to follow it. Come, and be true.

Exit

Pis. Thou bid’st me to my losse: for true to thee,

Were to proue false, which I will neuer bee

To him that is most true. To Milford go,

And finde not her, whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow

You Heauenly blessings on her: This Fooles speede

Be crost with slownesse; Labour be his meede.

Exit