Читать книгу Cymbeline (The Unabridged Play) + The Classic Biography: The Life of William Shakespeare - William Shakespeare - Страница 6

Enter the Queene, Posthumus, and Imogen.

Qu. No, be assur’d you shall not finde me (Daughter)

After the slander of most Step-Mothers,

Euill-ey’d vnto you. You’re my Prisoner, but

Your Gaoler shall deliuer you the keyes

That locke vp your restraint. For you Posthumus,

So soone as I can win th’ offended King,

I will be knowne your Aduocate: marry yet

The fire of Rage is in him, and ‘twere good

You lean’d vnto his Sentence, with what patience

Your wisedome may informe you

Post. ‘Please your Highnesse,

I will from hence to day

Qu. You know the perill:

Ile fetch a turne about the Garden, pittying

The pangs of barr’d Affections, though the King

Hath charg’d you should not speake together.

Exit

Imo. O dissembling Curtesie! How fine this Tyrant

Can tickle where she wounds? My deerest Husband,

I something feare my Fathers wrath, but nothing

(Alwayes reseru’d my holy duty) what

His rage can do on me. You must be gone,

And I shall heere abide the hourely shot

Of angry eyes: not comforted to liue,

But that there is this Iewell in the world,

That I may see againe

Post. My Queene, my Mistris:

O Lady, weepe no more, least I giue cause

To be suspected of more tendernesse

Then doth become a man. I will remaine

The loyall’st husband, that did ere plight troth.

My residence in Rome, at one Filorio’s,

Who, to my Father was a Friend, to me

Knowne but by Letter; thither write (my Queene)

And with mine eyes, Ile drinke the words you send,

Though Inke be made of Gall.

Enter Queene.

Qu. Be briefe, I pray you:

If the King come, I shall incurre, I know not

How much of his displeasure: yet Ile moue him

To walke this way: I neuer do him wrong,

But he do’s buy my Iniuries, to be Friends:

Payes deere for my offences

Post. Should we be taking leaue

As long a terme as yet we haue to liue,

The loathnesse to depart, would grow: Adieu

Imo. Nay, stay a little:

Were you but riding forth to ayre your selfe,

Such parting were too petty. Looke heere (Loue)

This Diamond was my Mothers; take it (Heart)

But keepe it till you woo another Wife,

When Imogen is dead

Post. How, how? Another?

You gentle Gods, giue me but this I haue,

And seare vp my embracements from a next,

With bonds of death. Remaine, remaine thou heere,

While sense can keepe it on: And sweetest, fairest,

As I (my poore selfe) did exchange for you

To your so infinite losse; so in our trifles

I still winne of you. For my sake weare this,

It is a Manacle of Loue, Ile place it

Vpon this fayrest Prisoner

Imo. O the Gods!

When shall we see againe?

Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.

Post. Alacke, the King Cym. Thou basest thing, auoyd hence, from my sight:

If after this command thou fraught the Court

With thy vnworthinesse, thou dyest. Away,

Thou’rt poyson to my blood

Post. The Gods protect you,

And blesse the good Remainders of the Court:

I am gone

Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death

More sharpe then this is

Cym. O disloyall thing,

That should’st repayre my youth, thou heap’st

A yeares age on mee

Imo. I beseech you Sir,

Harme not your selfe with your vexation,

I am senselesse of your Wrath; a Touch more rare

Subdues all pangs, all feares

Cym. Past Grace? Obedience?

Imo. Past hope, and in dispaire, that way past Grace

Cym. That might’st haue had

The sole Sonne of my Queene

Imo. O blessed, that I might not: I chose an Eagle,

And did auoyd a Puttocke

Cym. Thou took’st a Begger, would’st haue made my

Throne, a Seate for basenesse

Imo. No, I rather added a lustre to it Cym. O thou vilde one!

Imo. Sir,

It is your fault that I haue lou’d Posthumus:

You bred him as my Playfellow, and he is

A man, worth any woman: Ouer-buyes mee

Almost the summe he payes

Cym. What? art thou mad?

Imo. Almost Sir: Heauen restore me: would I were

A Neat-heards Daughter, and my Leonatus

Our Neighbour-Shepheards Sonne.

Enter Queene.

Cym. Thou foolish thing;

They were againe together: you haue done

Not after our command. Away with her,

And pen her vp

Qu. Beseech your patience: Peace

Deere Lady daughter, peace. Sweet Soueraigne,

Leaue vs to our selues, and make your self some comfort

Out of your best aduice

Cym. Nay, let her languish

A drop of blood a day, and being aged

Dye of this Folly.

Enter.

Enter Pisanio.

Qu. Fye, you must giue way:

Heere is your Seruant. How now Sir? What newes?

Pisa. My Lord your Sonne, drew on my Master

Qu. Hah?

No harme I trust is done?

Pisa. There might haue beene,

But that my Master rather plaid, then fought,

And had no helpe of Anger: they were parted

By Gentlemen, at hand

Qu. I am very glad on’t

Imo. Your Son’s my Fathers friend, he takes his part

To draw vpon an Exile. O braue Sir,

I would they were in Affricke both together,

My selfe by with a Needle, that I might pricke

The goer backe. Why came you from your Master?

Pisa. On his command: he would not suffer mee

To bring him to the Hauen: left these Notes

Of what commands I should be subiect too,

When’t pleas’d you to employ me

Qu. This hath beene

Your faithfull Seruant: I dare lay mine Honour

He will remaine so

Pisa. I humbly thanke your Highnesse

Qu. Pray walke a-while

Imo. About some halfe houre hence,

Pray you speake with me;

You shall (at least) go see my Lord aboord.

For this time leaue me.

Exeunt.