Cymbeline

Act 3, Scene V

Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, Lords, and Attendants

CYMBELINE

Thus far; and so farewell.

CAIUS 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

To show less sovereignty than they, must needs

Appear unkinglike.

CAIUS LUCIUS

So, sir: I desire of you

A conduct over-land to Milford-Haven.

Madam, all joy befal your grace!

QUEEN

And you!

CYMBELINE

My lords, you are appointed for that office;

The due of honour in no point omit.

So farewell, noble Lucius.

CAIUS LUCIUS

Your hand, my lord.

CLOTEN

Receive it friendly; but from this time forth

I wear it as your enemy.

CAIUS LUCIUS

Sir, the event

Is yet to name the winner: fare you well.

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.

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

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

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,

Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired

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

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 the loudest noise we make.

QUEEN

My lord, when last I went to visit her,

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

Made me to blame in memory.

CYMBELINE

Her doors lock'd?

Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear

Prove false!

QUEEN

Son, I say, follow the king.

CLOTEN

That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant,

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,

Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seized her,

Or, wing'd with fervor of her love, she's flown

To her desired Posthumus: gone she is

To death or to dishonour; and my end

Can make good use of either: she being down,

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!

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

Disdaining me and throwing favours on

The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment

That what's else rare is choked; and in that point

I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,

To be revenged upon her. For when fools Shall--

Enter PISANIO

Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah?

Come hither: ah, you precious pander! 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,--

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,

How can she be with him? When was she missed?

He is in Rome.

CLOTEN

Where is she, sir? Come nearer;

No further halting: satisfy me home

What is become of her.

PISANIO

O, my all-worthy lord!

CLOTEN

All-worthy villain!

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

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,

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,

undergo those employments wherein I should have

cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is,

what villany 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 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 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?

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 lint service; go.

PISANIO

I shall, my lord.

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

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 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

praised,--to the court I'll knock her back, foot

her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly,

and I'll be merry in my revenge.

Re-enter PISANIO, with the clothes

Be those the garments?

PISANIO

Ay, my noble lord.

CLOTEN

How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven?

PISANIO

She can scarce be there yet.

CLOTEN

Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second

thing that I have commanded thee: the third is,

that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be

but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself

to thee. My revenge is now at Milford: would I had

wings to follow it! Come, and be true.

PISANIO

Thou bid'st me to my loss: for true to thee

Were to prove false, which I will never be,

To him that is most true. To Milford go,

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

You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed

Be cross'd with slowness; labour be his meed!