# The Complete Works of William Shakespeare ## Part 33 Book page: https://www.cyberlibrary.org/en/books/the-complete-works-of-william-shakespeare-100/index.md CORIOLANUS. Martius? AUFIDIUS. Ay, Martius, Caius Martius. Dost thou think I’ll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol’n name Coriolanus, in Corioles? You lords and heads o’ th’ state, perfidiously He has betrayed your business and given up For certain drops of salt your city Rome— I say your city—to his wife and mother, Breaking his oath and resolution like A twist of rotten silk, never admitting Counsel o’ th’ war, but at his nurse’s tears He whined and roared away your victory, That pages blushed at him and men of heart Looked wond’ring each at other. CORIOLANUS. Hear’st thou, Mars? AUFIDIUS. Name not the god, thou boy of tears. CORIOLANUS. Ha? AUFIDIUS. No more. CORIOLANUS. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart Too great for what contains it. “Boy”? O slave!— Pardon me, lords, ’tis the first time that ever I was forced to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords, Must give this cur the lie; and his own notion— Who wears my stripes impressed upon him, that Must bear my beating to his grave—shall join To thrust the lie unto him. FIRST LORD. Peace, both, and hear me speak. CORIOLANUS. Cut me to pieces, Volsces. Men and lads, Stain all your edges on me. “Boy”? False hound! If you have writ your annals true, ’tis there, That like an eagle in a dovecote, I Fluttered your Volscians in Corioles, Alone I did it. “Boy”! AUFIDIUS. Why, noble lords, Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, ’Fore your own eyes and ears? ALL CONSPIRATORS. Let him die for’t. ALL PEOPLE Tear him to pieces! Do it presently! He killed my son! My daughter! He killed my cousin Marcus! He killed my father! SECOND LORD. Peace, ho! No outrage! Peace! The man is noble, and his fame folds in This orb o’ th’ Earth. His last offences to us Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius, And trouble not the peace. CORIOLANUS. O that I had him, With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, To use my lawful sword. AUFIDIUS. Insolent villain! ALL CONSPIRATORS. Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him! [_Draw the Conspirators, and kills Martius, who falls. Aufidius stands on him._] LORDS. Hold, hold, hold, hold! AUFIDIUS. My noble masters, hear me speak. FIRST LORD. O Tullus! SECOND LORD. Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep. THIRD LORD. Tread not upon him.—Masters, all be quiet.— Put up your swords. AUFIDIUS. My lords, when you shall know—as in this rage, Provoked by him, you cannot—the great danger Which this man’s life did owe you, you’ll rejoice That he is thus cut off. Please it your Honours To call me to your senate, I’ll deliver Myself your loyal servant, or endure Your heaviest censure. FIRST LORD. Bear from hence his body, And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded As the most noble corse that ever herald Did follow to his urn. SECOND LORD. His own impatience Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. Let’s make the best of it. AUFIDIUS. My rage is gone, And I am struck with sorrow.—Take him up. Help, three o’ th’ chiefest soldiers; I’ll be one.— Beat thou the drum that it speak mournfully.— Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he Hath widowed and unchilded many a one, Which to this hour bewail the injury, Yet he shall have a noble memory. Assist. [_Exeunt, bearing the body of Martius. A dead march sounded._] CYMBELINE Contents ACT I Scene I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline’s palace. Scene II. The same. Scene III. Britain. A public place. Scene IV. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. Scene V. Rome. Philario’s house. Scene VI. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. Scene VII. Britain. The palace. ACT II Scene I. Britain. Before Cymbeline’s palace. Scene II. Britain. Imogen’s bedchamber in Cymbeline’s palace; a trunk in one corner. Scene III. Cymbeline’s palace. An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen’s apartments. Scene IV. Rome. Philario’s house. Scene V. Rome. Another room in Philario’s house. ACT III Scene I. Britain. A hall in Cymbeline’s palace. Scene II. Britain. Another room in Cymbeline’s palace. Scene III. Wales. A mountainous country with a cave. Scene IV. Wales, near Milford Haven. Scene V. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. Scene VI. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. Scene VII. The same. Scene VIII. Rome. A public place. ACT IV Scene I. Wales. Near the cave of Belarius. Scene II. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. Scene III. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. Scene IV. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. ACT V Scene I. Britain. The Roman camp. Scene II. Britain. A field of battle between the British and Roman camps. Scene III. Another part of the field. Scene IV. Britain. A prison. Scene V. Britain. Cymbeline’s tent. Dramatis Personæ CYMBELINE, King of Britain CLOTEN, son to the Queen by a former husband POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, a gentleman, husband to Imogen BELARIUS, a banished lord, disguised under the name of Morgan GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS, sons to Cymbeline, disguised under the names of POLYDORE and CADWAL, supposed sons to Belarius PHILARIO, Italian, friend to Posthumus IACHIMO, Italian, friend to Philario CAIUS LUCIUS, General of the Roman forces PISANIO, servant to Posthumus CORNELIUS, a physician A SOOTHSAYER A ROMAN CAPTAIN TWO BRITISH CAPTAINS A FRENCH GENTLEMAN, friend to Philario TWO LORDS of Cymbeline’s court TWO GENTLEMEN of the same TWO GAOLERS QUEEN, wife to Cymbeline IMOGEN, daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen HELEN, a lady attending on Imogen APPARITIONS Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, a Dutch Gentleman, a Spanish Gentleman, Musicians, Officers, Captains, Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants SCENE: Britain; Italy. ACT I SCENE I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline’s palace. Enter two Gentlemen. FIRST GENTLEMAN. You do not meet a man but frowns; our bloods No more obey the heavens than our courtiers Still seem as does the King’s. SECOND GENTLEMAN. But what’s the matter? FIRST GENTLEMAN. His daughter, and the heir of’s kingdom, whom He purpos’d to his wife’s sole son—a widow That late he married—hath referr’d herself Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. She’s wedded; Her husband banish’d; she imprison’d. All Is outward sorrow, though I think the King Be touch’d at very heart. SECOND GENTLEMAN. None but the King? FIRST GENTLEMAN. He that hath lost her too. So is the Queen, That most desir’d the match. But not a courtier, Although they wear their faces to the bent Of the King’s looks, hath a heart that is not Glad at the thing they scowl at. SECOND GENTLEMAN. And why so? FIRST GENTLEMAN. He that hath miss’d the Princess is a thing Too bad for bad report; and he that hath her— I mean that married her, alack, good man! And therefore banish’d—is a creature such As, to seek through the regions of the earth For one his like, there would be something failing In him that should compare. I do not think So fair an outward and such stuff within Endows a man but he. SECOND GENTLEMAN. You speak him far. FIRST GENTLEMAN. I do extend him, sir, within himself; Crush him together rather than unfold His measure duly. SECOND GENTLEMAN. What’s his name and birth? FIRST GENTLEMAN. I cannot delve him to the root; his father Was call’d Sicilius, who did join his honour Against the Romans with Cassibelan, But had his titles by Tenantius, whom He serv’d with glory and admir’d success, So gain’d the sur-addition Leonatus; And had, besides this gentleman in question, Two other sons, who, in the wars o’ th’ time, Died with their swords in hand; for which their father, Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow That he quit being; and his gentle lady, Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas’d As he was born. The King he takes the babe To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus, Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber, Puts to him all the learnings that his time Could make him the receiver of; which he took, As we do air, fast as ’twas minist’red, And in’s spring became a harvest, liv’d in court— Which rare it is to do—most prais’d, most lov’d, A sample to the youngest; to th’ more mature A glass that feated them; and to the graver A child that guided dotards. To his mistress, For whom he now is banish’d, her own price Proclaims how she esteem’d him and his virtue; By her election may be truly read What kind of man he is. SECOND GENTLEMAN. I honour him Even out of your report. But pray you tell me, Is she sole child to th’ King? FIRST GENTLEMAN. His only child. He had two sons—if this be worth your hearing, Mark it—the eldest of them at three years old, I’ th’ swathing clothes the other, from their nursery Were stol’n; and to this hour no guess in knowledge Which way they went. SECOND GENTLEMAN. How long is this ago? FIRST GENTLEMAN. Some twenty years. SECOND GENTLEMAN. That a king’s children should be so convey’d, So slackly guarded, and the search so slow That could not trace them! FIRST GENTLEMAN. Howsoe’er ’tis strange, Or that the negligence may well be laugh’d at, Yet is it true, sir. SECOND GENTLEMAN. I do well believe you. FIRST GENTLEMAN. We must forbear; here comes the gentleman, The Queen, and Princess. [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. The same. Enter Queen, Posthumus and Imogen. QUEEN. No, be assur’d you shall not find me, daughter, After the slander of most stepmothers, Evil-ey’d unto you. You’re my prisoner, but Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, So soon as I can win th’ offended King, I will be known your advocate. Marry, yet The fire of rage is in him, and ’twere good You lean’d unto his sentence with what patience Your wisdom may inform you. POSTHUMUS. Please your Highness, I will from hence today. QUEEN. You know the peril. I’ll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying The pangs of barr’d affections, though the King Hath charg’d you should not speak together. [_Exit._] IMOGEN. O dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband, I something fear my father’s wrath, but nothing (Always reserv’d my holy duty) what His rage can do on me. You must be gone; And I shall here abide the hourly shot Of angry eyes, not comforted to live But that there is this jewel in the world That I may see again. POSTHUMUS. My queen! my mistress! O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause To be suspected of more tenderness Than doth become a man. I will remain The loyal’st husband that did e’er plight troth; My residence in Rome at one Philario’s, Who to my father was a friend, to me Known but by letter; thither write, my queen, And with mine eyes I’ll drink the words you send, Though ink be made of gall. Enter Queen. QUEEN. Be brief, I pray you. If the King come, I shall incur I know not How much of his displeasure. [_Aside._] Yet I’ll move him To walk this way. I never do him wrong But he does buy my injuries, to be friends; Pays dear for my offences. [_Exit._] POSTHUMUS. Should we be taking leave As long a term as yet we have to live, The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu! IMOGEN. Nay, stay a little. Were you but riding forth to air yourself, Such parting were too petty. Look here, love: This diamond was my mother’s; take it, heart; But keep it till you woo another wife, When Imogen is dead. POSTHUMUS. How, how? Another? You gentle gods, give me but this I have, And sear up my embracements from a next With bonds of death! Remain, remain thou here [_Puts on the ring._] While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest, As I my poor self did exchange for you, To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles I still win of you. For my sake wear this; It is a manacle of love; I’ll place it Upon this fairest prisoner. [_Puts a bracelet on her arm._] IMOGEN. O the gods! When shall we see again? Enter Cymbeline and Lords. POSTHUMUS. Alack, the King! CYMBELINE. Thou basest thing, avoid; hence from my sight If after this command thou fraught the court With thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away! Thou’rt poison to my blood. POSTHUMUS. The gods protect you, And bless the good remainders of the court! I am gone. [_Exit._] IMOGEN. There cannot be a pinch in death More sharp than this is. CYMBELINE. O disloyal thing, That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap’st A year’s age on me! IMOGEN. I beseech you, sir, Harm not yourself with your vexation. I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare Subdues all pangs, all fears. CYMBELINE. Past grace? obedience? IMOGEN. Past hope, and in despair; that way past grace. CYMBELINE. That mightst have had the sole son of my queen! IMOGEN. O blessed that I might not! I chose an eagle, And did avoid a puttock. CYMBELINE. Thou took’st a beggar, wouldst have made my throne A seat for baseness. IMOGEN. No; I rather added A lustre to it. CYMBELINE. O thou vile one! IMOGEN. Sir, It is your fault that I have lov’d Posthumus. You bred him as my playfellow, and he is A man worth any woman; overbuys me Almost the sum he pays. CYMBELINE. What, art thou mad? IMOGEN. Almost, sir. Heaven restore me! Would I were A neat-herd’s daughter, and my Leonatus Our neighbour shepherd’s son! Enter Queen. CYMBELINE. Thou foolish thing! [_To the Queen._] They were again together. You have done Not after our command. Away with her, And pen her up. QUEEN. Beseech your patience. Peace, Dear lady daughter, peace!—Sweet sovereign, Leave us to ourselves, and make yourself some comfort Out of your best advice. CYMBELINE. Nay, let her languish A drop of blood a day and, being aged, Die of this folly. [_Exit with Lords._] Enter Pisanio. QUEEN. Fie! you must give way. Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news? PISANIO. My lord your son drew on my master. QUEEN. Ha! No harm, I trust, is done? PISANIO. There might have been, But that my master rather play’d than fought, And had no help of anger; they were parted By gentlemen at hand. QUEEN. I am very glad on’t. IMOGEN. Your son’s my father’s friend; he takes his part To draw upon an exile! O brave sir! I would they were in Afric both together; Myself by with a needle, that I might prick The goer-back. Why came you from your master? PISANIO. On his command. He would not suffer me To bring him to the haven; left these notes Of what commands I should be subject to, When’t pleas’d you to employ me. QUEEN. This hath been Your faithful servant. I dare lay mine honour He will remain so. PISANIO. I humbly thank your Highness. QUEEN. Pray walk awhile. IMOGEN. About some half-hour hence, Pray you speak with me. You shall at least go see my lord aboard. For this time leave me. [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. Britain. A public place. Enter Cloten and two Lords. FIRST LORD. Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the violence of action hath made you reek as a sacrifice. Where air comes out, air comes in; there’s none abroad so wholesome as that you vent. CLOTEN. If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him? SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] No, faith; not so much as his patience. FIRST LORD. Hurt him! His body’s a passable carcass if he be not hurt. It is a throughfare for steel if it be not hurt. SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] His steel was in debt; it went o’ th’ backside the town. CLOTEN. The villain would not stand me. SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] No; but he fled forward still, toward your face. FIRST LORD. Stand you? You have land enough of your own; but he added to your having, gave you some ground. SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] As many inches as you have oceans. Puppies! CLOTEN. I would they had not come between us. SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] So would I, till you had measur’d how long a fool you were upon the ground. CLOTEN. And that she should love this fellow, and refuse me! SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damn’d. FIRST LORD. Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go not together; she’s a good sign, but I have seen small reflection of her wit. SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] She shines not upon fools, lest the reflection should hurt her. CLOTEN. Come, I’ll to my chamber. Would there had been some hurt done! SECOND LORD. [_Aside._] I wish not so; unless it had been the fall of an ass, which is no great hurt. CLOTEN. You’ll go with us? FIRST LORD. I’ll attend your lordship. CLOTEN. Nay, come, let’s go together. SECOND LORD. Well, my lord. [_Exeunt._] SCENE IV. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. Enter Imogen and Pisanio. IMOGEN. I would thou grew’st unto the shores o’ th’ haven, And questioned’st every sail; if he should write, And I not have it, ’twere a paper lost, As offer’d mercy is. What was the last That he spake to thee? PISANIO. It was: his queen, his queen! IMOGEN. Then wav’d his handkerchief? PISANIO. And kiss’d it, madam. IMOGEN. Senseless linen, happier therein than I! And that was all? PISANIO. No, madam; for so long As he could make me with his eye, or ear Distinguish him from others, he did keep The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief, Still waving, as the fits and stirs of’s mind Could best express how slow his soul sail’d on, How swift his ship. IMOGEN. Thou shouldst have made him As little as a crow, or less, ere left To after-eye him. PISANIO. Madam, so I did. IMOGEN. I would have broke mine eyestrings, crack’d them but To look upon him, till the diminution Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle; Nay, followed him till he had melted from The smallness of a gnat to air, and then Have turn’d mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio, When shall we hear from him? PISANIO. Be assur’d, madam, With his next vantage. IMOGEN. I did not take my leave of him, but had Most pretty things to say. Ere I could tell him How I would think on him at certain hours Such thoughts and such; or I could make him swear The shes of Italy should not betray Mine interest and his honour; or have charg’d him, At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight, T’ encounter me with orisons, for then I am in heaven for him; or ere I could Give him that parting kiss which I had set Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father, And like the tyrannous breathing of the north Shakes all our buds from growing. Enter a Lady. LADY. The Queen, madam, Desires your Highness’ company. IMOGEN. Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch’d. I will attend the Queen. PISANIO. Madam, I shall. [_Exeunt._] SCENE V. Rome. Philario’s house. Enter Philario, Iachimo, a Frenchman, a Dutchman and a Spaniard. IACHIMO. Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain. He was then of a crescent note, expected to prove so worthy as since he hath been allowed the name of. But I could then have look’d on him without the help of admiration, though the catalogue of his endowments had been tabled by his side, and I to peruse him by items. PHILARIO. You speak of him when he was less furnish’d than now he is with that which makes him both without and within. FRENCHMAN. I have seen him in France; we had very many there could behold the sun with as firm eyes as he. IACHIMO. This matter of marrying his king’s daughter, wherein he must be weighed rather by her value than his own, words him, I doubt not, a great deal from the matter. FRENCHMAN. And then his banishment. IACHIMO. Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this lamentable divorce under her colours are wonderfully to extend him, be it but to fortify her judgement, which else an easy battery might lay flat, for taking a beggar, without less quality. But how comes it he is to sojourn with you? How creeps acquaintance? PHILARIO. His father and I were soldiers together, to whom I have been often bound for no less than my life. Enter Posthumus. Here comes the Briton. Let him be so entertained amongst you as suits with gentlemen of your knowing to a stranger of his quality. I beseech you all be better known to this gentleman, whom I commend to you as a noble friend of mine. How worthy he is I will leave to appear hereafter, rather than story him in his own hearing. FRENCHMAN. Sir, we have known together in Orleans. POSTHUMUS. Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies, which I will be ever to pay and yet pay still. FRENCHMAN. Sir, you o’errate my poor kindness. I was glad I did atone my countryman and you; it had been pity you should have been put together with so mortal a purpose as then each bore, upon importance of so slight and trivial a nature. POSTHUMUS. By your pardon, sir. I was then a young traveller; rather shunn’d to go even with what I heard than in my every action to be guided by others’ experiences; but upon my mended judgement (if I offend not to say it is mended) my quarrel was not altogether slight. FRENCHMAN. Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords, and by such two that would by all likelihood have confounded one the other or have fall’n both. IACHIMO. Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference? FRENCHMAN. Safely, I think. ’Twas a contention in public, which may, without contradiction, suffer the report. It was much like an argument that fell out last night, where each of us fell in praise of our country mistresses; this gentleman at that time vouching (and upon warrant of bloody affirmation) his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, constant, qualified, and less attemptable, than any the rarest of our ladies in France. IACHIMO. That lady is not now living, or this gentleman’s opinion, by this, worn out. POSTHUMUS. She holds her virtue still, and I my mind. IACHIMO. You must not so far prefer her ’fore ours of Italy. POSTHUMUS. Being so far provok’d as I was in France, I would abate her nothing, though I profess myself her adorer, not her friend. IACHIMO. As fair and as good—a kind of hand-in-hand comparison—had been something too fair and too good for any lady in Britain. If she went before others I have seen as that diamond of yours outlustres many I have beheld, I could not but believe she excelled many; but I have not seen the most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady. POSTHUMUS. I prais’d her as I rated her. So do I my stone. IACHIMO. What do you esteem it at? POSTHUMUS. More than the world enjoys. IACHIMO. Either your unparagon’d mistress is dead, or she’s outpriz’d by a trifle. POSTHUMUS. You are mistaken: the one may be sold or given, if there were wealth enough for the purchase or merit for the gift; the other is not a thing for sale, and only the gift of the gods. IACHIMO. Which the gods have given you? POSTHUMUS. Which by their graces I will keep. IACHIMO. You may wear her in title yours; but you know strange fowl light upon neighbouring ponds. Your ring may be stol’n too. So your brace of unprizable estimations, the one is but frail and the other casual; a cunning thief, or a that-way-accomplish’d courtier, would hazard the winning both of first and last. POSTHUMUS. Your Italy contains none so accomplish’d a courtier to convince the honour of my mistress, if in the holding or loss of that you term her frail. I do nothing doubt you have store of thieves; notwithstanding, I fear not my ring. PHILARIO. Let us leave here, gentlemen. POSTHUMUS. Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I thank him, makes no stranger of me; we are familiar at first. IACHIMO. With five times so much conversation I should get ground of your fair mistress; make her go back even to the yielding, had I admittance and opportunity to friend. POSTHUMUS. No, no. IACHIMO. I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to your ring, which, in my opinion, o’ervalues it something. But I make my wager rather against your confidence than her reputation; and, to bar your offence herein too, I durst attempt it against any lady in the world. POSTHUMUS. You are a great deal abus’d in too bold a persuasion, and I doubt not you sustain what y’are worthy of by your attempt. IACHIMO. What’s that? POSTHUMUS. A repulse; though your attempt, as you call it, deserve more; a punishment too. PHILARIO. Gentlemen, enough of this. It came in too suddenly; let it die as it was born, and I pray you be better acquainted.