BELARIUS. Be silent; let's see further.
PISANIO. [Aside] It is my
mistress.
Since she is living, let the time run on
To good or bad. [CYMBELINE and IMOGEN advance]
CYMBELINE. Come, stand thou by our side;
Make thy demand aloud. [To IACHIMO] Sir, step you forth;
Give answer to this boy, and do it freely,
Or, by our
greatness and the grace of it,
Which is our honour, bitter
torture shall
Winnow the truth from
falsehood. On, speak to him.
IMOGEN. My boon is that this gentleman may render
Of whom he had this ring.
POSTHUMUS. [Aside] What's that to him?
CYMBELINE. That diamond upon your finger, say
How came it yours?
IACHIMO. Thou'lt
torture me to leave unspoken that
Which to be spoke would
torture thee.
CYMBELINE. How? me?
IACHIMO. I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that
Which torments me to
conceal. By
villainy
I got this ring; 'twas Leonatus' jewel,
Whom thou didst
banish; and- which more may
grieve thee,
As it doth me- a nobler sir ne'er liv'd
'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord?
CYMBELINE. All that belongs to this.
IACHIMO. That paragon, thy daughter,
For whom my heart drops blood and my false spirits
Quail to remember- Give me leave, I faint.
CYMBELINE. My daughter? What of her? Renew thy strength;
I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will
Than die ere I hear more. Strive, man, and speak.
IACHIMO. Upon a time-
unhappy was the clock
That struck the hour!- was in Rome- accurs'd
The
mansion where!- 'twas at a feast- O, would
Our viands had been
poison'd, or at least
Those which I heav'd to head!- the good Posthumus-
What should I say? he was too good to be
Where ill men were, and was the best of all
Amongst the rar'st of good ones- sitting sadly
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
For beauty that made
barren the swell'd boast
Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming
The
shrine of Venus or straight-pight Minerva,
Postures beyond brief nature; for condition,
A shop of all the qualities that man
Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving,
Fairness which strikes the eye-
CYMBELINE. I stand on fire.
Come to the matter.
IACHIMO. All too soon I shall,
Unless thou wouldst
grieve quickly. This Posthumus,
Most like a noble lord in love and one
That had a royal lover, took his hint;
And not dispraising whom we prais'd- therein
He was as calm as
virtue- he began
His
mistress' picture; which by his tongue being made,
And then a mind put in't, either our brags
Were crack'd of kitchen trulls, or his description
Prov'd us unspeaking sots.
CYMBELINE. Nay, nay, to th' purpose.
IACHIMO. Your daughter's chastity- there it begins.
He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams
And she alone were cold;
whereat I, wretch,
Made
scruple of his praise, and wager'd with him
Pieces of gold 'gainst this which then he wore
Upon his honour'd finger, to attain
In suit the place of's bed, and win this ring
By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight,
No
lesser of her honour confident
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring;
And would so, had it been a carbuncle
Of Phoebus' wheel; and might so
safely, had it
Been all the worth of's car. Away to Britain
Post I in this design. Well may you, sir,
Remember me at court, where I was taught
Of your
chaste daughter the wide difference
'Twixt amorous and
villainous. Being thus quench'd
Of hope, not
longing, mine Italian brain
Gan in your duller Britain operate
Most vilely; for my
vantage, excellent;
And, to be brief, my practice so prevail'd
That I return'd with simular proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad,
By wounding his
belief in her renown
With tokens thus and thus; averring notes
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet-
O
cunning, how I got it!- nay, some marks
Of secret on her person, that he could not
But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd,
I having ta'en the
forfeit. Whereupon-
Methinks I see him now-
POSTHUMUS. [Coming forward] Ay, so thou dost,
Italian fiend! Ay me, most
credulous fool,
Egregious
murderer, thief, anything
That's due to all the
villains past, in being,
To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or
poison,
Some
upright justicer! Thou, King, send out
For
torturers
ingenious. It is I
That all th' abhorred things o' th' earth amend
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
That kill'd thy daughter;
villain-like, I lie-
That caus'd a
lesservillain than myself,
A sacrilegious thief, to do't. The temple
Of
virtue was she; yea, and she herself.
Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
The dogs o' th' street to bay me. Every
villainBe call'd Posthumus Leonatus, and
Be
villainy less than 'twas! O Imogen!
My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
Imogen, Imogen!
IMOGEN. Peace, my lord. Hear, hear!
POSTHUMUS. Shall's have a play of this? Thou
scornful page,
There lies thy part. [Strikes her. She falls]
PISANIO. O gentlemen, help!
Mine and your
mistress! O, my lord Posthumus!
You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now. Help, help!
Mine honour'd lady!
CYMBELINE. Does the world go round?
POSTHUMUS. How comes these staggers on me?
PISANIO. Wake, my
mistress!
CYMBELINE. If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
To death with
mortal joy.
PISANIO. How fares my
mistress?
IMOGEN. O, get thee from my sight;
Thou gav'st me
poison. Dangerous fellow, hence!
Breathe not where princes are.
CYMBELINE. The tune of Imogen!
PISANIO. Lady,
The gods throw stones of
sulphur on me, if
That box I gave you was not thought by me
A precious thing! I had it from the Queen.
CYMBELINE. New matter still?
IMOGEN. It
poison'd me.
CORNELIUS. O gods!
I left out one thing which the Queen confess'd,
Which must
approve thee honest. 'If Pisanio
Have' said she 'given his
mistress that confection
Which I gave him for
cordial, she is serv'd
As I would serve a rat.'
CYMBELINE. What's this, Cornelius?
CORNELIUS. The Queen, sir, very oft importun'd me
To
temperpoisons for her; still pretending
The
satisfaction of her knowledge only
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs,
Of no
esteem. I, dreading that her purpose
Was of more danger, did
compound for her
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en would cease
The present pow'r of life, but in short time
All offices of nature should again
Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?
IMOGEN. Most like I did, for I was dead.
BELARIUS. My boys,
There was our error.
GUIDERIUS. This is sure Fidele.
IMOGEN. Why did you throw your
wedded lady from you?
Think that you are upon a rock, and now
Throw me again. [Embracing him]
POSTHUMUS. Hang there like fruit, my soul,
Till the tree die!
CYMBELINE. How now, my flesh? my child?
What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act?
Wilt thou not speak to me?
IMOGEN. [Kneeling] Your
blessing, sir.
BELARIUS. [To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS] Though you did love this
youth, I blame ye not;
You had a
motive for't.
CYMBELINE. My tears that fall
Prove holy water on thee! Imogen,
Thy mother's dead.
IMOGEN. I am sorry for't, my lord.
CYMBELINE. O, she was
naught, and long of her it was
That we meet here so
strangely; but her son
Is gone, we know not how nor where.
PISANIO. My lord,
Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten,
Upon my lady's
missing, came to me
With his sword drawn, foam'd at the mouth, and swore,
If I discover'd not which way she was gone,
It was my
instant death. By accident
I had a feigned letter of my master's
Then in my pocket, which directed him
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
Where, in a
frenzy, in my master's garments,
Which he enforc'd from me, away he posts
With un
chaste purpose, and with oath to violate
My lady's honour. What became of him
I further know not.
GUIDERIUS. Let me end the story:
I slew him there.
CYMBELINE. Marry, the gods forfend!
I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
Pluck a hard
sentence. Prithee,
valiant youth,
Deny't again.
GUIDERIUS. I have spoke it, and I did it.
CYMBELINE. He was a prince.
GUIDERIUS. A most incivil one. The wrongs he did me
Were nothing prince-like; for he did
provoke me
With language that would make me spurn the sea,
If it could so roar to me. I cut off's head,
And am right glad he is not
standing here
To tell this tale of mine.