The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

with a fool;

Frighted, and ang’red worse. Go bid my woman Search for a jewel that too casually

Hath left mine arm. It was thy master’s; shrew me, If I would lose it for a revenue

Of any king’s in Europe! I do think

I saw’t this morning; confident I am

Last night ‘twas on mine arm; I kiss’d it.

I hope it be not gone to tell my lord That I kiss aught but he.

PISANIO. ‘Twill not be lost.

IMOGEN. I hope so. Go and search. Exit PISANIO

CLOTEN. You have abus’d me.

‘His meanest garment’!

IMOGEN. Ay, I said so, sir.

If you will make ‘t an action, call witness to ‘t.

CLOTEN. I will inform your father.

IMOGEN. Your mother too.

She’s my good lady and will conceive, I hope, But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir, To th’ worst of discontent. Exit CLOTEN. I’ll be reveng’d.

‘His mean’st garment’! Well. Exit

SCENE IV.

Rome. PHILARIO’S house

 

Enter POSTHUMUS and PHILARIO

 

POSTHUMUS. Fear it not, sir; I would I were so sure To win the King as I am bold her honour Will remain hers.

PHILARIO. What means do you make to him?

POSTHUMUS. Not any; but abide the change of time, Quake in the present winter’s state, and wish That warmer days would come. In these fear’d hopes I barely gratify your love; they failing, I must die much your debtor.

PHILARIO. Your very goodness and your company O’erpays all I can do. By this your king Hath heard of great Augustus. Caius Lucius Will do’s commission throughly; and I think He’ll grant the tribute, send th’ arrearages, Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance Is yet fresh in their grief.

POSTHUMUS. I do believe

Statist though I am none, nor like to be, That this will prove a war; and you shall hear The legions now in Gallia sooner landed In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen Are men more order’d than when Julius Caesar Smil’d at their lack of skill, but found their courage Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline, Now mingled with their courages, will make known To their approvers they are people such That mend upon the world.

 

Enter IACHIMO

 

PHILARIO. See! Iachimo!

POSTHUMUS. The swiftest harts have posted you by land, And winds of all the comers kiss’d your sails, To make your vessel nimble.

PHILARIO. Welcome, sir.

POSTHUMUS. I hope the briefness of your answer made The speediness of your return.

IACHIMO. Your lady

Is one of the fairest that I have look’d upon.

POSTHUMUS. And therewithal the best; or let her beauty Look through a casement to allure false hearts, And be false with them.

IACHIMO. Here are letters for you.

POSTHUMUS. Their tenour good, I trust.

IACHIMO. ‘Tis very like.

PHILARIO. Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court When you were there?

IACHIMO. He was expected then,

But not approach’d.

POSTHUMUS. All is well yet.

Sparkles this stone as it was wont, or is’t not Too dull for your good wearing?

IACHIMO. If I have lost it,

I should have lost the worth of it in gold.

I’ll make a journey twice as far t’ enjoy A second night of such sweet shortness which Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.

POSTHUMUS. The stone’s too hard to come by.

IACHIMO. Not a whit,

Your lady being so easy.

POSTHUMUS. Make not, sir,

Your loss your sport. I hope you know that we Must not continue friends.

IACHIMO. Good sir, we must,

If you keep covenant. Had I not brought The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant We were to question farther; but I now Profess myself the winner of her honour, Together with your ring; and not the wronger Of her or you, having proceeded but

By both your wills.

POSTHUMUS. If you can make’t apparent

That you have tasted her in bed, my hand And ring is yours. If not, the foul opinion You had of her pure honour gains or loses Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both To who shall find them.

IACHIMO. Sir, my circumstances,

Being so near the truth as I will make them, Must first induce you to believe-whose strength I will confirm with oath; which I doubt not You’ll give me leave to spare when you shall find You need it not.

POSTHUMUS. Proceed.

IACHIMO. First, her bedchamber,

Where I confess I slept not, but profess Had that was well worth watching-it was hang’d With tapestry of silk and silver; the story, Proud Cleopatra when she met her Roman And Cydnus swell’d above the banks, or for The press of boats or pride. A piece of work So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive In workmanship and value; which I wonder’d Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, Since the true life on’t was-POSTHUMUS. This is true;

And this you might have heard of here, by me Or by some other.

IACHIMO. More particulars

Must justify my knowledge.

POSTHUMUS. So they must,

Or do your honour injury.

IACHIMO. The chimney

Is south the chamber, and the chimneypiece Chaste Dian bathing. Never saw I figures So likely to report themselves. The cutter Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her, Motion and breath left out.

POSTHUMUS. This is a thing

Which you might from relation likewise reap, Being, as it is, much spoke of.

IACHIMO. The roof o’ th’ chamber

With golden cherubins is fretted; her andirons-I had forgot them-were two winking Cupids Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely Depending on their brands.

POSTHUMUS. This is her honour!

Let it be granted you have seen all this, and praise Be given to your remembrance; the description Of what is in her chamber nothing saves The wager you have laid.

IACHIMO. Then, if you can, [Shows the bracelet]

Be pale. I beg but leave to air this jewel. See!

And now ‘tis up again. It must be married To that your diamond; I’ll keep them.

POSTHUMUS. Jove!

Once more let me behold it. Is it that Which I left with her?

IACHIMO. Sir-I thank her-that.

She stripp’d it from her arm; I see her yet; Her pretty action did outsell her gift, And yet enrich’d it too. She gave it me, and said She priz’d it once.

POSTHUMUS. May be she pluck’d it of

To send it me.

IACHIMO. She writes so to you, doth she?

POSTHUMUS. O, no, no, no! ‘tis true. Here, take this too; [Gives the ring]

It is a basilisk unto mine eye,

Kills me to look on’t. Let there be no honour Where there is beauty; truth where semblance; love Where there’s another man. The vows of women Of no more bondage be to where they are made Than they are to their virtues, which is nothing.

O, above measure false!

PHILARIO. Have patience, sir,

And take your ring again; ‘tis not yet won.

It may be probable she lost it, or

Who knows if one her women, being corrupted Hath stol’n it from her?

POSTHUMUS. Very true;

And so I hope he came by’t. Back my ring.

Render to me some corporal sign about her, More evident than this; for this was stol’n.

IACHIMO. By Jupiter, I had it from her arm!

POSTHUMUS. Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears.

‘Tis true-nay, keep the ring, ‘tis true. I am sure She would not lose it. Her attendants are All sworn and honourable-they induc’d to steal it!

And by a stranger! No, he hath enjoy’d her.

The cognizance of her incontinency

Is this: she hath bought the name of whore thus dearly.

There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell Divide themselves between you!

PHILARIO. Sir, be patient;

This is not strong enough to be believ’d Of one persuaded well of.

POSTHUMUS. Never talk on’t;

She hath been colted by him.

IACHIMO. If you seek

For further satisfying, under her breast-Worthy the pressing-lies a mole, right proud Of that most delicate lodging. By my life, I kiss’d it; and it gave me present hunger To feed again, though full. You do remember This stain upon her?

POSTHUMUS. Ay, and it doth confirm

Another stain, as big as hell can hold, Were there no more but it.

IACHIMO. Will you hear more?

POSTHUMUS. Spare your arithmetic; never count the turns.

Once, and a million!

IACHIMO. I’ll be sworn—

POSTHUMUS. No swearing.

If you will swear you have not done’t, you lie; And I will kill thee if thou dost deny Thou’st made me cuckold.

IACHIMO. I’ll deny nothing.

POSTHUMUS. O that I had her here to tear her limb-meal!

I will go there and do’t, i’ th’ court, before Her father. I’ll do something-Exit PHILARIO. Quite besides

The government of patience! You have won.

Let’s follow him and pervert the present wrath He hath against himself.

IACHIMO. With all my heart. Exeunt

SCENE V.

Rome. Another room in PHILARIO’S house

 

Enter POSTHUMUS

 

POSTHUMUS. Is there no way for men to be, but women Must be half-workers? We are all bastards, And that most venerable man which I

Did call my father was I know not where When I was stamp’d. Some coiner with his tools Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seem’d The Dian of that time. So doth my wife The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!

Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain’d, And pray’d me oft forbearance; did it with A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on’t Might well have warm’d old Saturn; that I thought her As chaste as unsunn’d snow. O, all the devils!

This yellow Iachimo in an hour-was’t not?

Or less!- at first? Perchance he spoke not, but, Like a full-acorn’d boar, a German one, Cried ‘O!’ and mounted; found no opposition But what he look’d for should oppose and she Should from encounter guard. Could I find out The woman’s part in me! For there’s no motion That tends to vice in man but I affirm It is the woman’s part. Be it lying, note it, The woman’s; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers; Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers; Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, Nice longing, slanders, mutability,

All faults that man may name, nay, that hell knows, Why, hers, in part or all; but rather all; For even to vice

They are not constant, but are changing still One vice but of a minute old for one

Not half so old as that. I’ll write against them, Detest them, curse them. Yet ‘tis greater skill In a true hate to pray they have their will: The very devils cannot plague them better. Exit

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ACT III. SCENE I.

Britain. A hall in CYMBELINE’S palace

 

Enter in state, CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, and LORDS at one door, and at another CAIUS LUCIUS and attendants CYMBELINE. Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us?

LUCIUS. When Julius Caesar-whose remembrance yet Lives in men’s eyes, and will to ears and tongues Be theme and hearing ever-was in this Britain, And conquer’d it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, Famous in Caesar’s praises no whit less Than in his feats deserving it, for him And his succession granted Rome a tribute, Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately Is left untender’d.

QUEEN. And, to kill the marvel,

Shall be so ever.

CLOTEN. There be many Caesars

Ere such another Julius. Britain is

A world by itself, and we