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

will nothing pay For wearing our own noses.

QUEEN. That opportunity,

Which then they had to take from ‘s, to resume We have again. Remember, sir, my liege, The kings your ancestors, together with The natural bravery of your isle, which stands As Neptune’s park, ribb’d and pal’d in With rocks unscalable and roaring waters, With sands that will not bear your enemies’ boats But suck them up to th’ topmast. A kind of conquest Caesar made here; but made not here his brag Of ‘came, and saw, and overcame.’ With shame-The first that ever touch’d him-he was carried From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping-Poor ignorant baubles!- on our terrible seas, Like eggshells mov’d upon their surges, crack’d As easily ‘gainst our rocks; for joy whereof The fam’d Cassibelan, who was once at point-O, giglot fortune!- to master Caesar’s sword, Made Lud’s Town with rejoicing fires bright And Britons strut with courage.

CLOTEN. Come, there’s no more tribute to be paid. Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no moe such Caesars. Other of them may have crook’d noses; but to owe such straight arms, none.

CYMBELINE. Son, let your mother end.

CLOTEN. We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan.

I do not say I am one; but I have a hand. Why tribute? Why should we pay tribute? If Caesar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now.

CYMBELINE. You must know,

Till the injurious Romans did extort

This tribute from us, we were free. Caesar’s ambition-Which swell’d so much that it did almost stretch The sides o’ th’ world-against all colour here Did put the yoke upon’s; which to shake of Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon Ourselves to be.

CLOTEN. We do.

CYMBELINE. Say then to Caesar,

Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which Ordain’d our laws-whose use the sword of Caesar Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, Though Rome be therefore angry. Mulmutius made our laws, Who was the first of Britain which did put His brows within a golden crown, and call’d Himself a king.

LUCIUS. I am sorry, Cymbeline,

That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar-Caesar, that hath moe kings his servants than Thyself domestic officers-thine enemy.

Receive it from me, then: war and confusion In Caesar’s name pronounce I ‘gainst thee; look For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied, I thank thee for myself.

CYMBELINE. Thou art welcome, Caius.

Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent Much under him; of him I gather’d honour, Which he to seek of me again, perforce, Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for Their liberties are now in arms, a precedent Which not to read would show the Britons cold; So Caesar shall not find them.

LUCIUS. Let proof speak.

CLOTEN. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day or two, or longer. If you seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in our salt-water girdle. If you beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the better for you; and there’s an end.

LUCIUS. So, sir.

CYMBELINE. I know your master’s pleasure, and he mine; All the remain is, welcome. Exeunt

SCENE II.

Britain. Another room in CYMBELINE’S palace Enter PISANIO reading of a letter

 

PISANIO. How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not What monsters her accuse? Leonatus!

O master, what a strange infection

Is fall’n into thy ear! What false Italian-As poisonous-tongu’d as handed-hath prevail’d On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal? No.

She’s punish’d for her truth, and undergoes, More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults As would take in some virtue. O my master!

Thy mind to her is now as low as were Thy fortunes. How? that I should murder her?

Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I Have made to thy command? I, her? Her blood?

If it be so to do good service, never Let me be counted serviceable. How look I That I should seem to lack humanity

So much as this fact comes to? [Reads] ‘Do’t. The letter That I have sent her, by her own command Shall give thee opportunity.’ O damn’d paper, Black as the ink that’s on thee! Senseless bauble, Art thou a fedary for this act, and look’st So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.

 

Enter IMOGEN

 

I am ignorant in what I am commanded.

IMOGEN. How now, Pisanio!

PISANIO. Madam, here is a letter from my lord.

IMOGEN. Who? thy lord? That is my lord-Leonatus?

O, learn’d indeed were that astronomer That knew the stars as I his characters-He’d lay the future open. You good gods, Let what is here contain’d relish of love, Of my lord’s health, of his content; yet not That we two are asunder-let that grieve him!

Some griefs are med’cinable; that is one of them, For it doth physic love-of his content, All but in that. Good wax, thy leave. Blest be You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike; Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet You clasp young Cupid’s tables. Good news, gods!

[Reads]

‘Justice and your father’s wrath, should he take me in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me as you, O the dearest of creatures, would even renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria, at Milford Haven. What your own love will out of this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all happiness that remains loyal to his vow, and your increasing in love LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.’

 

O for a horse with wings! Hear’st thou, Pisanio?

He is at Milford Haven. Read, and tell me How far ‘tis thither. If one of mean affairs May plod it in a week, why may not I

Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio-Who long’st like me to see thy lord, who long’st-O, let me ‘bate!- but not like me, yet long’st, But in a fainter kind-O, not like me, For mine’s beyond beyond!-say, and speak thick-Love’s counsellor should fill the bores of hearing To th’ smothering of the sense-how far it is To this same blessed Milford. And by th’ way Tell me how Wales was made so happy as T’ inherit such a haven. But first of all, How we may steal from hence; and for the gap That we shall make in time from our hence-going And our return, to excuse. But first, how get hence.

Why should excuse be born or ere begot?

We’ll talk of that hereafter. Prithee speak, How many score of miles may we well ride ‘Twixt hour and hour?

PISANIO. One score ‘twixt sun and sun,

Madam, ‘s enough for you, and too much too.

IMOGEN. Why, one that rode to’s execution, man, Could never go so slow. I have heard of riding wagers Where horses have been nimbler than the sands That run i’ th’ clock’s behalf. But this is fool’ry.

Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say She’ll home to her father; and provide me presently A riding suit, no costlier than would fit A franklin’s huswife.

PISANIO. Madam, you’re best consider.

IMOGEN. I see before me, man. Nor here, nor here, Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee; Do as I bid thee. There’s no more to say; Accessible is none but Milford way. Exeunt

SCENE III.

Wales. A mountainous country with a cave

 

Enter from the cave BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS

 

BELARIUS. A goodly day not to keep house with such Whose roof’s as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate Instructs you how t’ adore the heavens, and bows you To a morning’s holy office. The gates of monarchs Are arch’d so high that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbans on without Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!

We house i’ th’ rock, yet use thee not so hardly As prouder livers do.

GUIDERIUS. Hail, heaven!

ARVIRAGUS. Hail, heaven!

BELARIUS. Now for our mountain sport. Up to yond hill, Your legs are young; I’ll tread these flats. Consider, When you above perceive me like a crow, That it is place which lessens and sets off; And you may then revolve what tales I have told you Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war.

This service is not service so being done, But being so allow’d. To apprehend thus Draws us a profit from all things we see, And often to our comfort shall we find The sharded beetle in a safer hold

Than is the full-wing’d eagle. O, this life Is nobler than attending for a check, Richer than doing nothing for a bribe, Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk: Such gain the cap of him that makes him fine, Yet keeps his book uncross’d. No life to ours!

GUIDERIUS. Out of your proof you speak. We, poor unfledg’d, Have never wing’d from view o’ th’ nest, nor know not What air’s from home. Haply this life is best, If quiet life be best; sweeter to you That have a sharper known; well corresponding With your stiff age. But unto us it is A cell of ignorance, travelling abed, A prison for a debtor that not dares

To stride a limit.

ARVIRAGUS. What should we speak of

When we are old as you? When we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December, how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse.

The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing; We are beastly: subtle as the fox for prey, Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat.

Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage We make a choir, as doth the prison’d bird, And sing our bondage freely.

BELARIUS. How you speak!

Did you but know the city’s usuries,

And felt them knowingly-the art o’ th’ court, As hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb Is certain falling, or so slipp’ry that The fear’s as bad as falling; the toil o’ th’ war, A pain that only seems to seek out danger I’ th’name of fame and honour, which dies i’ th’search, And hath as oft a sland’rous epitaph

As record of fair act; nay, many times, Doth ill deserve by doing well; what’s worse-Must curtsy at the censure. O, boys, this story The world may read in me; my body’s mark’d With Roman swords, and my report was once first with the best of note. Cymbeline lov’d me; And when a soldier was the theme, my name Was not far off. Then was I as a tree Whose boughs did bend with fruit; but in one night A storm, or robbery, call it what you will, Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, And left me bare to weather.

GUIDERIUS. Uncertain favour!

BELARIUS. My fault being nothing-as I have told you oft-But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail’d Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline I was confederate with the Romans. So Follow’d my banishment, and this twenty years This rock and these demesnes have been my world, Where I have liv’d at honest freedom, paid More pious debts to heaven than in all The fore-end of my time. But up to th’ mountains!

This is not hunters’ language. He that strikes The venison first shall be the lord o’ th’ feast; To him the other two shall minister;

And we will fear no poison, which attends In place of greater state. I’ll meet you in the valleys.

Exeunt GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS

How hard it