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

became The life o’ th’ need. Having found the back-door open Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!

Some slain before, some dying, some their friends O’erborne i’ th’ former wave. Ten chas’d by one Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty.

Those that would die or ere resist are grown The mortal bugs o’ th’ field.

LORD. This was strange chance:

A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys.

POSTHUMUS. Nay, do not wonder at it; you are made Rather to wonder at the things you hear Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon’t, And vent it for a mock’ry? Here is one: ‘Two boys, an old man (twice a boy), a lane, Preserv’d the Britons, was the Romans’ bane.’

LORD. Nay, be not angry, sir.

POSTHUMUS. ‘Lack, to what end?

Who dares not stand his foe I’ll be his friend; For if he’ll do as he is made to do,

I know he’ll quickly fly my friendship too.

You have put me into rhyme.

LORD. Farewell; you’re angry. Exit POSTHUMUS. Still going? This is a lord! O noble misery, To be i’ th’ field and ask ‘What news?’ of me!

To-day how many would have given their honours To have sav’d their carcasses! took heel to do’t, And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm’d, Could not find death where I did hear him groan, Nor feel him where he struck. Being an ugly monster, ‘Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, Sweet words; or hath moe ministers than we That draw his knives i’ th’ war. Well, I will find him; For being now a favourer to the Briton, No more a Briton, I have resum’d again The part I came in. Fight I will no more, But yield me to the veriest hind that shall Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is Here made by th’ Roman; great the answer be Britons must take. For me, my ransom’s death; On either side I come to spend my breath, Which neither here I’ll keep nor bear again, But end it by some means for Imogen.

 

Enter two BRITISH CAPTAINS and soldiers FIRST CAPTAIN. Great Jupiter be prais’d! Lucius is taken.

‘Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels.

SECOND CAPTAIN. There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, That gave th’ affront with them.

FIRST CAPTAIN. So ‘tis reported;

But none of ‘em can be found. Stand! who’s there?

POSTHUMUS. A Roman,

Who had not now been drooping here if seconds Had answer’d him.

SECOND CAPTAIN. Lay hands on him; a dog!

A leg of Rome shall not return to tell What crows have peck’d them here. He brags his service, As if he were of note. Bring him to th’ King.

 

Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, and Roman captives. The CAPTAINS present POSTHUMUS to CYMBELINE, who delivers him over to a gaoler. Exeunt omnes

SCENE IV.

Britain. A prison

 

Enter POSTHUMUS and two GAOLERS

 

FIRST GAOLER. You shall not now be stol’n, you have locks upon you; So graze as you find pasture.

SECOND GAOLER. Ay, or a stomach. Exeunt GAOLERS

POSTHUMUS. Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a way, I think, to liberty. Yet am I better

Than one that’s sick o’ th’ gout, since he had rather Groan so in perpetuity than be cur’d

By th’ sure physician death, who is the key T’ unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter’d More than my shanks and wrists; you good gods, give me The penitent instrument to pick that bolt, Then, free for ever! Is’t enough I am sorry?

So children temporal fathers do appease; Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent, I cannot do it better than in gyves,

Desir’d more than constrain’d. To satisfy, If of my freedom ‘tis the main part, take No stricter render of me than my all.

I know you are more clement than vile men, Who of their broken debtors take a third, A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again On their abatement; that’s not my desire.

For Imogen’s dear life take mine; and though ‘Tis not so dear, yet ‘tis a life; you coin’d it.

‘Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp; Though light, take pieces for the figure’s sake; You rather mine, being yours. And so, great pow’rs, If you will take this audit, take this life, And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen!

I’ll speak to thee in silence. [Sleeps]

 

Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, SICILIUS

LEONATUS, father to POSTHUMUS, an old man attired like a warrior; leading in his hand an ancient matron, his WIFE, and mother to POSTHUMUS, with music before them. Then, after other music, follows the two young LEONATI, brothers to POSTHUMUS, with wounds, as they died in the wars.

They circle POSTHUMUS round as he lies sleeping SICILIUS. No more, thou thunder-master, show Thy spite on mortal flies.

With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, That thy adulteries

Rates and revenges.

Hath my poor boy done aught but well, Whose face I never saw?

I died whilst in the womb he stay’d Attending nature’s law;

Whose father then, as men report Thou orphans’ father art,

Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him From this earth-vexing smart.

 

MOTHER. Lucina lent not me her aid,

But took me in my throes,

That from me was Posthumus ripp’d, Came crying ‘mongst his foes, A thing of pity.

 

SICILIUS. Great Nature like his ancestry Moulded the stuff so fair

That he deserv’d the praise o’ th’ world As great Sicilius’ heir.

 

FIRST BROTHER. When once he was mature for man, In Britain where was he

That could stand up his parallel, Or fruitful object be

In eye of Imogen, that best

Could deem his dignity?

 

MOTHER. With marriage wherefore was he mock’d, To be exil’d and thrown

From Leonati seat and cast

From her his dearest one,

Sweet Imogen?

 

SICILIUS. Why did you suffer Iachimo,

Slight thing of Italy,

To taint his nobler heart and brain With needless jealousy,

And to become the geck and scorn O’ th’ other’s villainy?

 

SECOND BROTHER. For this from stiller seats we came, Our parents and us twain,

That, striking in our country’s cause, Fell bravely and were slain, Our fealty and Tenantius’ right With honour to maintain.

 

FIRST BROTHER. Like hardiment Posthumus hath To Cymbeline perform’d.

Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods, Why hast thou thus adjourn’d The graces for his merits due, Being all to dolours turn’d?

 

SICILIUS. Thy crystal window ope; look out; No longer exercise

Upon a valiant race thy harsh And potent injuries.

 

MOTHER. Since, Jupiter, our son is good, Take off his miseries.

 

SICILIUS. Peep through thy marble mansion. Help!

Or we poor ghosts will cry

To th’ shining synod of the rest Against thy deity.

 

BROTHERS. Help, Jupiter! or we appeal,

And from thy justice fly.

 

JUPITER descends-in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle. He throws a thunderbolt. The GHOSTS

fall on their knees

 

JUPITER. No more, you petty spirits of region low, Offend our hearing; hush! How dare you ghosts Accuse the Thunderer whose bolt, you know, Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts?

Poor shadows of Elysium, hence and rest Upon your never-withering banks of flow’rs.

Be not with mortal accidents opprest: No care of yours it is; you know ‘tis ours.

Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift, The more delay’d, delighted. Be content; Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift; His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.

Our Jovial star reign’d at his birth, and in Our temple was he married. Rise and fade!

He shall be lord of Lady Imogen,

And happier much by his affliction made.

This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine; And so, away; no farther with your din Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.

Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. [Ascends]

SICILIUS. He came in thunder; his celestial breath Was sulpherous to smell; the holy eagle Stoop’d as to foot us. His ascension is More sweet than our blest fields. His royal bird Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, As when his god is pleas’d.

ALL. Thanks, Jupiter!

SICILIUS. The marble pavement closes, he is enter’d His radiant roof. Away! and, to be blest, Let us with care perform his great behest. [GHOSTS vanish]

 

POSTHUMUS. [Waking] Sleep, thou has been a grandsire and begot A father to me; and thou hast created A mother and two brothers. But, O scorn, Gone! They went hence so soon as they were born.

And so I am awake. Poor wretches, that depend On greatness’ favour, dream as I have done; Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve; Many dream not to find, neither deserve, And yet are steep’d in favours; so am I, That have this golden chance, and know not why.

What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one!

Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment Nobler than that it covers. Let thy effects So follow to be most unlike our courtiers, As good as promise.

 

[Reads] ‘When as a lion’s whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embrac’d by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopp’d branches which, being dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.’

 

‘Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen Tongue, and brain not; either both or nothing, Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such As sense cannot untie. Be what it is, The action of my life is like it, which I’ll keep, if but for sympathy.

 

Re-enter GAOLER

 

GAOLER. Come, sir, are you ready for death?

POSTHUMUS. Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.

GAOLER. Hanging is the word, sir; if you be ready for that, you are well cook’d.

POSTHUMUS. So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish pays the shot.

GAOLER. A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is, you shall be called to no more payments, fear no more tavern bills, which are often the sadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth.

You come in faint for want of meat, depart reeling with too much drink; sorry that you have paid too much, and sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain both empty; the brain the heavier for being too light, the purse too light, being drawn of heaviness. O, of this contradiction you shall now be quit. O, the charity of a penny cord! It sums up thousands in a trice. You have no true debitor and creditor but it; of what’s past, is, and to come, the discharge. Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and counters; so the acquittance follows.

POSTHUMUS. I am merrier to die than thou art to live.

GAOLER. Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache. But a man that were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he would change places with his officer; for look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go.

POSTHUMUS. Yes indeed do I, fellow.

GAOLER. Your death has eyes in’s head, then; I have not seen him so pictur’d. You must either be directed by some that take upon them to know, or to take upon yourself that which I am sure you do not know, or jump the after-inquiry on your own peril. And how you shall speed in your journey’s end, I think you’ll never return to tell one.

POSTHUMUS. I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them