Текст книги "William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition"

Автор книги: William Shakespeare

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4.3 Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pisanio

CYMBELINE

Again, and bring me word how ’tis with her.

Exit one or more

A fever with the absence of her son,

A madness of which her life’s in danger-heavens,

How deeply you at once do touch me! Innogen,

The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen

Upon a desperate bed, and in a time

When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,

So needful for this present! It strikes me past

The hope of comfort. (To Pisanio) But for thee, fellow,

Who needs must know of her departure and

Dost seem so ignorant, we’ll enforce it from thee

By a sharp torture.

PISANIO

Sir, my life is yours.

I humbly set it at your will. But for my mistress,

I nothing know where she remains, why gone,

Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your

highness,

Hold me your loyal servant.

A LORD

Good my liege,

The day that she was missing he was here.

I dare be bound he’s true, and shall perform

All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,

There wants no diligence in seeking him,

And will no doubt be found.

CYMBELINE

The time is troublesome.

(To Pisanio) We’ll slip you for a season, but our jealousy

Does yet depend.

A LORD

So please your majesty,

The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,

Are landed on your coast with a supply

Of Roman gentlemen by the senate sent.

CYMBELINE

Now for the counsel of my son and queen!

I am amazed with matter.

A LORD

Good my liege,

Your preparation can affront no less

Than what you hear of. Come more, for more you’re

ready.

The want is but to put those powers in motion

That long to move.

CYMBELINE

I thank you. Let’s withdraw,

And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not

What can from Italy annoy us, but

We grieve at chances here. Away.

Exeunt Cymbeline and Lords

PISANIO

I heard no letter from my master since

I wrote him Innogen was slain. ‘Tis strange.

Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise

To yield me often tidings. Neither know I

What is betid to Cloten, but remain

Perplexed in all. The heavens still must work.

Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true.

These present wars shall find I love my country

Even to the note o’th’ King, or I’ll fall in them.

All other doubts, by time let them be cleared:

Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered.

Exit

4.4 Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus

GUIDERIUS

The noise is round about us.

BELARIUS

Let us from it.

ARVIRAGUS

What pleasure, sir, find we in life to lock it

From action and adventure?

GUIDERIUS

Nay, what hope

Have we in hiding us? This way the Romans

Must or for Britains slay us, or receive us

For barbarous and unnatural revolts

During their use, and slay us after.

BELARIUS

Sons,

We’ll higher to the mountains; there secure us.

To the King’s party there’s no going. Newness

Of Cloten’s death-we being not known, not mustered

Among the bands—may drive us to a render

Where we have lived, and so extort from ’s that

Which we have done, whose answer would be death

Drawn on with torture.

GUIDERIUS

This is, sir, a doubt

In such a time nothing becoming you

Nor satisfying us.

ARVIRAGUS

It is not likely

That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,

Behold their quartered files, have both their eyes

And ears so cloyed importantly as now,

That they will waste their time upon our note,

To know from whence we are.

BELARIUS

O, I am known

Of many in the army. Many years,

Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him

From my remembrance. And besides, the King

Hath not deserved my service nor your loves,

Who find in my exile the want of breeding,

The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless

To have the courtesy your cradle promised,

But to be still hot summer’s tanlings, and

The shrinking slaves of winter.

GUIDERIUS

Than be so,

Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to th‘army.

I and my brother are not known; yourself

So out of thought, and thereto so o’ergrown,

Cannot be questioned.

ARVIRAGUS

By this sun that shines,

I’ll thither. What thing is’t that I never

Did see man die, scarce ever looked on blood

But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison,

Never bestrid a horse save one that had

A rider like myself, who ne’er wore rowel

Nor iron on his heel! I am ashamed

To look upon the holy sun, to have

The benefit of his blest beams, remaining

So long a poor unknown.

GUIDERIUS

By heavens, I’ll go.

If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,

I’ll take the better care; but if you will not,

The hazard therefore due fall on me by

The hands of Romans.

ARVIRAGUS

So say I, amen.

BELARIUS

No reason I, since of your lives you set

So slight a valuation, should reserve

My cracked one to more care. Have with you, boys!

If in your country wars you chance to die,

That is my bed, too, lads, and there I’ll lie.

Lead, lead. (Aside) The time seems long. Their blood

thinks scorn

Till it fly out and show them princes born.

Exeunt

5.1 Enter Posthumus, dressed as an Italian gentleman, carrying a bloody cloth

POSTHUMUS

Yea, bloody cloth, I’ll keep thee, for I once wished

Thou shouldst be coloured thus. You married ones,

If each of you should take this course, how many

Must murder wives much better than themselves

For wrying but a little! O Pisanio,

Every good servant does not all commands,

No bond but to do just ones. Gods, if you

Should have ta‘en vengeance on my faults, I never

Had lived to put on this; so had you saved

The noble Innogen to repent, and struck

Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But alack,

You snatch some hence for little faults; that’s love,

To have them fall no more. You some permit

To second ills with ills, each elder worse,

And make them dread ill, to the doer’s thrift.

But Innogen is your own. Do your blest wills,

And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither

Among th’Italian gentry, and to fight

Against my lady’s kingdom. ’Tis enough

That, Britain, I have killed thy mistress-piece;

I’ll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,

Hear patiently my purpose. I’ll disrobe me

Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself

As does a Briton peasant.

⌈He disrobes himself⌉

So I’ll fight

Against the part I come with; so I’ll die

For thee, O Innogen, even for whom my life

Is every breath a death; and, thus unknown,

Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril

Myself I’ll dedicate. Let me make men know

More valour in me than my habits show.

Gods, put the strength o‘th’ Leonati in me.

To shame the guise o’th’ world, I will begin

The fashion-less without and more within. Exit

5.2 ⌈A march.⌉ Enter Lucius, Giacomo, and the Roman army at one door, and the Briton army at another, Leonatus Posthumus following like a poor soldier. They march over and go out. ⌈Alarums.⌉ Then enter again in skirmish Giacomo and Posthumus: he vanquisheth and disarmeth Giacomo, and then leaves him

GIACOMO

The heaviness and guilt within my bosom

Takes off my manhood. I have belied a lady,

The princess of this country, and the air on’t

Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl,

A very drudge of nature’s, have subdued me

In my profession? Knighthoods and honours borne

As I wear mine are titles but of scorn.

If that thy gentry, Britain, go before

This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds

Is that we scarce are men and you are gods.

Exit

5.3 The battle continues. ⌈Alarums. Excursions. The trumpets sound a retreat.⌉ The Britons fly, Cymbeline is taken. Then enter to his rescue Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus

BELARIUS

Stand, stand, we have th’advantage of the ground.

The lane is guarded. Nothing routs us but

The villainy of our fears.

GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS Stand, stand, and fight.

Enter Posthumus like a poor soldier, and seconds the Britons. They rescue Cymbeline and exeunt

5.4 ⌈The trumpets sound a retreat,⌉ then enter Lucius, Giacomo, and Innogen

LUCIUS (to Innogen)

Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself;

For friends kill friends, and the disorder’s such

As war were hoodwinked.

GIACOMO

’Tis their fresh supplies.

LUCIUS

It is a day turned strangely. Or betimes

Let’s reinforce, or fly.

Exeunt

5.5 Enter Posthumus like a poor soldier, and a Briton Lord

LORD

Cam’st thou from where they made the stand?

POSTHUMUS I did,

Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.

LORD Ay.

POSTHUMUS

No blame be to you, sir, for all was lost,

But that the heavens fought. The King himself

Of his wings destitute, the army broken,

And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying

Through a strait lane; the enemy full-hearted,

Lolling the tongue with slaught‘ring, having work

More plentiful than tools to do’t, struck down

Some mortally, some slightly touched, some falling

Merely through fear, that the strait pass was dammed

With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living

To die with lengthened shame.

LORD

Where was this lane?

POSTHUMUS

Close by the battle, ditched, and walled with turf;

Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,

An honest one, I warrant, who deserved

So long a breeding as his white beard came to,

In doing this for ’s country. Athwart the lane

He with two striplings-lads more like to run

The country base than to commit such slaughter;

With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer

Than those for preservation cased, or shame-

Made good the passage, cried to those that fled

‘Our Britain’s harts die flying, not her men.

To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards. Stand,

Or we are Romans, and will give you that

Like beasts which you shun beastly, and may save

But to look back in frown. Stand, stand.’ These three,

Three thousand confident, in act as many-

For three performers are the file when all

The rest do nothing-with this word ‘Stand, stand’,

Accommodated by the place, more charming

With their own nobleness, which could have turned

A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks;

Part shame, part spirit renewed, that some, turned

coward

But by example,-O, a sin in war,

Damned in the first beginnersl-gan to look

The way that they did and to grin like lions

Upon the pikes o‘th’ hunters. Then began

A stop i’th’ chaser, a retire. Anon

A rout, confusion thick; forthwith they fly

Chickens the way which they stooped eagles; slaves,

The strides they victors made; and now our cowards,

Like fragments in hard voyages, 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 chased 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. Yet 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,

Preserved 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 a lord? O noble misery,

To be i‘th’ field and ask ‘What news?’ of me!

Today how many would have given their honours

To have saved their carcasses-took heel to do’t,

And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charmed,

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 more 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 resumed 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 Innogen.

Enter two Briton Captains, and soldiers

FIRST CAPTAIN

Great Jupiter be praised, Lucius is taken.

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

SECOND CAPTAIN

There was a fourth man, in a seely 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 answered him.

SECOND CAPTAIN (to soldiers) Lay hands on him, a dog!

A leg of Rome shall not return to tell

What crows have pecked them here. He brags his

service

As if he were of note. Bring him to th’ King.

⌈Flourish.⌉ Enter Cymbeline ⌈and his train⌉, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio, and Roman captives. The Captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers him over to a Jailer. Exeunt all but Posthumus and two Jailers, ⌈who lock gyves on his legs⌉

FIRST JAILER

You shall not now be stol’n. You have locks upon you,

So graze as you find pasture.

SECOND JAILER

Ay, or a stomach.

Exeunt Jailers

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 cured

By th’ sure physician, death, who is the key

T’unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fettered

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

Desired more than constrained. To satisfy,

If of my freedom ‘tis the main part, take no

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 Innogen’s dear life take mine, and though

’Tis not so dear, yet ‘tis a life; you coined 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 powers,

If you will make this audit, take this life,

And cancel these cold bonds. O Innogen,

I’ll speak to thee in silence!

He 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 stayed,

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 ripped,

Came crying ’mongst his foes,

A thing of pity.

SICILIUS

Great nature like his ancestry

Moulded the stuff so fair

That he deserved 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 Innogen, that best

Could deem his dignity?

MOTHER

With marriage wherefore was he mocked,

To be exiled, and thrown

From Leonati seat and cast

From her his dearest one,

Sweet Innogen?

SICILIUS

Why did you suffer Giacomo,

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 come,

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 Performed.

Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,

Why hast thou thus adjourned

The graces for his merits due,

Being all to dolours turned?

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 flowers.

Be not with mortal accidents oppressed;

No care of yours it is; you know ’tis ours.

Whom best I love, I cross, to make my gift,

The more delayed, delighted. Be content.

Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift.

His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.

Our Jovial star reigned at his birth, and in

Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade.

He shall be lord of Lady Innogen,

And happier much by his affliction made.

This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein

Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine.

He gives the ghosts a tablet which they lay upon Posthumus’ breast

And so away. No farther with your din

Express impatience, lest you stir up mine.

Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline.

He ascends into the heavens

SICILIUS

He came in thunder. His celestial breath

Was sulphurous to smell. The holy eagle

Stooped, as to foot us. His ascension is

More sweet than our blest fields. His royal bird

Preens the immortal wing and claws his beak

As when his god is pleased.

ALL THE GHOSTS Thanks, Jupiter.

SICILIUS

The marble pavement closes, he is entered

His radiant roof. Away, and, to be blest,

Let us with care perform his great behest.

The ghosts vanish

Posthumus awakes

POSTHUMUS

Sleep, thou hast 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 steeped 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.

He reads

‘Whenas a lion’s whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopped 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.

Enter Jailer

JAILER Come, sir, are you ready for death?

POSTHUMUS Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.

JAILER Hanging is the word, sir. If you be ready for that, you are well cooked.

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

JAILER 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 as 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. 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.

JAILER 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.

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

POSTHUMUS I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them the way I am going but such as wink and will not use them.

JAILER What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the best use of eyes to see the way of blindness! I am sure hanging’s the way of winking.

Enter a Messenger

MESSENGER Knock off his manacles, bring your prisoner to the King.

POSTHUMUS Thou bring’st good news, I am called to be made free.

JAILER I’ll be hanged then.

POSTHUMUS Thou shalt be then freer than a jailer; no bolts for the dead.

JAILER (aside) Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget young gibbets, I never saw one so prone. Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to live, for all he be a Roman; and there be some of them, too, that die against their wills; so should I if I were one. I would we were all of one mind, and one mind good. O, there were desolation of jailers and gallowses! I speak against my present profit, but my wish hath a preferment in’t. Exeunt