Cymbeline, King of Britain: Act 3, Scene 4 Translation

Enter Pisanio and Imogen.

IMOGEN
Thou told’st me, when we came from horse, the place
Was near at hand. Ne’er longed my mother so
To see me first as I have now. Pisanio, man,
Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind
That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that 5
sigh
From th’ inward of thee? One but painted thus
Would be interpreted a thing perplexed
Beyond self-explication. Put thyself
Into a havior of less fear, ere wildness 10
Vanquish my staider senses. What’s the matter?

Pisanio hands her a paper.

Why tender’st thou that paper to me with
A look untender? If ’t be summer news,
Smile to ’t before; if winterly, thou need’st
But keep that count’nance still. My husband’s hand! 15
That drug-damned Italy hath out-craftied him,
And he’s at some hard point. Speak, man! Thy tongue
May take off some extremity, which to read
Would be even mortal to me.

PISANIO Please you read, 20
And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
The most disdained of fortune.

IMOGEN reads: Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the
strumpet in my bed, the testimonies whereof lies
bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises but 25
from proof as strong as my grief and as certain as I
expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio, must act
for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of
hers. Let thine own hands take away her life. I shall
give thee opportunity at Milford Haven—she hath 30
my letter for the purpose—where, if thou fear to
strike and to make me certain it is done, thou art the
pander to her dishonor and equally to me disloyal.

PISANIO, aside
What shall I need to draw my sword? The paper
Hath cut her throat already. No, ’tis slander, 35
Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath
Rides on the posting winds and doth belie
All corners of the world. Kings, queens, and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave 40
This viperous slander enters.—What cheer, madam?

IMOGEN
False to his bed? What is it to be false?
To lie in watch there and to think on him?
To weep ’twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge nature,
To break it with a fearful dream of him 45
And cry myself awake? That’s false to ’s bed, is it?

PISANIO Alas, good lady!

IMOGEN
I false? Thy conscience witness! Iachimo,
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency.
Thou then looked’st like a villain. Now methinks 50
Thy favor’s good enough. Some jay of Italy,
Whose mother was her painting, hath betrayed him.
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion,
And, for I am richer than to hang by th’ walls,
I must be ripped. To pieces with me! O, 55
Men’s vows are women’s traitors! All good seeming,
By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
Put on for villainy, not born where ’t grows,
But worn a bait for ladies.

PISANIO Good madam, hear me. 60

IMOGEN
True honest men, being heard like false Aeneas,
Were in his time thought false, and Sinon’s weeping
Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity
From most true wretchedness. So thou, Posthumus,
Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men; 65
Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjured
From thy great fail.—Come, fellow, be thou honest;
Do thou thy master’s bidding. When thou seest him,
A little witness my obedience. Look,
I draw the sword myself. 70

She draws Pisanio’s sword from its
scabbard and hands it to him.

Take it, and hit
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart.
Fear not; ’tis empty of all things but grief.
Thy master is not there, who was indeed
The riches of it. Do his bidding; strike. 75
Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause,
But now thou seem’st a coward.

PISANIO, throwing down the sword Hence, vile
instrument!
Thou shalt not damn my hand. 80

IMOGEN Why, I must die,
And if I do not by thy hand, thou art
No servant of thy master’s. Against self-slaughter
There is a prohibition so divine
That cravens my weak hand. Come, here’s my heart— 85
Something’s afore ’t. Soft, soft! We’ll no defense—
Obedient as the scabbard. What is here?
She takes papers from her bodice.
The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus,
All turned to heresy? Away, away!
She throws away the letters.
Corrupters of my faith, you shall no more 90
Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools
Believe false teachers. Though those that are betrayed
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe. And thou, Posthumus,
That didst set up 95
My disobedience ’gainst the King my father
And make me put into contempt the suits
Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
It is no act of common passage, but
A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself 100
To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her
That now thou tirest on, how thy memory
Will then be panged by me.—Prithee, dispatch.
The lamb entreats the butcher. Where’s thy knife?
Thou art too slow to do thy master’s bidding 105
When I desire it too.

PISANIO O gracious lady,
Since I received command to do this business
I have not slept one wink.

IMOGEN Do ’t, and to bed, then. 110

PISANIO
I’ll wake mine eyeballs out first.

IMOGEN Wherefore then
Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abused
So many miles with a pretense? This place?
Mine action and thine own? Our horses’ labor? 115
The time inviting thee? The perturbed court
For my being absent, whereunto I never
Purpose return? Why hast thou gone so far
To be unbent when thou hast ta’en thy stand,
Th’ elected deer before thee? 120

PISANIO But to win time
To lose so bad employment, in the which
I have considered of a course. Good lady,
Hear me with patience.

IMOGEN Talk thy tongue weary. 125
Speak.
I have heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear,
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom that. But speak.

PISANIO Then, madam, 130
I thought you would not back again.

IMOGEN Most like,
Bringing me here to kill me.

PISANIO Not so, neither.
But if I were as wise as honest, then 135
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be
But that my master is abused. Some villain,
Ay, and singular in his art, hath done
You both this cursèd injury.

IMOGEN
Some Roman courtesan? 140

PISANIO No, on my life.
I’ll give but notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody sign of it, for ’tis commanded
I should do so. You shall be missed at court,
And that will well confirm it. 145

IMOGEN Why, good fellow,
What shall I do the while? Where bide? How live?
Or in my life what comfort when I am
Dead to my husband?

PISANIO If you’ll back to th’ court— 150

IMOGEN
No court, no father, nor no more ado
With that harsh, noble, simple nothing,
That Cloten, whose love suit hath been to me
As fearful as a siege.

PISANIO If not at court, 155
Then not in Britain must you bide.

IMOGEN Where, then?
Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,
Are they not but in Britain? I’ th’ world’s volume
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in ’t, 160
In a great pool a swan’s nest. Prithee think
There’s livers out of Britain.

PISANIO I am most glad
You think of other place. Th’ ambassador,
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford Haven 165
Tomorrow. Now, if you could wear a mind
Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise
That which t’ appear itself must not yet be
But by self-danger, you should tread a course
Pretty and full of view: yea, haply near 170
The residence of Posthumus; so nigh, at least,
That though his actions were not visible, yet
Report should render him hourly to your ear
As truly as he moves.

IMOGEN O, for such means, 175
Though peril to my modesty, not death on ’t,
I would adventure.

PISANIO Well then, here’s the point:
You must forget to be a woman; change
Command into obedience, fear and niceness— 180
The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
Woman it pretty self—into a waggish courage,
Ready in gibes, quick-answered, saucy, and
As quarrelous as the weasel. Nay, you must
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, 185
Exposing it—but O, the harder heart!
Alack, no remedy—to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan, and forget
Your laborsome and dainty trims, wherein
You made great Juno angry. 190

IMOGEN Nay, be brief.
I see into thy end and am almost
A man already.

PISANIO First, make yourself but like one.
Forethinking this, I have already fit— 195
’Tis in my cloakbag—doublet, hat, hose, all
That answer to them. Would you, in their serving,
And with what imitation you can borrow
From youth of such a season, ’fore noble Lucius
Present yourself, desire his service, tell him 200
Wherein you’re happy—which will make him know,
If that his head have ear in music—doubtless
With joy he will embrace you, for he’s honorable
And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad:
You have me, rich, and I will never fail 205
Beginning nor supplyment.

IMOGEN, taking the cloakbag Thou art all the comfort
The gods will diet me with. Prithee, away.
There’s more to be considered, but we’ll even
All that good time will give us. This attempt 210
I am soldier to, and will abide it with
A prince’s courage. Away, I prithee.

PISANIO
Well, madam, we must take a short farewell,
Lest, being missed, I be suspected of
Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, 215
Here is a box. I had it from the Queen.
He hands her the box.
What’s in ’t is precious. If you are sick at sea
Or stomach-qualmed at land, a dram of this
Will drive away distemper. To some shade,
And fit you to your manhood. May the gods 220
Direct you to the best.

IMOGEN Amen. I thank thee.

They exit.