Original Text |
Translated Text |
| Source: Folger Shakespeare Library |
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Enter Posthumus in chains, and two Jailers. 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. Jailers exit. POSTHUMUS
Most welcome, bondage, for thou art a way,
I think, to liberty. Yet am I better 5
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, 10
give me
The penitent instrument to pick that bolt,
Then free forever. Is ’t enough I am sorry?
So children temporal fathers do appease;
Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent, 15
I cannot do it better than in gyves,
Desired more than constrained. 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, 20
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 coined it. 25
’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 take this audit, take this life
And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen, 30
I’ll speak to thee in silence. He lies down and sleeps. | In the stocks, Posthumus talks of his fate. He just wants to die for what he's done; he doesn't mind being in prison.
Posthumus decides to speak to Imogen alone by falling asleep. Um, okay. |
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. | Then it gets weird. A bunch of ghosts visit Posthumus in prison. They're the ghosts of his dead father, mother, and brothers. They circle around him as he sleeps. |
SICILIUS
No more, thou Thunder-master, show
Thy spite on mortal flies.
With Mars fall out, with Juno chide,
That thy adulteries 35
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; 40
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, 45
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, 50
Molded 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 55
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 mocked, 60
To be exiled and thrown
From Leonati seat, and cast
From her, his dearest one,
Sweet Imogen? SICILIUS
Why did you suffer Iachimo, 65
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? 70 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 75
With honor to maintain. FIRST BROTHER
Like hardiment Posthumus hath
To Cymbeline performed.
Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,
Why hast thou thus adjourned 80
The graces for his merits due,
Being all to dolors turned? SICILIUS
Thy crystal window ope; look out.
No longer exercise
Upon a valiant race thy harsh 85
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 90
To th’ shining synod of the rest
Against thy deity. BROTHERS
Help, Jupiter, or we appeal
And from thy justice fly. | Posthumus's dead family knows he has done a great service to his country, but they think it's unfair that he's had to go through so much: banishment, trickery, false imprisonment, you name it. Posthumus's family feels for him: he's valiant and brave, and he's been wronged again and again.
So the ghosts ask Jupiter, king of the gods, to grieve with them and take pity on Posthumus. What else is there to do? |
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, 95
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. 100
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. 105
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 Imogen,
And happier much by his affliction made. 110 He hands Sicilius a tablet. 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. 115 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 cloys his beak, 120
As when his god is pleased. ALL 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. 125 He places the tablet on Posthumus’ breast. They vanish. | Then Jupiter himself descends into the prison cell on the back of an eagle. He's got thunderbolts and lighting. No, really: he does. The ghosts fall to their knees and listen to Jupiter. He's annoyed by these spirits: surely this isn't worth his time, right? Jupiter tells the ghosts that he sympathizes with Posthumus and will help him. |
POSTHUMUS, waking
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 130
On greatness’ favor 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 favors; so am I
That have this golden chance and know not why. 135 Finding the tablet. 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. 140 (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 145
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 150
As sense cannot untie. Be what it is,
The action of my life is like it, which
I’ll keep, if but for sympathy. | Posthumus wakes up and thinks about his dream. He reads what's on the ground: it talks about a lion's whelp and a stately cedar. Posthumus is really, really confused at this point. (And frankly, so are we.) He figures it's all just part of a weird dream. |
Enter Jailer. JAILER Come, sir, are you ready for death? POSTHUMUS Over-roasted rather; ready long ago. 155 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 160
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, 165
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 170
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. | The guards enter and talk about how Posthumus will soon be executed. One of the guards says something like, "Chin up: at least you don't have to pay any more bar tabs." Gee, that's a relief. |
POSTHUMUS I am merrier to die than thou art to live. 175 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. 180 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 to take
upon yourself that which I am sure you do not 185
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 the way I am going but such as 190
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. | Posthumus doesn't care. He tells the guards he'd rather die than live. |
Enter a Messenger. MESSENGER Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner 195
to the King. POSTHUMUS Thou bring’st good news. I am called to be
made free. JAILER I’ll be hanged then. He removes Posthumus’s chains. POSTHUMUS Thou shalt be then freer than a jailer. No 200
bolts for the dead. All but the Jailer exit. | Just in the nick of time, a messenger enters. Cymbeline has requested to see Posthumus. |
JAILER 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 205
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. 210 He exits. | Once everyone else is gone, the jailer tells us he's never known a prisoner to care less about staying alive. |