Cymbeline, King of Britain: Act 5, Scene 5 Translation

Enter Cymbeline, Belarius as Morgan, Guiderius as
Polydor, Arviragus as Cadwal, Pisanio, Attendants,
and Lords.

CYMBELINE, to Morgan, Polydor, and Cadwal
Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made
Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart
That the poor soldier that so richly fought,
Whose rags shamed gilded arms, whose naked breast
Stepped before targes of proof, cannot be found. 5
He shall be happy that can find him, if
Our grace can make him so.

BELARIUS, as Morgan I never saw
Such noble fury in so poor a thing,
Such precious deeds in one that promised naught 10
But beggary and poor looks.

CYMBELINE No tidings of him?

PISANIO
He hath been searched among the dead and living,
But no trace of him.

CYMBELINE, to Morgan, Polydor, and Cadwal
To my grief, I am 15
The heir of his reward, which I will add
To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain,
By whom I grant she lives. ’Tis now the time
To ask of whence you are. Report it.

BELARIUS, as Morgan Sir, 20
In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen.
Further to boast were neither true nor modest,
Unless I add we are honest.

CYMBELINE Bow your knees.

They kneel. He taps their shoulders with his sword.

Arise my knights o’ th’ battle. I create you 25
Companions to our person, and will fit you
With dignities becoming your estates.

They rise.

Enter Cornelius and Ladies.

There’s business in these faces. Why so sadly
Greet you our victory? You look like Romans,
And not o’ th’ court of Britain. 30

CORNELIUS Hail, great king.
To sour your happiness I must report
The Queen is dead.

CYMBELINE Who worse than a physician
Would this report become? But I consider 35
By med’cine life may be prolonged, yet death
Will seize the doctor too. How ended she?

CORNELIUS
With horror, madly dying, like her life,
Which, being cruel to the world, concluded
Most cruel to herself. What she confessed 40
I will report, so please you. These her women
Can trip me if I err, who with wet cheeks
Were present when she finished.

CYMBELINE Prithee, say.

CORNELIUS
First, she confessed she never loved you, only 45
Affected greatness got by you, not you;
Married your royalty, was wife to your place,
Abhorred your person.

CYMBELINE She alone knew this,
And but she spoke it dying, I would not 50
Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed.

CORNELIUS
Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love
With such integrity, she did confess
Was as a scorpion to her sight, whose life,
But that her flight prevented it, she had 55
Ta’en off by poison.

CYMBELINE O, most delicate fiend!
Who is ’t can read a woman? Is there more?

CORNELIUS
More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had
For you a mortal mineral which, being took, 60
Should by the minute feed on life and, ling’ring,
By inches waste you. In which time she purposed,
By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to
O’ercome you with her show and, in time,
When she had fitted you with her craft, to work 65
Her son into th’ adoption of the crown;
But failing of her end by his strange absence,
Grew shameless desperate; opened, in despite
Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented
The evils she hatched were not effected; so 70
Despairing died.

CYMBELINE Heard you all this, her women?

LADIES We did, so please your Highness.

CYMBELINE Mine eyes
Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; 75
Mine ears that heard her flattery; nor my heart,
That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious
To have mistrusted her. Yet, O my daughter,
That it was folly in me thou mayst say,
And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all. 80

Enter Lucius, Iachimo, Soothsayer, and other Roman
prisoners, Posthumus Leonatus behind, and Imogen
as Fidele, with Briton Soldiers as guards.

Thou com’st not, Caius, now for tribute. That
The Britons have razed out, though with the loss
Of many a bold one, whose kinsmen have made suit
That their good souls may be appeased with slaughter
Of you their captives, which ourself have granted. 85
So think of your estate.

LUCIUS
Consider, sir, the chance of war. The day
Was yours by accident. Had it gone with us,
We should not, when the blood was cool, have
threatened 90
Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods
Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives
May be called ransom, let it come. Sufficeth
A Roman with a Roman’s heart can suffer.
Augustus lives to think on ’t; and so much 95
For my peculiar care. This one thing only
I will entreat: my boy, a Briton born,
Let him be ransomed. Never master had
A page so kind, so duteous, diligent,
So tender over his occasions, true, 100
So feat, so nurselike. Let his virtue join
With my request, which I’ll make bold your Highness
Cannot deny. He hath done no Briton harm,
Though he have served a Roman. Save him, sir,
And spare no blood beside. 105

CYMBELINE I have surely seen him.
His favor is familiar to me.—Boy,
Thou hast looked thyself into my grace
And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore,
To say “Live, boy.” Ne’er thank thy master. Live, 110
And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt,
Fitting my bounty and thy state, I’ll give it,
Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,
The noblest ta’en.

IMOGEN, as Fidele I humbly thank your Highness. 115

LUCIUS
I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad,
And yet I know thou wilt.

IMOGEN, as Fidele No, no, alack,
There’s other work in hand. I see a thing
Bitter to me as death. Your life, good master, 120
Must shuffle for itself.

LUCIUS The boy disdains me,
He leaves me, scorns me. Briefly die their joys
That place them on the truth of girls and boys.
Why stands he so perplexed? 125

Imogen stares at Iachimo.

CYMBELINE What would’st thou, boy?
I love thee more and more. Think more and more
What’s best to ask. Know’st him thou look’st on?
Speak.
Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? Thy friend? 130

IMOGEN, as Fidele
He is a Roman, no more kin to me
Than I to your Highness, who, being born your vassal,
Am something nearer.

CYMBELINE Wherefore ey’st him so?

IMOGEN, as Fidele
I’ll tell you, sir, in private, if you please 135
To give me hearing.

CYMBELINE Ay, with all my heart,
And lend my best attention. What’s thy name?

IMOGEN, as Fidele
Fidele, sir.

CYMBELINE Thou ’rt my good youth, my page. 140
I’ll be thy master. Walk with me. Speak freely.

Cymbeline and Imogen walk aside and talk.

BELARIUS, as Morgan
Is not this boy revived from death?

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal One sand another
Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad
Who died, and was Fidele. What think you? 145

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor The same dead thing alive.

BELARIUS, as Morgan
Peace, peace. See further. He eyes us not. Forbear.
Creatures may be alike. Were ’t he, I am sure
He would have spoke to us.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor But we see him dead. 150

BELARIUS, as Morgan
Be silent. Let’s see further.

PISANIO, aside It is my mistress!
Since she is living, let the time run on
To good or bad.

Cymbeline and Imogen come forward.

CYMBELINE, to Imogen Come, stand thou by our side. 155
Make thy demand aloud. (To Iachimo.) Sir, step
you forth.
Give answer to this boy, and do it freely,
Or by our greatness and the grace of it,
Which is our honor, bitter torture shall 160
Winnow the truth from falsehood.—On. Speak to
him.

IMOGEN, as Fidele, pointing to Iachimo’s hand
My boon is that this gentleman may render
Of whom he had this ring.

POSTHUMUS, aside What’s that to him? 165

CYMBELINE
That diamond upon your finger, say
How came it yours.

IACHIMO
Thou ’lt torture me to leave unspoken that
Which to be spoke would torture thee.

CYMBELINE How? Me? 170

IACHIMO
I am glad to be constrained to utter that
Which torments me to conceal. By villainy
I got this ring. ’Twas Leonatus’ jewel,
Whom thou didst banish, and—which more may
grieve thee, 175
As it doth me—a nobler sir ne’er lived
’Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord?

CYMBELINE
All that belongs to this.

IACHIMO That paragon, thy daughter,
For whom my heart drops blood and my false spirits 180
Quail to remember—Give me leave; I faint.

CYMBELINE
My daughter? What of her? Renew thy strength.
I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will
Than die ere I hear more. Strive, man, and speak.

IACHIMO
Upon a time—unhappy was the clock 185
That struck the hour!—it was in Rome—accursed
The mansion where!—’twas at a feast—O, would
Our viands had been poisoned, or at least
Those which I heaved to head!—the good
Posthumus— 190
What should I say? He was too good to be
Where ill men were, and was the best of all
Amongst the rar’st of good ones—sitting sadly,
Hearing us praise our loves of Italy
For beauty that made barren the swelled boast 195
Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming
The shrine of Venus or straight-pight Minerva,
Postures beyond brief nature; for condition,
A shop of all the qualities that man
Loves woman for, besides that hook of wiving, 200
Fairness which strikes the eye—

CYMBELINE I stand on fire.
Come to the matter.

IACHIMO All too soon I shall,
Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus, 205
Most like a noble lord in love and one
That had a royal lover, took his hint,
And, not dispraising whom we praised—therein
He was as calm as virtue—he began
His mistress’ picture; which by his tongue being made 210
And then a mind put in ’t, either our brags
Were cracked of kitchen trulls, or his description
Proved us unspeaking sots.

CYMBELINE Nay, nay, to th’ purpose.

IACHIMO
Your daughter’s chastity—there it begins. 215
He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams
And she alone were cold; whereat I, wretch,
Made scruple of his praise and wagered with him
Pieces of gold ’gainst this, which then he wore
Upon his honored finger, to attain 220
In suit the place of ’s bed and win this ring
By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight,
No lesser of her honor confident
Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring,
And would so, had it been a carbuncle 225
Of Phoebus’ wheel, and might so safely, had it
Been all the worth of ’s car. Away to Britain
Post I in this design. Well may you, sir,
Remember me at court, where I was taught
Of your chaste daughter the wide difference 230
’Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quenched
Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain
Gan in your duller Britain operate
Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent.
And to be brief, my practice so prevailed 235
That I returned with simular proof enough
To make the noble Leonatus mad
By wounding his belief in her renown
With tokens thus and thus; averring notes
Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet— 240
O, cunning how I got it!—nay, some marks
Of secret on her person, that he could not
But think her bond of chastity quite cracked,
I having ta’en the forfeit. Whereupon—
Methinks I see him now— 245

POSTHUMUS, coming forward Ay, so thou dost,
Italian fiend.—Ay me, most credulous fool,
Egregious murderer, thief, anything
That’s due to all the villains past, in being,
To come. O, give me cord, or knife, or poison, 250
Some upright justicer.—Thou, king, send out
For torturers ingenious. It is I
That all th’ abhorrèd things o’ th’ Earth amend
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
That killed thy daughter—villainlike, I lie— 255
That caused a lesser villain than myself,
A sacrilegious thief, to do ’t. The temple
Of virtue was she, yea, and she herself.
Spit and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
The dogs o’ th’ street to bay me. Every villain 260
Be called Posthumus Leonatus, and
Be villainy less than ’twas. O Imogen!
My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
Imogen, Imogen!

IMOGEN, running to Posthumus Peace, my lord! 265
Hear, hear—

POSTHUMUS
Shall ’s have a play of this? Thou scornful page,
There lie thy part.

He pushes her away; she falls.

PISANIO O, gentlemen, help!—
Mine and your mistress! O my lord Posthumus, 270
You ne’er killed Imogen till now! Help, help!
Mine honored lady—

CYMBELINE Does the world go round?

POSTHUMUS
How comes these staggers on me?

PISANIO Wake, my mistress. 275

CYMBELINE
If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
To death with mortal joy.

PISANIO How fares my mistress?

IMOGEN O, get thee from my sight!
Thou gav’st me poison. Dangerous fellow, hence. 280
Breathe not where princes are.

CYMBELINE The tune of Imogen!

PISANIO
Lady, the gods throw stones of sulfur on me if
That box I gave you was not thought by me
A precious thing. I had it from the Queen. 285

CYMBELINE
New matter still.

IMOGEN It poisoned me.

CORNELIUS O gods!
To Pisanio. I left out one thing which the Queen
confessed, 290
Which must approve thee honest. “If Pisanio
Have,” said she, “given his mistress that confection
Which I gave him for cordial, she is served
As I would serve a rat.”

CYMBELINE What’s this, Cornelius? 295

CORNELIUS
The Queen, sir, very oft importuned me
To temper poisons for her, still pretending
The satisfaction of her knowledge only
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs,
Of no esteem. I, dreading that her purpose 300
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain stuff which, being ta’en, would cease
The present power of life, but in short time
All offices of nature should again
Do their due functions.—Have you ta’en of it? 305

IMOGEN
Most like I did, for I was dead.

BELARIUS, as Morgan, aside to Guiderius and Arviragus My boys,
There was our error.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor This is sure Fidele.

IMOGEN, to Posthumus
Why did you throw your wedded lady from you? 310
Think that you are upon a rock, and now
Throw me again. She embraces him.

POSTHUMUS Hang there like fruit, my soul,
Till the tree die.

CYMBELINE, to Imogen How now, my flesh, my child? 315
What, mak’st thou me a dullard in this act?
Wilt thou not speak to me?

IMOGEN, kneeling Your blessing, sir.

BELARIUS, as Morgan, aside to Guiderius and Arviragus
Though you did love this youth, I blame you not.
You had a motive for ’t. 320

CYMBELINE, to Imogen My tears that fall
Prove holy water on thee. Imogen,
Thy mother’s dead.

IMOGEN I am sorry for ’t, my lord.
She rises.

CYMBELINE
O, she was naught, and long of her it was 325
That we meet here so strangely. But her son
Is gone, we know not how nor where.

PISANIO My lord,
Now fear is from me, I’ll speak truth. Lord Cloten,
Upon my lady’s missing, came to me 330
With his sword drawn, foamed at the mouth, and
swore,
If I discovered not which way she was gone,
It was my instant death. By accident,
I had a feignèd letter of my master’s 335
Then in my pocket, which directed him
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
Where, in a frenzy, in my master’s garments,
Which he enforced from me, away he posts
With unchaste purpose and with oath to violate 340
My lady’s honor. What became of him
I further know not.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor Let me end the story.
I slew him there.

CYMBELINE Marry, the gods forfend! 345
I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
Pluck a hard sentence. Prithee, valiant youth,
Deny ’t again.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor I have spoke it, and I did it.

CYMBELINE He was a prince. 350

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
A most incivil one. The wrongs he did me
Were nothing princelike, for he did provoke me
With language that would make me spurn the sea
If it could so roar to me. I cut off ’s head,
And am right glad he is not standing here 355
To tell this tale of mine.

CYMBELINE I am sorrow for thee.
By thine own tongue thou art condemned and must
Endure our law. Thou ’rt dead.

IMOGEN That headless man 360
I thought had been my lord.

CYMBELINE Bind the offender,
And take him from our presence.
Attendants bind Guiderius.

BELARIUS, as Morgan Stay, sir king.
This man is better than the man he slew, 365
As well descended as thyself, and hath
More of thee merited than a band of Clotens
Had ever scar for.—Let his arms alone.
They were not born for bondage.

CYMBELINE Why, old soldier, 370
Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
As good as we?

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal In that he spake too far.

CYMBELINE, to Morgan
And thou shalt die for ’t. 375

BELARIUS, as Morgan We will die all three
But I will prove that two on ’s are as good
As I have given out him.—My sons, I must
For mine own part unfold a dangerous speech,
Though haply well for you. 380

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal Your danger’s ours.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
And our good his.

BELARIUS, as Morgan Have at it, then.—By leave,
Thou hadst, great king, a subject who
Was called Belarius. 385

CYMBELINE What of him? He is
A banished traitor.

BELARIUS He it is that hath
Assumed this age; indeed a banished man,
I know not how a traitor. 390

CYMBELINE Take him hence.
The whole world shall not save him.

BELARIUS Not too hot.
First pay me for the nursing of thy sons
And let it be confiscate all, so soon 395
As I have received it.

CYMBELINE Nursing of my sons?

BELARIUS
I am too blunt and saucy. Here’s my knee.
He kneels.
Ere I arise I will prefer my sons,
Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir, 400
These two young gentlemen that call me father
And think they are my sons are none of mine.
They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
And blood of your begetting.

CYMBELINE How? My issue? 405

BELARIUS
So sure as you your father’s. I, old Morgan,
Am that Belarius whom you sometime banished.
Your pleasure was my mere offense, my punishment
Itself, and all my treason. That I suffered
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes— 410
For such and so they are—these twenty years
Have I trained up; those arts they have as I
Could put into them. My breeding was, sir, as
Your Highness knows. Their nurse Euriphile,
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children 415
Upon my banishment. I moved her to ’t,
Having received the punishment before
For that which I did then. Beaten for loyalty
Excited me to treason. Their dear loss,
The more of you ’twas felt, the more it shaped 420
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
Here are your sons again, and I must lose
Two of the sweet’st companions in the world.
The benediction of these covering heavens
Fall on their heads like dew, for they are worthy 425
To inlay heaven with stars. He weeps.

CYMBELINE Thou weep’st and speak’st.
The service that you three have done is more
Unlike than this thou tell’st. I lost my children.
If these be they, I know not how to wish 430
A pair of worthier sons.

BELARIUS Be pleased awhile.
This gentleman whom I call Polydor,
Most worthy prince, as yours is true Guiderius;
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus, 435
Your younger princely son. He, sir, was lapped
In a most curious mantle, wrought by th’ hand
Of his queen mother, which for more probation
I can with ease produce.

CYMBELINE Guiderius had 440
Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star.
It was a mark of wonder.

BELARIUS This is he,
Who hath upon him still that natural stamp.
It was wise Nature’s end in the donation 445
To be his evidence now.

CYMBELINE O, what am I,
A mother to the birth of three? Ne’er mother
Rejoiced deliverance more.—Blest pray you be,
That after this strange starting from your orbs, 450
You may reign in them now.—O Imogen,
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom!

IMOGEN No, my lord.
I have got two worlds by ’t.—O my gentle brothers,
Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter 455
But I am truest speaker. You called me “brother”
When I was but your sister; I you “brothers”
When we were so indeed.

CYMBELINE Did you e’er meet?

ARVIRAGUS
Ay, my good lord. 460

GUIDERIUS And at first meeting loved,
Continued so until we thought he died.

CORNELIUS
By the Queen’s dram she swallowed.

CYMBELINE, to Imogen O, rare instinct!
When shall I hear all through? This fierce 465
abridgment
Hath to it circumstantial branches which
Distinction should be rich in. Where, how lived you?
And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
How parted with your brothers? How first met 470
them?
Why fled you from the court? And whither?
To Belarius. These,
And your three motives to the battle, with
I know not how much more, should be demanded, 475
And all the other by-dependences
From chance to chance; but nor the time nor place
Will serve our long interrogatories. See,
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen;
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye 480
On him, her brothers, me, her master, hitting
Each object with a joy; the counterchange
Is severally in all. Let’s quit this ground,
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.
Thou art my brother, so we’ll hold thee ever. 485

IMOGEN, to Belarius
You are my father too, and did relieve me
To see this gracious season.

CYMBELINE All o’erjoyed
Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too,
For they shall taste our comfort. 490

IMOGEN, to Lucius My good master,
I will yet do you service.

LUCIUS Happy be you!

CYMBELINE
The forlorn soldier that so nobly fought,
He would have well becomed this place and graced 495
The thankings of a king.

POSTHUMUS I am, sir,
The soldier that did company these three
In poor beseeming; ’twas a fitment for
The purpose I then followed. That I was he, 500
Speak, Iachimo. I had you down and might
Have made you finish.

IACHIMO, kneeling I am down again,
But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,
As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you, 505
Which I so often owe; but your ring first,
And here the bracelet of the truest princess
That ever swore her faith.
He holds out the ring and bracelet.

POSTHUMUS Kneel not to me.
The power that I have on you is to spare you; 510
The malice towards you to forgive you. Live
And deal with others better.

CYMBELINE Nobly doomed.
We’ll learn our freeness of a son-in-law:
Pardon’s the word to all. 515

Iachimo rises.

ARVIRAGUS, to Posthumus You holp us, sir,
As you did mean indeed to be our brother.
Joyed are we that you are.

POSTHUMUS
Your servant, princes.—Good my lord of Rome,
Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought 520
Great Jupiter upon his eagle backed
Appeared to me, with other spritely shows
Of mine own kindred. When I waked, I found
This label on my bosom, whose containing
Is so from sense in hardness that I can 525
Make no collection of it. Let him show
His skill in the construction.

LUCIUS Philarmonus!

SOOTHSAYER, coming forward
Here, my good lord.

LUCIUS Read, and declare the meaning. 530

SOOTHSAYER 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 535
old stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus
end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish
in peace and plenty.
Thou, Leonatus, art the lion’s whelp.
The fit and apt construction of thy name, 540
Being Leo-natus, doth import so much.
To Cymbeline. The piece of tender air thy virtuous
daughter,
Which we call “mollis aer,” and “mollis aer”
We term it “mulier,” which “mulier” I divine 545
Is this most constant wife; who, even now,
Answering the letter of the oracle,
To Posthumus Unknown to you, unsought, were
clipped about
With this most tender air. 550

CYMBELINE This hath some seeming.

SOOTHSAYER
The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
Personates thee; and thy lopped branches point
Thy two sons forth, who, by Belarius stol’n,
For many years thought dead, are now revived, 555
To the majestic cedar joined, whose issue
Promises Britain peace and plenty.

CYMBELINE Well,
My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius,
Although the victor, we submit to Caesar 560
And to the Roman Empire, promising
To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen,
Whom heavens in justice both on her and hers
Have laid most heavy hand. 565

SOOTHSAYER
The fingers of the powers above do tune
The harmony of this peace. The vision
Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke
Of this yet scarce-cold battle at this instant
Is full accomplished. For the Roman eagle, 570
From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
Lessened herself and in the beams o’ th’ sun
So vanished; which foreshowed our princely eagle,
Th’ imperial Caesar, should again unite
His favor with the radiant Cymbeline, 575
Which shines here in the west.

CYMBELINE Laud we the gods,
And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
From our blest altars. Publish we this peace
To all our subjects. Set we forward. Let 580
A Roman and a British ensign wave
Friendly together. So through Lud’s Town march,
And in the temple of great Jupiter
Our peace we’ll ratify, seal it with feasts.
Set on there. Never was a war did cease, 585
Ere bloody hands were washed, with such a peace.

They exit.