Cymbeline (20 page)

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
²⁵⁹

pays the
shot.
²⁶⁰

JAILER
    A heavy
reckoning
²⁶¹
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
²⁶⁶
too much: purse and

brain both empty: the brain the
heavier for being too light
²⁶⁷
,

the purse too light, being
drawn of heaviness.
Of
²⁶⁸
this

contradiction
you shall now be quit.
²⁶⁹
O, the charity of a

penny cord!
It
sums up
thousands
in a trice
²⁷⁰
: you have no true

debitor and creditor
²⁷¹
but it: of what’s past, is, and to come, the

discharge
: your neck, sir, is pen, book and
counters
²⁷²
; so the

acquittance
²⁷³
follows.

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

FIRST 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
²⁷⁷
:

for look you, sir, you know not which way you shall go.

POSTHUMUS
    Yes indeed do I, fellow.

FIRST JAILER
    Your
death
²⁸⁰
has eyes in’s head then: I have not seen

him so
pictured
²⁸¹
: you must either be directed by some that

take upon them
²⁸²
to know, or to take upon yourself that which

I am sure you do not know, or
jump the after-inquiry
²⁸³
on your

own peril: and how you shall
speed
²⁸⁴
in your journey’s end, I

think you’ll never return to tell
on.
²⁸⁵

POSTHUMUS
    I tell thee, fellow, there are none
want
²⁸⁶
eyes to direct

them the way I am going, but such as
wink
²⁸⁷
and will not use

them.

FIRST JAILER
    What an infinite
mock
²⁸⁹
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.
²⁹¹

MESSENGER
    Knock off his manacles, bring your prisoner to the

king.

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

free.

FIRST JAILER
    I’ll be hanged then.

POSTHUMUS
    Thou shalt be then freer than a jailer: no
bolts
²⁹⁷
for

the dead.

FIRST JAILER
    Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget

young gibbets, I never saw one so
prone
³⁰⁰
: yet on my

conscience, there are
verier
knaves desire to live,
for all
³⁰¹
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
³⁰⁴
of

jailers and gallowses! I speak against my present
profit
³⁰⁵
, but

my wish hath a
preferment
³⁰⁶
in’t.

CYMBELINE
    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
³
fought,

Whose rags shamed gilded arms, whose
naked
⁴
breast

Stepped before
targes of proof
⁵
, cannot be found:

He shall be happy that can find him, if

Our
grace
⁷
can make him so.

BELARIUS
    I never saw

Such noble fury in so poor a thing,

Such precious deeds in one that promised nought

But beggary and poor looks.

CYMBELINE
    No tidings of him?

PISANIO
    He hath been
searched
¹³
among the dead and living,

But no trace of him.

CYMBELINE
    To my grief, I am

The
heir of his reward
¹⁶
,— which I will add

To you, the
liver, heart and brain
¹⁷
of Britain,

By whom I
grant
¹⁸
she lives. ’Tis now the time

To ask
of whence you are.
¹⁹
Report it.

BELARIUS
    Sir,

In
Cambria
are
²¹
we born, and gentlemen:

Further to boast were neither true nor modest,

Unless I add we are honest.

CYMBELINE
    Bow your knees:

Arise my
knights o’th’battle
²⁵
, I create you

Companions to our person, and will
fit
²⁶
you

With dignities becoming your
estates.
²⁷

There’s
business
²⁸
in these faces: why so sadly

Greet you our victory? You look like Romans,

And not o’th’court of Britain.

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

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

I will report, so please you. These her women

Can
trip me
⁴²
if I err, who with wet cheeks

Were present when she finished.

CYMBELINE
    Prithee, say.

CORNELIUS
    First, she confessed she never loved you, only

Affected
greatness got
by
⁴⁶
you, not you:

Married your royalty, was wife to your place,

Abhorred your person.

CYMBELINE
    She alone knew this;

And,
but
⁵⁰
she spoke it dying, I would not

Believe her lips in
opening
⁵¹
it. Proceed.

CORNELIUS
    Your daughter, whom she
bore in hand
⁵²
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
⁵⁷
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
⁶⁰
, which being took,

Should
by the minute
⁶¹
feed on life, and, ling’ring,

By inches waste you.
In which time, she
purposed
⁶²

By
watching
, weeping,
tendance
⁶³
, kissing, to

O’ercome you with her
show
⁶⁴
; and in time,

When she had
fitted
⁶⁵
you with her craft, to work

Her son into
th’adoption of the crown
⁶⁶
:

But, failing of her
end
⁶⁷
by his strange absence,

Grew shameless-desperate,
opened
⁶⁸
, in despite

Of heaven and men, her purposes, repented

The evils she hatched were not effected: so

Despairing died.

CYMBELINE
    Heard you all this, her women?

LADY
    We did, so please your highness.

CYMBELINE
    Mine eyes

Were not in fault, for she was beautiful,

Mine ears
⁷⁶
, that heard her flattery, nor my heart,

That thought her like her
seeming.
It
had been vicious
⁷⁷

To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter,

That it was folly in me thou mayst say,

And prove it in thy
feeling.
⁸⁰
Heaven mend all!

Thou com’st not, Caius, now for tribute. That

The Britons have
razed out
⁸²
, though with the loss

Of many a bold one: whose kinsmen have
made suit
⁸³

That
their
⁸⁴
good souls may be appeased with slaughter

Of you their captives, which ourself have granted,

So think of your
estate.
⁸⁶

LUCIUS
    Consider, sir, the chance of war. The day

Was yours by accident:
had it gone with us
⁸⁸
,

We should not, when the blood was cool, have threatened

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
⁹²

A Roman with a Roman’s heart can suffer:

Augustus lives to
think on’t
⁹⁴
: and so much

For my
peculiar care.
⁹⁵
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
⁹⁹
, true,

So
feat
¹⁰⁰
, so nurse-like: 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
¹⁰⁴
spare no blood beside.

CYMBELINE
    I have surely seen him:

His
favour
¹⁰⁶
is familiar to me. Boy,

Thou hast
looked thyself into my grace
¹⁰⁷
,

And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore,

To say ‘Live, boy.’
Ne’er thank thy master
¹⁰⁹
: live,

And ask of Cymbeline what
boon
¹¹⁰
thou wilt,

Fitting my bounty and thy
state
¹¹¹
, I’ll give it,

Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner,

The noblest ta’en.

INNOGEN
    I humbly thank your highness.

LUCIUS
    I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad,

And yet I know thou wilt.

INNOGEN
    No, no, alack,

There’s other work in hand: I see a thing

Bitter to me as death: your life, good master,

Must
shuffle
¹²⁰
for itself.

LUCIUS
    The boy disdains me,

He leaves me, scorns me:
briefly
¹²²
die their joys

That place them on the
truth
¹²³
of girls and boys.

Why stands he so
perplexed?
¹²⁴

CYMBELINE
    What wouldst 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?

INNOGEN
    He is a Roman, no more kin to me

Than I to your highness, who, being born your
vassal
¹³⁰
,

Am something nearer.
¹³¹

CYMBELINE
    
Wherefore ey’st him so?
¹³²

INNOGEN
    I’ll tell you, sir, in private, if you please

To give me hearing.

CYMBELINE
    Ay, with all my heart,

And lend my best attention. What’s thy name?

INNOGEN
    Fidele, sir.

CYMBELINE
    Thou’rt my good youth, my page:

I’ll be thy master: walk with me, speak freely.