Cymbeline. Уильям Шекспир
Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn’d me how
To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so
That our great king himself doth woo me oft
For my confections? Having thus far proceeded
(Unless thou think’st me devilish) is’t not meet
That I did amplify my judgement in
Other conclusions? I will try the forces
Of these thy compounds on such creatures as
We count not worth the hanging (but none human)
To try the vigour of them, and apply
Allayments to their act, and by them gather
Their several virtues and effects.
CORNELIUS.
Your Highness
Shall from this practice but make hard your heart;
Besides, the seeing these effects will be
Both noisome and infectious.
QUEEN.
O, content thee.
Enter Pisanio.
[Aside.] Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him Will I first work. He’s for his master, An enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio! Doctor, your service for this time is ended; Take your own way.
CORNELIUS.
[Aside.] I do suspect you, madam; But you shall do no harm.
QUEEN.
[To Pisanio.] Hark thee, a word.
CORNELIUS.
[Aside.] I do not like her. She doth think she has Strange ling’ring poisons. I do know her spirit, And will not trust one of her malice with A drug of such damn’d nature. Those she has Will stupefy and dull the sense awhile, Which first perchance she’ll prove on cats and dogs, Then afterward up higher; but there is No danger in what show of death it makes, More than the locking up the spirits a time, To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool’d With a most false effect; and I the truer So to be false with her.
QUEEN.
No further service, Doctor,
Until I send for thee.
CORNELIUS.
I humbly take my leave.
[Exit.]
QUEEN.
Weeps she still, say’st thou? Dost thou think in time
She will not quench, and let instructions enter
Where folly now possesses? Do thou work.
When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son,
I’ll tell thee on the instant thou art then
As great as is thy master; greater, for
His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name
Is at last gasp. Return he cannot, nor
Continue where he is. To shift his being
Is to exchange one misery with another,
And every day that comes comes to decay
A day’s work in him. What shalt thou expect
To be depender on a thing that leans,
Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends
So much as but to prop him?
[The Queen drops the box. Pisanio takes it up.]
Thou tak’st up
Thou know’st not what; but take it for thy labour.
It is a thing I made, which hath the King
Five times redeem’d from death. I do not know
What is more cordial. Nay, I prithee take it;
It is an earnest of a further good
That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how
The case stands with her; do’t as from thyself.
Think what a chance thou changest on; but think
Thou hast thy mistress still; to boot, my son,
Who shall take notice of thee. I’ll move the King
To any shape of thy preferment, such
As thou’lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly,
That set thee on to this desert, am bound
To load thy merit richly. Call my women.
Think on my words.
[Exit Pisanio.]
A sly and constant knave,
Not to be shak’d; the agent for his master,
And the remembrancer of her to hold
The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that
Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her
Of liegers for her sweet; and which she after,
Except she bend her humour, shall be assur’d
To taste of too.
Enter Pisanio and Ladies.
So, so. Well done, well done.
The violets, cowslips, and the primroses,
Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio;
Think on my words.
[Exeunt Queen and Ladies.]
PISANIO.
And shall do.
But when to my good lord I prove untrue
I’ll choke myself: there’s all I’ll do for you.
[Exit.]
SCENE VII. Britain. The palace.
Enter Imogen alone.
IMOGEN.
A father cruel and a step-dame false;
A foolish suitor to a wedded lady
That hath her husband banish’d. O, that husband!
My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated
Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol’n,
As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable
Is the desire that’s glorious. Blessed be those,
How mean soe’er, that have their honest wills,
Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie!
Enter Pisanio and Iachimo.
PISANIO.
Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome
Comes from my lord with letters.
IACHIMO.
Change you, madam?
The worthy Leonatus is in safety,
And greets your Highness dearly.
[Presents a letter.]
IMOGEN.
Thanks, good sir.
You’re kindly welcome.
IACHIMO.
[Aside.] All of her that is out of door most rich! If she be furnish’d with a mind so rare, She is alone th’ Arabian bird, and I Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend! Arm me, audacity, from head to foot! Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight; Rather, directly fly.
IMOGEN.
[Reads.] He is one of the noblest