CYMBELINE. Уильям Шекспир
giue me but this I haue,
And seare vp my embracements from a next,
With bonds of death. Remaine, remaine thou heere,
While sense can keepe it on: And sweetest, fairest,
As I (my poore selfe) did exchange for you
To your so infinite losse; so in our trifles
I still winne of you. For my sake weare this,
It is a Manacle of Loue, Ile place it
Vpon this fayrest Prisoner
Imo. O the Gods!
When shall we see againe?
Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.
Post. Alacke, the King Cym. Thou basest thing, auoyd hence, from my sight:
If after this command thou fraught the Court
With thy vnworthinesse, thou dyest. Away,
Thou’rt poyson to my blood
Post. The Gods protect you,
And blesse the good Remainders of the Court:
I am gone
Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death
More sharpe then this is
Cym. O disloyall thing,
That should’st repayre my youth, thou heap’st
A yeares age on mee
Imo. I beseech you Sir,
Harme not your selfe with your vexation,
I am senselesse of your Wrath; a Touch more rare
Subdues all pangs, all feares
Cym. Past Grace? Obedience?
Imo. Past hope, and in dispaire, that way past Grace
Cym. That might’st haue had
The sole Sonne of my Queene
Imo. O blessed, that I might not: I chose an Eagle,
And did auoyd a Puttocke
Cym. Thou took’st a Begger, would’st haue made my
Throne, a Seate for basenesse
Imo. No, I rather added a lustre to it Cym. O thou vilde one!
Imo. Sir,
It is your fault that I haue lou’d Posthumus:
You bred him as my Playfellow, and he is
A man, worth any woman: Ouer-buyes mee
Almost the summe he payes
Cym. What? art thou mad?
Imo. Almost Sir: Heauen restore me: would I were
A Neat-heards Daughter, and my Leonatus
Our Neighbour-Shepheards Sonne.
Enter Queene.
Cym. Thou foolish thing;
They were againe together: you haue done
Not after our command. Away with her,
And pen her vp
Qu. Beseech your patience: Peace
Deere Lady daughter, peace. Sweet Soueraigne,
Leaue vs to our selues, and make your self some comfort
Out of your best aduice
Cym. Nay, let her languish
A drop of blood a day, and being aged
Dye of this Folly.
Enter.
Enter Pisanio.
Qu. Fye, you must giue way:
Heere is your Seruant. How now Sir? What newes?
Pisa. My Lord your Sonne, drew on my Master
Qu. Hah?
No harme I trust is done?
Pisa. There might haue beene,
But that my Master rather plaid, then fought,
And had no helpe of Anger: they were parted
By Gentlemen, at hand
Qu. I am very glad on’t
Imo. Your Son’s my Fathers friend, he takes his part
To draw vpon an Exile. O braue Sir,
I would they were in Affricke both together,
My selfe by with a Needle, that I might pricke
The goer backe. Why came you from your Master?
Pisa. On his command: he would not suffer mee
To bring him to the Hauen: left these Notes
Of what commands I should be subiect too,
When’t pleas’d you to employ me
Qu. This hath beene
Your faithfull Seruant: I dare lay mine Honour
He will remaine so
Pisa. I humbly thanke your Highnesse
Qu. Pray walke a-while
Imo. About some halfe houre hence,
Pray you speake with me;
You shall (at least) go see my Lord aboord.
For this time leaue me.
Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Enter Clotten, and two Lords.
1. Sir, I would aduise you to shift a Shirt; the Violence of Action hath made you reek as a Sacrifice: where ayre comes out, ayre comes in: There’s none abroad so wholesome as that you vent
Clot. If my Shirt were bloody, then to shift it.
Haue I hurt him?
2 No faith: not so much as his patience
1 Hurt him? His bodie’s a passable Carkasse if he bee
not hurt. It is a throughfare for Steele if it be not hurt
2 His Steele was in debt, it went o’th’ Backe-side the
Towne
Clot. The Villaine would not stand me
2 No, but he fled forward still, toward your face
1 Stand you? you haue Land enough of your owne:
But he added to your hauing, gaue you some ground
2 As many Inches, as you haue Oceans (Puppies.)
Clot. I would they had not come betweene vs
2 So would I, till you had measur’d how long a Foole
you were vpon the ground
Clot. And that shee should loue this Fellow, and refuse
mee
2 If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damn’d
1 Sir, as I told you alwayes: her Beauty & her Braine go not together. Shee’s a good signe, but I haue seene small reflection of her wit
2 She shines not vpon Fooles, least the reflection
Should hurt her
Clot. Come, Ile to my Chamber: would there had
beene some hurt done
2 I wish not so, vnlesse it had bin the fall of an Asse,
which is no great hurt
Clot. You’l go with vs?
1 Ile attend your Lordship
Clot. Nay come, let’s go together
2 Well my Lord.
Exeunt.