SCENE V. A room in Cymbeline's palace. Cymbeline  Shakespeare homepage  |  Cymbeline  | Act 3, Scene 5 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE V. A room in Cymbeline's palace. 

 Enter CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, LUCIUS, Lords, and Attendants  CYMBELINE  Thus far; and so farewell. 

 CAIUS LUCIUS  Thanks, royal sir. 

 My emperor hath wrote, I must from hence; 

 And am right sorry that I must report ye 

 My master's enemy. 

 CYMBELINE  Our subjects, sir, 

 Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself 

 To show less sovereignty than they, must needs 

 Appear unkinglike. 

 CAIUS LUCIUS  So, sir: I desire of you 

 A conduct over-land to Milford-Haven. 

 Madam, all joy befal your grace! 

 QUEEN  And you! 

 CYMBELINE  My lords, you are appointed for that office; 

 The due of honour in no point omit. 

 So farewell, noble Lucius. 

 CAIUS LUCIUS  Your hand, my lord. 

 CLOTEN  Receive it friendly; but from this time forth 

 I wear it as your enemy. 

 CAIUS LUCIUS  Sir, the event 

 Is yet to name the winner: fare you well. 

 CYMBELINE  Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords, 

 Till he have cross'd the Severn. Happiness! 



 Exeunt LUCIUS and Lords  QUEEN  He goes hence frowning: but it honours us 

 That we have given him cause. 

 CLOTEN  'Tis all the better; 

 Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. 

 CYMBELINE  Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor 

 How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely 

 Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness: 

 The powers that he already hath in Gallia 

 Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves 

 His war for Britain. 

 QUEEN  'Tis not sleepy business; 

 But must be look'd to speedily and strongly. 

 CYMBELINE  Our expectation that it would be thus 

 Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen, 

 Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd 

 Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd 

 The duty of the day: she looks us like 

 A thing more made of malice than of duty: 

 We have noted it. Call her before us; for 

 We have been too slight in sufferance. 



 Exit an Attendant  QUEEN  Royal sir, 

 Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired 

 Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord, 

 'Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty, 

 Forbear sharp speeches to her: she's a lady 

 So tender of rebukes that words are strokes 

 And strokes death to her. 



 Re-enter Attendant  CYMBELINE  Where is she, sir? How 

 Can her contempt be answer'd? 

 Attendant  Please you, sir, 

 Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer 

 That will be given to the loudest noise we make. 

 QUEEN  My lord, when last I went to visit her, 

 She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close, 

 Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity, 

 She should that duty leave unpaid to you, 

 Which daily she was bound to proffer: this 

 She wish'd me to make known; but our great court 

 Made me to blame in memory. 

 CYMBELINE  Her doors lock'd? 

 Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear 

 Prove false! 



 Exit  QUEEN  Son, I say, follow the king. 

 CLOTEN  That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, 

 have not seen these two days. 

 QUEEN  Go, look after. 



 Exit CLOTEN  Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus! 

 He hath a drug of mine; I pray his absence 

 Proceed by swallowing that, for he believes 

 It is a thing most precious. But for her, 

 Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seized her, 

 Or, wing'd with fervor of her love, she's flown 

 To her desired Posthumus: gone she is 

 To death or to dishonour; and my end 

 Can make good use of either: she being down, 

 I have the placing of the British crown. 



 Re-enter CLOTEN  How now, my son! 

 CLOTEN  'Tis certain she is fled. 

 Go in and cheer the king: he rages; none 

 Dare come about him. 

 QUEEN  [Aside]            All the better: may 

 This night forestall him of the coming day! 



 Exit  CLOTEN  I love and hate her: for she's fair and royal, 

 And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite 

 Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one 

 The best she hath, and she, of all compounded, 

 Outsells them all; I love her therefore: but 

 Disdaining me and throwing favours on 

 The low Posthumus slanders so her judgment 

 That what's else rare is choked; and in that point 

 I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed, 

 To be revenged upon her. For when fools Shall-- 



 Enter PISANIO  Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah? 

 Come hither: ah, you precious pander! Villain, 

 Where is thy lady? In a word; or else 

 Thou art straightway with the fiends. 

 PISANIO  O, good my lord! 

 CLOTEN  Where is thy lady? Or, by Jupiter,-- 

 I will not ask again. Close villain, 

 I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip 

 Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus? 

 From whose so many weights of baseness cannot 

 A dram of worth be drawn. 

 PISANIO  Alas, my lord, 

 How can she be with him? When was she missed? 

 He is in Rome. 

 CLOTEN  Where is she, sir? Come nearer; 

 No further halting: satisfy me home 

 What is become of her. 

 PISANIO  O, my all-worthy lord! 

 CLOTEN  All-worthy villain! 

 Discover where thy mistress is at once, 

 At the next word: no more of 'worthy lord!' 

 Speak, or thy silence on the instant is 

 Thy condemnation and thy death. 

 PISANIO  Then, sir, 

 This paper is the history of my knowledge 

 Touching her flight. 



 Presenting a letter  CLOTEN  Let's see't. I will pursue her 

 Even to Augustus' throne. 

 PISANIO  [Aside]                 Or this, or perish. 

 She's far enough; and what he learns by this 

 May prove his travel, not her danger. 

 CLOTEN  Hum! 

 PISANIO  [Aside]  I'll write to my lord she's dead. O Imogen, 

 Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again! 

 CLOTEN  Sirrah, is this letter true? 

 PISANIO  Sir, as I think. 

 CLOTEN  It is Posthumus' hand; I know't. Sirrah, if thou 

 wouldst not be a villain, but do me true service, 

 undergo those employments wherein I should have 

 cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is, 

 what villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it 

 directly and truly, I would think thee an honest 

 man: thou shouldst neither want my means for thy 

 relief nor my voice for thy preferment. 

 PISANIO  Well, my good lord. 

 CLOTEN  Wilt thou serve me? for since patiently and 

 constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of 

 that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the 

 course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of 

 mine: wilt thou serve me? 

 PISANIO  Sir, I will. 

 CLOTEN  Give me thy hand; here's my purse. Hast any of thy 

 late master's garments in thy possession? 

 PISANIO  I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he 

 wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress. 

 CLOTEN  The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit 

 hither: let it be thy lint service; go. 

 PISANIO  I shall, my lord. 



 Exit  CLOTEN  Meet thee at Milford-Haven!--I forgot to ask him one 

 thing; I'll remember't anon:--even there, thou 

 villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these 

 garments were come. She said upon a time--the 

 bitterness of it I now belch from my heart--that she 

 held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect 

 than my noble and natural person together with the 

 adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my 

 back, will I ravish her: first kill him, and in her 

 eyes; there shall she see my valour, which will then 

 be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my 

 speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and 

 when my lust hath dined,--which, as I say, to vex 

 her I will execute in the clothes that she so 

 praised,--to the court I'll knock her back, foot 

 her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly, 

 and I'll be merry in my revenge. 



 Re-enter PISANIO, with the clothes  Be those the garments? 

 PISANIO  Ay, my noble lord. 

 CLOTEN  How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven? 

 PISANIO  She can scarce be there yet. 

 CLOTEN  Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second 

 thing that I have commanded thee: the third is, 

 that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be 

 but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself 

 to thee. My revenge is now at Milford: would I had 

 wings to follow it! Come, and be true. 



 Exit  PISANIO  Thou bid'st me to my loss: for true to thee 

 Were to prove false, which I will never be, 

 To him that is most true. To Milford go, 

 And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow, 

 You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed 

 Be cross'd with slowness; labour be his meed! 



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