SCENE I. Britain. A hall in Cymbeline's palace. Cymbeline  Shakespeare homepage  |  Cymbeline  | Act 3, Scene 1 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE I. Britain. A hall in Cymbeline's palace. 

 Enter in state, CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN,  and Lords at one door, and at another, CAIUS LUCIUS and Attendants  CYMBELINE  Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us? 

 CAIUS LUCIUS  When Julius Caesar, whose remembrance yet 

 Lives in men's eyes and will to ears and tongues 

 Be theme and hearing ever, was in this Britain 

 And conquer'd it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,-- 

 Famous in Caesar's praises, no whit less 

 Than in his feats deserving it--for him 

 And his succession granted Rome a tribute, 

 Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately 

 Is left untender'd. 

 QUEEN  And, to kill the marvel, 

 Shall be so ever. 

 CLOTEN  There be many Caesars, 

 Ere such another Julius. Britain is 

 A world by itself; and we will nothing pay 

 For wearing our own noses. 

 QUEEN  That opportunity 

 Which then they had to take from 's, to resume 

 We have again. Remember, sir, my liege, 

 The kings your ancestors, together with 

 The natural bravery of your isle, which stands 

 As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in 

 With rocks unscalable and roaring waters, 

 With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats, 

 But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquest 

 Caesar made here; but made not here his brag 

 Of 'Came' and 'saw' and 'overcame: ' with shame-- 

 That first that ever touch'd him--he was carried 

 From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping-- 

 Poor ignorant baubles!-- upon our terrible seas, 

 Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crack'd 

 As easily 'gainst our rocks: for joy whereof 

 The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point-- 

 O giglot fortune!--to master Caesar's sword, 

 Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright 

 And Britons strut with courage. 

 CLOTEN  Come, there's no more tribute to be paid: our 

 kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and, 

 as I said, there is no moe such Caesars: other of 

 them may have crook'd noses, but to owe such 

 straight arms, none. 

 CYMBELINE  Son, let your mother end. 

 CLOTEN  We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as 

 Cassibelan: I do not say I am one; but I have a 

 hand. Why tribute? why should we pay tribute? If 

 Caesar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or 

 put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute 

 for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now. 

 CYMBELINE  You must know, 

 Till the injurious Romans did extort 

 This tribute from us, we were free: 

 Caesar's ambition, 

 Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch 

 The sides o' the world, against all colour here 

 Did put the yoke upon 's; which to shake off 

 Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon 

 Ourselves to be. 

 CLOTEN  Lords  We do. 

 CYMBELINE  Say, then, to Caesar, 

 Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which 

 Ordain'd our laws, whose use the sword of Caesar 

 Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise 

 Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, 

 Though Rome be therefore angry: Mulmutius made our laws, 

 Who was the first of Britain which did put 

 His brows within a golden crown and call'd 

 Himself a king. 

 CAIUS LUCIUS  I am sorry, Cymbeline, 

 That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar-- 

 Caesar, that hath more kings his servants than 

 Thyself domestic officers--thine enemy: 

 Receive it from me, then: war and confusion 

 In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look 

 For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied, 

 I thank thee for myself. 

 CYMBELINE  Thou art welcome, Caius. 

 Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent 

 Much under him; of him I gather'd honour; 

 Which he to seek of me again, perforce, 

 Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect 

 That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for 

 Their liberties are now in arms; a precedent 

 Which not to read would show the Britons cold: 

 So Caesar shall not find them. 

 CAIUS LUCIUS  Let proof speak. 

 CLOTEN  His majesty bids you welcome. Make 

 pastime with us a day or two, or longer: if 

 you seek us afterwards in other terms, you 

 shall find us in our salt-water girdle: if you 

 beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in 

 the adventure, our crows shall fare the better 

 for you; and there's an end. 

 CAIUS LUCIUS  So, sir. 

 CYMBELINE  I know your master's pleasure and he mine: 

 All the remain is 'Welcome!' 



 Exeunt  Shakespeare homepage  |  Cymbeline  | Act 3, Scene 1 

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