SCENE I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline's palace. Cymbeline  Shakespeare homepage  |  Cymbeline  | Act 1, Scene 1 

 Next scene  SCENE I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline's palace. 

 Enter two Gentlemen  First Gentleman  You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods 

 No more obey the heavens than our courtiers 

 Still seem as does the king. 

 Second Gentleman  But what's the matter? 

 First Gentleman  His daughter, and the heir of's kingdom, whom 

 He purposed to his wife's sole son--a widow 

 That late he married--hath referr'd herself 

 Unto a poor but worthy gentleman: she's wedded; 

 Her husband banish'd; she imprison'd: all 

 Is outward sorrow; though I think the king 

 Be touch'd at very heart. 

 Second Gentleman  None but the king? 

 First Gentleman  He that hath lost her too; so is the queen, 

 That most desired the match; but not a courtier, 

 Although they wear their faces to the bent 

 Of the king's look's, hath a heart that is not 

 Glad at the thing they scowl at. 

 Second Gentleman  And why so? 

 First Gentleman  He that hath miss'd the princess is a thing 

 Too bad for bad report: and he that hath her-- 

 I mean, that married her, alack, good man! 

 And therefore banish'd--is a creature such 

 As, to seek through the regions of the earth 

 For one his like, there would be something failing 

 In him that should compare. I do not think 

 So fair an outward and such stuff within 

 Endows a man but he. 

 Second Gentleman  You speak him far. 

 First Gentleman  I do extend him, sir, within himself, 

 Crush him together rather than unfold 

 His measure duly. 

 Second Gentleman  What's his name and birth? 

 First Gentleman  I cannot delve him to the root: his father 

 Was call'd Sicilius, who did join his honour 

 Against the Romans with Cassibelan, 

 But had his titles by Tenantius whom 

 He served with glory and admired success, 

 So gain'd the sur-addition Leonatus; 

 And had, besides this gentleman in question, 

 Two other sons, who in the wars o' the time 

 Died with their swords in hand; for which 

 their father, 

 Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow 

 That he quit being, and his gentle lady, 

 Big of this gentleman our theme, deceased 

 As he was born. The king he takes the babe 

 To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus, 

 Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber, 

 Puts to him all the learnings that his time 

 Could make him the receiver of; which he took, 

 As we do air, fast as 'twas minister'd, 

 And in's spring became a harvest, lived in court-- 

 Which rare it is to do--most praised, most loved, 

 A sample to the youngest, to the more mature 

 A glass that feated them, and to the graver 

 A child that guided dotards; to his mistress, 

 For whom he now is banish'd, her own price 

 Proclaims how she esteem'd him and his virtue; 

 By her election may be truly read 

 What kind of man he is. 

 Second Gentleman  I honour him 

 Even out of your report. But, pray you, tell me, 

 Is she sole child to the king? 

 First Gentleman  His only child. 

 He had two sons: if this be worth your hearing, 

 Mark it: the eldest of them at three years old, 

 I' the swathing-clothes the other, from their nursery 

 Were stol'n, and to this hour no guess in knowledge 

 Which way they went. 

 Second Gentleman  How long is this ago? 

 First Gentleman  Some twenty years. 

 Second Gentleman  That a king's children should be so convey'd, 

 So slackly guarded, and the search so slow, 

 That could not trace them! 

 First Gentleman  Howsoe'er 'tis strange, 

 Or that the negligence may well be laugh'd at, 

 Yet is it true, sir. 

 Second Gentleman  I do well believe you. 

 First Gentleman  We must forbear: here comes the gentleman, 

 The queen, and princess. 



 Exeunt 

 Enter the QUEEN, POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, and IMOGEN  QUEEN  No, be assured you shall not find me, daughter, 

 After the slander of most stepmothers, 

 Evil-eyed unto you: you're my prisoner, but 

 Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys 

 That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, 

 So soon as I can win the offended king, 

 I will be known your advocate: marry, yet 

 The fire of rage is in him, and 'twere good 

 You lean'd unto his sentence with what patience 

 Your wisdom may inform you. 

 POSTHUMUS LEONATUS  Please your highness, 

 I will from hence to-day. 

 QUEEN  You know the peril. 

 I'll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying 

 The pangs of barr'd affections, though the king 

 Hath charged you should not speak together. 



 Exit  IMOGEN  O 

 Dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant 

 Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband, 

 I something fear my father's wrath; but nothing-- 

 Always reserved my holy duty--what 

 His rage can do on me: you must be gone; 

 And I shall here abide the hourly shot 

 Of angry eyes, not comforted to live, 

 But that there is this jewel in the world 

 That I may see again. 

 POSTHUMUS LEONATUS  My queen! my mistress! 

 O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause 

 To be suspected of more tenderness 

 Than doth become a man. I will remain 

 The loyal'st husband that did e'er plight troth: 

 My residence in Rome at one Philario's, 

 Who to my father was a friend, to me 

 Known but by letter: thither write, my queen, 

 And with mine eyes I'll drink the words you send, 

 Though ink be made of gall. 



 Re-enter QUEEN  QUEEN  Be brief, I pray you: 

 If the king come, I shall incur I know not 

 How much of his displeasure. 



 Aside  Yet I'll move him 

 To walk this way: I never do him wrong, 

 But he does buy my injuries, to be friends; 

 Pays dear for my offences. 



 Exit  POSTHUMUS LEONATUS  Should we be taking leave 

 As long a term as yet we have to live, 

 The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu! 

 IMOGEN  Nay, stay a little: 

 Were you but riding forth to air yourself, 

 Such parting were too petty. Look here, love; 

 This diamond was my mother's: take it, heart; 

 But keep it till you woo another wife, 

 When Imogen is dead. 

 POSTHUMUS LEONATUS  How, how! another? 

 You gentle gods, give me but this I have, 

 And sear up my embracements from a next 

 With bonds of death! 



 Putting on the ring  Remain, remain thou here 

 While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest, 

 As I my poor self did exchange for you, 

 To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles 

 I still win of you: for my sake wear this; 

 It is a manacle of love; I'll place it 

 Upon this fairest prisoner. 



 Putting a bracelet upon her arm  IMOGEN  O the gods! 

 When shall we see again? 



 Enter CYMBELINE and Lords  POSTHUMUS LEONATUS  Alack, the king! 

 CYMBELINE  Thou basest thing, avoid! hence, from my sight! 

 If after this command thou fraught the court 

 With thy unworthiness, thou diest: away! 

 Thou'rt poison to my blood. 

 POSTHUMUS LEONATUS  The gods protect you! 

 And bless the good remainders of the court! I am gone. 



 Exit  IMOGEN  There cannot be a pinch in death 

 More sharp than this is. 

 CYMBELINE  O disloyal thing, 

 That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap'st 

 A year's age on me. 

 IMOGEN  I beseech you, sir, 

 Harm not yourself with your vexation 

 I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare 

 Subdues all pangs, all fears. 

 CYMBELINE  Past grace? obedience? 

 IMOGEN  Past hope, and in despair; that way, past grace. 

 CYMBELINE  That mightst have had the sole son of my queen! 

 IMOGEN  O blest, that I might not! I chose an eagle, 

 And did avoid a puttock. 

 CYMBELINE  Thou took'st a beggar; wouldst have made my throne 

 A seat for baseness. 

 IMOGEN  No; I rather added 

 A lustre to it. 

 CYMBELINE  O thou vile one! 

 IMOGEN  Sir, 

 It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus: 

 You bred him as my playfellow, and he is 

 A man worth any woman, overbuys me 

 Almost the sum he pays. 

 CYMBELINE  What, art thou mad? 

 IMOGEN  Almost, sir: heaven restore me! Would I were 

 A neat-herd's daughter, and my Leonatus 

 Our neighbour shepherd's son! 

 CYMBELINE  Thou foolish thing! 



 Re-enter QUEEN  They were again together: you have done 

 Not after our command. Away with her, 

 And pen her up. 

 QUEEN  Beseech your patience. Peace, 

 Dear lady daughter, peace! Sweet sovereign, 

 Leave us to ourselves; and make yourself some comfort 

 Out of your best advice. 

 CYMBELINE  Nay, let her languish 

 A drop of blood a day; and, being aged, 

 Die of this folly! 



 Exeunt CYMBELINE and Lords  QUEEN  Fie! you must give way. 



 Enter PISANIO  Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news? 

 PISANIO  My lord your son drew on my master. 

 QUEEN  Ha! 

 No harm, I trust, is done? 

 PISANIO  There might have been, 

 But that my master rather play'd than fought 

 And had no help of anger: they were parted 

 By gentlemen at hand. 

 QUEEN  I am very glad on't. 

 IMOGEN  Your son's my father's friend; he takes his part. 

 To draw upon an exile! O brave sir! 

 I would they were in Afric both together; 

 Myself by with a needle, that I might prick 

 The goer-back. Why came you from your master? 

 PISANIO  On his command: he would not suffer me 

 To bring him to the haven; left these notes 

 Of what commands I should be subject to, 

 When 't pleased you to employ me. 

 QUEEN  This hath been 

 Your faithful servant: I dare lay mine honour 

 He will remain so. 

 PISANIO  I humbly thank your highness. 

 QUEEN  Pray, walk awhile. 

 IMOGEN  About some half-hour hence, 

 I pray you, speak with me: you shall at least 

 Go see my lord aboard: for this time leave me. 



 Exeunt  Shakespeare homepage  |  Cymbeline  | Act 1, Scene 1 

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