SCENE II. Imogen's bedchamber in Cymbeline's palace: Cymbeline  Shakespeare homepage  |  Cymbeline  | Act 2, Scene 2 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE II. Imogen's bedchamber in Cymbeline's palace:  a trunk in one corner of it. 



 IMOGEN in bed, reading; a Lady attending  IMOGEN  Who's there? my woman Helen? 

 Lady  Please you, madam 

 IMOGEN  What hour is it? 

 Lady  Almost midnight, madam. 

 IMOGEN  I have read three hours then: mine eyes are weak: 

 Fold down the leaf where I have left: to bed: 

 Take not away the taper, leave it burning; 

 And if thou canst awake by four o' the clock, 

 I prithee, call me. Sleep hath seized me wholly 



 Exit Lady  To your protection I commend me, gods. 

 From fairies and the tempters of the night 

 Guard me, beseech ye. 



 Sleeps. IACHIMO comes from the trunk  IACHIMO  The crickets sing, and man's o'er-labour'd sense 

 Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus 

 Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd 

 The chastity he wounded. Cytherea, 

 How bravely thou becomest thy bed, fresh lily, 

 And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch! 

 But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon'd, 

 How dearly they do't! 'Tis her breathing that 

 Perfumes the chamber thus: the flame o' the taper 

 Bows toward her, and would under-peep her lids, 

 To see the enclosed lights, now canopied 

 Under these windows, white and azure laced 

 With blue of heaven's own tinct. But my design, 

 To note the chamber: I will write all down: 

 Such and such pictures; there the window; such 

 The adornment of her bed; the arras; figures, 

 Why, such and such; and the contents o' the story. 

 Ah, but some natural notes about her body, 

 Above ten thousand meaner moveables 

 Would testify, to enrich mine inventory. 

 O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her! 

 And be her sense but as a monument, 

 Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off: 



 Taking off her bracelet  As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard! 

 'Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly, 

 As strongly as the conscience does within, 

 To the madding of her lord. On her left breast 

 A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops 

 I' the bottom of a cowslip: here's a voucher, 

 Stronger than ever law could make: this secret 

 Will force him think I have pick'd the lock and ta'en 

 The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end? 

 Why should I write this down, that's riveted, 

 Screw'd to my memory? She hath been reading late 

 The tale of Tereus; here the leaf's turn'd down 

 Where Philomel gave up. I have enough: 

 To the trunk again, and shut the spring of it. 

 Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning 

 May bare the raven's eye! I lodge in fear; 

 Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. 



 Clock strikes  One, two, three: time, time! 



 Goes into the trunk. The scene closes  Scene III  An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen's apartments. 



 Enter CLOTEN and Lords  First Lord  Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the 

 most coldest that ever turned up ace. 

 CLOTEN  It would make any man cold to lose. 

 First Lord  But not every man patient after the noble temper of 

 your lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win. 

 CLOTEN  Winning will put any man into courage. If I could 

 get this foolish Imogen, I should have gold enough. 

 It's almost morning, is't not? 

 First Lord  Day, my lord. 

 CLOTEN  I would this music would come: I am advised to give 

 her music o' mornings; they say it will penetrate. 



 Enter Musicians  Come on; tune: if you can penetrate her with your 

 fingering, so; we'll try with tongue too: if none 

 will do, let her remain; but I'll never give o'er. 

 First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; 

 after, a wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich 

 words to it: and then let her consider. 



 SONG  Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 

 And Phoebus 'gins arise, 

 His steeds to water at those springs 

 On chaliced flowers that lies; 

 And winking Mary-buds begin 

 To ope their golden eyes: 

 With every thing that pretty is, 

 My lady sweet, arise: 

 Arise, arise. 

 CLOTEN  So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will 

 consider your music the better: if it do not, it is 

 a vice in her ears, which horse-hairs and 

 calves'-guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to 

 boot, can never amend. 



 Exeunt Musicians  Second Lord  Here comes the king. 

 CLOTEN  I am glad I was up so late; for that's the reason I 

 was up so early: he cannot choose but take this 

 service I have done fatherly. 



 Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN  Good morrow to your majesty and to my gracious mother. 

 CYMBELINE  Attend you here the door of our stern daughter? 

 Will she not forth? 

 CLOTEN  I have assailed her with music, but she vouchsafes no notice. 

 CYMBELINE  The exile of her minion is too new; 

 She hath not yet forgot him: some more time 

 Must wear the print of his remembrance out, 

 And then she's yours. 

 QUEEN  You are most bound to the king, 

 Who lets go by no vantages that may 

 Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself 

 To orderly soliciting, and be friended 

 With aptness of the season; make denials 

 Increase your services; so seem as if 

 You were inspired to do those duties which 

 You tender to her; that you in all obey her, 

 Save when command to your dismission tends, 

 And therein you are senseless. 

 CLOTEN  Senseless! not so. 



 Enter a Messenger  Messenger  So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome; 

 The one is Caius Lucius. 

 CYMBELINE  A worthy fellow, 

 Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; 

 But that's no fault of his: we must receive him 

 According to the honour of his sender; 

 And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us, 

 We must extend our notice. Our dear son, 

 When you have given good morning to your mistress, 

 Attend the queen and us; we shall have need 

 To employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen. 



 Exeunt all but CLOTEN  CLOTEN  If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not, 

 Let her lie still and dream. 



 Knocks  By your leave, ho! 

 I Know her women are about her: what 

 If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold 

 Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes 

 Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up 

 Their deer to the stand o' the stealer; and 'tis gold 

 Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief; 

 Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man: what 

 Can it not do and undo? I will make 

 One of her women lawyer to me, for 

 I yet not understand the case myself. 



 Knocks  By your leave. 



 Enter a Lady  Lady  Who's there that knocks? 

 CLOTEN  A gentleman. 

 Lady  No more? 

 CLOTEN  Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. 

 Lady  That's more 

 Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours, 

 Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's pleasure? 

 CLOTEN  Your lady's person: is she ready? 

 Lady  Ay, 

 To keep her chamber. 

 CLOTEN  There is gold for you; 

 Sell me your good report. 

 Lady  How! my good name? or to report of you 

 What I shall think is good?--The princess! 



 Enter IMOGEN  CLOTEN  Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand. 



 Exit Lady  IMOGEN  Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains 

 For purchasing but trouble; the thanks I give 

 Is telling you that I am poor of thanks 

 And scarce can spare them. 

 CLOTEN  Still, I swear I love you. 

 IMOGEN  If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me: 

 If you swear still, your recompense is still 

 That I regard it not. 

 CLOTEN  This is no answer. 

 IMOGEN  But that you shall not say I yield being silent, 

 I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: 'faith, 

 I shall unfold equal discourtesy 

 To your best kindness: one of your great knowing 

 Should learn, being taught, forbearance. 

 CLOTEN  To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin: 

 I will not. 

 IMOGEN  Fools are not mad folks. 

 CLOTEN  Do you call me fool? 

 IMOGEN  As I am mad, I do: 

 If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; 

 That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, 

 You put me to forget a lady's manners, 

 By being so verbal: and learn now, for all, 

 That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce, 

 By the very truth of it, I care not for you, 

 And am so near the lack of charity-- 

 To accuse myself--I hate you; which I had rather 

 You felt than make't my boast. 

 CLOTEN  You sin against 

 Obedience, which you owe your father. For 

 The contract you pretend with that base wretch, 

 One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes, 

 With scraps o' the court, it is no contract, none: 

 And though it be allow'd in meaner parties-- 

 Yet who than he more mean?--to knit their souls, 

 On whom there is no more dependency 

 But brats and beggary, in self-figured knot; 

 Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by 

 The consequence o' the crown, and must not soil 

 The precious note of it with a base slave. 

 A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, 

 A pantler, not so eminent. 

 IMOGEN  Profane fellow 

 Wert thou the son of Jupiter and no more 

 But what thou art besides, thou wert too base 

 To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough, 

 Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made 

 Comparative for your virtues, to be styled 

 The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated 

 For being preferred so well. 

 CLOTEN  The south-fog rot him! 

 IMOGEN  He never can meet more mischance than come 

 To be but named of thee. His meanest garment, 

 That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer 

 In my respect than all the hairs above thee, 

 Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio! 



 Enter PISANIO  CLOTEN  'His garment!' Now the devil-- 

 IMOGEN  To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently-- 

 CLOTEN  'His garment!' 

 IMOGEN  I am sprited with a fool. 

 Frighted, and anger'd worse: go bid my woman 

 Search for a jewel that too casually 

 Hath left mine arm: it was thy master's: 'shrew me, 

 If I would lose it for a revenue 

 Of any king's in Europe. I do think 

 I saw't this morning: confident I am 

 Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it: 

 I hope it be not gone to tell my lord 

 That I kiss aught but he. 

 PISANIO  'Twill not be lost. 

 IMOGEN  I hope so: go and search. 



 Exit PISANIO  CLOTEN  You have abused me: 

 'His meanest garment!' 

 IMOGEN  Ay, I said so, sir: 

 If you will make't an action, call witness to't. 

 CLOTEN  I will inform your father. 

 IMOGEN  Your mother too: 

 She's my good lady, and will conceive, I hope, 

 But the worst of me. So, I leave you, sir, 

 To the worst of discontent. 



 Exit  CLOTEN  I'll be revenged: 

 'His meanest garment!' Well. 



 Exit  CYMBELINE 

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