SCENE IV. Country near Milford-Haven. Cymbeline  Shakespeare homepage  |  Cymbeline  | Act 3, Scene 4 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE IV. Country near Milford-Haven. 

 Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN  IMOGEN  Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place 

 Was near at hand: ne'er long'd my mother so 

 To see me first, as I have now. Pisanio! man! 

 Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind, 

 That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh 

 From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus, 

 Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd 

 Beyond self-explication: put thyself 

 Into a havior of less fear, ere wildness 

 Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter? 

 Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with 

 A look untender? If't be summer news, 

 Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st 

 But keep that countenance still. My husband's hand! 

 That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him, 

 And he's at some hard point. Speak, man: thy tongue 

 May take off some extremity, which to read 

 Would be even mortal to me. 

 PISANIO  Please you, read; 

 And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing 

 The most disdain'd of fortune. 

 IMOGEN  [Reads]  'Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the 

 strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie 

 bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises, 

 but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain 

 as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio, 

 must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with 

 the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away 

 her life: I shall give thee opportunity at 

 Milford-Haven. She hath my letter for the purpose 

 where, if thou fear to strike and to make me certain 

 it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour and 

 equally to me disloyal.' 

 PISANIO  What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper 

 Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander, 

 Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue 

 Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath 

 Rides on the posting winds and doth belie 

 All corners of the world: kings, queens and states, 

 Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave 

 This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam? 

 IMOGEN  False to his bed! What is it to be false? 

 To lie in watch there and to think on him? 

 To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep 

 charge nature, 

 To break it with a fearful dream of him 

 And cry myself awake? that's false to's bed, is it? 

 PISANIO  Alas, good lady! 

 IMOGEN  I false! Thy conscience witness: Iachimo, 

 Thou didst accuse him of incontinency; 

 Thou then look'dst like a villain; now methinks 

 Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy 

 Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him: 

 Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion; 

 And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, 

 I must be ripp'd:--to pieces with me!--O, 

 Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming, 

 By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought 

 Put on for villany; not born where't grows, 

 But worn a bait for ladies. 

 PISANIO  Good madam, hear me. 

 IMOGEN  True honest men being heard, like false Aeneas, 

 Were in his time thought false, and Sinon's weeping 

 Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity 

 From most true wretchedness: so thou, Posthumus, 

 Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men; 

 Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjured 

 From thy great fall. Come, fellow, be thou honest: 

 Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou see'st him, 

 A little witness my obedience: look! 

 I draw the sword myself: take it, and hit 

 The innocent mansion of my love, my heart; 

 Fear not; 'tis empty of all things but grief; 

 Thy master is not there, who was indeed 

 The riches of it: do his bidding; strike 

 Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause; 

 But now thou seem'st a coward. 

 PISANIO  Hence, vile instrument! 

 Thou shalt not damn my hand. 

 IMOGEN  Why, I must die; 

 And if I do not by thy hand, thou art 

 No servant of thy master's. Against self-slaughter 

 There is a prohibition so divine 

 That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart. 

 Something's afore't. Soft, soft! we'll no defence; 

 Obedient as the scabbard. What is here? 

 The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus, 

 All turn'd to heresy? Away, away, 

 Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more 

 Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools 

 Believe false teachers: though those that 

 are betray'd 

 Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor 

 Stands in worse case of woe. 

 And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up 

 My disobedience 'gainst the king my father 

 And make me put into contempt the suits 

 Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find 

 It is no act of common passage, but 

 A strain of rareness: and I grieve myself 

 To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her 

 That now thou tirest on, how thy memory 

 Will then be pang'd by me. Prithee, dispatch: 

 The lamb entreats the butcher: where's thy knife? 

 Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, 

 When I desire it too. 

 PISANIO  O gracious lady, 

 Since I received command to do this business 

 I have not slept one wink. 

 IMOGEN  Do't, and to bed then. 

 PISANIO  I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first. 

 IMOGEN  Wherefore then 

 Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abused 

 So many miles with a pretence? this place? 

 Mine action and thine own? our horses' labour? 

 The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court, 

 For my being absent? whereunto I never 

 Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far, 

 To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand, 

 The elected deer before thee? 

 PISANIO  But to win time 

 To lose so bad employment; in the which 

 I have consider'd of a course. Good lady, 

 Hear me with patience. 

 IMOGEN  Talk thy tongue weary; speak 

 I have heard I am a strumpet; and mine ear 

 Therein false struck, can take no greater wound, 

 Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. 

 PISANIO  Then, madam, 

 I thought you would not back again. 

 IMOGEN  Most like; 

 Bringing me here to kill me. 

 PISANIO  Not so, neither: 

 But if I were as wise as honest, then 

 My purpose would prove well. It cannot be 

 But that my master is abused: 

 Some villain, ay, and singular in his art. 

 Hath done you both this cursed injury. 

 IMOGEN  Some Roman courtezan. 

 PISANIO  No, on my life. 

 I'll give but notice you are dead and send him 

 Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded 

 I should do so: you shall be miss'd at court, 

 And that will well confirm it. 

 IMOGEN  Why good fellow, 

 What shall I do the where? where bide? how live? 

 Or in my life what comfort, when I am 

 Dead to my husband? 

 PISANIO  If you'll back to the court-- 

 IMOGEN  No court, no father; nor no more ado 

 With that harsh, noble, simple nothing, 

 That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me 

 As fearful as a siege. 

 PISANIO  If not at court, 

 Then not in Britain must you bide. 

 IMOGEN  Where then 

 Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night, 

 Are they not but in Britain? I' the world's volume 

 Our Britain seems as of it, but not in 't; 

 In a great pool a swan's nest: prithee, think 

 There's livers out of Britain. 

 PISANIO  I am most glad 

 You think of other place. The ambassador, 

 Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven 

 To-morrow: now, if you could wear a mind 

 Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise 

 That which, to appear itself, must not yet be 

 But by self-danger, you should tread a course 

 Pretty and full of view; yea, haply, near 

 The residence of Posthumus; so nigh at least 

 That though his actions were not visible, yet 

 Report should render him hourly to your ear 

 As truly as he moves. 

 IMOGEN  O, for such means! 

 Though peril to my modesty, not death on't, 

 I would adventure. 

 PISANIO  Well, then, here's the point: 

 You must forget to be a woman; change 

 Command into obedience: fear and niceness-- 

 The handmaids of all women, or, more truly, 

 Woman its pretty self--into a waggish courage: 

 Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy and 

 As quarrelous as the weasel; nay, you must 

 Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, 

 Exposing it--but, O, the harder heart! 

 Alack, no remedy!--to the greedy touch 

 Of common-kissing Titan, and forget 

 Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein 

 You made great Juno angry. 

 IMOGEN  Nay, be brief 

 I see into thy end, and am almost 

 A man already. 

 PISANIO  First, make yourself but like one. 

 Fore-thinking this, I have already fit-- 

 'Tis in my cloak-bag--doublet, hat, hose, all 

 That answer to them: would you in their serving, 

 And with what imitation you can borrow 

 From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius 

 Present yourself, desire his service, tell him 

 wherein you're happy,--which you'll make him know, 

 If that his head have ear in music,--doubtless 

 With joy he will embrace you, for he's honourable 

 And doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad, 

 You have me, rich; and I will never fail 

 Beginning nor supplyment. 

 IMOGEN  Thou art all the comfort 

 The gods will diet me with. Prithee, away: 

 There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even 

 All that good time will give us: this attempt 

 I am soldier to, and will abide it with 

 A prince's courage. Away, I prithee. 

 PISANIO  Well, madam, we must take a short farewell, 

 Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of 

 Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, 

 Here is a box; I had it from the queen: 

 What's in't is precious; if you are sick at sea, 

 Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this 

 Will drive away distemper. To some shade, 

 And fit you to your manhood. May the gods 

 Direct you to the best! 

 IMOGEN  Amen: I thank thee. 



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