Act 2, Scene 3
Britain. An antechamber adjoining Imogen’s apartment in Cymbeline’s palace.
- Enter Cloten and Lords.
First Lord2 - 3
- Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most
- coldest that ever turn’d up ace.
- It would make any man cold to lose.
First Lord5 - 6
- But not every man patient after the noble temper of your
- lordship. You are most hot and furious when you win.
Cloten7 - 9
- 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?
- Day, my lord.
Cloten11 - 18
- I would this music would come. I am advis’d to give her
- music a’ 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.
Singer19 - 27
- Hark, hark, the lark at heaven’s gate sings,
- And Phoebus gins arise,
- His steeds to water at those springs
- On chalic’d flow’rs that lies;
- And winking Mary-buds begin to ope
- their golden eyes;
- With every thing that pretty is, my lady sweet, arise:
- Arise, arise!
Cloten28 - 31
- 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 horsehairs and calves’-guts, nor the voice of unpav’d
- eunuch to boot, can never amend.
- Exeunt Musicians.
- Enter Cymbeline and Queen.
- Here comes the King.
Cloten35 - 38
- 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.—Good morrow to your Majesty, and to my gracious
Cymbeline39 - 40
- Attend you here the door of our stern daughter?
- Will she not forth?
Cloten41 - 42
- I have assail’d her with musics, but she vouchsafes no
Cymbeline43 - 46
- The exile of her minion is too new,
- She hath not yet forgot him. Some more time
- Must wear the print of his remembrance on’t,
- And then she’s yours.
Queen47 - 56
- You are most bound to th’ King,
- Who lets go by no vantages that may
- Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself
- To orderly solicits, and be friended
- With aptness of the season; make denials
- Increase your services; so seem as if
- You were inspir’d 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.
- Senseless? Not so.
- Enter a Messenger.
Messenger59 - 60
- So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome;
- The one is Caius Lucius.
Cymbeline61 - 69
- A worthy fellow,
- Albeit he comes on angry purpose now;
- But that’s no fault of his. We must receive him
- According to the honor 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
- T’ employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen.
- Exeunt all but Cloten.
Cloten71 - 85
- If she be up, I’ll speak with her; if not,
- Let her lie still and dream.
- 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 th’ stand o’ th’ 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.
- By your leave.
- Enter Helen.
- Who’s there that knocks?
- A gentleman.
- No more?
- Yes, and a gentlewoman’s son.
Helen92 - 94
- That’s more
- Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours,
- Can justly boast of. What’s your lordship’s pleasure?
- Your lady’s person. Is she ready?
Helen96 - 97
- To keep her chamber.
Cloten98 - 99
- There is gold for you,
- Sell me your good report.
Helen100 - 101
- How, my good name? Or to report of you
- What I shall think is good?—The Princess.
- Enter Imogen.
- Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand.
- Exit Helen.
Imogen105 - 108
- 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.
- Still I swear I love you.
Imogen110 - 112
- If you but said so, ’twere as deep with me.
- If you swear still, your recompense is still
- That I regard it not.
- This is no answer.
Imogen114 - 118
- 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.
Cloten119 - 120
- To leave you in your madness, ’twere my sin;
- I will not.
- Fools are not mad folks.
- Do you call me fool?
Imogen123 - 132
- 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 th’ 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.
Cloten133 - 146
- 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’ th’ court, it is no contract, none;
- And though it be allowed 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-figur’d knot,
- Yet you are curb’d from that enlargement by
- The consequence o’ th’ crown, and must not foil
- The precious note of it with a base slave,
- A hilding for a livery, a squire’s cloth,
- A pantler—not so eminent.
Imogen147 - 154
- 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 styl’d
- The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated
- For being preferr’d so well.
- The south-fog rot him!
Imogen156 - 160
- He never can meet more mischance than come
- To be but nam’d of thee. His mean’st garment
- That ever hath but clipt his body, is dearer
- In my respect than all the hairs above thee,
- Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio?
- Enter Pisanio.
- “His garments”? Now the devil—
- To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently.
- “His garment”?
Imogen165 - 174
- I am sprited with a fool,
- Frighted, and ang’red 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.
- ’Twill not be lost.
- I hope so; go and search.
- Exit Pisanio.
Cloten178 - 179
- You have abus’d me.
- “His meanest garment”?
Imogen180 - 181
- Ay, I said so, sir;
- If you will make’t an action, call witness to’t.
- I will inform your father.
Imogen183 - 186
- Your mother too.
- She’s my good lady, and will conceive, I hope,
- But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir,
- To th’ worst of discontent.
Cloten188 - 189
- I’ll be reveng’d.
- “His mean’st garment”? Well.