Original Text |
Translated Text |
| Source: Folger Shakespeare Library |
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(Note: In the Folger edition of the play that we're using here, this is still Act 1, Scene 1.) Enter the Queen, Posthumus, 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 jailer shall deliver you the keys
That lock up your restraint.—For you, Posthumus, 85
So soon as I can win th’ offended king,
I will be known your advocate. Marry, yet
The fire of rage is in him, and ’twere good
You leaned unto his sentence with what patience
Your wisdom may inform you. 90 POSTHUMUS Please your Highness,
I will from hence today. QUEEN You know the peril.
I’ll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying
The pangs of barred affections, though the King 95
Hath charged you should not speak together. She exits. | The Queen, Imogen, and Posthumus show up, and things are tense. Posthumus knows his new dad-in-law has just banished him. The
Queen promises Imogen and Posthumus that she'll talk to Cymbeline for
them. She's not an evil stepmother, after all, right? She also lets the
lovers have a little privacy so that they can say goodbye. |
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— 100
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 105
That I may see again. She weeps. POSTHUMUS 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 110
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, 115
Though ink be made of gall. | Once the Queen is gone, Imogen calls her a faker. She's just pretending
to be nice, Imogen says. There's lots of tears and sadness. Imogen and
Posthumus don't want to leave each other, but they promise they'll
write. |
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 120
To walk this way. I never do him wrong
But he does buy my injuries, to be friends,
Pays dear for my offenses. She exits. | The Queen reappears and tells the lovers to break it up: the King is
coming. Then, in an aside, she tells the audience that she's really just
pretending to be friends with her stepdaughter. Behind her back, she's
fooling Cymbeline into taking her side over his daughter's. |
POSTHUMUS Should we be taking leave
As long a term as yet we have to live, 125
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. (She offers a 130
ring.) Take it, heart,
But keep it till you woo another wife
When Imogen is dead. POSTHUMUS How, how? Another?
You gentle gods, give me but this I have, 135
And cere up my embracements from a next
With bonds of death. (He puts the ring on his finger.)
Remain, remain thou here,
While sense can keep it on.—And sweetest, fairest,
As I my poor self did exchange for you 140
To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles
I still win of you. For my sake, wear this.
He offers a bracelet.
It is a manacle of love. I’ll place it
Upon this fairest prisoner. He puts it on her wrist. IMOGEN O the gods! 145
When shall we see again? | Posthumus and Imogen say one last goodbye, but not before giving each
other some trinkets. He gets a ring, and she gets a bracelet to remind
them of their love for one another even when they are apart. Aww. They
promise to be faithful and never, ever, take their gifts off. Ever. |
Enter Cymbeline and Lords. POSTHUMUS 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! 150
Thou ’rt poison to my blood. POSTHUMUS The gods protect you,
And bless the good remainders of the court.
I am gone. He exits.
IMOGEN There cannot be a pinch in death 155
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, 160
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. 165
CYMBELINE
That mightst have had the sole son of my queen!
IMOGEN
O, blessèd 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. 170 IMOGEN No, I rather added
A luster to it. CYMBELINE O thou vile one! IMOGEN Sir,
It is your fault that I have loved Posthumus. 175
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 180
A neatherd’s daughter, and my Leonatus
Our neighbor shepherd’s son. She weeps. CYMBELINE Thou foolish thing! | Cymbeline enters and is pretty ticked off at his daughter. How could she
do this to him? How dare she? There are lots of angry words between
them, but Imogen defends herself against her dad's fuming words. |
Enter Queen. They were again together. You have done
Not after our command. Away with her 185
And pen her up. QUEEN Beseech your patience.—Peace,
Dear lady daughter, peace.—Sweet sovereign,
Leave us to ourselves, and make yourself some
comfort 190
Out of your best advice. CYMBELINE Nay, let her languish
A drop of blood a day, and being aged
Die of this folly. He exits, with Lords. | Even though the Queen begs her hubby to reconsider, Cymbeline says he'll lock Imogen up and throw away the key. |
QUEEN Fie, you must give way. 195 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, 200
But that my master rather played than fought
And had no help of anger. They were parted
By gentlemen at hand. | Just then, Pisanio, Posthumus's servant enters with news of his master.
As Posthumus was leaving, Cloten saw him and threw a couple punches.
Luckily, the men walked the other way before anyone was seriously hurt.
|
QUEEN I am very glad on ’t. IMOGEN
Your son’s my father’s friend; he takes his part 205
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? | Imogen wishes the men had fought till the death so that the whole thing could be over. |
PISANIO On his command. He would not suffer me 210
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, to Imogen This hath been
Your faithful servant. I dare lay mine honor 215
He will remain so. PISANIO I humbly thank your Highness. QUEEN, to Imogen
Pray, walk awhile. IMOGEN, to Pisanio About some half hour hence,
Pray you, speak with me. You shall at least 220
Go see my lord aboard. For this time leave me.
They exit. | Pisanio offers his services to Imogen since Posthumus is now exiled. She
accepts his offer, as long as he can go see her hubby abroad. |