An ante-chamber adjoining
Imogen’s apartments.[Enter CLOTEN and Lords]
CLOTEN 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.
[Enter CYMBELINE and QUEEN]
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.
[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: 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!
[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.
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