Country near Milford-Haven.
[Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN]
IMOGEN What is in thy mind,
That makes thee stare thus? One, but painted thus,
Would be interpreted a thing perplex’d
Beyond self-explication: What’s the matter?
Why tender’st thou that paper to me, with
A look untender? 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.
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 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. 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 – 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?
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 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 What shall I do the where?
where bide? how live?
PISANIO 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;
IMOGEN O, for such means! I would adventure.
PISANIO Well, then, here’s the point:
You must forget to be a woman; change
Command into obedience: fear and niceness–
into a waggish courage:
IMOGEN 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: ‘fore noble Lucius
Present yourself, desire his service, tell him
wherein you’re happy,–for he’s honourable
With joy he will embrace you,
IMOGEN Thou art all the comfort
The gods will diet me with. 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.
[Exeunt, severally]
Act 3.3 | Act 3.5
Playlist Cymbeline | Dramatis Personea | Plays & Info