The arden shakespeare co.., p.120
The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works, page 120
I thought had been my lord.
CYMBELINE Bind the offender,
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And take him from our presence.
BELARIUS Stay, sir king.
This man is better than the man he slew,
As well descended as thyself, and hath
More of thee merited than a band of Clotens
Had ever scar for. [to the guard] Let his arms alone,
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They were not born for bondage.
CYMBELINE Why, old soldier:
Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent
As good as we?
ARVIRAGUS In that he spake too far.
CYMBELINE And thou shalt die for’t.
BELARIUS We will die all three,
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But I will prove that two on’s are as good
As I have given out him. My sons, I must
For mine own part unfold a dangerous speech,
Though haply well for you.
ARVIRAGUS Your danger’s ours.
GUIDERIUS And our good his.
BELARIUS Have at it then, by leave:
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Thou hadst, great king, a subject, who
Was call’d Belarius. –
CYMBELINE What of him? he is a banish’d traitor.
BELARIUS He it is that hath
Assum’d this age: indeed a banish’d man,
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I know not how a traitor.
CYMBELINE Take him hence,
The whole world shall not save him.
BELARIUS Not too hot;
First pay me for the nursing of thy sons,
And let it be confiscate all, so soon
As I have receiv’d it.
CYMBELINE Nursing of my sons?
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BELARIUS I am too blunt, and saucy: here’s my knee:
Ere I arise I will prefer my sons;
Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
These two young gentlemen that call me father
And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
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They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
And blood of your begetting.
CYMBELINE How? my issue?
BELARIUS
So sure as you your father’s. I (old Morgan)
Am that Belarius, whom you sometime banish’d:
Your pleasure was my ne’er-offence, my punishment
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Itself, and all my treason: that I suffer’d,
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes
(For such and so they are) these twenty years
Have I train’d up; those arts they have; as I
Could put into them. My breeding was, sir, as
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Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile,
(Whom for the theft I wedded) stole these children
Upon my banishment: I mov’d her to’t,
Having receiv’d the punishment before
For that which I did then. Beaten for loyalty
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Excited me to treason. Their dear loss,
The more of you ’twas felt, the more it shap’d
Unto my end of stealing them. But gracious sir,
Here are your sons again, and I must lose
Two of the sweet’st companions in the world.
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The benediction of these covering heavens
Fall on their heads like dew, for they are worthy
To inlay heaven with stars.
CYMBELINE Thou weep’st, and speak’st:
The service that you three have done is more
Unlike than this thou tell’st. I lost my children:
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If these be they, I know not how to wish
A pair of worthier sons.
BELARIUS Be pleas’d awhile;
This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius:
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus
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Your younger princely son, he, sir, was lapp’d
In a most curious mantle, wrought by th’ hand
Of his queen mother, which for more probation
I can with ease produce.
CYMBELINE Guiderius had
Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
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It is a mark of wonder.
BELARIUS This is he,
Who hath upon him still that natural stamp:
It was wise Nature’s end, in the donation
To be his evidence now.
CYMBELINE O, what am I?
A mother to the birth of three? Ne’er mother
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Rejoic’d deliverance more. Blest pray you be,
That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
You may reign in them now! O Imogen,
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.
IMOGEN No, my lord;
I have got two worlds by’t. O my gentle brothers,
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Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter
But I am truest speaker. You call’d me brother,
When I was but your sister: I you brothers,
When ye were so indeed.
CYMBELINE Did you e’er meet?
ARVIRAGUS Ay, my good lord.
GUIDERIUS And at first meeting lov’d,
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Continu’d so, until we thought he died.
CORNELIUS By the queen’s dram she swallow’d.
CYMBELINE O rare instinct!
When shall I hear all through? This fierce
abridgement
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
Distinction should be rich in. Where? how liv’d you?
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And when came you to serve our Roman captive?
How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
Why fled you from the court? and whither? These,
And your three motives to the battle, with
I know not how much more, should be demanded
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And all the other by-dependances,
From chance to chance. But nor the time nor place
Will serve our long inter’gatories. See,
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen;
And she (like harmless lightning) throws her eye
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On him: her brothers, me: her master hitting
Each object with a joy: the counterchange
Is severally in all. Let’s quit this ground,
And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.
[to Belarius] Thou art my brother; so we’ll hold thee
ever.
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IMOGEN You are my father too, and did relieve me,
To see this gracious season.
CYMBELINE All o’erjoy’d,
Save these in bonds, let them be joyful too,
For they shall taste our comfort.
IMOGEN My good master,
I will yet do you service.
LUCIUS Happy be you!
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CYMBELINE The forlorn soldier that so nobly fought,
He would have well becom’d this place, and grac’d
The thankings of a king.
POSTHUMUS I am, sir,
The soldier that did company these three
In poor beseeming: ’twas a fitment for
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The purpose I then follow’d. That I was he,
Speak, Iachimo: I had you down, and might
Have made you finish.
IACHIMO [kneels] I am down again:
But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,
As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you,
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Which I so often owe: but your ring first,
And here the bracelet of the truest princess
That ever swore her faith.
POSTHUMUS Kneel not to me:
The power that I have on you, is to spare you:
The malice towards you, to forgive you. Live
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And deal with others better.
CYMBELINE Nobly doom’d!
We’ll learn our freeness of a son-in-law:
Pardon’s the word to all.
ARVIRAGUS You holp us, sir,
As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
Joy’d are we that you are.
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POSTHUMUS
Your servant, princes. Good my lord of Rome,
Call forth your soothsayer: as I slept, methought
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back’d,
Appear’d to me, with other spritely shows
Of mine own kindred. When I wak’d, I found
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This label on my bosom; whose containing
Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
Make no collection of it. Let him show
His skill in the construction.
LUCIUS Philarmonus!
SOOTHSAYER Here, my good lord.
LUCIUS Read, and declare the meaning.
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SOOTHSAYER [Reads.] When as a lion’s whelp shall, to
himself unknown, without seeking find, and be
embrac’d by a piece of tender air: and when from a
stately cedar shall be lopp’d branches, which, being
dead many years, shall after revive, be jointed to the
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old stock, and freshly grow, then shall Posthumus end
his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace
and plenty.
Thou, Leonatus, art the lion’s whelp,
The fit and apt construction of thy name,
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Being Leo-natus, doth impart so much:
[to Cymbeline] The piece of tender air, thy virtuous
daughter,
Which we call mollis aer; and mollis aer
We term it mulier: which mulier I divine
Is this most constant wife, who even now,
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Answering the letter of the oracle,
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp’d about
With this most tender air.
CYMBELINE This hath some seeming.
SOOTHSAYER The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
Personates thee: and thy lopp’d branches point
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Thy two sons forth: who, by Belarius stol’n,
For many years thought dead, are now reviv’d,
To the majestic cedar join’d; whose issue
Promises Britain peace and plenty.
CYMBELINE Well,
My peace we will begin: and Caius Lucius,
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Although the victor, we submit to Caesar,
And to the Roman empire; promising
To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
We were dissuaded by our wicked queen,
Whom heavens in justice both on her, and hers,
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Have laid most heavy hand.
SOOTHSAYER The fingers of the powers above do tune
The harmony of this peace. The vision,
Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke
Of yet this scarce-cold battle, at this instant
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Is full accomplish’d. For the Roman eagle,
From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
Lessen’d herself and in the beams o’the sun
So vanish’d; which foreshadow’d our princely eagle,
Th’imperial Caesar, should again unite
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His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
Which shines here in the west.
CYMBELINE Laud we the gods,
And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils
From our blest altars. Publish we this peace
To all our subjects. Set we forward: let
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A Roman, and a British ensign wave
Friendly together: so through Lud’s town march,
And in the temple of great Jupiter
Our peace we’ll ratify: seal it with feasts.
Set on there! Never was a war did cease
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(Ere bloody hands were wash’d) with such a peace.
Exeunt.
Hamlet
A short play called The Tragical History of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark was printed in 1603. It was ascribed to William Shakespeare on its title-page which also claimed that it had been ‘divers times acted by his Highness’ servants in the city of London, as also in the two universities of Cambridge and Oxford and elsewhere’; this text is known as the First Quarto (Q1). Soon another version appeared, variously dated 1604 or 1605, claiming on its title-page to be ‘newly imprinted and enlarged to almost as much again as it was, according to the true and perfect copy’; this text is known as the Second Quarto (Q2). Its claim as to length is more or less accurate, and it is also a much more careful and coherent text than Q1, which has generally been dismissed as a ‘bad’ quarto, an unreliable version put together from the memories of actors or reporters. Finally, yet a third text (F) appeared in the First Folio in 1623, very like Q2 in many ways, but lacking around 230 lines that are in Q2 and adding around 70 lines of its own; it also has numerous minor verbal variants, some of which seem to be corrections but others of which are substitutions or errors.
