The Bodleian First Folio

A digital facsimile of the First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Bodleian Arch. G c.7.



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Reference: zz3v - Tragedies, p. 370

Left Column


The Tragedie of Cymbeline. That locke vp your restraint. For you Posthumus, So soone as I can win th'offended King,
[85]
I will be knowne your Aduocate: marry yet The fire of Rage is in him, and 'twere good You lean'd vnto his Sentence, with what patience Your wisedome may informe you. Post. 'Please your Highnesse,
[90]
I will from hence to day. Qu. You know the perill: Ile fetch a turne about the Garden, pittying The pangs of barr'd Affections, though the King Hath charg'd you should not speake together. Exit Imo.
[95]
O dissembling Curtesie! How fine this Tyrant Can tickle where she wounds? My deerest Husband, I something feare my Fathers wrath, but nothing (Alwayes reseru'd my holy duty) what His rage can do on me. You must be gone,
[100]
And I shall heere abide the hourely shot Of angry eyes: not comforted to liue, But that there is this Iewell in the world, That I may see againe. Post. My Queene, my Mistris:
[105]
O Lady, weepe no more, least I giue cause To be suspected of more tendernesse Then doth become a man. I will remaine The loyall'st husband, that did ere plight troth. My residence in Rome, at one Filorio's,
[110]
Who, to my Father was a Friend, to me Knowne but by Letter; thither write (my Queene) And with mine eyes, Ile drinke the words you send, Though Inke be made of Gall. Enter Queene. Qu. Be briefe, I pray you:
[115]
If the King come, I shall incurre, I know not How much of his displeasure: yet Ile moue him To walke this way: I neuer do him wrong, But he do's buy my Iniuries, to be Friends: Payes deere for my offences. Post.
[120]
Should we be taking leaue As long a terme as yet we haue to liue, The loathnesse to depart, would grow: Adieu. Imo. Nay, stay a little: Were you but riding forth to ayre your selfe,
[125]
Such parting were too petty. Looke heere (Loue) This Diamond was my Mothers; take it (Heart) But keepe it till you woo another Wife, When Imogen is dead. Post. How, how? Another?
[130]
You gentle Gods, giue me but this I haue, And seare vp my embracements from a next, With bonds of death. Remaine, remaine thou heere, While sense can keepe it on: And sweetest, fairest, As I (my poore selfe) did exchange for you
[135]
To your so infinite losse; so in our trifles I still winne of you. For my sake weare this, It is a Manacle of Loue, Ile place it Vpon this fayrest Prisoner. Imo. O the Gods!
[140]
When shall we see againe ? Enter Cymbeline, and Lords. Post. Alacke, the King. Cym. Thou basest thing, auoyd hence, from my sight: If after this command thou fraught the Court With thy vnworthinesse, thou dyest. Away,
[145]
Thou'rt poyson to my blood. Post. The Gods protect you,

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Right Column


And blesse the good Remainders of the Court: I am gone. Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death
[150]
More sharpe then this is. Cym. O disloyall thing, That should'st repayre my youth, thou heap'st A yeares age on mee. Imo. I beseech you Sir,
[155]
Harme not your selfe with your vexation, I am senselesse of your Wrath; a Touch more rare Subdues all pangs, all feares. Cym. Past Grace ? Obedience? Imo. Past hope, and in dispaire, that way past Grace. Cym.
[160]
That might'st haue had The sole Sonne of my Queene. Imo. O blessed, that I might not: I chose an Eagle, And did auoyd a Puttocke. Cym. Thou took'st a Begger, would'st haue made my
[165]
Throne, a Seate for basenesse. Imo. No, I rather added a lustre to it. Cym. O thou vilde one! Imo. Sir, It is your fault that I haue lou'd Posthumus:
[170]
You bred him as my Play‑fellow, and he is A man, worth any woman: Ouer‑buyes mee Almost the summe he payes. Cym. What? art thou mad? Imo. Almost Sir: Heauen restore me: would I were
[175]
A Neat‑heards Daughter, and my Leonatus Our Neighbour‑Shepheards Sonne. Enter Queene. Cym. Thou foolish thing; They were againe together: you haue done Not after our command. Away with her,
[180]
And pen her vp. Qu. Beseech your patience: Peace Deere Lady daughter, peace. Sweet Soueraigne, Leaue vs to our selues, and make your self some comfort Out of your best aduice. Cym.
[185]
Nay, let her languish A drop of blood a day, and being aged Dye of this Folly. Exit. Enter Pisanio. Qu. Fye, you must giue way: Heere is your Seruant. How now Sir? What newes? Pisa.
[190]
My Lord your Sonne, drew on my Master. Qu. Hah? No harme I trust is done? Pisa. There might haue beene, But that my Master rather plaid, then fought,
[195]
And had no helpe of Anger: they were parted By Gentlemen, at hand. Qu. I am very glad on't. Imo. Your Son's my Fathers friend, he takes his part To draw vpon an Exile. O braue Sir,
[200]
I would they were in Affricke both together, My selfe by with a Needle, that I might pricke The goer backe. Why came you from your Master? Pisa. On his command: he would not suffer mee To bring him to the Hauen: left these Notes
[205]
Of what commands I should be subiect too, When't pleas'd you to employ me. Qu. This hath beene Your faithfull Seruant: I dare lay mine Honour He will remaine so. Pisa.
[210]
I humbly thanke your Highnesse. Qu.

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Scena Tertia. [Act 1, Scene 2] Enter Clotten, and two Lords. 1.

Sir, I would aduise you to shift a Shirt; the Vio­

lence of Action hath made you reek as a Sacrifice: where

ayre comes out, ayre comes in: There's none abroad so

wholesome as that you vent.

 Clot.
[220]
If my Shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Haue I hurt him? 2

No faith: not so much as his patience.

 1

Hurt him? His bodie's a passable Carkasse if he bee

not hurt. It is a through‑fare for Steele if it be not hurt.

 2
[225]

His Steele was in debt, it went o'th'Backe‑side the

Towne.

 Clot.

The Villaine would not stand me.

 2

No, but he fled forward still, toward your face.

 1

Stand you? you haue Land enough of your owne:

[230]

But he added to your hauing, gaue you some ground.

 2

As many Inches, as you haue Oceans (Puppies.)

 Clot.

I would they had not come betweene vs.

 2

So would I, till you had measur'd how long a Foole

you were vpon the ground.

 Clot.
[235]

And that shee should loue this Fellow, and re­

fuse mee.

 2

If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damn'd.

 1

Sir, as I told you alwayes: her Beauty & her Braine

go not together. Shee's a good signe, but I haue seene

[240]

small reflection of her wit.

 2 She shines not vpon Fooles, least the reflection Should hurt her. Clot.

Come, Ile to my Chamber: would there had

beene some hurt done.

 2
[245]

I wish not so, vnlesse it had bin the fall of an Asse,

which is no great hurt.

 Clot.

You'l go with vs?

 1

Ile attend your Lordship.

 Clot.

Nay come, let's go together.

 2
[250]

Well my Lord.

 Exeunt.
 

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<div type="scene" n="2" rend="notPresent">
   <head rend="italic center">Scena Tertia.</head>
   <head type="supplied">[Act 1, Scene 2]</head>
   <stage rend="italic center" type="entrance">Enter Clotten, and two Lords.</stage>
   <sp who="#F-cym-lor.1">
      <speaker>1.</speaker>
      <p n="216">Sir, I would aduise you to shift a Shirt; the Vio­
      <lb n="217"/>lence of Action hath made you reek as a Sacrifice: where
      <lb n="218"/>ayre comes out, ayre comes in: There's none abroad so
      <lb n="219"/>wholesome as that you vent.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-clo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Clot.</speaker>
      <l n="220">If my Shirt were bloody, then to shift it.</l>
      <l n="221">Haue I hurt him?</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-lor.2">
      <speaker>2</speaker>
      <p n="222">No faith: not so much as his patience.</p>
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   <sp who="#F-cym-lor.1">
      <speaker>1</speaker>
      <p n="223">Hurt him? His bodie's a passable Carkasse if he bee
      <lb n="224"/>not hurt. It is a through‑fare for Steele if it be not hurt.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-lor.2">
      <speaker>2</speaker>
      <p n="225">His Steele was in debt, it went o'th'Backe‑side the
      <lb n="226"/>Towne.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-clo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Clot.</speaker>
      <p n="227">The Villaine would not stand me.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-lor.2">
      <speaker>2</speaker>
      <p n="228">No, but he fled forward still, toward your face.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-lor.1">
      <speaker>1</speaker>
      <p n="229">Stand you? you haue Land enough of your owne:
      <lb n="230"/>But he added to your hauing, gaue you some ground.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-lor.2">
      <speaker>2</speaker>
      <p n="231">As many Inches, as you haue Oceans (Puppies.)</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-clo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Clot.</speaker>
      <p n="232">I would they had not come betweene vs.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-lor.2">
      <speaker>2</speaker>
      <p n="233">So would I, till you had measur'd how long a Foole
      <lb n="234"/>you were vpon the ground.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-clo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Clot.</speaker>
      <p n="235">And that shee should loue this Fellow, and re­
      <lb n="236"/>fuse mee.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-lor.2">
      <speaker>2</speaker>
      <p n="237">If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damn'd.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-lor.1">
      <speaker>1</speaker>
      <p n="238">Sir, as I told you alwayes: her Beauty &amp; her Braine
      <lb n="239"/>go not together. Shee's a good signe, but I haue seene
      <lb n="240"/>small reflection of her wit.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-lor.2">
      <speaker>2</speaker>
      <l n="241">She shines not vpon Fooles, least the reflection</l>
      <l n="242">Should hurt her.</l>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-clo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Clot.</speaker>
      <p n="243">Come, Ile to my Chamber: would there had
      <lb n="244"/>beene some hurt done.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-lor.2">
      <speaker>2</speaker>
      <p n="245">I wish not so, vnlesse it had bin the fall of an Asse,
      <lb n="246"/>which is no great hurt.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-clo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Clot.</speaker>
      <p n="247">You'l go with vs?</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-lor.1">
      <speaker>1</speaker>
      <p n="248">Ile attend your Lordship.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-clo">
      <speaker rend="italic">Clot.</speaker>
      <p n="249">Nay come, let's go together.</p>
   </sp>
   <sp who="#F-cym-lor.2">
      <speaker>2</speaker>
      <p n="250">Well my Lord.</p>
   </sp>
   <stage rend="italic rightJustified" type="exit">Exeunt.</stage>
</div>

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