ACT 1
Scene 1

...Queen and Princess.
Enter the Queen, Posthumus, and Imogen.

...may inform you.
Please your Highness,
I will from hence today.

...see again.She weeps.
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
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,
Though ink be made of gall.

...for my offenses.
Should we be taking leave
As long a term as yet we have to live,
The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu.

...Imogen is dead.
How, how? Another?
You gentle gods, give me but this I have,
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
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.

...Cymbeline and Lords.
Alack, the King.

...to my blood.
The gods protect you,
And bless the good remainders of the court.
I am gone.
He exits.

Scene 4

...than my life.
Enter Posthumus.

...together in Orleans.
Since when I have been debtor to you for
courtesies which I will be ever to pay and yet pay
still.

...trivial a nature.
By your pardon, sir, I was then a young
traveler, rather shunned to go even with what I
heard than in my every action to be guided by others’
experiences. But upon my mended judgment—
if I offend not to say it is mended—my
quarrel was not altogether slight.

...this worn out.
She holds her virtue still, and I my mind.

...ours of Italy.
Being so far provoked as I was in France,
I would abate her nothing, though I profess myself
her adorer, not her friend.

...you the lady.
I praised her as I rated her. So do I my
stone.

...esteem it at?
More than the world enjoys.

...by a trifle.
You are mistaken. The one may be sold or
given, or if there were wealth enough for the purchase
or merit for the gift. The other is not a thing
for sale, and only the gift of the gods.

...have given you?
Which, by their graces, I will keep.

...first and last.
Your Italy contains none so accomplished
a courtier to convince the honor of my mistress, if
in the holding or loss of that, you term her frail. I
do nothing doubt you have store of thieves;
notwithstanding, I fear not my ring.

...leave here, gentlemen.
Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior,
I thank him, makes no stranger of me. We are
familiar at first.

...opportunity to friend.
No, no.

...in the world.
You are a great deal abused in too bold a
persuasion, and I doubt not you sustain what
you’re worthy of by your attempt.

... What’s that?
A repulse—though your attempt, as you
call it, deserve more: a punishment, too.

...I have spoke.
What lady would you choose to assail?

...imagine so reserved.
I will wage against your gold, gold to it.
My ring I hold dear as my finger; ’tis part of it.

...that you fear.
This is but a custom in your tongue. You
bear a graver purpose, I hope.

...spoken, I swear.
Will you? I shall but lend my diamond till
your return. Let there be covenants drawn between
’s. My mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness
of your unworthy thinking. I dare you to this
match. Here’s my ring.

...more free entertainment.
I embrace these conditions. Let us have
articles betwixt us. Only thus far you shall answer:
if you make your voyage upon her and give me directly
to understand you have prevailed, I am no
further your enemy; she is not worth our debate. If
she remain unseduced, you not making it appear
otherwise, for your ill opinion and th’ assault you
have made to her chastity, you shall answer me
with your sword.

...hand; a covenant.
(They shake hands.)

...two wagers recorded.
Agreed.
Iachimo and Posthumus exit.

ACT 2
Scene 4

...mean’st garment”? Well.
Enter Posthumus and Philario.
Fear it not, sir. I would I were so sure
To win the King as I am bold her honor
Will remain hers.

...make to him?
Not any, but abide the change of time,
Quake in the present winter’s state, and wish
That warmer days would come. In these feared hopes
I barely gratify your love; they failing,
I must die much your debtor.

...in their grief.
I do believe,
Statist though I am none nor like to be,
That this will prove a war; and you shall hear
The legion now in Gallia sooner landed
In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
Are men more ordered than when Julius Caesar
Smiled at their lack of skill but found their courage
Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline,
Now wingèd with their courages, will make known
To their approvers they are people such
That mend upon the world.

... See, Iachimo!
The swiftest harts have posted you by land,
And winds of all the corners kissed your sails
To make your vessel nimble.

... Welcome, sir.
I hope the briefness of your answer made
The speediness of your return.

...have looked upon.
And therewithal the best, or let her beauty
Look thorough a casement to allure false hearts
And be false with them.
IACHIMO, handing him a paper

...letters for you.
Their tenor good, I trust.

...’Tis very like.
Posthumus reads the letter.

...but not approached.
All is well yet.
Sparkles this stone as it was wont, or is ’t not
Too dull for your good wearing?
He indicates his ring.

...ring is won.
The stone’s too hard to come by.

...being so easy.
Make not, sir,
Your loss your sport. I hope you know that we
Must not continue friends.

...both your wills.
If you can make ’t apparent
That you have tasted her in bed, my hand
And ring is yours. If not, the foul opinion
You had of her pure honor gains or loses
Your sword or mine, or masterless leave both
To who shall find them.

...need it not.
Proceed.

...on ’t was—
This is true,
And this you might have heard of here, by me
Or by some other.

...justify my knowledge.
So they must,
Or do your honor injury.

...breath left out.
This is a thing
Which you might from relation likewise reap,
Being, as it is, much spoke of.

...on their brands.
This is her honor?
Let it be granted you have seen all this—and praise
Be given to your remembrance—the description
Of what is in her chamber nothing saves
The wager you have laid.

...I’ll keep them.
Jove!
Once more let me behold it. Is it that
Which I left with her?

...prized it once.
Maybe she plucked it off
To send it me.

...you, doth she?
O, no, no, no, ’tis true. Here, take this too. He gives Iachimo the ring.
It is a basilisk unto mine eye,
Kills me to look on ’t. Let there be no honor
Where there is beauty, truth where semblance, love
Where there’s another man. The vows of women
Of no more bondage be to where they are made
Than they are to their virtues, which is nothing.
O, above measure false!

...it from her.
Very true,
And so I hope he came by ’t.—Back, my ring! He takes back the ring.
Render to me some corporal sign about her
More evident than this, for this was stol’n.

...from her arm.
Hark you, he swears! By Jupiter he swears.
’Tis true—nay, keep the ring—’tis true. He holds out the ring.
I am sure
She would not lose it. Her attendants are
All sworn and honorable. They induced to steal it?
And by a stranger? No, he hath enjoyed her.
The cognizance of her incontinency
Is this. She hath bought the name of whore thus dearly.
There, take thy hire, and all the fiends of hell
Divide themselves between you!
He gives the ring to Iachimo.

...persuaded well of.
Never talk on ’t.
She hath been colted by him.

...stain upon her?
Ay, and it doth confirm
Another stain as big as hell can hold,
Were there no more but it.

...you hear more?
Spare your arithmetic;
Never count the turns. Once, and a million!

...I’ll be sworn—
No swearing.
If you will swear you have not done ’t, you lie,
And I will kill thee if thou dost deny
Thou ’st made me cuckold.

...I’ll deny nothing.
O, that I had her here, to tear her limb-meal!
I will go there and do ’t i’ th’ court, before
Her father. I’ll do something.
He exits.

Scene 5

...all my heart.
Enter Posthumus.
Is there no way for men to be, but women
Must be half-workers? We are all bastards,
And that most venerable man which I
Did call my father was I know not where
When I was stamped. Some coiner with his tools
Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seemed
The Dian of that time; so doth my wife
The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance!
Me of my lawful pleasure she restrained
And prayed me oft forbearance; did it with
A pudency so rosy the sweet view on ’t
Might well have warmed old Saturn, that I thought her
As chaste as unsunned snow. O, all the devils!
This yellow Iachimo in an hour, was ’t not?
Or less? At first? Perchance he spoke not, but,
Like a full-acorned boar, a German one,
Cried “O!” and mounted; found no opposition
But what he looked for should oppose and she
Should from encounter guard. Could I find out
The woman’s part in me—for there’s no motion
That tends to vice in man but I affirm
It is the woman’s part: be it lying, note it,
The woman’s; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain,
Nice longing, slanders, mutability,
All faults that have a name, nay, that hell knows,
Why, hers, in part or all, but rather all.
For even to vice
They are not constant, but are changing still
One vice but of a minute old for one
Not half so old as that. I’ll write against them,
Detest them, curse them. Yet ’tis greater skill
In a true hate to pray they have their will;
The very devils cannot plague them better.
He exits.

ACT 5
Scene 1

...them princes born.
Enter Posthumus alone, wearing Roman garments and carrying a bloody cloth.
Yea, bloody cloth, I’ll keep thee, for I wished
Thou shouldst be colored thus. You married ones,
If each of you should take this course, how many
Must murder wives much better than themselves
For wrying but a little! O Pisanio,
Every good servant does not all commands;
No bond but to do just ones. Gods, if you
Should have ta’en vengeance on my faults, I never
Had lived to put on this; so had you saved
The noble Imogen to repent, and struck
Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But, alack,
You snatch some hence for little faults; that’s love,
To have them fall no more; you some permit
To second ills with ills, each elder worse,
And make them dread it, to the doers’ thrift.
But Imogen is your own. Do your best wills,
And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither
Among th’ Italian gentry, and to fight
Against my lady’s kingdom. ’Tis enough
That, Britain, I have killed thy mistress. Peace,
I’ll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,
Hear patiently my purpose. I’ll disrobe me
Of these Italian weeds and suit myself
As does a Briton peasant. So I’ll fight
Against the part I come with; so I’ll die
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
Is every breath a death. And thus, unknown,
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril
Myself I’ll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valor in me than my habits show.
Gods, put the strength o’ th’ Leonati in me.
To shame the guise o’ th’ world, I will begin
The fashion: less without and more within.
He exits.

Scene 2
Enter Lucius, Iachimo, and the Roman army at one door, and the Briton army at another, Leonatus Posthumus following like a poor soldier. They march over and go out. Then enter again, in skirmish, Iachimo and Posthumus. He vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo, and then leaves him.

...stand, and fight!
Enter Posthumus, and seconds the Britons. They rescue Cymbeline and exit. Then enter Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen as Fidele.

Scene 3

...reinforce, or fly.
Enter Posthumus and a Briton Lord.

...made the stand?
I did,
Though you, it seems, come from the fliers.

... Ay.
No blame be to you, sir, for all was lost,
But that the heavens fought. The King himself
Of his wings destitute, the army broken,
And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying
Through a strait lane; the enemy full-hearted,
Lolling the tongue with slaught’ring, having work
More plentiful than tools to do ’t, struck down
Some mortally, some slightly touched, some falling
Merely through fear, that the strait pass was dammed
With dead men hurt behind and cowards living
To die with lengthened shame.

...was this lane?
Close by the battle, ditched, and walled with turf;
Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier,
An honest one, I warrant, who deserved
So long a breeding as his white beard came to,
In doing this for ’s country. Athwart the lane,
He with two striplings—lads more like to run
The country base than to commit such slaughter,
With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer
Than those for preservation cased or shame—
Made good the passage, cried to those that fled
“Our Britain’s harts die flying, not our men.
To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards. Stand,
Or we are Romans and will give you that
Like beasts which you shun beastly, and may save
But to look back in frown. Stand, stand!” These three,
Three thousand confident, in act as many—
For three performers are the file when all
The rest do nothing—with this word “Stand, stand,”
Accommodated by the place, more charming
With their own nobleness, which could have turned
A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks,
Part shame, part spirit renewed; that some, turned coward
But by example—O, a sin in war,
Damned in the first beginners!—gan to look
The way that they did and to grin like lions
Upon the pikes o’ th’ hunters. Then began
A stop i’ th’ chaser, a retire; anon
A rout, confusion thick. Forthwith they fly
Chickens the way which they stooped eagles; slaves
The strides they victors made; and now our cowards,
Like fragments in hard voyages, became
The life o’ th’ need. Having found the backdoor open
Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound!
Some slain before, some dying, some their friends
O’erborne i’ th’ former wave, ten chased by one,
Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty.
Those that would die or ere resist are grown
The mortal bugs o’ th’ field.

...and two boys.
Nay, do not wonder at it. You are made
Rather to wonder at the things you hear
Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon ’t
And vent it for a mock’ry? Here is one:
“Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane,
Preserved the Britons, was the Romans’ bane.”

...not angry, sir.
’Lack, to what end?
Who dares not stand his foe, I’ll be his friend;
For if he’ll do as he is made to do,
I know he’ll quickly fly my friendship too.
You have put me into rhyme.

...Farewell. You’re angry.
Still going? This is a lord! O noble misery,
To be i’ th’ field and ask “What news?” of me!
Today how many would have given their honors
To have saved their carcasses, took heel to do ’t,
And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charmed,
Could not find Death where I did hear him groan,
Nor feel him where he struck. Being an ugly monster,
’Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds,
Sweet words, or hath more ministers than we
That draw his knives i’ th’ war. Well, I will find him;
For being now a favorer to the Briton,
No more a Briton. (He removes his peasant costume.)
I have resumed again
The part I came in. Fight I will no more,
But yield me to the veriest hind that shall
Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is
Here made by th’ Roman; great the answer be
Britons must take. For me, my ransom’s death.
On either side I come to spend my breath,
Which neither here I’ll keep nor bear again,
But end it by some means for Imogen.

...found.—Stand. Who’s there?
A Roman,
Who had not now been drooping here if seconds
Had answered him.

...to th’ King.
The Captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers him over to a Jailer.
They exit.

Scene 4
Enter Posthumus in chains, and two Jailers.

...or a stomach.
Most welcome, bondage, for thou art a way,
I think, to liberty. Yet am I better
Than one that’s sick o’ th’ gout, since he had rather
Groan so in perpetuity than be cured
By th’ sure physician, Death, who is the key
T’ unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fettered
More than my shanks and wrists. You good gods, give me
The penitent instrument to pick that bolt,
Then free forever. Is ’t enough I am sorry?
So children temporal fathers do appease;
Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent,
I cannot do it better than in gyves,
Desired more than constrained. To satisfy,
If of my freedom ’tis the main part, take
No stricter render of me than my all.
I know you are more clement than vile men,
Who of their broken debtors take a third,
A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again
On their abatement. That’s not my desire.
For Imogen’s dear life take mine; and though
’Tis not so dear, yet ’tis a life; you coined it.
’Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp;
Though light, take pieces for the figure’s sake;
You rather mine, being yours. And so, great powers,
If you will take this audit, take this life
And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen,
I’ll speak to thee in silence.
He lies down and sleeps.

...his great behest.
waking
Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire and begot
A father to me, and thou hast created
A mother and two brothers. But, O scorn,
Gone! They went hence so soon as they were born.
And so I am awake. Poor wretches that depend
On greatness’ favor dream as I have done,
Wake, and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve.
Many dream not to find, neither deserve,
And yet are steeped in favors; so am I
That have this golden chance and know not why. Finding the tablet.
What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one,
Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment
Nobler than that it covers. Let thy effects
So follow, to be, most unlike our courtiers,
As good as promise. (Reads.)
Whenas a lion’s whelp shall, to himself unknown,
without seeking find, and be embraced by a piece of
tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be
lopped branches which, being dead many years, shall
after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly
grow, then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain
be fortunate and flourish in peace and plenty.
’Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen
Tongue and brain not; either both or nothing,
Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such
As sense cannot untie. Be what it is,
The action of my life is like it, which
I’ll keep, if but for sympathy.

...ready for death?
Over-roasted rather; ready long ago.

...are well cooked.
So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators,
the dish pays the shot.

...the acquittance follows.
I am merrier to die than thou art to live.

...you shall go.
Yes, indeed do I, fellow.

...to tell one.
I tell thee, fellow, there are none want
eyes to direct them the way I am going but such as
wink and will not use them.

...to the King.
Thou bring’st good news. I am called to be
made free.

...be hanged then.
He removes Posthumus’s chains.
Thou shalt be then freer than a jailer. No
bolts for the dead.
All but the Jailer exit.

Scene 5

...Heaven mend all.
Enter Lucius, Iachimo, Soothsayer, and other Roman prisoners, Posthumus Leonatus behind, and Imogen as Fidele, with Briton Soldiers as guards.

...had this ring.
aside
What’s that to him?

...see him now—
coming forward
Ay, so thou dost,
Italian fiend.—Ay me, most credulous fool,
Egregious murderer, thief, anything
That’s due to all the villains past, in being,
To come. O, give me cord, or knife, or poison,
Some upright justicer.—Thou, king, send out
For torturers ingenious. It is I
That all th’ abhorrèd things o’ th’ Earth amend
By being worse than they. I am Posthumus,
That killed thy daughter—villainlike, I lie—
That caused a lesser villain than myself,
A sacrilegious thief, to do ’t. The temple
Of virtue was she, yea, and she herself.
Spit and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set
The dogs o’ th’ street to bay me. Every villain
Be called Posthumus Leonatus, and
Be villainy less than ’twas. O Imogen!
My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen,
Imogen, Imogen!

... Hear, hear—
Shall ’s have a play of this? Thou scornful page,
There lie thy part.
He pushes her away; she falls.

...world go round?
How comes these staggers on me?

...Throw me again.
She embraces him.
Hang there like fruit, my soul,
Till the tree die.

...of a king.
I am, sir,
The soldier that did company these three
In poor beseeming; ’twas a fitment for
The purpose I then followed. That I was he,
Speak, Iachimo. I had you down and might
Have made you finish.

...ring and bracelet.
Kneel not to me.
The power that I have on you is to spare you;
The malice towards you to forgive you. Live
And deal with others better.

...that you are.
Your servant, princes.—Good my lord of Rome,
Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought
Great Jupiter upon his eagle backed
Appeared to me, with other spritely shows
Of mine own kindred. When I waked, I found
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.

...such a peace.
They exit.