Cymbeline, King of Britain: Act 4, Scene 2 Translation

Enter Belarius as Morgan, Guiderius as Polydor,
Arviragus as Cadwal, and Imogen as Fidele, from the
cave.

BELARIUS, as Morgan, to Fidele
You are not well. Remain here in the cave.
We’ll come to you after hunting.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal, to Fidele Brother, stay here.
Are we not brothers?

IMOGEN, as Fidele So man and man should be, 5
But clay and clay differs in dignity,
Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor, to Morgan and Cadwal
Go you to hunting. I’ll abide with him.

IMOGEN, as Fidele
So sick I am not, yet I am not well;
But not so citizen a wanton as 10
To seem to die ere sick. So please you, leave me.
Stick to your journal course. The breach of custom
Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me
Cannot amend me. Society is no comfort
To one not sociable. I am not very sick, 15
Since I can reason of it. Pray you trust me here—
I’ll rob none but myself—and let me die,
Stealing so poorly.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
I love thee—I have spoke it—
How much the quantity, the weight as much 20
As I do love my father.

BELARIUS, as Morgan What? How, how?

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal
If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me
In my good brother’s fault. I know not why
I love this youth, and I have heard you say 25
Love’s reason’s without reason. The bier at door,
And a demand who is ’t shall die, I’d say
“My father, not this youth.”

BELARIUS, aside O, noble strain!
O, worthiness of nature, breed of greatness! 30
Cowards father cowards and base things sire base;
Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace.
I’m not their father, yet who this should be
Doth miracle itself, loved before me.—
’Tis the ninth hour o’ th’ morn. 35

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal, to Fidele Brother, farewell.

IMOGEN, as Fidele
I wish you sport.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal You health.—So please you, sir.

IMOGEN, aside
These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I have heard!
Our courtiers say all’s savage but at court; 40
Experience, O, thou disprov’st report!
Th’ imperious seas breeds monsters; for the dish
Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish.
I am sick still, heart-sick. Pisanio,
I’ll now taste of thy drug. She swallows the drug. 45

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor, to Morgan and Cadwal
I could not stir him.
He said he was gentle but unfortunate,
Dishonestly afflicted but yet honest.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal
Thus did he answer me, yet said hereafter
I might know more. 50

BELARIUS, as Morgan To th’ field, to th’ field!
To Fidele. We’ll leave you for this time. Go in and
rest.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal
We’ll not be long away.

BELARIUS, as Morgan Pray, be not sick, 55
For you must be our huswife.

IMOGEN, as Fidele Well or ill,
I am bound to you.

BELARIUS, as Morgan And shalt be ever.

Imogen exits as into the cave.

This youth, howe’er distressed, appears he hath had 60
Good ancestors.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal How angel-like he sings!

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
But his neat cookery! He cut our roots in characters
And sauced our broths as Juno had been sick
And he her dieter. 65

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal Nobly he yokes
A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh
Was that it was for not being such a smile,
The smile mocking the sigh that it would fly
From so divine a temple to commix 70
With winds that sailors rail at.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor I do note
That grief and patience, rooted in them both,
Mingle their spurs together.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal Grow, patience, 75
And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine
His perishing root with the increasing vine!

BELARIUS, as Morgan
It is great morning. Come, away. Who’s there?

Enter Cloten.

CLOTEN, to himself
I cannot find those runagates. That villain
Hath mocked me. I am faint. 80

BELARIUS, as Morgan, to Polydor and Cadwal
“Those runagates”?
Means he not us? I partly know him. ’Tis
Cloten, the son o’ th’ Queen. I fear some ambush.
I saw him not these many years, and yet
I know ’tis he. We are held as outlaws. Hence. 85

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
He is but one. You and my brother search
What companies are near. Pray you, away.
Let me alone with him. Belarius and Arviragus exit.

CLOTEN Soft, what are you
That fly me thus? Some villain mountaineers? 90
I have heard of such.—What slave art thou?

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor A thing
More slavish did I ne’er than answering
A slave without a knock.

CLOTEN Thou art a robber, 95
A lawbreaker, a villain. Yield thee, thief.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
To who? To thee? What art thou? Have not I
An arm as big as thine? A heart as big?
Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not
My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art, 100
Why I should yield to thee.

CLOTEN Thou villain base,
Know’st me not by my clothes?

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor No, nor thy tailor,
rascal. 105
Who is thy grandfather? He made those clothes,
Which, as it seems, make thee.

CLOTEN Thou precious varlet,
My tailor made them not.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor Hence then, and thank 110
The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool.
I am loath to beat thee.

CLOTEN Thou injurious thief,
Hear but my name, and tremble.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor What’s thy name? 115

CLOTEN Cloten, thou villain.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name,
I cannot tremble at it. Were it Toad, or Adder, Spider,
’Twould move me sooner.

CLOTEN To thy further fear, 120
Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
I am son to th’ Queen.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor I am sorry for ’t, not seeming
So worthy as thy birth.

CLOTEN Art not afeard? 125

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
Those that I reverence, those I fear—the wise;
At fools I laugh, not fear them.

CLOTEN Die the death!
When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
I’ll follow those that even now fled hence 130
And on the gates of Lud’s Town set your heads.
Yield, rustic mountaineer!

They fight and exit.

Enter Belarius as Morgan and Arviragus as
Cadwal.

BELARIUS, as Morgan No company’s abroad?

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal
None in the world. You did mistake him sure.

BELARIUS, as Morgan
I cannot tell. Long is it since I saw him, 135
But time hath nothing blurred those lines of favor
Which then he wore. The snatches in his voice
And burst of speaking were as his. I am absolute
’Twas very Cloten.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal In this place we left them. 140
I wish my brother make good time with him,
You say he is so fell.

BELARIUS, as Morgan Being scarce made up,
I mean to man, he had not apprehension
Of roaring terrors; for defect of judgment 145
Is oft the cause of fear.

Enter Guiderius as Polydor, carrying Cloten’s head.

But see, thy brother.

But see, thy brother.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse;
There was no money in ’t. Not Hercules
Could have knocked out his brains, for he had none. 150
Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne
My head as I do his.

BELARIUS, as Morgan What hast thou done?

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
I am perfect what: cut off one Cloten’s head,
Son to the Queen, after his own report, 155
Who called me traitor mountaineer, and swore
With his own single hand he’d take us in,
Displace our heads where, thank the gods, they
grow,
And set them on Lud’s Town. 160

BELARIUS, as Morgan We are all undone.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
Why, worthy father, what have we to lose
But that he swore to take, our lives? The law
Protects not us. Then why should we be tender
To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us, 165
Play judge and executioner all himself,
For we do fear the law? What company
Discover you abroad?

BELARIUS, as Morgan No single soul
Can we set eye on, but in all safe reason 170
He must have some attendants. Though his humor
Was nothing but mutation—ay, and that
From one bad thing to worse—not frenzy,
Not absolute madness could so far have raved
To bring him here alone. Although perhaps 175
It may be heard at court that such as we
Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time
May make some stronger head, the which he
hearing—
As it is like him—might break out and swear 180
He’d fetch us in, yet is ’t not probable
To come alone, either he so undertaking
Or they so suffering. Then on good ground we fear,
If we do fear this body hath a tail
More perilous than the head. 185

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal Let ord’nance
Come as the gods foresay it. Howsoe’er,
My brother hath done well.

BELARIUS, as Morgan I had no mind
To hunt this day. The boy Fidele’s sickness 190
Did make my way long forth.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor With his own sword,
Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta’en
His head from him. I’ll throw ’t into the creek
Behind our rock, and let it to the sea 195
And tell the fishes he’s the Queen’s son, Cloten.
That’s all I reck. He exits.

BELARIUS, as Morgan I fear ’twill be revenged.
Would, Polydor, thou hadst not done ’t, though valor
Becomes thee well enough. 200

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal Would I had done ’t,
So the revenge alone pursued me. Polydor,
I love thee brotherly, but envy much
Thou hast robbed me of this deed. I would revenges
That possible strength might meet would seek us 205
through
And put us to our answer.

BELARIUS, as Morgan Well, ’tis done.
We’ll hunt no more today, nor seek for danger
Where there’s no profit. I prithee, to our rock. 210
You and Fidele play the cooks. I’ll stay
Till hasty Polydor return, and bring him
To dinner presently.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal Poor sick Fidele.
I’ll willingly to him. To gain his color 215
I’d let a parish of such Clotens blood,
And praise myself for charity. He exits.

BELARIUS O thou goddess,
Thou divine Nature, thou thyself thou blazon’st
In these two princely boys! They are as gentle 220
As zephyrs blowing below the violet,
Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
Their royal blood enchafed, as the rud’st wind
That by the top doth take the mountain pine
And make him stoop to th’ vale. ’Tis wonder 225
That an invisible instinct should frame them
To royalty unlearned, honor untaught,
Civility not seen from other, valor
That wildly grows in them but yields a crop
As if it had been sowed. Yet still it’s strange 230
What Cloten’s being here to us portends,
Or what his death will bring us.

Enter Guiderius as Polydor.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor Where’s my brother?
I have sent Cloten’s clotpole down the stream
In embassy to his mother. His body’s hostage 235
For his return. Solemn music.

BELARIUS, as Morgan My ingenious instrument!
Hark, Polydor, it sounds! But what occasion
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
Is he at home? 240

BELARIUS, as Morgan He went hence even now.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
What does he mean? Since death of my dear’st
mother
It did not speak before. All solemn things
Should answer solemn accidents. The matter? 245
Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys
Is jollity for apes and grief for boys.
Is Cadwal mad?

Enter Arviragus as Cadwal, with Imogen as dead,
bearing her in his arms.

BELARIUS, as Morgan Look, here he comes,
And brings the dire occasion in his arms 250
Of what we blame him for.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal The bird is dead
That we have made so much on. I had rather
Have skipped from sixteen years of age to sixty,
To have turned my leaping time into a crutch, 255
Than have seen this.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor O sweetest, fairest lily!
My brother wears thee not the one half so well
As when thou grew’st thyself.

BELARIUS, as Morgan O melancholy, 260
Whoever yet could sound thy bottom, find
The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare
Might eas’liest harbor in?—Thou blessèd thing,
Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,
Thou died’st, a most rare boy, of melancholy.— 265
How found you him?

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal Stark, as you see;
Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,
Not as Death’s dart being laughed at; his right cheek
Reposing on a cushion. 270

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor Where?

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal O’ th’ floor,
His arms thus leagued. I thought he slept, and put
My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
Answered my steps too loud. 275

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor Why, he but sleeps.
If he be gone, he’ll make his grave a bed;
With female fairies will his tomb be haunted—
And worms will not come to thee.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal With fairest flowers, 280
Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,
I’ll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack
The flower that’s like thy face, pale primrose; nor
The azured harebell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine whom, not to slander, 285
Out-sweetened not thy breath. The ruddock would
With charitable bill—O bill, sore shaming
Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie
Without a monument—bring thee all this,
Yea, and furred moss besides, when flowers are none 290
To winter-ground thy corse.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor Prithee, have done,
And do not play in wench-like words with that
Which is so serious. Let us bury him
And not protract with admiration what 295
Is now due debt. To th’ grave.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal Say, where shall ’s lay
him?

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
By good Euriphile, our mother.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal Be ’t so. 300
And let us, Polydor, though now our voices
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to th’ ground
As once to our mother; use like note and words,
Save that “Euriphile” must be “Fidele.”

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor Cadwal, 305
I cannot sing. I’ll weep, and word it with thee,
For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse
Than priests and fanes that lie.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal We’ll speak it then.

BELARIUS, as Morgan
Great griefs, I see, med’cine the less, for Cloten 310
Is quite forgot. He was a queen’s son, boys,
And though he came our enemy, remember
He was paid for that. Though mean and mighty,
Rotting together, have one dust, yet reverence,
That angel of the world, doth make distinction 315
Of place ’tween high and low. Our foe was princely,
And though you took his life as being our foe,
Yet bury him as a prince.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor, to Morgan Pray you fetch him
hither. 320
Thersites’ body is as good as Ajax’
When neither are alive.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal, to Morgan If you’ll go fetch
him,
We’ll say our song the whilst.—Brother, begin. 325

Belarius exits.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to th’ east;
My father hath a reason for ’t.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal ’Tis true.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
Come on then, and remove him.

They move Imogen’s body.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal So, begin. 330

Song.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
Fear no more the heat o’ th’ sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone and ta’en thy wages.
Golden lads and girls all must, 335
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal
Fear no more the frown o’ th’ great;
Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke.
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak. 340
The scepter, learning, physic must
All follow this and come to dust.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
Fear no more the lightning flash.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal
Nor th’ all-dreaded thunderstone.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
Fear not slander, censure rash; 345

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal
Thou hast finished joy and moan.

BOTH All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee and come to dust.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
No exorciser harm thee,

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal
Nor no witchcraft charm thee. 350

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
Ghost unlaid forbear thee.

ARVIRAGUS, as Cadwal
Nothing ill come near thee.

BOTH Quiet consummation have,
And renownèd be thy grave.

Enter Belarius as Morgan, with the body of Cloten.

GUIDERIUS, as Polydor
We have done our obsequies. Come, lay him down. 355

Cloten’s body is placed by Imogen’s.

BELARIUS, as Morgan
Here’s a few flowers, but ’bout midnight more.
The herbs that have on them cold dew o’ th’ night
Are strewings fitt’st for graves. Upon their faces.—
You were as flowers, now withered. Even so
These herblets shall, which we upon you strew.— 360
Come on, away; apart upon our knees.
The ground that gave them first has them again.
Their pleasures here are past; so is their pain.

They exit.

IMOGEN
Yes, sir, to Milford Haven. Which is the way?
I thank you. By yond bush? Pray, how far thither? 365
Ods pittikins, can it be six mile yet?
I have gone all night. Faith, I’ll lie down and sleep.

She sees Cloten’s headless body.

But soft! No bedfellow? O gods and goddesses!
These flowers are like the pleasures of the world,
This bloody man the care on ’t. I hope I dream, 370
For so I thought I was a cave-keeper
And cook to honest creatures. But ’tis not so.
’Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes
Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith, 375
I tremble still with fear; but if there be
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
As a wren’s eye, feared gods, a part of it!
The dream’s here still. Even when I wake it is
Without me as within me, not imagined, felt. 380
A headless man? The garments of Posthumus?
I know the shape of ’s leg. This is his hand,
His foot Mercurial, his Martial thigh,
The brawns of Hercules; but his Jovial face—
Murder in heaven! How? ’Tis gone. Pisanio, 385
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
Conspired with that irregulous devil Cloten,
Hath here cut off my lord. To write and read
Be henceforth treacherous. Damned Pisanio 390
Hath with his forgèd letters—damned Pisanio—
From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the maintop. O Posthumus, alas,
Where is thy head? Where’s that? Ay me, where’s that?
Pisanio might have killed thee at the heart 395
And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio?
’Tis he and Cloten. Malice and lucre in them
Have laid this woe here. O, ’tis pregnant, pregnant!
The drug he gave me, which he said was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it 400
Murd’rous to th’ senses? That confirms it home.
This is Pisanio’s deed, and Cloten. O,
Give color to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may seem to those
Which chance to find us. O my lord! My lord! 405

Enter Lucius, Captains, Soldiers, and a Soothsayer.

CAPTAIN
To them the legions garrisoned in Gallia,
After your will, have crossed the sea, attending
You here at Milford Haven with your ships.
They are here in readiness.

LUCIUS But what from Rome? 410

CAPTAIN
The Senate hath stirred up the confiners
And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits
That promise noble service, and they come
Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
Siena’s brother. 415

LUCIUS When expect you them?

CAPTAIN
With the next benefit o’ th’ wind.

LUCIUS This forwardness
Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers
Be mustered; bid the Captains look to ’t.—Now, sir, 420
What have you dreamed of late of this war’s purpose?

SOOTHSAYER
Last night the very gods showed me a vision—
I fast and prayed for their intelligence—thus:
I saw Jove’s bird, the Roman eagle, winged
From the spongy south to this part of the west, 425
There vanished in the sunbeams, which portends—
Unless my sins abuse my divination—
Success to th’ Roman host.

LUCIUS Dream often so,
And never false.—Soft, ho, what trunk is here 430
Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime
It was a worthy building. How, a page?
Or dead or sleeping on him? But dead rather,
For nature doth abhor to make his bed
With the defunct or sleep upon the dead. 435
Let’s see the boy’s face.

CAPTAIN He’s alive, my lord.

LUCIUS
He’ll then instruct us of this body.—Young one,
Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems
They crave to be demanded. Who is this 440
Thou mak’st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he
That, otherwise than noble nature did,
Hath altered that good picture? What’s thy interest
In this sad wrack? How came ’t? Who is ’t?
What art thou? 445

IMOGEN, as Fidele I am nothing; or if not,
Nothing to be were better. This was my master,
A very valiant Briton, and a good,
That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas,
There is no more such masters. I may wander 450
From east to occident, cry out for service,
Try many, all good, serve truly, never
Find such another master.

LUCIUS ’Lack, good youth,
Thou mov’st no less with thy complaining than 455
Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend.

IMOGEN, as Fidele
Richard du Champ. Aside. If I do lie and do
No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope
They’ll pardon it.—Say you, sir?

LUCIUS Thy name? 460

IMOGEN, as Fidele Fidele, sir.

LUCIUS
Thou dost approve thyself the very same;
Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name.
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say
Thou shalt be so well mastered, but be sure 465
No less beloved. The Roman Emperor’s letters
Sent by a consul to me should not sooner
Than thine own worth prefer thee. Go with me.

IMOGEN, as Fidele
I’ll follow, sir. But first, an ’t please the gods,
I’ll hide my master from the flies as deep 470
As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when
With wild-wood leaves and weeds I ha’ strewed his
grave
And on it said a century of prayers,
Such as I can, twice o’er, I’ll weep and sigh, 475
And leaving so his service, follow you,
So please you entertain me.

LUCIUS Ay, good youth,
And rather father thee than master thee.—My friends,
The boy hath taught us manly duties. Let us 480
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,
And make him with our pikes and partisans
A grave. Come, arm him.—Boy, he’s preferred
By thee to us, and he shall be interred
As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes. 485
Some falls are means the happier to arise.

They exit, the Soldiers carrying Cloten’s body.