CYMBELINE - Уильям Шекспир

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IV.

       Enter Imogen, and Pisanio.

       Imo. I would thou grew’st vnto the shores o’th’ Hauen,

       And questioned’st euery Saile: if he should write,

       And I not haue it, ‘twere a Paper lost

       As offer’d mercy is: What was the last

       That he spake to thee?

       Pisa. It was his Queene, his Queene

       Imo. Then wau’d his Handkerchiefe?

       Pisa. And kist it, Madam

       Imo. Senselesse Linnen, happier therein then I:

       And that was all?

       Pisa. No Madam: for so long

       As he could make me with his eye, or eare,

       Distinguish him from others, he did keepe

       The Decke, with Gloue, or Hat, or Handkerchife,

       Still wauing, as the fits and stirres of’s mind

       Could best expresse how slow his Soule sayl’d on,

       How swift his Ship

       Imo. Thou should’st haue made him

       As little as a Crow, or lesse, ere left

       To after-eye him

       Pisa. Madam, so I did

       Imo. I would haue broke mine eye-strings;

       Crack’d them, but to looke vpon him, till the diminution

       Of space, had pointed him sharpe as my Needle:

       Nay, followed him, till he had melted from

       The smalnesse of a Gnat, to ayre: and then

       Haue turn’d mine eye, and wept. But good Pisanio,

       When shall we heare from him

       Pisa. Be assur’d Madam,

       With his next vantage

       Imo. I did not take my leaue of him, but had

       Most pretty things to say: Ere I could tell him

       How I would thinke on him at certaine houres,

       Such thoughts, and such: Or I could make him sweare,

       The Shees of Italy should not betray

       Mine Interest, and his Honour: or haue charg’d him

       At the sixt houre of Morne, at Noone, at Midnight,

       T’ encounter me with Orisons, for then

       I am in Heauen for him: Or ere I could,

       Giue him that parting kisse, which I had set

       Betwixt two charming words, comes in my Father,

       And like the Tyrannous breathing of the North,

       Shakes all our buddes from growing.

       Enter a Lady.

       La. The Queene (Madam)

       Desires your Highnesse Company

       Imo. Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch’d,

       I will attend the Queene

       Pisa. Madam, I shall.

       Exeunt.

      SCENE V.

       Enter Philario, Iachimo: a Frenchman, a Dutchman, and a

       Spaniard.

       Iach. Beleeue it Sir, I haue seene him in Britaine; hee was then of a Cressent note, expected to proue so woorthy, as since he hath beene allowed the name of. But I could then haue look’d on him, without the help of Admiration, though the Catalogue of his endowments had bin tabled by his side, and I to peruse him by Items

       Phil. You speake of him when he was lesse furnish’d, then now hee is, with that which makes him both without, and within

       French. I haue seene him in France: wee had very many there, could behold the Sunne, with as firme eyes as hee

       Iach. This matter of marrying his Kings Daughter, wherein he must be weighed rather by her valew, then his owne, words him (I doubt not) a great deale from the matter

       French. And then his banishment

       Iach. I, and the approbation of those that weepe this lamentable diuorce vnder her colours, are wonderfully to extend him, be it but to fortifie her iudgement, which else an easie battery might lay flat, for taking a Begger without lesse quality. But how comes it, he is to soiourne with you? How creepes acquaintance? Phil. His Father and I were Souldiers together, to whom I haue bin often bound for no lesse then my life. Enter Posthumus.

       Heere comes the Britaine. Let him be so entertained among’st you, as suites with Gentlemen of your knowing, to a Stranger of his quality. I beseech you all be better knowne to this Gentleman, whom I commend to you, as a Noble Friend of mine. How Worthy he is, I will leaue to appeare hereafter, rather then story him in his owne hearing

       French. Sir, we haue knowne togither in Orleance

       Post. Since when, I haue bin debtor to you for courtesies, which I will be euer to pay, and yet pay still

       French. Sir, you o’re-rate my poore kindnesse, I was glad I did attone my Countryman and you: it had beene pitty you should haue beene put together, with so mortall a purpose, as then each bore, vpon importance of so slight and triuiall a nature

       Post. By your pardon Sir, I was then a young Traueller, rather shun’d to go euen with what I heard, then in my euery action to be guided by others experiences: but vpon my mended iudgement (if I offend to say it is mended) my Quarrell was not altogether slight

       French. Faith yes, to be put to the arbiterment of Swords, and by such two, that would by all likelyhood haue confounded one the other, or haue falne both

       Iach. Can we with manners, aske what was the difference? French. Safely, I thinke, ‘twas a contention in publicke, which may (without contradiction) suffer the report. It was much like an argument that fell out last night, where each of vs fell in praise of our Country-Mistresses. This Gentleman, at that time vouching (and vpon warrant of bloody affirmation) his to be more Faire, Vertuous, Wise, Chaste, Constant, Qualified, and lesse attemptible then any, the rarest of our Ladies in Fraunce

       Iach. That Lady is not now liuing; or this Gentlemans opinion by this, worne out

       Post. She holds her Vertue still, and I my mind

       Iach. You must not so farre preferre her, ‘fore ours of

       Italy

       Posth. Being so farre prouok’d as I was in France: I would abate her nothing, though I professe my selfe her Adorer, not her Friend

       Iach. As faire, and as good: a kind of hand in hand comparison, had beene something too faire, and too good for any Lady in Britanie; if she went before others. I haue seene as that Diamond of yours out-lusters many I haue beheld, I could not beleeue she excelled many: but I haue not seene the most pretious Diamond that is, nor you the Lady

       Post. I prais’d her, as I rated her: so do I my Stone

       Iach. What do you esteeme it at?

       Post. More then the world enioyes

       Iach. Either your vnparagon’d Mistris is dead, or

       she’s out-priz’d by a trifle

       Post. You are mistaken: the one may be solde or giuen, or if there were wealth enough for the purchases, or merite for the guift. The other is not a thing for sale, and onely the guift of the Gods

       Iach. Which the Gods haue giuen you?

       Post. Which by their Graces I will keepe

       Iach. You may weare her in title yours: but you know strange Fowle light vpon neighbouring Ponds. Your Ring may

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