CYMBELINE. Уильям Шекспир

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СКАЧАТЬ Enter Imogen, in her Bed, and a Lady.

       Imo. Who’s there? My woman: Helene?

       La. Please you Madam

       Imo. What houre is it?

       Lady. Almost midnight, Madam

       Imo. I haue read three houres then:

       Mine eyes are weake,

       Fold downe the leafe where I haue left: to bed.

       Take not away the Taper, leaue it burning:

       And if thou canst awake by foure o’th’ clock,

       I prythee call me: Sleepe hath ceiz’d me wholly.

       To your protection I commend me, Gods,

       From Fayries, and the Tempters of the night,

       Guard me beseech yee.

       Sleepes.

       Iachimo from the Trunke.

       Iach. The Crickets sing, and mans ore-labor’d sense

       Repaires it selfe by rest: Our Tarquine thus

       Did softly presse the Rushes, ere he waken’d

       The Chastitie he wounded. Cytherea,

       How brauely thou becom’st thy Bed; fresh Lilly,

       And whiter then the Sheetes: that I might touch,

       But kisse, one kisse. Rubies vnparagon’d,

       How deerely they doo’t: ‘Tis her breathing that

       Perfumes the Chamber thus: the Flame o’th’ Taper

       Bowes toward her, and would vnder-peepe her lids.

       To see th’ inclosed Lights, now Canopied

       Vnder these windowes, White and Azure lac’d

       With Blew of Heauens owne tinct. But my designe.

       To note the Chamber, I will write all downe,

       Such, and such pictures: There the window, such

       Th’ adornement of her Bed; the Arras, Figures,

       Why such, and such: and the Contents o’th’ Story.

       Ah, but some naturall notes about her Body,

       Aboue ten thousand meaner Moueables

       Would testifie, t’ enrich mine Inuentorie.

       O sleepe, thou Ape of death, lye dull vpon her,

       And be her Sense but as a Monument,

       Thus in a Chappell lying. Come off, come off;

       As slippery as the Gordian-knot was hard.

       ‘Tis mine, and this will witnesse outwardly,

       As strongly as the Conscience do’s within:

       To’th’ madding of her Lord. On her left brest

       A mole Cinque-spotted: Like the Crimson drops

       I’th’ bottome of a Cowslippe. Heere’s a Voucher,

       Stronger then euer Law could make; this Secret

       Will force him thinke I haue pick’d the lock, and t’ane

       The treasure of her Honour. No more: to what end?

       Why should I write this downe, that’s riueted,

       Screw’d to my memorie. She hath bin reading late,

       The Tale of Tereus, heere the leaffe’s turn’d downe

       Where Philomele gaue vp. I haue enough,

       To’th’ Truncke againe, and shut the spring of it.

       Swift, swift, you Dragons of the night, that dawning

       May beare the Rauens eye: I lodge in feare,

       Though this a heauenly Angell: hell is heere.

       Clocke strikes One, two, three: time, time.

       Enter.

      SCENE III.

       Enter Clotten, and Lords.

       1. Your Lordship is the most patient man in losse, the most coldest that euer turn’d vp Ace

       Clot. It would make any man cold to loose

       1. But not euery man patient after the noble temper of your Lordship; You are most hot, and furious when you winne. Winning will put any man into courage: if I could get this foolish Imogen, I should haue Gold enough: it’s almost morning, is’t not? 1 Day, my Lord

       Clot. I would this Musicke would come: I am aduised to giue her Musicke a mornings, they say it will penetrate. Enter Musitians.

       Come on, tune: If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so: wee’l try with tongue too: if none will do, let her remaine: but Ile neuer giue o’re. First, a very excellent good conceyted thing; after a wonderful sweet aire, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her consider.

       SONG.

       Hearke, hearke, the Larke at Heauens gate sings, and Phoebus gins arise, His Steeds to water at those Springs on chalic’d Flowres that lyes: And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their Golden eyes With euery thing that pretty is, my Lady sweet arise: Arise, arise. So, get you gone: if this penetrate, I will consider your Musicke the better: if it do not, it is a voyce in her eares which Horse-haires, and Calues-guts, nor the voyce of vnpaued Eunuch to boot, can neuer amend. Enter Cymbaline, and Queene.

       2 Heere comes the King

       Clot. I am glad I was vp so late, for that’s the reason

       I was vp so earely: he cannot choose but take this Seruice

       I haue done, fatherly. Good morrow to your Maiesty,

       and to my gracious Mother

       Cym. Attend you here the doore of our stern daughter

       Will she not forth?

       Clot. I haue assayl’d her with Musickes, but she vouchsafes

       no notice

       Cym. The Exile of her Minion is too new,

       She hath not yet forgot him, some more time

       Must weare the print of his remembrance on’t,

       And then she’s yours

       СКАЧАТЬ