CYMBELINE. Уильям Шекспир

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Liues in mens eyes, and will to Eares and Tongues

       Be Theame, and hearing euer) was in this Britain,

       And Conquer’d it, Cassibulan thine Vnkle

       (Famous in Caesars prayses, no whit lesse

       Then in his Feats deseruing it) for him,

       And his Succession, granted Rome a Tribute,

       Yeerely three thousand pounds; which (by thee) lately

       Is left vntender’d

       Qu. And to kill the meruaile,

       Shall be so euer

       Clot. There be many Caesars,

       Ere such another Iulius: Britaine’s a world

       By it selfe, and we will nothing pay

       For wearing our owne Noses

       Qu. That opportunity

       Which then they had to take from’s, to resume

       We haue againe. Remember Sir, my Liege,

       The Kings your Ancestors, together with

       The naturall brauery of your Isle, which stands

       As Neptunes Parke, ribb’d, and pal’d in

       With Oakes vnskaleable, and roaring Waters,

       With Sands that will not beare your Enemies Boates,

       But sucke them vp to’th’ Topmast. A kinde of Conquest

       Caesar made heere, but made not heere his bragge

       Of Came, and Saw, and Ouer-came: with shame

       (The first that euer touch’d him) he was carried

       From off our Coast, twice beaten: and his Shipping

       (Poore ignorant Baubles) on our terrible Seas

       Like Egge-shels mou’d vpon their Surges, crack’d

       As easily ‘gainst our Rockes. For ioy whereof,

       The fam’d Cassibulan, who was once at point

       (Oh giglet Fortune) to master Caesars Sword,

       Made Luds-Towne with reioycing-Fires bright,

       And Britaines strut with Courage

       Clot. Come, there’s no more Tribute to be paid: our Kingdome is stronger then it was at that time: and (as I said) there is no mo such Caesars, other of them may haue crook’d Noses, but to owe such straite Armes, none Cym. Son, let your Mother end

       Clot. We haue yet many among vs, can gripe as hard as Cassibulan, I doe not say I am one: but I haue a hand. Why Tribute? Why should we pay Tribute? If Caesar can hide the Sun from vs with a Blanket, or put the Moon in his pocket, we will pay him Tribute for light: else Sir, no more Tribute, pray you now

       Cym. You must know,

       Till the iniurious Romans, did extort

       This Tribute from vs, we were free. Caesars Ambition,

       Which swell’d so much, that it did almost stretch

       The sides o’th’ World, against all colour heere,

       Did put the yoake vpon’s; which to shake off

       Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon

       Our selues to be, we do. Say then to Caesar,

       Our Ancestor was that Mulmutius, which

       Ordain’d our Lawes, whose vse the Sword of Caesar

       Hath too much mangled; whose repayre, and franchise,

       Shall (by the power we hold) be our good deed,

       Tho Rome be therfore angry. Mulmutius made our lawes

       Who was the first of Britaine, which did put

       His browes within a golden Crowne, and call’d

       Himselfe a King

       Luc. I am sorry Cymbeline,

       That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar

       (Caesar, that hath moe Kings his Seruants, then

       Thy selfe Domesticke Officers) thine Enemy:

       Receyue it from me then. Warre, and Confusion

       In Caesars name pronounce I ‘gainst thee: Looke

       For fury, not to be resisted. Thus defide,

       I thanke thee for my selfe

       Cym. Thou art welcome Caius,

       Thy Caesar Knighted me; my youth I spent

       Much vnder him; of him, I gather’d Honour,

       Which he, to seeke of me againe, perforce,

       Behooues me keepe at vtterance. I am perfect,

       That the Pannonians and Dalmatians, for

       Their Liberties are now in Armes: a President

       Which not to reade, would shew the Britaines cold:

       So Caesar shall not finde them

       Luc. Let proofe speake Clot. His Maiesty biddes you welcome. Make pastime with vs, a day, or two, or longer: if you seek vs afterwards in other tearmes, you shall finde vs in our Saltwater-Girdle: if you beate vs out of it, it is yours: if you fall in the aduenture, our Crowes shall fare the better for you: and there’s an end

       Luc. So sir

       Cym. I know your Masters pleasure, and he mine:

       All the Remaine, is welcome.

       Exeunt.

      SCENE II.

       Enter Pisanio reading of a Letter.

       Pis. How? of Adultery? Wherefore write you not

       What Monsters her accuse? Leonatus:

       Oh Master, what a strange infection

       Is falne into thy eare? What false Italian,

       (As poysonous tongu’d, as handed) hath preuail’d

       On thy too ready hearing? Disloyall? No.

       She’s punish’d for her Truth; and vndergoes

       More Goddesse-like, then Wife-like; such Assaults

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