CYMBELINE. Уильям Шекспир
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Название: CYMBELINE
Автор: Уильям Шекспир
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 9788027234097
isbn:
(The Handmaides of all Women, or more truely
Woman it pretty selfe) into a waggish courage,
Ready in gybes, quicke-answer’d, sawcie, and
As quarrellous as the Weazell: Nay, you must
Forget that rarest Treasure of your Cheeke,
Exposing it (but oh the harder heart,
Alacke no remedy) to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan: and forget
Your laboursome and dainty Trimmes, wherein
You made great Iuno angry
Imo. Nay be breefe?
I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already
Pis. First, make your selfe but like one,
Forethinking this. I haue already fit
(‘Tis in my Cloake-bagge) Doublet, Hat, Hose, all
That answer to them: Would you in their seruing,
(And with what imitation you can borrow
From youth of such a season) ‘fore Noble Lucius
Present your selfe, desire his seruice: tell him
Wherein you’re happy; which will make him know,
If that his head haue eare in Musicke, doubtlesse
With ioy he will imbrace you: for hee’s Honourable,
And doubling that, most holy. Your meanes abroad:
You haue me rich, and I will neuer faile
Beginning, nor supplyment
Imo. Thou art all the comfort
The Gods will diet me with. Prythee away,
There’s more to be consider’d: but wee’l euen
All that good time will giue vs. This attempt,
I am Souldier too, and will abide it with
A Princes Courage. Away, I prythee
Pis. Well Madam, we must take a short farewell,
Least being mist, I be suspected of
Your carriage from the Court. My Noble Mistris,
Heere is a boxe, I had it from the Queene,
What’s in’t is precious: If you are sicke at Sea,
Or Stomacke-qualm’d at Land, a Dramme of this
Will driue away distemper. To some shade,
And fit you to your Manhood: may the Gods
Direct you to the best
Imo. Amen: I thanke thee.
Exeunt.
SCENE V.
Enter Cymbeline, Queene, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords.
Cym. Thus farre, and so farewell
Luc. Thankes, Royall Sir:
My Emperor hath wrote, I must from hence,
And am right sorry, that I must report ye
My Masters Enemy
Cym. Our Subiects (Sir)
Will not endure his yoake; and for our selfe
To shew lesse Soueraignty then they, must needs
Appeare vn-Kinglike
Luc. So Sir: I desire of you
A Conduct ouer Land, to Milford-Hauen.
Madam, all ioy befall your Grace, and you
Cym. My Lords, you are appointed for that Office:
The due of Honor, in no point omit:
So farewell Noble Lucius
Luc. Your hand, my Lord
Clot. Receiue it friendly: but from this time forth
I weare it as your Enemy
Luc. Sir, the Euent
Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well
Cym. Leaue not the worthy Lucius, good my Lords
Till he haue crost the Seuern. Happines.
Exit Lucius, &c
Qu. He goes hence frowning: but it honours vs
That we haue giuen him cause
Clot. ‘Tis all the better,
Your valiant Britaines haue their wishes in it
Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor
How it goes heere. It fits vs therefore ripely
Our Chariots, and our Horsemen be in readinesse:
The Powres that he already hath in Gallia
Will soone be drawne to head, from whence he moues
His warre for Britaine
Qu. ‘Tis not sleepy businesse,
But must be look’d too speedily, and strongly
Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus
Hath made vs forward. But my gentle Queene,
Where is our Daughter? She hath not appear’d
Before the Roman, nor to vs hath tender’d
The duty of the day. She looke vs like
A thing more made of malice, then of duty,
We haue noted it. Call her before vs, for
We haue beene too slight in sufferance
Qu. Royall Sir,
Since the exile of Posthumus, most retyr’d
Hath her life bin: the Cure whereof, my Lord,
‘Tis time must do. Beseech your Maiesty,