Britain. A Hall in CYMBELINE’S Palace. | |
| |
Enter at one door CYMBELINE, QUEEN, CLOTEN, and Lords; and at another CAIUS LUCIUS and Attendants. | |
| Cym. Now say what would Augustus Cæsar with us? | |
| Luc. When Julius Cæsar—whose remembrance yet | 4 |
| Lives in men’s eyes, and will to ears and tongues | |
| Be theme and hearing ever—was in this Britain, | |
| And conquer’d it, Cassibelan, thine uncle,— | |
| Famous in Cæsar’s praises, no whit less | 8 |
| Than in his feats deserving it,—for him | |
| And his succession, granted Rome a tribute, | |
| Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately | |
| Is left untender’d. | 12 |
| Queen. And, to kill the marvel, | |
| Shall be so ever. | |
| Clo. There be many Cæsars | |
| Ere such another Julius. Britain is | 16 |
| A world by itself, and we will nothing pay | |
| For wearing our own noses. | |
| Queen. That opportunity, | |
| Which then they had to take from ’s, to resume, | 20 |
| We have again. Remember, sir, my liege, | |
| The kings your ancestors, together with | |
| The natural bravery of your isle, which stands | |
| As Neptune’s park, ribbed and paled in | 24 |
| With rocks unscaleable and roaring waters, | |
| With sands, that will not bear your enemies’ boats, | |
| But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquest | |
| Cæsar made here, but made not here his brag | 28 |
| Of ‘came, and saw, and overcame:’ with shame— | |
| The first that ever touch’d him—he was carried | |
| From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping— | |
| Poor ignorant baubles!—on our terrible seas, | 32 |
| Like egg-shells mov’d upon their surges, crack’d | |
| As easily ’gainst our rocks: for joy whereof | |
| The fam’d Cassibelan, who was once at point— | |
| O giglot fortune!—to master Cæsar’s sword, | 36 |
| Made Lud’s town with rejoicing-fires bright, | |
| And Britons strut with courage. | |
| Clo. Come, there’s no more tribute to be paid. Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no moe such Cæsars; other of them may have crooked noses, but to owe such straight arms, none. | |
| Cym. Son, let your mother end. | 40 |
| Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan; I do not say I am one, but I have a hand. Why tribute? why should we pay tribute? If Cæsar can hide the sun from us 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 injurious Romans did extort | |
| This tribute from us, we were free; Cæsar’s ambition— | 44 |
| Which swell’d so much that it did almost stretch | |
| The sides o’ the world—against all colour here | |
| Did put the yoke upon ’s; which to shake off | |
| Becomes a war-like people, whom we reckon | 48 |
| Ourselves to be. We do say then to Cæsar | |
| Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which | |
| Ordain’d our laws, whose use the sword of Cæsar | |
| Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise | 52 |
| Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, | |
| Though Rome be therefore angry. Mulmutius made our laws, | |
| Who was the first of Britain which did put | |
| His brows within a golden crown, and call’d | 56 |
| Himself a king. | |
| Luc. I am sorry, Cymbeline, | |
| That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar— | |
| Cæsar, that hath more kings his servants than | 60 |
| Thyself domestic officers—thine enemy. | |
| Receive it from me, then: war and confusion | |
| In Cæsar’s name pronounce I ’gainst thee: look | |
| For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied, | 64 |
| I thank thee for myself. | |
| Cym. Thou art welcome, Caius. | |
| Thy Cæsar knighted me; my youth I spent | |
| Much under him; of him I gather’d honour; | 68 |
| Which he, to seek of me again, perforce, | |
| Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect | |
| That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for | |
| Their liberties are now in arms; a precedent | 72 |
| Which not to read would show the Britons cold: | |
| So Cæsar shall not find them. | |
| Luc. Let proof speak. | |
| Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day or two, or longer; if you seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in our salt-water girdle; if you beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the better for you; and there’s an end. | 76 |
| Luc. So, sir. | |
| Cym. I know your master’s pleasure and he mine: | |
| All the remain is ‘Welcome!’ [Exeunt. | |