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| Character | Cloten?Imogen?Lady?? | |
|---|---|---|
| Scene type / Who are | Flirting, Master/Servant | |
| Type | Comic | |
| Period | Renaissance | |
| Genre | Romance, Tragedy, Drama, Comedy | |
| Description | Cloten declares his love to Imogen, only to be teased | |
| Location | ACT II, Scene 3 | |
Summary
Cymbeline is Britain's king. His daughter Imogen was supposed to marry Cymbeline's new Queen's son, Cloten. Imogen, however, marries a poor gentleman, Posthumus. When the king finds out he decides to exile Posthumus to Italy and has his daughter locked away. Pisanio, Posthumus loyal servant, remains in England and becomes Imogen's servant. Cloten continues to court Imogen but has no success as she is not interested in him and vows to remain faithful to her husband.
In this scene Cloten knocks on Imogen's door to talk to her. He tries to bribe one of her maids to get to her but Imogen comes out of her room. Cloten professes his love for her, only to be teased. Imogen acts coldly and rejects him, telling him that "Posthumus' meaning garment" is dearer to her than all his hairs...
In this scene Cloten knocks on Imogen's door to talk to her. He tries to bribe one of her maids to get to her but Imogen comes out of her room. Cloten professes his love for her, only to be teased. Imogen acts coldly and rejects him, telling him that "Posthumus' meaning garment" is dearer to her than all his hairs...
Written by Administrator
| Excerpt |
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| [Imogen's bedchamber in Cymbeline's palace.] CLOTEN If she be up, I'll speak with her; if not, Let her lie still and dream. [Knocks] By your leave, ho! I Know her women are about her: what If I do line one of their hands? 'Tis gold Which buys admittance; oft it doth; yea, and makes Diana's rangers false themselves, yield up Their deer to the stand o' the stealer; and 'tis gold Which makes the true man kill'd and saves the thief; Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man: what Can it not do and undo? I will make One of her women lawyer to me, for I yet not understand the case myself. [Knocks] By your leave. [Enter a Lady] Lady Who's there that knocks? CLOTEN A gentleman. Lady No more? CLOTEN Yes, and a gentlewoman's son. Lady That's more Than some, whose tailors are as dear as yours, Can justly boast of. What's your lordship's pleasure? CLOTEN Your lady's person: is she ready? Lady Ay, To keep her chamber. CLOTEN There is gold for you; Sell me your good report. Lady How! my good name? or to report of you What I shall think is good?--The princess! [Enter IMOGEN] CLOTEN Good morrow, fairest: sister, your sweet hand. [Exit Lady] IMOGEN Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains For purchasing but trouble; the thanks I give Is telling you that I am poor of thanks And scarce can spare them. CLOTEN Still, I swear I love you. IMOGEN If you but said so, 'twere as deep with me: If you swear still, your recompense is still That I regard it not. CLOTEN This is no answer. IMOGEN But that you shall not say I yield being silent, I would not speak. I pray you, spare me: 'faith, I shall unfold equal discourtesy To your best kindness: one of your great knowing Should learn, being taught, forbearance. CLOTEN To leave you in your madness, 'twere my sin: I will not. IMOGEN Fools are not mad folks. CLOTEN Do you call me fool? IMOGEN As I am mad, I do: If you'll be patient, I'll no more be mad; That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, You put me to forget a lady's manners, By being so verbal: and learn now, for all, That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce, By the very truth of it, I care not for you, And am so near the lack of charity-- To accuse myself--I hate you; which I had rather You felt than make't my boast. CLOTEN You sin against Obedience, which you owe your father. For The contract you pretend with that base wretch, One bred of alms and foster'd with cold dishes, With scraps o' the court, it is no contract, none: And though it be allow'd in meaner parties-- Yet who than he more mean?--to knit their souls, On whom there is no more dependency But brats and beggary, in self-figured knot; Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement by The consequence o' the crown, and must not soil The precious note of it with a base slave. A hilding for a livery, a squire's cloth, A pantler, not so eminent. IMOGEN Profane fellow Wert thou the son of Jupiter and no more But what thou art besides, thou wert too base To be his groom: thou wert dignified enough, Even to the point of envy, if 'twere made Comparative for your virtues, to be styled The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated For being preferred so well. CLOTEN The south-fog rot him! IMOGEN He never can meet more mischance than come To be but named of thee. His meanest garment, That ever hath but clipp'd his body, is dearer In my respect than all the hairs above thee, Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio! [Enter PISANIO] CLOTEN 'His garment!' Now the devil-- IMOGEN To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently-- CLOTEN 'His garment!' IMOGEN I am sprited with a fool. Frighted, and anger'd worse: go bid my woman Search for a jewel that too casually Hath left mine arm: it was thy master's: 'shrew me, If I would lose it for a revenue Of any king's in Europe. I do think I saw't this morning: confident I am Last night 'twas on mine arm; I kiss'd it: I hope it be not gone to tell my lord That I kiss aught but he. PISANIO 'Twill not be lost. IMOGEN I hope so: go and search. [Exit PISANIO] CLOTEN You have abused me: 'His meanest garment!' IMOGEN Ay, I said so, sir: If you will make't an action, call witness to't. CLOTEN I will inform your father. IMOGEN Your mother too: She's my good lady, and will conceive, I hope, But the worst of me. So, I leave you, sir, To the worst of discontent. [Exit] CLOTEN I'll be revenged: 'His meanest garment!' Well. [Exit] |
