SCENE II. Britain. Imogen’s bedchamber in Cymbeline’s palace; a trunk in one corner.

ACT II

SCENE II. Britain. Imogen’s bedchamber in Cymbeline’s palace; a trunk in one corner.

[Enter Imogen in her bed, and a Lady attending.]

IMOGEN

Who’s there? My woman Helen?

LADY

Please you, madam.

IMOGEN

What hour is it?

LADY

Almost midnight, madam.

IMOGEN

I have read three hours then. Mine eyes are weak;

Fold down the leaf where I have left. To bed.

Take not away the taper, leave it burning;

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

I prithee call me. Sleep hath seiz’d me wholly.

[Exit Lady.]

To your protection I commend me, gods. From fairies and the tempters of the night Guard me, beseech ye!

[Sleeps. Iachimo comes from the trunk.]

IACHIMO

The crickets sing, and man’s o’er-labour’d sense

Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus

Did softly press the rushes ere he waken’d

The chastity he wounded. Cytherea,

How bravely thou becom’st thy bed! fresh lily,

And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch!

But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon’d,

How dearly they do’t! ’Tis her breathing that

Perfumes the chamber thus. The flame o’ th’ taper

Bows toward her and would under-peep her lids

To see th’ enclosed lights, now canopied

Under these windows white and azure, lac’d

With blue of heaven’s own tinct. But my design

To note the chamber. I will write all down:

Such and such pictures; there the window; such

Th’ adornment of her bed; the arras, figures,

Why, such and such; and the contents o’ th’ story.

Ah, but some natural notes about her body

Above ten thousand meaner movables

Would testify, t’ enrich mine inventory.

O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her!

And be her sense but as a monument,

Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off;

[Taking off her bracelet.]

As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard! ’Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly, As strongly as the conscience does within, To th’ madding of her lord. On her left breast A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops I’ th’ bottom of a cowslip. Here’s a voucher Stronger than ever law could make; this secret Will force him think I have pick’d the lock and ta’en The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end? Why should I write this down that’s riveted, Screw’d to my memory? She hath been reading late The tale of Tereus; here the leaf’s turn’d down Where Philomel gave up. I have enough. To th’ trunk again, and shut the spring of it. Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning May bare the raven’s eye! I lodge in fear; Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here.

[Clock strikes.]

One, two, three. Time, time!

[Exit into the trunk.]