Will remain hers.
FILARIO
What means do you make to him?
POSTHUMUS
Not any; but abide the change of time,
Quake in the present winter’s state, and wish
That warmer days would come. In these seared hopes
I barely gratify your love; they failing,
I must die much your debtor.
FILARIO
Your very goodness and your company
O‘erpays all I can do. By this, your king
Hath heard of great Augustus. Caius Lucius
Will do ’s commission throughly. And I think
He’ll grant the tribute, send th’arrearages,
Ere look upon our Romans, whose remembrance
Is yet fresh in their grief.
POSTHUMUS
I do believe,
Statist though I am none, nor like to be,
That this will prove a war, and you shall hear
The legions now in Gallia sooner landed
In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings
Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen
Are men more ordered than when Julius Caesar
Smiled at their lack of skill but found their courage
Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline,
Now wing-led with their courage, will make known
To their approvers they are people such
That mend upon the world.
Enter Giacomo
FILARIO
See, Giacomo.
POSTHUMUS (to Giacomo)
The swiftest harts have posted you by land,
And winds of all the corners kissed your sails
To make your vessel nimble.
FILARIO (to Giacomo)
Welcome, sir.
POSTHUMUS (to Giacomo)
I hope the briefness of your answer made
The speediness of your return.
GIACOMO
Your lady is
One of the fair’st that I have looked upon—
POSTHUMUS
And therewithal the best, or let her beauty
Look through a casement to allure false hearts,
And be false with them.
GIACOMO
Here are letters for you.
POSTHUMUS
Their tenor good, I trust.
GIACOMO
’Tis very like.
Posthumus reads the letters
⌈FILARIO⌉
Was Caius Lucius in the Briton court
When you were there?
GIACOMO
He was expected then,
But not approached.
POSTHUMUS
All is well yet.
Sparkles this stone as it was wont, or is’t not
Too dull for your good wearing?
GIACOMO
If I had lost it
I should have lost the worth of it in gold.
I’ll make a journey twice as far t’enjoy
A second night of such sweet shortness which
Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won.
POSTHUMOUS
The stone’s too hard to come by.
GIACOMO
Not a whit,
Your lady being so easy.
POSTHUMUS
Make not, sir,
Your loss your sport. I hope you know that we
Must not continue friends.
GIACOMO
Good sir, we must,
If you keep covenant. Had I not brought
The knowledge of your mistress home I grant
We were to question farther, but I now
Profess myself the winner of her honour,
Together with your ring, and not the wronger
Of her or you, having proceeded but
By both your wills.
POSTHUMUS
If you can make’t apparent
That you have tasted her in bed, my hand
And ring is yours. If not, the foul opinion
You had of her pure honour gains or loses
Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both
To who shall find them.
GIACOMO
Sir, my circumstances,
Being so near the truth as I will make them,
Must first induce you to believe; whose strength
I will confirm with oath, which I doubt not
You’ll give me leave to spare when you shall find
You need it not.
POSTHUMUS
Proceed.
GIACOMO
First, her bedchamber—
Where I confess I slept not, but profess
Had that was well worth watching—it was hanged
With tapestry of silk and silver; the story
Proud Cleopatra when she met her Roman,
And Cydnus swelled above the banks, or for
The press of boats or pride: a piece of work
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
In workmanship and value; which I wondered
Could be so rarely and exactly wrought,
Such the true life on’t was.
POSTHUMUS
This is true,
And this you might have heard of here, by me
Or by some other.
GIACOMO
More particulars
Must justify my knowledge.
POSTHUMUS
So they must,
Or do your honour injury.
GIACOMO
The chimney
Is south the chamber, and the chimney-piece
Chaste Dian bathing. Never saw I figures
So likely to report themselves; the cutter
Was as another nature; dumb, outwent her,
Motion and breath left out.
POSTHUMUS
This is a thing
Which you might from relation likewise reap,
Being, as it is, much spoke of.
GIACOMO
The roof o’th’ chamber
With golden cherubins is fretted. Her andirons—
I had forgot them—were two winking Cupids
Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely
Depending on their brands.
POSTHUMUS
This is her honour!
Let it be granted you have seen all this—and praise
Be given to your remembrance—the description
Of what is in her chamber nothing saves
The wager you have laid.
GIACOMO
Then, if you can
Be pale, I beg but leave to air this jewel. See!
He shows the bracelet
And now ’tis up again; it must be married
To that your diamond. I’ll keep them.
POSTHUMUS
Jove!
Once more let me behold it. Is it that
Which I left with her?