CYMBELINE
Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with us?
LUCIUS
When Julius Cæsar, (whose remembrance yet
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, uncle,
Famous in Cæsar’s praises no whit less
Than in his feats deserving it, for him
And his succession granted Rome a tribute,
Yearly three thousand pounds, which by lately
Is left untender’d.
QUEEN
And, to kill the marvel,
Shall be so ever.
CLOTEN
There be many Cæsars such another Julius. Britain is 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
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, ribb’d and pal’d in
With rocks unscaleable and roaring waters,
With sands that will not bear your enemies’ boats
But suck them up to th’ top-mast. A kind of conquest
Cæsar made here, but made not here his brag
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,
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,
Made Lud’s Town with rejoicing fires bright
And Britons strut with courage.
CLOTEN
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 crook’d noses; but to owe such straight arms, none.
CYMBELINE
Son, let your mother end.
CLOTEN
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.
CYMBELINE
You must know,
Till the injurious Romans did extort
This tribute from us, we were free. Cæsar’s ambition,
Which swell’d so much that it did almost stretch
The sides o’ th’ world, against all colour here
Did put the yoke upon’s; which to shake off
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon
Ourselves to be.
CLOTEN
We do.
CYMBELINE
Say then to Cæsar,
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which
Ordain’d our laws, whose use the sword of Cæsar
too much mangled; whose repair and franchise
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
Himself a king.
LUCIUS
I am sorry, Cymbeline,
That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar
(Cæsar, that moe kings his servants than
Thyself domestic officers) enemy.
Receive it from me, then: war and confusion
In Cæsar’s name pronounce I ’gainst ; look
For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,
I thank for myself.
CYMBELINE
art welcome, Caius.
Cæsar knighted me; my youth I spent
Much under him; of him I gather’d honour,
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
Which not to read would show the Britons cold;
So Cæsar shall not find them.
LUCIUS
Let proof speak.
CLOTEN
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.
LUCIUS
So, sir.
CYMBELINE
I know your master’s pleasure, and he mine;
All the remain is, welcome.