Shakespeare's Monologues
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Belarius — “How do you speak! Did you but know the city's usuries” — Cymbeline, Act 3, Scene 3, line 49
Cymbeline
·III iii 49 ·
Verse
Belarius How you speak! Did you but know the city's usuries And felt them knowingly; the art o' the court, As hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb Is certain falling, or so slippery that The fear's as bad as falling; the toil of the war, A pain that only seems to seek out danger I' the name of fame and honour; which dies i' the search, And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph As record of fair act; nay, many times, Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse, Must curtsy at the censure: O boys! this story The world may read in me; my body's mark'd With Roman swords, and my report was once First with the best of note; Cymbeline lov'd me, And when a soldier was the theme, my name Was not far off; then was I as a tree Whose boughs did bend with fruit, but, in one night, A storm or robbery, call it what you will, Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, And left me bare to weather. Bel. My fault being nothing,'as I have told you oft,' But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline I was confederate with the Romans; Follow'd my banishment, and this twenty years This rock and these demesnes have been my world, Where I have liv'd at honest freedom, paid More pious debts to heaven than in all The fore-end of my time. But, up to the mountains! This is not hunter's language. He that strikes The venison first shall be the lord o' the feast; To him the other two shall minister; And we will fear no poison which attends In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys. [Exeunt GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS.] How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature! These boys know little they are sons to the king; Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. They think they are mine; and, though train'd up thus meanly I' the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them In simple and low things to prince it much Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who The king his father call'd Guiderius,'Jove! When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell The war-like feats I have done, his spirits fly out Into my story: say, 'Thus mine enemy fell, And thus I set my foot on 's neck;' even then The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats, Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,' Once Arviragus,'in as like a figure, Strikes life into my speech and shows much more His own conceiving. Hark! the game is rous'd. O Cymbeline! heaven and my conscience knows Thou didst unjustly banish me; whereon, At three and two years old, I stole these babes, Thinking to bar thee of succession, as Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile, Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their mother, And every day do honour to her grave: Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd, They take for natural father. The game is up. [Exit.] 
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BELARIUS MONOLOGUE - LINE-BY-LINE PARAPHRASE
Original: How you speak!
Modern: Listen to the way you talk!
Original: Did you but know the city’s usuries
Modern: If you only knew about the corruption and exploitation in the city
Original: And felt them knowingly; the art o’ the court,
Modern: And experienced it firsthand; the politics of royal court life,
Original: As hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb
Modern: Which is as difficult to abandon as it is to maintain, where climbing to the top
Original: Is certain falling, or so slippery that
Modern: Guarantees your downfall, or is so unstable that
Original: The fear’s as bad as falling; the toil of the war,
Modern: Just being afraid of falling is as bad as actually falling; the hard work of war,
Original: A pain that only seems to seek out danger
Modern: A suffering that appears only to chase after danger
Original: I’ the name of fame and honour; which dies i’ the search,
Modern: In the pursuit of fame and honor; but that honor dies while you’re seeking it,
Original: And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph
Modern: And just as often gets a reputation filled with lies
Original: As record of fair act; nay, many times,
Modern: As it gets credit for good deeds; no, many times,
Original: Doth ill deserve by doing well; what’s worse,
Modern: You’re punished for doing the right thing; and what’s worse,
Original: Must curtsy at the censure: O boys! this story
Modern: You must bow and accept the criticism: Oh boys! this story
Original: The world may read in me; my body’s mark’d
Modern: The world can see written all over me; my body is scarred
Original: With Roman swords, and my report was once
Modern: With wounds from Roman swords, and my reputation was once
Original: First with the best of note; Cymbeline lov’d me,
Modern: Among the highest and most respected; Cymbeline loved me,
Original: And when a soldier was the theme, my name
Modern: And whenever anyone talked about soldiers, my name
Original: Was not far off; then was I as a tree
Modern: Was always mentioned; back then I was like a tree
Original: Whose boughs did bend with fruit, but, in one night,
Modern: Whose branches bent low with abundant fruit, but, in just one night,
Original: A storm or robbery, call it what you will,
Modern: A storm or a theft, call it whatever you want,
Original: Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
Modern: Shook off all my ripe fruit, no, even my leaves,
Original: And left me bare to weather.
Modern: And left me completely exposed to the harsh elements.
Original: My fault being nothing,’as I have told you oft,’
Modern: My crime was nothing,’as I’ve told you many times,’
Original: But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail’d
Modern: Except that two evil men, whose lies were believed
Original: Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline
Modern: Over my spotless reputation, swore to Cymbeline
Original: I was confederate with the Romans;
Modern: That I was conspiring with the Romans;
Original: Follow’d my banishment, and this twenty years
Modern: My exile followed, and for these twenty years
Original: This rock and these demesnes have been my world,
Modern: This cave and these lands have been my entire world,
Original: Where I have liv’d at honest freedom, paid
Modern: Where I have lived in honest freedom, and paid
Original: More pious debts to heaven than in all
Modern: More devotion to God than in all
Original: The fore-end of my time. But, up to the mountains!
Modern: The earlier part of my life. But enough—up to the mountains!
Original: This is not hunter’s language. He that strikes
Modern: This isn’t the way hunters should talk. Whoever kills
Original: The venison first shall be the lord o’ the feast;
Modern: The deer first will be the master of the feast;
Original: To him the other two shall minister;
Modern: The other two will serve him;
Original: And we will fear no poison which attends
Modern: And we won’t fear the poisoning that comes
Original: In place of greater state. I’ll meet you in the valleys.
Modern: With positions of greater power. I’ll meet you in the valleys.
Original: How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
Modern: How difficult it is to hide their natural nobility!
Original: These boys know little they are sons to the king;
Modern: These boys have no idea they are the king’s sons;
Original: Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
Modern: And Cymbeline has no idea that they’re alive.
Original: They think they are mine; and, though train’d up thus meanly
Modern: They think I’m their father; and, though raised humbly like this
Original: I’ the cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
Modern: In the cave where they must stoop, their thoughts reach
Original: The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them
Modern: As high as palace ceilings, and their natural instinct drives them
Original: In simple and low things to prince it much
Modern: Even in simple and humble activities to act like princes much
Original: Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,
Modern: More than ordinary people could. This Polydore,
Original: The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who
Modern: The true heir to Cymbeline and Britain, whom
Original: The king his father call’d Guiderius,’Jove!
Modern: The king his father named Guiderius,’By God!
Original: When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell
Modern: When I sit on my little stool and tell
Original: The war-like feats I have done, his spirits fly out
Modern: About the battles I’ve fought, his spirit leaps out
Original: Into my story: say, ‘Thus mine enemy fell,
Modern: Into my story: when I say, ‘This is how my enemy fell,
Original: And thus I set my foot on ‘s neck;’ even then
Modern: And this is how I put my foot on his neck;’ right then
Original: The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
Modern: The royal blood rushes to his face, he sweats,
Original: Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture
Modern: Tenses his young muscles, and positions his body
Original: That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,’
Modern: As if he’s acting out my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,’
Original: Once Arviragus,’in as like a figure,
Modern: Who was once called Arviragus,’in the same way,
Original: Strikes life into my speech and shows much more
Modern: Brings my speech to life and shows even more
Original: His own conceiving. Hark! the game is rous’d.
Modern: Of his own imagination. Listen! the hunt has started.
Original: O Cymbeline! heaven and my conscience knows
Modern: Oh Cymbeline! heaven and my conscience know
Original: Thou didst unjustly banish me; whereon,
Modern: That you unjustly banished me; and because of that,
Original: At three and two years old, I stole these babes,
Modern: When they were three and two years old, I kidnapped these children,
Original: Thinking to bar thee of succession, as
Modern: Planning to prevent you from having heirs, just as
Original: Thou reft’st me of my lands. Euriphile,
Modern: You robbed me of my lands. Euriphile,
Original: Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their mother,
Modern: You were their nurse; they thought you were their mother,
Original: And every day do honour to her grave:
Modern: And every day they honor her grave:
Original: Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call’d,
Modern: I, Belarius, who am now called Morgan,
Original: They take for natural father. The game is up.
Modern: They believe to be their real father. The hunt is on.
Cymbeline tells the story of King Cymbeline of Britain, whose daughter Imogen secretly marries Posthumus Leonatus against her father’s wishes. Cymbeline banishes Posthumus to Rome, where he boasts of Imogen’s virtue and fidelity. The cunning Iachimo wagers that he can seduce Imogen and prove her unfaithful. When his direct attempts fail, Iachimo hides in a trunk in Imogen’s bedchamber, emerges while she sleeps, and steals her bracelet while noting intimate details of her body and room.
Returning to Rome with his false evidence, Iachimo convinces Posthumus that Imogen has been unfaithful. Enraged, Posthumus orders his servant Pisanio to kill Imogen. Instead, Pisanio reveals the plot to Imogen and helps her escape by disguising her as a young man named Fidele. She flees to the Welsh mountains, where she unknowingly encounters her long-lost brothers, Guiderius and Arviragus, who were kidnapped as infants and raised by the banished lord Belarius.
Meanwhile, Cymbeline’s evil Queen (Imogen’s stepmother) plots to poison Imogen and place her own son Cloten on the throne. Cloten pursues Imogen to Wales, where Guiderius kills him in combat. The Queen’s physician Cornelius has secretly given her a sleeping potion instead of poison, but when Imogen takes it believing it to be medicine, she falls into a death-like sleep beside Cloten’s headless corpse, whom she mistakes for Posthumus upon awakening.
The play culminates when Roman forces invade Britain. During the battle, the disguised Imogen serves the Romans while her unknown brothers and Belarius fight for Britain. After Britain’s victory, all deceptions are revealed: Iachimo confesses his lies, the Queen dies after admitting her evil plots, Imogen’s true identity and virtue are established, the royal brothers are restored to their father, and Posthumus and Imogen are reunited. Cymbeline makes peace with Rome and pardons all offenders.
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