Original: I am near to the place where they should meet, if Pisanio have mapped it truly.
Modern: I’m close to the place where they’re supposed to meet, if Pisanio’s directions were accurate.

Original: How fit his garments serve me!
Modern: How well his clothes fit me!

Original: Why should his mistress, who was made by him that made the tailor, not be fit too?
Modern: Why shouldn’t his lover, who was created by the same God who created the tailor, be a good fit for me as well?

Original: the rather—saving reverence of the word—for ‘tis said a woman’s fitness comes by fits.
Modern: In fact—pardon the crude joke—it’s said that a woman’s readiness comes in sudden bursts.

Original: Therein I must play the workman.
Modern: In that matter, I’ll have to do the work myself.

Original: I dare speak it to myself—for it is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer in his own chamber—I mean, the lines of my body are as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong, not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike conversant in general services, and more remarkable in single oppositions: yet this imperceiverant thing loves him in my despite.
Modern: I can say this to myself—since it’s not arrogant for a man to talk to his mirror in private—I mean, my body is just as well-formed as his; I’m just as young, stronger, equal to him in wealth, have better timing on my side, higher-born than him, equally experienced in military matters, and more impressive in one-on-one combat: yet this stupid woman loves him instead of me.

Original: What mortality is!
Modern: How absurd human nature is!

Original: Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, shall within this hour be off; thy mistress enforced; thy garments cut to pieces before thy face: and all this done, spurn her home to her father; who may haply be a little angry for my so rough usage; but my mother, having power of his testiness, shall turn all into my commendations.
Modern: Posthumus, your head, which is currently on your shoulders, will be cut off within the hour; your lover will be raped; your clothes will be sliced to shreds in front of you: and when all this is done, I’ll kick her back home to her father; he might be a bit angry about my brutal treatment; but my mother, who has control over his temper, will turn it all into praise for me.

Original: My horse is tied up safe: out, sword, and to a sore purpose!
Modern: My horse is safely tied up: come out, sword, for a deadly purpose!

Original: Fortune, put them into my hand!
Modern: Luck, deliver them to me!

Original: This is the very description of their meeting-place; and the fellow dares not deceive me.
Modern: This matches exactly the description of where they’re meeting; and that man wouldn’t dare lie to me.

In Act IV, Scene 1 of Cymbeline, Cloten appears alone in the Welsh wilderness, disguised in Posthumus’s garments. He speaks to himself about his plan to find and confront Innogen (also called Imogen) at Milford Haven, where he believes she has gone to meet her banished husband Posthumus. Cloten rehearses his intentions aloud: he plans to kill Posthumus before Innogen’s eyes, then ravish her upon the ground while wearing Posthumus’s clothes, adding further insult and degradation to his revenge. He dwells on the satisfaction this violence will bring him and imagines how he will then spurn her back to her father’s court in disgrace.

Cloten’s soliloquy reveals the full extent of his malicious scheme, motivated by his wounded pride after Innogen’s earlier rejection of him and her declaration that she valued Posthumus’s “meanest garment” more than Cloten himself. He continues to wander through the mountainous terrain near the cave where, unknown to him, Innogen’s brothers Guiderius and Arviragus live with their adoptive father Belarius. The scene establishes Cloten’s dangerous proximity to both Innogen (who is nearby disguised as the boy Fidele) and the two princes, setting up the violent confrontation that will follow in subsequent scenes.

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.