Cymbeline

Now say, what would Augustus Caesar with us?

Lucius

When Julius Caesar, whose remembrance yet

Lives in men's eyes and will to ears and tongues

Be theme and hearing ever, was in this Britain

And conquered it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, —

Famous in Caesar'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 thee lately

Is left untendered.

Queen

And, to kill the marvel,

Shall be so ever.

Cloten

There be many Caesars,

Ere such another Julius. Britain's

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, ribbed and paled in

With oaks unscaleable and roaring waters,

With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats,

But suck them up to the topmast. A kind of conquest

Caesar made here; but made not here his brag

Of “Came” and “saw” and “overcame:” with shame —

The first that ever touched him — he was carried

From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping —

Poor ignorant baubles! — on our terrible seas,

Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, cracked

As easily 'gainst our rocks: for joy whereof

The famed Cassibelan, who was once at point —

O giglot fortune! — to master Caesar'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 Caesars: other of them may have crooked 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 Caesar 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: Caesar's ambition,

Which swelled so much that it did almost stretch

The sides o' the 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. We do say then to Caesar,

Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which

Ordained our laws, whose use the sword of Caesar

Hath 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 called

Himself a king.

Lucius

I am sorry, Cymbeline,

That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar —

Caesar, that hath more kings his servants than

Thyself domestic officers — thine enemy:

Receive it from me, then: war and confusion

In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee: look

For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,

I thank thee for myself.

Cymbeline

Thou art welcome, Caius.

Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent

Much under him; of him I gathered honour;

Which he to seek of me again, perforce,

behooves 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 Caesar 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!” Exeunt.