He specializes in technically-true flattery that means the opposite of what Cloten hears — 'He added to your having, gave you some ground' sounds like praise but means Posthumus made him retreat. Watch for this two-register speech wherever he appears.
Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the violence of action hath
made you reek as a sacrifice. Where air comes out, air comes in;
there’s none abroad so wholesome as that you vent.
Sir, I'd suggest you change your shirt—you're sweating so much from fighting that you smell like a sacrifice. Wherever air comes out of you, you're pulling air in. There's no air anywhere else as pure as what you're venting out.
You should change your shirt, you're drenched in sweat and stink. Fresh air around you is impossible—you're sucking it all in and pumping out stink.
change your shirt you reek of sweat from fighting you're nasty
He talks in bluster and grievance — every other sentence is about what he's owed or what someone failed to do for him. Notice that he never asks why Posthumus was better; he only wonders why he didn't win. Watch for this incapacity for self-examination throughout the play.
If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him?
If my shirt were stained with his blood, I'd change it. Did I hurt him?
If I'd actually cut him and gotten blood on me, sure. But did I at least wound him?
did i hurt him at least
His asides are the truest voice in the scene — sharp, witty, unsparing. He's the chorus who says what the audience is thinking. His opinion of Imogen ('thou divine Imogen') at the scene's end signals that even Cloten's own men worship what he cannot have.
[_Aside._] No, faith; not so much as his patience.
No, by my faith, not even his patience.
No, not even close—he didn't even bother him.
nah didn't even bother him
Hurt him! His body’s a passable carcass if he be not hurt. It is a
throughfare for steel if it be not hurt.
Hurt him? His body is barely worth describing if he hasn't been hurt. It's just a passage for swords to go through if not wounded.
Hurt him? His body's a worthless target if you can't even cut him. It's just a hole for swords to pass through.
his body's worthless if you can't hurt it just a hole for swords
[_Aside._] His steel was in debt; it went o’ th’ backside the town.
His sword was in retreat; it fled to the edge of town.
His sword was running away—he bolted right out of town.
his sword was running away from town lol
The villain would not stand me.
The villain wouldn't stand and fight me.
He wouldn't even stand there and fight.
he wouldn't fight just ran
Shakespeare's gallery of villains includes some self-aware ones (Iago announces his nature in soliloquy, Richard III relishes his own wickedness). Cloten is something rarer: a dangerous person with no self-knowledge whatsoever. He genuinely believes he performed well in the fight. He genuinely believes Imogen should have chosen him. He genuinely believes his attendants admire him. In this scene he misses every irony, hears every insult as a compliment, and exits satisfied. What makes him frightening is not malice but obliviousness — he is capable of terrible things not because he's evil but because he cannot perceive the difference between desire and right. Keep watching for what happens when this particular form of certainty meets obstacle.
[_Aside._] No; but he fled forward still, toward your face.
No, he kept advancing straight toward your face.
No, he kept coming right at you.
nah he kept moving toward u
Stand you? You have land enough of your own; but he added to your
having, gave you some ground.
Stand you? You already have enough land of your own. But he added to it—he gave you some ground to stand on.
Stand? You've got plenty of land. But he added some—he gave you ground.
you have land he gave you more ground to stand on
[_Aside._] As many inches as you have oceans.
Puppies!
You have as much ground as you have oceans—none. Puppies!
Yeah, you have about as much space as you have oceans. Puppies!
u got as much ground as oceans puppies
I would they had not come between us.
I wish they hadn't come between us.
I wish nobody had stopped it.
wish they hadn't stopped us
[_Aside._] So would I, till you had measur’d how long a fool you were
upon the ground.
I would too, until we could see how long you lay sprawled on the ground like a fool.
Yeah, me too, until we got to measure how long you were flat on your back.
yep til we measured how long u were down
And that she should love this fellow, and refuse me!
How she loves this fellow while denying me!
That she'd love this guy and refuse me!
she loves him not me
[_Aside._] If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damn’d.
If it's a sin to choose correctly, then she's damned.
If choosing the right guy is a sin, then yeah, she's going to hell.
if picking right is a sin she's damned
This scene uses a technique Shakespeare invented almost nowhere as precisely as here: the double-register aside. The First and Second Lords speak on two tracks simultaneously — what they say aloud (flattery, technical compliments) and what they say to the audience (truth). The gap between the tracks is the play's social critique. This is what power looks like when it's held by the incompetent: everyone around them becomes a skilled performer, saying what's needed to survive while expressing the truth only in whispers. The structure is comic but the situation it describes is not. Every court, every corporation, every family with a powerful fool at its head generates this exact same double speech.
Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go not together;
she’s a good sign, but I have seen small reflection of her wit.
Sir, as I've always said, her beauty and her brains don't go together. She's a pretty face, but I've seen very little sign of intelligence in her.
Like I said, she's pretty but stupid. All looks, no brain.
she's beautiful but not smart no wit
[_Aside._] She shines not upon fools, lest the reflection should hurt
her.
She doesn't shine on fools, lest the reflection should hurt her.
She doesn't waste her light on fools—she'd get hurt by the reflection.
she doesn't shine on fools she'd get hurt
Come, I’ll to my chamber. Would there had been some hurt done!
Come, I'll go to my room. I wish there had been some real damage done!
Let's go. I wish I'd actually hurt him.
let's go i wish i'd wounded him
[_Aside._] I wish not so; unless it had been the fall of an ass, which
is no great hurt.
I don't wish it, except if it were an ass falling—and that's no great loss.
I don't hope for that, unless it was you falling on your butt—and that's nothing serious.
nah unless u fell then no big deal
You’ll go with us?
Will you come with us?
You coming?
coming
I’ll attend your lordship.
I'll attend you, my lord.
Yeah, I'll come.
i'll come
Nay, come, let’s go together.
No, come on, let's all go together.
Come on, let's go together.
let's go together
Well, my lord.
Very well, my lord.
Sure, let's go.
okay
The Reckoning
This is a comic scene with a dark undertow. Cloten is genuinely dangerous — he attacked a man who had just been banished — but too thick-headed to even notice he lost. His lords mock him in whispers while flattering him aloud, which is both funny and a little chilling: this is what power without competence looks like. The scene also establishes the play's satire on hereditary status. Cloten has the title and zero of the merit; Posthumus has all the merit and no title. The court prefers Cloten's bloodline anyway.
If this happened today…
The CEO's son — who works at the company and technically outranks everyone — just tried to pick a fight with the brilliant hire who was let go this morning. He got absolutely nowhere. Now he's back at the office boasting about his courage. His yes-men are nodding along to his face, covering their microphones, and texting each other: 'he literally ran away.' He's completely convinced he did great.