me in his dominion, could not be cruel to me, so as you, O the dearest of creatures, would even renew me with your eyes. Take notice, that I am in Cambria, at Milford-Haven: what your own love will out of this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your (increasing in love) LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.”

O, for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
May plod it in a week, why may not I
Glide thither in a day?- Then, true Pisanio,
(Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who long'st,
O, let me 'bate! - but not like me; - yet long'st,
But in a fainter kind: -O, not like me,
For mine's beyond beyond,) say, and speak thick,
(Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,
To th' smothering of the sense,) how far it is
To this same blessed Milford: and, by the way,
Tell me how Wales was made so happy as
T' inherit such a haven: but, first of all,
How we may steal from hence; and, for the gap
That we shall make in time, from our hence-going,
And our return, to excuse : - but first, how get hence.
Why should excuse be born, or e'er begot?
We'll talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee, speak,
How many score of miles may we well ride
"Twixt hour and hour?

Pis.

One score 'twixt sun and sun, Madam, 's enough for you, and too much, too.

Imo. Why, one that rode to 's execution, man, Could never go so slow: I have heard of riding

wagers,

Where horses have been nimbler than the sands

That run i' th' clock's behalf. But this is foolery.

Go, bid my woman feign a sickness; say

She'll home to her father; and provide me, presently, A riding suit no costlier than would fit

A franklin's housewife.

Pis.

Madam, you're best consider.

Imo. I see before me, man: nor here, nor here, Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them That I cannot look through. Away, I pr'ythee: Do as I bid thee. There's no more to say; Accessible is none but Milford way.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Wales. A mountainous Country, with a Cave.

Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAgus. Belarius. A goodly day not to keep house, with such

Whose roof's as low as ours. Stoop, boys: this gate Instructs you how t'adore the Heavens, and bows

you

To a morning's holy office: the gates of monarchs
Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet through
And keep their impious turbands on, without
Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!
We house i' th' rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.

Guiderius.

Arviragus.

Hail, heaven!

Hail, heaven!

Bel. Now, for our mountain sport. Up to yond'

hill:

Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider, When you above perceive me like a crow,

That it is place which lessens and sets off :

And you may then revolve what tales I have told you,
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
This service is not service, so being done,
But being so allow'd: to apprehend thus,
Draws us a profit from all things we see;
And often, to our comfort, shall we find
The sharded beetle in a safer hold
Than is the full-wing'd eagle.

O, this life
Is nobler than attending for a check;
Richer than doing nothing for a bribe;
Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:

Such gain the cap of him that makes him fine,
Yet keeps his book uncross'd.
No life to ours.

Gui. Out of your proof you speak: we, poor un

fledg'd,

Have never wing'd from view o'the nest; nor know

not

What air 's from home. Haply this life is best,

If quiet life be best; sweeter to you

That have a sharper known, well corresponding
With your stiff age; but unto us it is
A cell of ignorance, travelling abed,
A prison for a debtor, that not dares
To stride a limit.

Arv.

What should we speak of,
When we are old as you? when we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December, how
In this our pinching cave shall we discourse
The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing:
We are beastly: subtle as the fox for prey;
Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat:
Our valour is, to chase what flies; our cage

We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,
And sing our bondage freely.

Bel.

How you speak!

Did you but know the city's usuries,

And felt them knowingly: the art o' th' Court,
As hard to leave as keep; whose top to climb

Is certain falling, or so slipp'ry that

The fear's as bad as falling: the toil o' th' war,

A pain that only seems to seek out danger

I' th' name of fame, and honour; which dies i' th' search,

And hath as oft a sland'rous epitaph,

As record of fair act; nay, many times,

Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
Must court'sy 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.

Gui.

Uncertain favour!

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: so,

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 moun

tains!

This is not hunter's language.

He that strikes

The venison first shall be the lord o' th' 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 GUI. and ARv.

How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature !

These boys know little they are sons to th' King; Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.

They think they are mine: and, though train'd up thus meanly

I' th' 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, whom
The King his father call'd Guiderius, - Jove!
When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell
The warlike 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 shews 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