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SCENE III.

Wales. A mountainous country, with a cave.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys : This

gate Instructs you how to adore the heavens ; and bows

you To 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 son.-Hail, thou fair heaven! We house i'the rock, yet use thee not so hardly As prouder livers do. Gui.

Hail, heaven! Aro.

Hail, heaven! Bel. Now, for our mountain sport: Up to yon

hill, Your legs are young ; I'll tread these flats. Consi.

der,
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
Tban is the full wing'd eagle. 0. this life
Is nobler, than attending for a check ;

* Strut, walk proudly.

+ Scaly-winged.

Richer, than doing nothing for a babe;
Prouder, than rustling in unpaid for silk:
Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine,
Yęt 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 iguorance; travelling abed;
A prison for a debtor, that not dares
To stride a limit t..
Aro.

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 notbing:
We are beastly; subtle as the fox, for prey;
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat:
Our valour is, to chace what flies; our cage
We make a quire, as doth the prison 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'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
l'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,

* i. e. Compared with ours.

* To overpass his bound, VOL. VII.

N

Must court'sey at the censure :--0, 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 uote: Cymbeline lov'd me;
And when a soldier was the theme, iny 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 liangings, pay, 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'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.

i [Exeunt Gui. and Arv. How hard it is, to hide the sparks of pature! These boys know little, they are sons to the king; Nor Cymbeline drearns 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 wature 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 his neck ; even then
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in pos-

ture
That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,
(Once Arvirágas), 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 purse; they took thee for their mo-

ther,
And every day do honour to her grave:
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan callid,
They take for natural father. The game is up.

[Erit.

SCENE IV.

Near Milford-Haven.

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Enter Pisanio and Imogen.
Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse,

the place
Was near at hand :-Ne'er long'd my mother so
To see me first, as I have now:- Pisanio! Man!
Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind,
That makes thee stare thus ? Wherefore breaks that

sigh From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus, Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd Beyond self-explication : Put thyself

Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter?
Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with
A look untender?' If it be summer news,
Smile to't before: if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that countenance still. My liusband's

hand! That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him, And he's at some hard point.— Speak, man; thy

tongue
May take off some extremity, which to read
Would be even mortal to me.
Pis.

Please you, read;
And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
The most disdain's of fortune.

Imo. [Reads.] Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises; from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. Thut part, thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away her life: I shall give the opportunities at Milford-Haven : she hath my letter for the purpose : Where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal. Pis. What shall I need to draw my sword ? the

paper Hath cut her throat already.-No, 'tis slander; Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world: kings, queens, and states, Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave This viperous slander enters.-- What cheer, madam?

Imo. False to his bed! What is it, to be false?

For behaviour.

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