Then in my pocket; which directed him Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments, Which he inforc'd from me, away he posts Gui. Let me end the story : I slew him there. Cym. Marry, the gods forfend ! I would not thy good deeds should from my lips Gui. I have spoke it, and I did it. Gui. A most uncivil one: The wrongs he did me Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me With language that would make me spurn the sea, If it could so roar to me: I cut off's head; And am right glad, he is not standing here To tell this tale of mine. Cym. I am sorry for thee : By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must Endure our law: Thou art dead. Imo. That headless man I thought had been my lord. Cym. Bind the offender, And take him from our presence. Bel. Stay, sir king : This man is better than the man he slew, As well descended as thyself; and hath More of thee merited, than a band of Clotens Had ever scar for. Let his arms alone; They were not born for bondage. Cym. Why, old soldier, [To the Guard. Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for, By tasting of our wrath? How of descent As good as we? Arv. In that he spake too far. Cym. And thou shalt die for't. Bel. We will die all three: But I will prove, that two of us are as good Arv. Your danger is Ours. Gui. And our good his. Bel. Have at it then. By leave; -Thou hadst, great king, a subject, who Cym. What of him? he is A banish'd traitor. Bel. He it is, that hath Assum'd this age: indeed, a banish'd man; I know not how, a traitor. Cym. Take him hence ; The whole world shall not save him. Bel. Not too hot: First pay me for the nursing of thy sons; And let it be confiscate all, so soon As I have receiv'd it. Cym. Nursing of my sons? Bel. I am too blunt, and saucy: Here's my knee; Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons; Then, spare not the old father. Mighty sir, And blood of your begetting. Cym. How! my issue? Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan, Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd : Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes (For such, and so they are,) these twenty years Have I train'd up: those arts they have, as I Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile, Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children Upon my banishment: I mov'd her to't; Having receiv'd the punishment before, For that which I did then: Beaten for loyalty Excited me to treason: Their dear loss, The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir, Here are your sons again; and I must lose Two of the sweet'st companions in the world :-The benediction of these covering heavens Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy Cym. Thou weep'st, and speak'st. If these be they, I know not how to wish Bel. Be pleas'd a while. This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, Most worthy prince, as yours, is true, Guiderius: This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arvirágus, Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand Of his queen mother, which, for more probation, I can with ease produce. Cym. Guiderius had Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star; It was a mark of wonder. Bel. This is he; Who hath upon him still that natural stamp: To be his evidence now. Cym. O, what am I A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother Imo. No, my lord; I have got two worlds by't.- my gentle brother, When you were so indeed. Cym. Did you e'er meet? Arv. Ay, my good lord. Gui. And at first meeting lov'd; Continued so, until we thought he died. Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd. When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridge ment Hath to it circumstantial branches, which I know not how much more, should be demanded; From chance to chance; but nor the time, nor place, And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye [TO BELARIUS. Imo. You are my father too; and did relieve me, To see this gracious season. Cym. All o'erjoy'd, Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too, For they shall taste our comfort. Imo. My good master, I will yet do you service. Luc. Happy be you! Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, |