The fear's as bad as falling; the toil of war,
Apain that only feems to feek out danger

'I' th' name of fame and honour, which dies i' th And hath as oft a fland'rous epitaph,

[fearch,

As record of fair act; nay, many time
Doth ill deferve by doing well: what's worfe,
Muft curtly at the cenfure. Oh, boys, this story
The world may read in me: my body's mark'd
With Roman fwords; and my report was once
First with the best of note; Cymbeline lov'd me,
And, when a foldier was the theme, my name
Was not far off: then was I as a tree

Whofe boughs did bend with fruit; but, in one night,

A ftorm, or robbery, call it what you will,

Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, And left me bare to weather.

Guid. Uncertain favour!

Bel. My fault being nothing, as I have told
you oft,

But that two villains, whofe falfe oaths prevail'd
Before my perfect honour, fwore to Cymbeline
I was confed'rate with the Romans; fo

Follow'd my banishment; and, thefe twenty years,
This rock and thefe demefnes 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.

tains!

But, up to th' moun

This is not hunters' language; he that trikes
The venison firft, fhall be the lord o' th' feaft;
To him the other two fhall minifter,

And we will fear no poifon which attends

In place of greater ftate.

I'll meet you in the vallies.

[Exeunt Guid. and Arvit.

How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature! These boys know little they are fons to th' King; Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. They think they're mine; and though train'd up thus meanly

I' th' cave, whereon they bow, their thoughts do hit

The roof of palaces * and nature prompts them,
In fimple and low things, to prince it much
Beyond the trick of others. Thus Paladour,
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom
The king his father call'd Guiderius, Jove!
When on my three-foot-ftool I fit, and tell
The warlike feats I've done, his fpirits fly out
Into my story: fay, "Thus mine enemy fell,
“And thus I fet my foot on's neck;"-even then
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he fweats,
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in pofture
That acts my words. The younger brother Cadwal,
Once Arviragus, in as like a figure

Strikes life into my fpeech, and fhews much more
His own conceiving. Hark, the game is rouz'd.-
Oh Cymbeline! Heav'n and my confcience know
Thou didst unjustly banish me; whereon,

At three and two years old I stole these babes,
Thinking to bar thee of fucceffion, as

Thou refi'ft me of my lands, Euriphile,

[ther,

Thou waft their nurfe; they take thee for their mo-
And every day do honour to her grave;
Myfelf Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,

They take for natural father. The game's up. [Exit.

Enter Pilanio and Imogen.

Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from horfe, the place

Was near at hand. Ne'er long'd my mother fo To see me first, as I have now. Pifanio, man, 'Where is Pofthumus? What is in thy mind, That makes thee ftare thus? wherefore breaks that figh

From th' inward of thee? One but painted thus

*I' th' cave wherein they bow

i e. thus meanly brought up. Yet in this very cave, which is folow that they muft bow or bend in entering it, yet are their thoughts fo exalted, &c. This is the antithefis. Warburton.

VOL. IX.

Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond felf-explication. Put thy felf
Into a 'haviour of lefs fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my ftaider fenfes. What's the matter?
Why tender'ft thou that paper to me, with
A look untender? if't be fummer news,
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that countenance ftill. My husband's hand?
That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
And he's at fome hard point. Speak, man; thy
tongue

May take off fome extremity, which to read
Would be e'en mortal to me.

Pif. Please you, read;

And you fhall find me, wretched man, a thing
The most difdain'd of fortune.

Imogen reads.

Thy mistress, Pifanio, hath play'd the trumpet in my bed, the teftimonies whereof ly bleeding in me. I fpeak not out of weak furmifes, but from proof as Strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my re venge. That part thou, Pifanio, must act for me. If thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers, let thine hands take away her life: I shall give thee opportunity 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 pander to her dishonour, and equally to me difloyal..

Pif. What shall I need to draw my sword ? othe paper

Hath cut her throat already.- -No, 'tis flander,
Whofe edge is fharper than the fword, whose tongue
Out-venoms all the worms of Nile; whofe breath
Rides on the pofting winds, and doth belye
All corners of the world. Kings, Queens, and fates,
Maids, matrons, nay, the fecrets of the grave s
This viperous flander enters. What chear, madam?
Imo. Falfe to his bed! what is it to be false?
To ly in watch there, and to think on him?

To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if fleep charge naTo break it with a fearful dream of him, [ture, And cry myself awake? That's falle to's bed! is't? Pif. Alas, good lady!

Imo. I falfe? thy confcience witnefs, Iachino;Thou didft accufe him of incontinency;

Thou then look'dft like a villain: now, methinks,
Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy,
Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him
Poor I am ftale, a garment out of fashion;
And, for I'm richer than to hang by th' walls,
I must be ript. To pieces with me. Oh,
Men's vows are women's traitors. All good feeming
By thy revolt, oh husband, shall be thought
Put on for villainy, not born where it grows,
But worn a bait for ladies.

Pif. Good Madam, hear me.

Imo. True honeft men being heard, like falfe Æneas,

Were in his time thought false; and Sinon's weeping Did fcandal many a holy tear; took pity

From most true wretchednefs: fo thou, Pofthumus, Wilt lay the leven to all proper men;

Goodly and gallant fhall be falfe and perjur'd
From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honeft,
Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou feeft him,
A little witness my obedience. Look!

I draw the fword myself, take it, and hit
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart:
Fear not, 'tis empty of all things but grief;
Thy mafter is not there; who was, indeed,
The riches of it. Do his bidding, strike;
Thou may'st be valiant in a better caufe,
But now thou feem't a coward.

Pif. Hence, vile instrument !
Thou shalt not damn my hand.
Imo. Why, I must die;

And, if I do not by thy hand, thou art

No fervant of thy mafter's. 'Gainst self-slaughter There is a prohibition fo divine

That cravens my weak hand; come, here's my heart

Something's afore't-foft, foft, we'll no defence;:

Obedient as the fcabbard!

[Opening her breast. What is here?!

The fcriptures of the loyal Leonatus-
All turn'd to herefy? Away, away,

[Pulling his letters out of her bofom. Corrupters of my faith! you fhall no more

Be ftomachers to my heart; thus may poor fools
Believe faife teachers; tho' thofe that are betray'd
Do feel the treafon fharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worfe cafe of woe. And thou, Pofthumus,
That fet'ft my disobedience 'gainst the king,
And mad'ft me put into contempt the fuits
Of princely fellows, fhalt hereafter find,
It is no act of common passage, bu*
A ftrain of rareness: and I grieve myself-
To think, when thou fhalt be difedg'd by her
Whom now thou tir'ft on *, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.-Pr'ythee, difpatch
The lamb entreats the butcher. Where's thy knife?
Thou art too flow to do thy mafter's bidding,
When I defire it too.

Pif. O gracious Lady!

Since I receiv'd command to do this business,
I have not flept one wink.

Imo. Do't, and to bed then.

Pif. I'll wake mine eye-balls first t.
Imo. Wherefore then

Didft undertake it? why haft thou abus'd

So many miles with a

etence? this place?

Mine action? and thine own? our horfes' labour?

The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court,
For my being abfent? whereunto' I never
Furpofe return. Why haft thou goue-fo far
To be unbent, when thou haft ta’én thy stand,”
Th' elected deer before thee?

That is, When the edge of thy appetite shall be blunted by her in whofe embraces thou art now glut ting it. Revijal.

I read,

I'll wake mine eye-balls out first,

›-----or blind fieft. : Jobrf.