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The fear's as bad as falling; the toil of
war, A pain that only seems to seek out danger l'ih' name of fame and honour, which dies'i' tlin And haih as oft a fland'rous epitaph, [search, As record of fair act; nay, many time Doth ill delerve by doing well: what's worse, Must curıly at the censure. 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 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
A storm, or robbery, call it what you will,
Shook down my mellow bangings, nay, my leaves,
And left me bare to weather.
Guid, Uncertain favour !
Bel. My fault being nothing, as I have told
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevaild
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline
I was confedrate with the Romans; so
Follow'd my banishment; and, these 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 th’moun.
This is not hunters' language ; he that strikes
The venison first, hall be the lord o'th' feast;
To him the other two Thall minister,
And we will fear no poison which attends
In place of greater state.
I'll meet you in the vallies.
[Exetent Guid. and Arvir.
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'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 Cvimbeline and Britain, whom
The king his father callid Guiderius, Jove!
When on my three-foot-stool I fit, and tell
The warlike fears I've done, liis fpirits 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 rouz'd.--
Oh Cymbeline! Heav'n and my conscience know
Thou didst unjust?y banilli me; whereon,
At three and two years old I stole these babes,
Thinking to bar thee of fuccellion, as
Thou refi'st me of my lands, Euriphile,
Thou wait their nurse; they take thee for their mo-
And every day do honour to her grave; [ther,
Myself Belarius, that am Morgan callid,
They take for natural father. The game's up. [Exit.
SCE N E IV.
Enter Pilanio and Imogen. Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse,
the place Was pear 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
figh From th' inward of thee? One but painted thus
* l' th cave wherein they bowman į e, thus meanly brought up. Yet in this very care, 'which is so low that they must bow or bend in entering it, yet are their thoughts so exalted, 66. This is the antithesis. Warburton.
Vould be interpreted a thing perplex'd
•Beyond self-explication. Put ihy self
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't be summer news,
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that countenance still. My husband's hand?
That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
And he's at some hard point. Speak, man; thy
May take off some extremity, which to read
Would be e'en mortal to me.
Pis. Please you, read;
And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
The most dildain'd of fortune.
Imogen reads. Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play'd the strumpet in guy bed, the testimonies whereof by bleeding in ne. I speak not out of weak surmises, but from proof as Strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect myre, venge. That part-thou, Pisanio, must ait for me. If thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hersy let thine hands take away her life: I hall 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 disloyah.
Pif. What shall I need to draw my sword ? the
paper Hath cut her throat already. -No, 'tiş flander, Whose edge is sharper than the fword, whole tongue Out-venoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belyet! DJA All corners of the world. Kings, Queens, and states, Maids, matrons, nay, the fecrets of the grave This viperous Nander enters, Wbat chear, madam
Imo. False to his bed! what is it to be false To ly in watch there, and to think on him?
To weep’tivizt clock and clock? if neep charge naTo break it with a fearful dream of him, (ture, And cry myself awake? That's falle to's bed! is't?
Pis. Alas, good lady!
Imo. I falle? thy conscience witness, Iachino;-
Thou didft accuse him of incontinency;
Thou then look'dst 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 stale, 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 seeming
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 lionelt men being heard, like false
Were in his time thought false; and Sinon's weeping
Did scandal many a holy tear; took pity
From most true wretchedness: fo thou, Posthumus,
Wilt lay the leven to all proper men;
Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjurd
From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest,
Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou feest him,
A little witness my obedience. Look!
I draw the sword myself, take it, and hit
The innocent manfion of my love, ny heart:
Fear not, 'tis empty of all things but grief;
Thy master is not there; who was, indeed,
The riches of it. Do his bidding, strike ;
Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause,
But now thou seem'st 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 servant' of thy master's. 'Gainst felf-laughter There is a prohibition fo divine That cravens my weak hand; come, here's my
Something's afore't-foft, foft, we'll no defence;
[Opening her breaft. Obedient as the scalabard! What is here? The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus All turn'd to herefy ? Away, away,
[Pulling his letter's out of her bofoni.
Corrupters of my faith? you shall no more
Be stomachers to my heart; thus may poor fools
Believe false ieachers; tho those that are betray'd
Do feel the treason fharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe. And thou, Posthumus,
That set'st my disobedience 'gainst the king,
And mad'st me put into contempt the suits
Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find,
It is no act of common passage, but
A strain of rareness: and I grieve inyfelf-
To think, when thou shalt be difedgʻd by her
Whom now thon tir’st on *, hoip thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.--Prytbee, dispatch
The lamb entreats the butcher.' Whare's thy knife
Thou art too flow to do thy master's bidding,
When I desire it too.
Pil. O gracicus Lady!
Since I receiv'd command to do tliis business,
I have noi llepi one wink.
Imo. Do't, and to bed then.
Pif. I'll wake mine eye-balls first t.
I mo. Wherefore then
Didit undertake it? why hast thou abus'd
So many miles with a etence? this place?
Mine action and thine own? our horses? labour?
The time inviting thee? the perturb'd crurt,
For my being absent? whereunto' I never
Purpose return. Why haft thou gouc-fo far"
To be unbent, when thou hast ta'en thy stand, Th’ elected deer before thee?
That is, when tire edge of thy appetite Malt be hlunted hy her ja whole envraces thou art dow glutting it. Perijal.
I read, I'll wake nine cye-balls out first, or blind fiesto: Jobafo.