girdle: if you beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall face the better for you; and there's an end.
Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine: All the remain is, welcome.
SCENE II-Another Room in the same. Enter Pi
Pis. How! of adultery? Wherefore write you not What monster's her accuser?-Leonatus!
O, master! what a strange infection
Is fallen into thy ear? What false Italian
(As poisonous tongu'd, as handed,) hath prevail'd
On thy too ready hearing?-Disloyal? No:
She's punish'd for her truth; and undergoes,
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults
As would take in some virtue.-O, my master!
Thy mind to her is now as low, as were
Thy fortunes.-How! that I should murder her?
Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I
Have made to thy command?-I, her?-her blood?
If it be so to do good service, never
Let me be counted serviceable. How look I,
That I should seem to lack humanity,
So much as this fact comes to? Do't: The letter,
That I have sent her, by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity :-O damn'd paper!
Black as the ink that's on thee! senseless bauble,
Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.
Enter Imogen.
I am ignorant in what I am commanded.**
Imo. How now, Pisanio?
Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
Ime. Who? thy lord? that is my lord? Leonatus ?
O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer,
That knew the stars, as I his characters;
He'd lay the future open. You good gods,
Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
Of my lord's health, of his content,-yet not,
That we two are asunder,-let that grieve him,--
(Some griefs are med'cinable ;) that is one of them,
For it doth physic love; of his content,
All but in that!-Good wax, thy leave :-Bless'd be,
You bees, that make these locks of counsel! Lovers,
And men in dangerous bonds, pray not alike;
Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
You clasp young Cupid's tables.-Good news, gods! [Reads.
Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me in his dominion, could not be so cruel to me, as you, O the dearest of creatures, would not 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. Se, 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 the 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
To 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.
Madam, 's enough for you; and too much too.
Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, man,
Could never go so slow: I have heard of riding wagers,
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands
That run i'the 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
Madam, you're best consider.
Imo. I see before me, maú, 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.
SCENE III-Wales. A mountainous country, with a Cave. Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviras gus.
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 sun.-Hail, thou fair heaven! We house i'the rock, yet use thee not so lrardly As prouder livers du.
Bel. Now, for our mountain sport: Up to yon 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 babe;
Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours.
Gui. Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledg'd,
Have never wing'd from view o'the nest; nor know
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.
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 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 bird,
And sing our bondage freely.
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
I' 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,
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.
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 mountains:
This is not hunters' language:-He, that strikes
The venison first, shall be the lord o'the feast;
To him the other two shall minister;
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