Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys; 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 hardly As prouder livers do.

Gui. Hail, heaven! Arv. Hail, heaven!

[hill,

Bel. Now, for our mountain sport: up to yon
Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Con-
When you above perceive me like a crow, [sider,
That it is place, which lessons, and sets off.
And you may then revolve what tales I have told
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war: [you,
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,
[know not
Have never wing'd from view o'the nest; nor
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 a-bed;
A prison for a debtor, that not dares
To stride a limit.

Arv. 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.

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 o'the war,
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
I'the name of fame, and honour; which dies i'the
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'sey at the censure:-O, boys, this
story

[search;

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

[you oft)

Bel. My fault being nothing (as I have told 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:

[tains;

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-
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;
And we will fear no poison, which attends
In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the
valleys. [exeunt Guiderius and Arviragus.
How hard it is, to hide the sparks of nature!
These boys know little, they are sons to the king;
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think, they are mine: and, though train'd

up thus meanly
[hit
I'the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do
The roofs of palaces; and nature 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's neck ;' even then
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in
[Cadwell,

posture That acts my words. The younger brother, (Once, Arviragus,) 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 nurse; they took thee for their And every day do honour to her grave: [mother, Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd, They take for natural father. The game is up. [exit.

SCENE IV. NEAR MILFORD HAVEN.

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 breake

And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing The most disdain'd 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 1 expect my revenge. That 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 thee opportunities at MilfordHaven 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 disloyal.

Pis. What shall I need to draw my sword?

Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion;
And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls,
I must be ripp'd:-to pieces with me!-0,
Men's vows are women's traitors! All good
seeming,

By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
Put on for villainy; not born, where't grows;
But worn, a bait for ladies.

Pis. Good madam, hear me.

Imo. True honest men being heard, like false Eneas, [weeping Were, in his time, thought false and Sinon's Did scandal many a holy tear; took pity From most true wretchedness: so, thou, Posthúmus, Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men; Goodly, and gallant, shall be false, and perjur'd, From thy great fail.-Come, fellow, be thou hon

est;

[him,

Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou see'st A little witness my obedience: look

I draw the sword myself: take it; and hit
The innocent mansion of my love, my 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.

Pis. 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. Against self-slaughter
There is a prohibition so divine,

That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart;

Something's afore't :-soft, soft; we'll no defence;
Obedient as the scabbard.What is here?
The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus,
All turn'd to heresy? Away, away,
Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more
Be stomachers to my heart! Thus may poor fools
Believe false teachers: though those, that are
betray d,

Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe.

And thou, Posthúmus, thou that didst set up
My disobedience 'gainst the king my father,
And make 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 myself,
To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her
That now thou tir'st on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.-Pr'ythee, despatch •
The lamb entreats the butcher. Where's thy

knife?

Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding, When I desire it too.

Pis. O gracious lady,

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

Imo. Do't, and to bed then.

Pis. I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first.
Imo. Wherefore then

Did'st undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd
So many miles, with a pretence? this place ?!
Mine action, and thine own? our horses' labour?
The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court, &
For my being absent; whereunto I never
Purpose return? Why hast thou gone so far,
To be unbent, when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
The eleeted deer before thee?

Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
The duty of the day: she looks us like
A thing more made of malice, than of duty:
We have noted it.-Call her before us; for
We have been too slight in sufferance. [exit Attend.
Queen. Royal sir,

Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
Tis time must do. 'Beseech your majesty.
Forbear sharp speeches to her she's a lady
So tender of rebukes, that words are strokes,
And strokes death to her.

[exit.

Queen. Son, I say, follow the king. Clo. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, I have not seen these two days.

Queen. Go, look after. [exit Cloten. Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthúmus!— He hath a drug of mine: I pray, his absence Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes It is a thing most precious. But for her, Where is she gone; haply, despair hath seiz'd her; Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown To her desir'd Posthúmus: gone she is To death, or to dishonour; and my end Can make good use of either: she being down, I have the placing of the British crown. Re-enter Cloten.

How now, my son?

Clo. 'Tis certain, she is filed:

Go in, and cheer the king; he rages; none
Dare come about him.

Queen. All the better: may
This night forestall him of the coming day!
[ex. Queen.
Clo. I love, and hate her: for she's fair and royal;
And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Than lady, ladies, woman; from every one
The best she hath, and she, of all compounded,
Outsells them all: I love her therefore; but,
Disdaining me, and throwing favours on
The low Posthúmus, slanders so her judgment,
That what's else rare, is chok'd; and, in that point,
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
To be reveng'd upon her. For, when fools
Enter Pisanio.

Shall-Who is here? What are you packing, sirrah?

Come hither: ah, you precious pandar! Villain,
Where is thy lady? In a word; or else
Thou art straightway with the fiends.

How can she be with him? When was she miss'd' He is in Rome.

Clo. Where is she, sir? Come nearer;
No further halting: satisfy me home,
What is become of her?

Pis. O, my all-worthy lord
Clo. All-worthy villain!
Discover where thy mistress is, at once,
At the next word.

No more of worthy lord,

Speak, or thy silence on the instant is
Thy condemnation and thy death.
Pis. Then, sir,

This paper is the history of my knowledge,
Touching her flight.
[presenting a letter.
Clo. Let's see't:-I will pursue her
Even to Augustus' throne.

Pis. Or this, or perish.

She's far enough; and what he learns by this, May prove his travel, not her danger.

Clo. Humph!

[aside.

Pis. I'll write to my lord she's dead. O, Imogen, Safe may'st thou wander, safe return again! [aside. Clo. Sirrah, is this letter true?

Pis. Sir, as I think.

Clo. It is Posthumus' hand; I know't.— Sirrah, if thou would'st not be a villain, but do me true service; undergo those employments, wherein I should have cause to use thee, with a serious industry,—that is, what villainy soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it, directly and truly,-I would think thee an honest man: thou should'st neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment.

Pis. Well, my good lord.

Clo. Wilt thou serve me? For, since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serve me?

Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Haven :-I forgot to ask him one thing; I'll remember't anon:Even there, thou villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. I would these garments were come. She said upon a time (the bitterness of it I now belch from my heart), that she held the very garment of Posthumus in more respect than my noble and natural person, together with the adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my back, will I ravish her first kill him, and in her eyes;

there shall she see my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on his dead body, -and when my lust hath dined (which, as I say, to vex her, I will execute in the clothes that she so praised), to the court I'll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge.

Re-enter Pisanio, with the clothes.

Be those the garments?

Pis. Ay, my noble lord.

Clo. How long is't since she went to MilfordPis. She can scarce be there yet.

[Haven? Cto. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second thing that I have commanded thee: the third is, that thou shalt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself to thee.-My revenge is now at Milford; 'would I had wings to follow it!-Come, and be true. [exit. Pis. Thou bidd'st me to my loss: for, true to thee, Were to prove false, which I will never be, To him that is most true.-To Milford go, And find not her whom thou pursu'st. Flow, flow, You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed Be cross'd with slowness; labour be his meed!

I could not miss my way: will poor folks lie,
That have afflictions on them; knowing 'tis
A punishment, or trial? Yes; no wonder,
When rich ones scarce tell true: to lapse in fulness
Is sorer, than to lie for need; and falsehood
Is worse in kings, than beggars.-My dear lord!
Thou art one o'the false ones: now I think on thee,
My hunger's gone: but even before, I was
At point to sink for food.-But what is this?
Here is a path to it: 'tis some savage hold
I were best not call; I dare not call: yet famine,
Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty, and peace, breeds cowards; hardness ever
Of hardiness is mother.-Ho! who's here?
If any thing that's civil, speak; if savage,
Take, or lend.-Ho!-No answer? then I'll enter.
Best draw my sword: and if mine enemy
But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look
Such a foe, good heavens!,
[on't.
[she goes into the cave.
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.
Bel. You, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman,
Are master of the feast: Cadwal, and I,
Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match:
The sweat of industry would dry, and die,
But for the end it works to. Come; our stomachs
Will make what's homely, savoury: weariness
Can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth

[and

Finds the down pillow hard.-Now, peace be Poor house, that keep'st thyself! [here,

Gui. I am thoroughly weary.

Arv. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite. Gui. There is cold meat i'the cave; we'll browze on that,

Whilst what we have kill'd be cook'd.

Bel. Stay; come not in:

[looking in. But that it eats our victuals, I should think Here were a fairy.

Gui. What's the matter, sir?

Bel. By Jupiter, an angel! or if not, An earthly paragon! Behold divineness No elder than a boy!

Enter Imogen.

Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt! As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those Who worship dirty gods.

Imo. I see, you are angry,

Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
Have died, had I not made it.
Bel. Whither bound?
Imo. To Milford-haven, sir.
Bel. What is your name?

Imo. Fidele, sir: I have a kinsman, who
Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford;
To whom, being going, almost spent with hunger,
I am fallen in this offence.

Bel. Pr'ythee, fair youth,

Think us no churls; nor measure our good minds By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd! 'Tis almost night: you shall have better cheer Ere you depart; and thanks, to stay and eat it.Boys, bid him welcome.

Gui. Were you a woman, youth,

I should woo hard, but be your groom.-In I bid for you, as I'd buy. [honesty,

Arv. I'll make't my comfort,

He is a man; I'll love him as my brother;—
And such a welcome as I'd give to him,
After long absence, such is yours:-Most wel-
Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends. [come!
Imo. 'Mongst friends!

If brothers?-'Would it had been so, that they
Had been my father's sons! then had my prize
Been less and so more equal ballasting
To thee, Posthumus.

Bel. He wrings at some distress.

Gui. 'Would, I could free't!

Arv. Or I; whate'er it be,

What pain it cost, what danger! gods!

[aside.

Bel. Hark, boys.

[whispering

Imo. Great men,

That had a court no bigger than this cave
That did attend themselves, and had the virtue
Which their own conscience seal'd them (laying by