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Guid. Hail, heaven!

Aru.. Hail, heav'n!

Bel. Now for our mountain fport, up to yond hill,
Your legs are young: I'll tread thefe flats. Confider,
When you, above, perceive me like a crow,
That it is place which leffens and sets off;
And you may then revolve what tales I told you,
Of courts, of Princes, of the tricks in war;
That fervice is not fervice, fo being done,
But being fo allow'd. To apprehend thus,
Draws us a profit from all things we fee:
And often, to our comfort, fhall we find
The fharded beetle in a fafer hold,
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. Oh, this life
Is nobler than attending for a check;
Richer, than doing nothing for a bauble;
Prouder, than rufling in unpaid-for filk:

Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncrofs'd; no life to ours.

Guid, Out of your proof you fpeak; we, poor, unfcdg'd,

Have never wing'd from view o'th' neft; nor know,
What air's from home. Haply, this life is beft,"
If quiet life is beft; fweeter to you,

That have a fharper known: well corresponding
With your ftiff age; but unto us, it is
A cell of ignorance; travelling a-bed;
A prifon, for a debtor that not dares
To ftride a limit..

Arv. What should we fpeak of,

When we are old as you? when we fhall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December? how,
In this our pinching cave, fhall we difcourfe
The freezing hours away? We have feen nothing;
We're beaftly; fubtle as the fox for prey,
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat :
Our valour is to chafe what flies; our cage
We make a choir, as doth the prison'd bird,
And fing our bondage freely.

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Bel. How you speak!

Did you but know the city's ufuries,

And felt them knowingly; the art o'th' court,
As hard to leave, as keep; whofe top to climb,
Is certain falling; or fo flipp'ry, that

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

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

As record of fair act; nay, many time,

Doth ill deferve, by doing well what's worfe,
Muft curt'fy 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
Firft with the beft of note. Cymbeline lov'd me;
And when a foldier was the theam, my name
Was not far off: then was I as a tree,

Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But, in one night,
A form, 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) swore to Cymbeline,
I was confed'rate with the Romans: fo,

Follow'd my banishment; and, thefe twenty years,
This rock and these demeafnes have been my world;
Where I have liv'd at honeft freedom; pay'd
More pious debts to heaven, than in all

The fore-end of my time.-But, up to th' mountains!
This is not hunters' language; he, that ftrikes

The venifon first, shall be the Lord o'th' feast;
To him the other two hall minifter,

And we will fear no poifon, which attends

In place of greater state:

I'll meet you in the valleys.

[Exeunt Guid. and Arvir,

Nor

How hard it is to hide the fparks of nature! Thefe boys know little, they are fons to th' King;

L 5

Nor Cymbeline dreams, that they are alive.

They think, they're mine; tho'trained up thus meanly (14)
I'th' cave, there, on the brow, 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. This Paladour,
The heir of Cymbeline and Britaine, 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 ftory: 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 did unjustly banifh me: whereon,

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At three and two years old, I ftole thefe babes; 1.
Thinking to bar thee of fucceffion, as
Thou reft'ft me of my lands. Euriphile,

Thou waft their nurse; they take thee for their mother,

(14)

tho' trained up thus meanly

Here in the Cave, wherein their Thoughts do bit

The Roof of Palaces.- - -]

M

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Thus Mr. Pope; but the Sentence breaks off imperfectly. The old Editions read,

I' th' Cave, whereon the Row their Thoughts do bit, &c.,\ Mr. Rowe faw, this likewife was faulty, and therefore amended it thus:

Ith Cave, where on the Bow, their thoughts do bit, &c. *

I think, it should be only with the Alteration of one Letter, and the Addition of another;

Ith' Cave, there, on the Brow,

And fo the Grammar and Syntax of the Sentence is compleat. We call the Arching of a Cavern, or Overbanging of a Hill, metaphori cally, the Brow; and in like manner the Greeks and Latines ufed Opus, and Supercilium.

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And

And every day do honour to thy grave;
Myfelf Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,

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

Enter Pifanio, and Imogen.

Imo. Thou told't 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,

Where is Poftbumus? What is in thy mind,

That makes thee ftare thus? wherefore breaks that figh
From th' inward of thee? one, but painted thus,
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd

Beyond felf-explication. Put thyself
Into a 'haviour of lefs fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my ftaider fenfes-
swhat'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'ft

But keep that count'nance 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. Pleafe you, read;

E

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

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HY mifirefs, Pifano, bath play'd the firumpet in my bed: the teftimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I Speak not out of weak furmifes, but from proof as firong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. 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 lifel I fhall give thee opportunity at Milford-Haven. She bath 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 difhonour, and equally to me difloyal, emo

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Pif.

Pif. What shall I need to draw my fword? the paper
Hath cut her throat already.No, 'tis flander;
Whofe edge is 'fharper than the fword, whofe tongue
Out-venoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belye.
All corners of the world. Kings, Queens, and ftates,
Maids, matrons, nay, the fecrets of the grave››
This viperous flander enters. What chear, Madam ?
Imo. Falfe to his bed! what is it to be faifer?
To lie in watch there, and to think on him?
To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if fleep charge nature,
To break it with a fearful dream of him,
And cry myfelf awake that falle, to's bed!
Pif. Alas, good lady! vi છે
Imo. I falfe? thy confcience witness, Lachimo,
Thou didst accufe him of incontinency,

Thou then look'dft like a villain: now, methinks,
Thy favour's good enough. Some Jay of Italy

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(Whofe mother was her painting) hath betray'd him: Poor I am ftale, a garment out of fashion; microf And, for I'm richer than to hang by th' walls, bus! I must be ript: to pieces with me: :-oh,

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Men's vows are women's traitors. All good feeming
By thy revolt, oh husband, shall be thought

Put on for villany: not born, where't grows;
But worn, a bait for ladies.

Pif. Madam, hear me

Imo. True honeft men being heard, like falfe Eneas, Were in his time thought falfe: and Sinon's weeping Did fcandal many a holy tear; took pity

From most true wretchedness. So, 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 mafter's bidding: when theu fecft him,
A little witnefs my obedience. Look!

I draw the fword myfelf, take it, and hit
The innocent manfion of my love, my heart;
Fear not, 'tis empty of all things, but grief;
Thy mafter is not there; who was, indeed,

The

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