The fear's as bad as falling: the toil of the war,

A pain that only seems to seek out danger 23o I” the name of fame, and honour; which dies i' the search ;

And hath as oft a slanderousepitaph,
As record of fair act; nay, many times,
Döth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
Must curt’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, 246
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.

Guid. Uncertain favour!

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, these twenty years, This rock, and these demesnes, have been my world : Where I have liv'd at honest freedom; pay’d 252 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

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 vallies.
[Exeunt GUID. and AR v.
How hard it is, to hide the sparks of nature? 26o
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
I” the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
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—Jovel
When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell 270
The warlike feats I have dome, his spirits fly out
Into my story: say—Thus mine enemy fell;
And thus I set my foot on his neck; even then
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture
That ačts 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 1–
O Cymbeline I heaven, and my conscience, knows,

Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon, 281 At three, and two years old, I stole these babes; Thinking to bar thee of succession, as *


Thou rest'st me of my lands. Euriphile,
Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their
And every day do honour to her grave :
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call’d,
They take for natural father. The game is up. -


Near Milford-Haven. Enter PIs A NIo, and IMode N.

Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place Was near at hand:—Ne'er long'd my mother so 290 To see me first, as I have now :—Pisanio 1 Man I Where is Posthumus What is in thy mind, That makes thee stare thus * Wherefore breaks that sigh From the inward of thee One, but painted thus, Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd, , , Beyond self-explication : Put thyself 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 it be summer news, 3oo Smile to't before : if winterly, thou need'st But, keep that countenance still.— My husband's hand 1 That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-crafted him, And

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And he's at some hard point.—Speak, man; thy
May take off some extremity, which to read
Would be even mortal to me.
Pis. Please you, read;
And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
The most disdain’d of fortune. 309

IMogen reads.

Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play'd the strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises; but from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part, thou, Pisanio, must ači for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of her’s. Let thine own 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 pandar to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal. 319

Pis. What shall I need to draw my sword the paper

Hath cut her throat already.—No, 'tis slander;
Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue
Out-venoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie
All corners of the world kings, queens, and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters.—Whatcheer, madam? "

Imo. False to his bed! What is it, to be false To

To lie in watch there, and to think on him *
To weep 'twixt clock and clock if sleep charge
nature, 33o
To break it with a fearful dream of him,
And cry myself awake that's false to his bed
Is it *
Pis. Alas, good lady!
Ino. I false 2 Thy conscience witness :-Iachimo,
Thou didst 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; 34C
And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls,
I must be ript:—to pieces with me!—O,
Men's vows are women's traitors All good seeming,
By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
Put on for villany; not born, where’t grows;
But worn, a bait for ladies.
Pis. Good madam, hear me.
Imo. True homest men being heard, like false AEneas,
Were, in his time, thought false; and Simon's weep-
Did scandal many a holy tear; took pity 35o
From most true wretchedness: So, thou, Posthumus,
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 honest :
Do thou thy master's bidding: When thou see'st him,
A little witness my obedience: Look
- I draw

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