That grief and patience, rooted in him both,
Mingle their spurs together.

Arv. Grow, patience!

And let the flinking elder, grief, untwine
His perithing root, with the encreafing vine!

Bel. It is great morning. Come, away: who's there?
Enter Cloten.

Clot. I cannot find those runagates: that villain
Hath mock'd me.
I am faint.

Bel. Those runagates!

Means he not us? I partly know him; 'tis
Cloten, the fon o'th' Queen; I fear some ambush-
I faw him not thefe many years, and yet

I know, 'tis he: we're held as out-laws; hence.
Guid. He is but one; you and my brother fearch
What companies are near; pray you, away;

Let me alone with him. [Exeunt Belarius and Arviragus. Clot. Soft! what are you,

That fly me thus I've heard of fuch. Guid. A thing

fome villain-mountaineers-
What flave art thou ?

More flavish did I ne'er, than answering

A flave without a knock.

Clot. Thou art a robber,

A law-breaker, a villain; yield thee, thief.

Guid. To whom? to thee? what art thou have not! An arm as big as thine? a heart as big?

edition, contrary to the authority of all the copies. And for what reafon? He did not know there was any fuch word in English,'as spurs, in the fignification here requir'd. But fpurs, among other acceptations, means, thofe hair-like fibres or firings, which shoot out from the roots of plants and trees, and give them a fixure and firmnefs in the earth. Our Author has used the word again in this sense, in bis Tempeft.

-The ftrong-bas'd promontory

Have I made shake, and by the fpurs pluck'd up

The pine and cedar.

Ireftor'd the reading of the old copies in the Appendix to my SHAKESPEARE Reflor'd; and Mr, Pope has fuffer'd himself to be inform'd, in his laft edition.

Thy

Thy words, I grant, are bigger: for I wear not
My dagger in my mouth. Say, what thou art,
Why I fhould yield to thee?

Clot. Thou villain base,

Know'ft me not by my clothes?

Guid. No, nor thy taylor, rafcal,

Who is thy grandfather; he made thofe clothes.
Which, as it seems, make thee.

Clot. Thou precious varlet!

My taylor made them not.

Guid. Hence then, and thank

The man that gave them thee. Thou art fome fool: I'm loth to beat thee.

Clot. Thou injurious thief,

Hear but my name, and tremble.

Guid. What's thy name?

Clot. Cloten, thou villain.

Guid. Cloten, then, double villain, be thy name. I cannot tremble at it; were it toad, adder, spider, 'Twould move me fooner.

Clot. To thy further fear,

Nay, to thy meer confufion, thou shalt know

I'm fon to th' Queen.

Guid. I'm forry for't; not feeming

So worthy as thy birth,

Clot. Art not afraid?

Guid. Thofe that I rev'rence, thofe I fear; the wifes

At fools I laugh, not fear them.

Clot. Die the death!-

When I have flain thee with my proper hand,

I'll follow thofe that even now fled hence,

And on the gates of Lud's town fet

Yield, ruftick mountaineer.

your heads

[Fight, and Exeunt.

Enter Belarius and Arviragus.

Bel. No company's abroad.

Arv. None in the world; you did mistake him, fure, Bel. I cannot tell; long is it fince I saw him, But time hath nothing blurr'd thofe lines of favour Which then he wore; the fnatches in his voice,

N 4

And

And burst of fpeaking, were as his: I'm abfolute, 'Twas very Cloten.

"

Arv. In this place we left them;

I with my brother make good time with him,
You fay, he is fo fell.

Bel. (42) Being scarce made up,

I mean, to man, he had not apprehenfion
Of roaring terrors; for th' effect of judgment
1s oft the caufe of fear. But fee, thy brother.

Enter Guiderius, with Cloten's Head.

Guid. This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse, There was no money in't; not Hercules

Could have knock'd out his brains; for he had none: Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne

My head, as I do his,

Bel. What haft thou done?

Guid. I'm perfect, what; cut off one Cloten's head, Son to the Queen, after his own report;

Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and fwore
With his own fingle hand he'd take us in ;

Difplace our heads, where, thanks to th' Gods, they grow,
And fet them on Lud's town.

Bel. We're all undone!

(42)

Being fearce made up,

I mean, to man, be bad not apprehenfion

Of roaring terrors; for defect of judgment

Is oft the caufe of fear.] If I understand this paffage, it is mock-easoning as it ftands, and the text must have been flightly cor rupted. Belarius is giving a description of what Cloten formerly was; and in answer to what Arviragus fays of bis being fo fell. “Ay, fays Belarius, he was fo fel, and being fcarce then at man's eftate, he "had no apprehenfion of roaring terrors, i. e. of any thing that "could check him with fears." But then, how does the inference come in, built upon this? For defect of judgment is oft the cause of fear. I think, the Poet meant to have faid the meer contrary. Cloten was defective in judgment, and therefore did not fear. Apprehenfions of fear grow from a judgment in weighing dangers. And a very eafy change, from the traces of the letters, gives us this fenfe, and reconciles the reafoning of the whole paffage.

For th' effect of judgment

Is oft the cause of fear.

Guid. Why, worthy father, what have we to lofe, But what he fwore to take our lives? the law Protects not us; then why should we be tender, To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us? Play judge, and executioner all himself? For we do fear the law. What company Discover you abroad?

Bel. No fingle foul

Can we fet eye on; but, in all safe reason,

He must have fome attendants. (43) Though his hu-
Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that [mour
From one bad thing to worfe; yet not his frenzy,
Not abfolute madness, could fo far have rav'd,
To bring him here alone; although, perhaps,
It may be heard at court, that fuch as we
Cave here, haunt here, are out-laws, and in time
May make fome ftronger head: the which he hearing,
(As it is like him) might break out, and fwear,
He'd fetch us in; yet is't not probable
To come alone, nor he fo undertaking,

Nor they fo fuffering; then on good ground we fear,
If I do fear, this body hath a tail

More perilous than the head.

Arv. Let ordinance

Come, as the Gods forefay it; howfoe'er,

My brother hath done well.

Bel. I had no mind

To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness

Did make my way long forth.

Guid. With his own fword,

(43)

Tho' his honour

Was nothing but mutation, &c.] What has his bonour to do here, in his being changeable in this fort? in his acting as a madman, or not? I have ventur'd to substitute humour, against the authority of the printed copies; and the meaning feems plainly this. "Tho' he was always fickle to the laft degree, and govern'd by "humour, not found fenfe; yet not madness itself could make him "fo hardy to attempt an enterprise of this nature alone, and un"feconded." The like mistake, of honour for humour, had taken place in a paffage of the Merry Wives of Windfor, which I corrected from the fanction of the old Quarto impreffions.

N 5

Which

Which he did wave against my throat, I've ta'en
His head from him: I'll throw't into the creek
Behind our rock; and let it to the sea,

And tell the fishes, he's the Queen's fon, Cloten.
That's all I reck.

Bel. I fear, 'twill be reveng❜d:

[Exit.

'Would, Paladour, thou had'ft not done't! though vaBecomes thee well enough.

Arv. 'Would I had done't,

So the revenge alone purfu'd me: Paladour,

I love thee brotherly, but envy much,

[lour

Thou'ft robb'd me of this deed; I would, revenges, That poffible ftrength might meet, would feek us thro', And put us to our answer.

Bel. Well, 'tis done:

We'll hunt no more to-day, nor feek for danger
Where there's no profit. Pry'thee, to our rock,
You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll ftay

'Till hafty Paladour return, and bring him
To dinner presently.

Arv. Poor fick Fidele!

I'll willingly to him: To gain his colour,

I'd let a parish of fuch Clotens blood,

And praise myself for charity.

Bel. O thou Goddess,

Thou divine Nature! how thyself thou blazon'st
In thefe two princely boys! they are as gentle,
As Zephyrs blowing below the violet,

[Exit.

Not wagging his fweet head; and yet as rough,
(Their royal blood enchaf'd,) as the rud'ft wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him ftoop to th' vale.-'Tis wonderful,
That an invifible inftinct fhould frame them
To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,
Civility not feen from other; valour,
That wildly grows in them; but yields a crop
As if it had been fow'd. Yet ftill it's ftränge
What Cloten s being here to us portends,
Or what his death will bring us.