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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 hardly As prouder livers do.

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



Bel. Now, for our mountain sport: up to yon Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. 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, [search;
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

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

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Where I have liv'd at honest freedom; paid
More pious debts to heaven, than in all [tains;
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
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
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.



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 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 untender'st thou that paper to me, with
A look untender? If it be summer news,
Smile to't before: if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that countenance still.-My husband's

That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him, And he's at some hard point.—Speak, man; thy tongue

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.

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? the paper Hath cut her throat already.-No, 'tis slander; Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue

Outvenoms 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. What cheer, ma-

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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

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, 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 hon



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 #l
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

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My purpose would prove well. It cannot be,
But that my master is abus'd:

Some villain, ay, and singular in his art,
Hath done you both this cursed injury.
Imo. Some Roman courtezan.
Pis. No, on my life.

I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded
I should do so: you shall be miss'd at court,
And that will well confirm it.

Imo. Why, good fellow,

What shall I do the while? Where bide?
Or in my life what comfort, when I am
Dead to my husband?

Then not in Britain must you bide.
Imo. Where then?

Pis. If you'll back to the court,

Imo. No court, no father; nor no more ado With that harsh, noble, simple, nothing: That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me As fearful as a siege.

Pis. If not at court,

How [live?

Hath Britain all the sun that shines?


Are they not but in Britain? I'the world's



Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it;
In a great pool, a swan's nest: pr'ythee, think
There's livers out of Britain.

Pis. I am most glad

You think of other place. The embassador,
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
To-morrow. Now, if you could wear a mind
Dark as your fortune is; and but disguise
That, which, to appear itself, must not yet be,
But by self-danger; you should tread a course
Pretty, and full of view: yea, haply, near
The residence of Posthumus: so nigh, at least,
That though his actions were not visible, yet
Report should render him hourly to your ear,
As truly as he moves.


Imo. O, for such means!

Pis. Well, madam, we must take a short fare-
Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of [well;
Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress,
Here is a box: I had it from the queen;
What's in't is precious; if you are sick at sea,
Or stomach qualm'd at land, a dram of this
Will drive away distemper.-To some shade,
Day, And fit you to your manhood:-May the gods
Direct you to the best!

Imo. Amen: I thank thee.


Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius, and Lords.
Cym. Thus far; and so farewell
Luc. Thanks, royal sir

Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,
I would adventure.



Pis. Well, then, here's the point:
You must forget to be a woman; change
Command Into obedience: fear, and niceness,
(The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
Woman its pretty self), to a waggish courage;
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and
As quarrellous as the weasel: nay, you must
Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek,
Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart!
Alack, no remedy!) to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan; and forget
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
You made great Juno angry.

Imo. Nay, be brief:

I see into thy end, and am almost

A man already.

Pis. First, make yourself but like one.
Fore-thinking this, I have already fit,
('Tis in my cloak-bag), doublet, hat, hose, all
That answer to them: would you, in their serving,
And with what imitation you can borrow
From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius

Present yourself, desire his service, tell him Wherein you are happy (which you'll make him know,

If that his head have ear in music), doubtless,
With joy he will embrace you; for he's honour.

And, doubling that, most holy. Your meana
You have me, rich; and I will never fail
Beginning, nor supplyment.

Imo. Thou art all the comfort

The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away:
There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even
All that good time will give us; this attempt
I'm soldier to, and will abide it with
A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee.

My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence;
And am right sorry, that I must report ye
My master's enemy.

Cym. Our subjects, sir,

Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself
To shew less sovereignty than they, must needs
Appear unkinglike.

Luc. So, sir, I desire of you

A conduct over land, to Milford-Haven.-
Madam, all joy befal your grace, and you!

Cym. My lords, you are appointed for that office;
The due of honour in no point omit :-
So, farewell, noble Lucius..

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Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well.
Cym. Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my

Till he have cross'd the Severn.-Happiness!
[exeunt Lucius and Lords.
Queen. He goes hence frowning: but it honours
That we have given him cause.

Clo. 'Tis all the better;

Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
How it goes here. It fits us therefore, ripely,
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness:
The powers, that he already hath in Gallia,
Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
His war for Britain.

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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.

Re-enter an Attendant. Cym. Where is she, sir? How Can her contempt be answer'd?

Atten. Please you, sir,

Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer,
That will be given to the loud'st of noise we make.
Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her,
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close;
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity,
She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
Which daily she was bound to proffer: this
She wish'd me to make known; but our great court
Made me to blame in memory.

Cym. Her doors lock'd?

Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that, which I fear, Prove false! [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.

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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.

Pis. O, good my lord!

Clo. Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter

I will not ask again. Close villain,

I'll have this secret from thy heart, or rip

| Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthúmus?
From whose so many weights of baseness cannot
A dram of worth be drawn.
Pis. Alas, my lord,

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
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. [aside. Clo. Humph!

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?

Pis. Sir, I will.

Clo. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast any of thy late master's garments in thy possession?

Pis. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when he took leave of my lady and


Clo. The first service thou dost me, fetch me that hither: let it be thy first service; go.

Pis. I shall, my lord.


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? Cio. 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.


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! [exit.



Enter Imogen, in boy's clothes. Imo. I see a man's life is a tedious one:

I have tir'd myself; and for two nights together
Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick,
But that my resolution helps me.- -Milford,
When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,
Thou was within a ken: O Jove! I think,
Foundations fly the wretched: such, I mean,
Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars
told me,

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
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!,
[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, [and
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

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

Enter Imogen.

Imo. Good masters, harm me not: Before I enter'd here, I call'd and thought To have begg'd, or bought, what I have took: good troth, [found

I have stolen nought; nor would not, though I had
Gold strew'd o'the floor. Here's money for my
I would have left it on the board, so soon [meat:
As I had made my meal; and parted
With prayers for the provider.

Gui. Money, youth?

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 welBe 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 [aside. To thee, Posthúmus.

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!
Bel. Hark, boys.


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

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