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How far 't is thither. If one of mean affairs
One score 'twixt sun and sun,
Imogen. Why, one that rode to 's executión, man,
Madam, you 're best consider.
Scene III. Wales: a Mountainous Country with a Cave.
Belarius. A goodly day not to keep house, with such
Hail, heaven! Belarius. Now for our mountain sport. Up to yond
hill! Your legs are young; I 'll tread these flats. Consider, When you above perceive me like a crow, That it is place which lessens and sets off; And you may then revolve what tales I have told you Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war. 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 bribe, Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk; Such gain the cap of him who makes 'em fine, Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours. Guiderius. Out of your proof you speak; we, poor un
Have never wing'd from view o' the nest, nor know not
age: but unto us it is
Arviragus. What should we speak of
How you speak!
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 l'the name of fame and honour; which dies i' the search, 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 curtsy 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
Whose boughs did bend with fruit; but in one night,
oftBut 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; 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 mountains! 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.
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
SCENE IV. Near Milford-Haven.
Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN. Imogen. 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 tender’st thou that paper to me, with A look untender? If 't be summer news, Smile to 't before; if winterly, thou need’st But keep that countenance still.—My husband's hand! That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,