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Hail, heaven! Aru.

Hail, heaven! Bel. Now, for our mountain sport: Up to yon 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 servile, 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. Othis 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.t Gui. "Out of your proof you speak: we, poor un

fledg'd, Have nerer wing'd from view o' the nest; nor know

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.I

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,

* Scaly-winged. ti. e. Compared with ours. # To overpass his bound.

And sing our bondage freely.

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 of the war,
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
f' 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 courtsey at the censure:-0, 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, A storm, or robbery, call it what you will, Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, And left me bare to weather. Guia

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, Followed 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 hunter's 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.


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 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,~Jove!
When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell
The warlike feats I have done, bis spirits fly out
Into my story: say, Thus nine 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 acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal,
(Once Arviragus,) in as like a figure,
Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more
His own conceiving.

No, 'tis slayder;
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.

False to his bed! What is it, to be false ?
To lie in watch there, and to think on him?

'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge na

To break it with a fearful dream of him,
And cry myself awake? that's false to his bed?

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 quarrelous 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 Titian;* and forget
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
You made great Juno angry.

SCENE. Before the Cave of Belarius.

Enter Imogen, in Boy's Clothes, Imo: I see, 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 wast within a ken: 0 Jove! I think, Foundations fly the wretched: such, I mean, [me, Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told 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 Is 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 sayage 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 or hardiness is mother.


Can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth
Finds the down pillow hard.

Imo. Good master harm me not:
Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought

* The sun

'To have begg’d, or bought, what I hare took: Good

troth, I have stolen naught; nor would not though I had

Gold strew'd o'the floor. Here's money for my meat:
I would have left it on the board, so soon
As I had made my meal; and parted
With prayers for the provider.

Money, youth?
Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt!
As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those
Who worship dirty gods.


To who? to thee? What art thou? Have not I
An arm as big as thine? a heart as big?
Thy words, I grant, are bigger; for I wear not
My dagger in my mouth.

Being scarce made up,
I mean, to man, he had not apprehension
Of roaring terrors; for the effect of judgment
Is oft the cause of fear.


O thou goddess, Thou divine nature, how thyself thou blazon'st In these two princely boys! They are as gentle As zephyrs blowing below the violet, Not wagging his sweet head: and yet as rough, Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind, That by the top doth take mountain pine, And make him stoop to the vale. "Tis wonderful, That an invisible instinct should frame them To royalty unlearn'd; honour untaught; Civility not seen from other: valour, That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop As if it had been sow'd. Enter ARVIRAGUS, bearing IMOGEN, as dead, in his

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