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 allowed: 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-winged 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 gains the cap of him that makes him fine,
Yet keeps his book uncrossed: no life to ours.
Gui. Out of your proof you speak: we, poor
unfledged,

Have never winged from view o'the nest, nor know not

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 abed;
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; subtile 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 prisoned bird,
And sing our bondage freely.

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 court'sey at the censure:- O, boys, this
story

The world may read in me: my body's marked
With Roman swords; and my report was once
First with the best of note: Cymbeline loved 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,

But that two villains, whose false oaths prevailed
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 lived at honest freedom; paid
More pious debts to heaven than in all
The fore-end of my time.-But up to the moun-
tains;

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 trained 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 called 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 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 shews much more
His own conceiving. Hark! the game is roused!
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
mother,

And every day do honour to her grave:
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan called,
They take for natural father. The game is up.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.-Near Milford-Haven.

Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN.

Imo. Thou told'st me, when we came from horse, the place

Was near at hand: ne'er longed 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 perplexed
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,
Smile to't before: if winterly, thou need'st
But keep that countenance still.-My husband's
hand!

That drug-damned 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.

"Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played 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 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 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 pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal."

Pisa. What shall I need to draw my sword? the paper

Hath cut her throat already.-No, 't is 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,
madam?

Imo. False to his bed! What is it to be false?
To lie in watch there, and to think on him?
To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge

nature,

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

Pisa. Alas, good lady!

Imo. I false? 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 betrayed
him:

Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion;
And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls,
I must be ripped: 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.

Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men;
Goodly and gallant, shall be false and perjured,
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 the sword myself: take it, and hit
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 mayst be valiant in a better cause;
But now thou seem'st a coward.

Pisa.
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 turned 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 be-

trayed

Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor Stands in worse case of woe:

And thou, Posthumus, 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 disedged by her
That now thou tir'st on, how thy memory
Will then be panged by me.-Pr'y thee, despatch:
The lamb entreats the butcher: where 's thy knife?
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
When I desire it too.

Imo.

Why, good fellow,

You think of other place. The ambassador,
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! Though peril to my modesty, not death on 't, I would adventure. Pisa.

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-answered, 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.

Pisa. First, make yourself but like one.
Forethinking 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

The gods will diet me with. Pr'y thee away:
There's more to be considered, 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'y thee.

Pisa. Well, madam, we must take a short farewell;

Lest, being missed, I be suspected of
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-qualmed at land, a dram of this
Will drive away distemper.-To some shade,
And fit you to your manhood. May the gods
Direct you to the best!

[Exeunt.

Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves His war for Britain.

Queen.

"Tis not sleepy business; But must be looked to speedily and strongly. Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus, Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen, Where is our daughter? She hath not appeared Before the Roman, nor to us hath tendered 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 an Attendant.

Queen. Royal sir, Since the exile of Posthumus, most retired 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.

Go in, and cheer the king; he rages; none
Dare come about him.

Queen. All the better: may
This night forestal him of the coming day! [Exit.
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 Posthumus, slanders so her judgment,
That what's else rare is choked; and in that point
I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed,
To be revenged upon her, For, when fools

service, undergo those employments wherein I should have cause to use thee with a serious industry,—that is, what villany soe'er I bid thee do, to perform it directly and truly,—I would think thee an honest man: thou shouldst neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment.

Pisa. 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?

Pisa. Sir, I will.

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

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

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

Pisa. I shall, my lord.

[Exit.

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?

Pisa. Ay, my noble lord.

Clo. How long is 't since she went to MilfordHaven?

Pisa. She can scarce be there yet.

Clo. 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. [Exit. Pisa. Thou bidd'st me to my loss: for, true to thee,