That we two are asunder; let that grieve him!
Some griefs are medicinable, that is one of them,
For it doth phyfick love: of his content
In all but that! Good wax, thy leave
You bees that make thefe locks of counfel! Lovers,
And men in dang'rous bonds pray not alike.
Though forfeiters you caft in prison, yet
You clafp young Cupid's tables: good news, Gods! [Reading,
Fuftice, and your father's wrath, should be take me in his dominion, could not be fo cruel to me, but you, oh the dearest of creatures, would even renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria at Milford-Haven: what your own love will out of this advife you, follow. So be wifbes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your's increafing in love,
Oh for a horfe with wings! hear'st thou, Pifanio?
He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
May plod it in a week, why may not I
Glide thither in a day? then, true Pifanio,
Who long'ft like me to fee thy Lord; who long'f
(Oh let me bate) but not like me, yet long'ft,
But in a fainter kind-oh, not like me;
For mine's beyond, beyond-fay, and speak thick ;
Love's counsellor fhould fill the bores of hearing
To th' fmothering of the fenfe-how far it is
To this fame bleffed Milford: and by th' way
Tell me how Wales was made fo happy, as
T' inherit fuch a haven. But first of all,
How may we fteal from hence? and for the gap
That we fhall make in time, from our hence going
'Till our return, t'excuse-but first, how get hence?
Why should excufe be born or e'er begot?
We'll talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee speak,
How many score of miles may we well ride
'Twixt hour and hour?
Pif. One fcore 'twixt fun and fun,
Madam,'s enough for you: and too much too.
Imo. Why, one that rode to's execution, man,
Could never go fo flow: I've heard of wagers,
Where horses have been nimbler than the fands
That run i'th' clock's behalf. But this is fool'ry.
Go, bid my woman feign a fick nefs, fay
She'll home t' her father: and provide me present
A riding fuit; no costlier than would fit
A Franklin's housewife.
Pif. Madam, you'd best confider.
Imo. I fee before me, man; nor here, nor here,
Nor what enfues, but have a fog in them
That I cannot look thro'. Away, I pr'ythee,
Do as I bid thee; there's no more to say;
Acceffible is none but Milford-way.
SCENE III. A Foreft with a Cave, in Wales,
Enter Bellarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.
Bel. A goodly day! not to keep house, with fuch
Whofe roof's as low as ours: ftoop, boys! this gate
Inftructs you how t' adore the heav'ns; and bows you
To morning's holy office. Gates of Monarchs
Are arch'd fo high, that giants may jet through
And keep their impious turbands on, without
Good-morrow to the fun. Hail, thou fair heav'n!
We house i'th' rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.
Guild. Hail, heav'n!
Arv. Hail, heav'n!
Bel. Now for our mountain-fport, up to yond hill, Your legs are young: I'll tread these flats. Confider, When you above perceive me like a crow,
That it is place which leffens and sets off;
And you may then revolve what tales I told you,
Of Courts, of Princes, of the tricks in war,
That fervice is not fervice, fo being done,
But being fo allow'd. To apprehend thus,
Draws us a profit from all things we fee:
And often, to our comfort, fhall we find
The fharded beetle in a fafer hold
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. Oh, this life
Is nobler than attending for a check;
Richer, than doing nothing for a bribe;
Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for filk:
Such gain the cap of him that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncrofs'd; no life to ours.
Guid. Out of your proof you fpeak; we poor unfledg'd
Have never wing'd from view o'th' neft; nor know
What air's from home. Haply this life is beft,
If quiet life is beft, fweeter to you
That have a fharper known: well correfponding
With your ftiff age; but unto us, it is
A cell of ign'rance; travelling a-bed;
A prifon, for a debtor that not dares
To ftride a limit.
Aru. What fhould 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're beastly; fubtle as the fox for prey,
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat :
Our valour is to chafe what flies; our cage
We make a choir, as doth the prifon'd bird,
And fing our bondage freely.
Bel. How you fpeak!
Did you but know the city's ufuries,
And felt them knowingly; the art o'th' Court,
As hard to leave, as keep; whose top to climb
Is certain falling, or fo flipp'ry that
The fear's as bad as falling; the toil of war,
A pain, that only feems to feek out danger
I' th' name of fame and honour; which dies i'th' fearch,
And hath as oft a fland'rous epitaph,
As record of fair act; nay, many times
Doth ill deferve, by doing well: what's worse,
Muft curt'fie at the cenfure :- -Oh boys, this story
The world may read in me: my body's mark'd
With Roman fwords; and my report was once
First with the beft of note. Cymbeline lov'd me,
And when a foldier was the theme, my name
Was not far off; then was I as a tree
A a 3
Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But in one night,
A ftorm, or robbery, call it what you will,
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,
And left me bare to weather.
Guid. Uncertain favour!
Bel. My fault being nothing, as I told you oft,
But that two villains (whofe falfe oaths prevail'a
Before my perfect honour) fwore to Cymbeline,
I was confed'rate with the Romans: fo
Follow'd my banishment; and this twenty years,
This rock and these demefnes have been my world;
Where I have liv'd at honeft freedom, pay'd
More pious debts to heav'n, than in all
The fore-end of my time-but, up to the mountains!
This is not hunters language; he that strikes
The venifon firft, fhall be the Lord o'th' feaft;
To him the other two fhall minifter,
And we will fear no poison which attends
In place of ftate: I'll meet you in the vallies.
[Exeunt Guiderius and Arviragus,
How hard it is to hide the fparks of naturę !
These boys know little they are fons to th' King,
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think they're mine: and, though train'd up thus
I'th' cave here on this brow, their thoughts do hit
The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them
In fimple and low things to prince it, much
Beyond the trick of others. This Paladour,
(The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom
The King his father call'd Guiderius,) Jove!
When on my three-foot ftool I fit, and tell
The warlike feats I've done, his fpirits fly
Out at my story: fay, thus mine enemy feli,
And thus I fet my foot on's neck-
-even then
The princely blood flows in his cheek, he fweats,
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 fpeech, and fhews much more
His own conceiving, Hark, the game is rouz'd
Oh Cymbeline! heav'n and my confcience know
Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon
At three, and two years old, I ftole thefe babes,
Thinking to bar thee of fucceffion, as
Thou 'reft'ft me of my Lands. Euripbile,
Thou waft their nurfe, they take thee for their mother, And every day do honour to thy grave;
My felf Bellarius that am Morgan call'd,
They take for natural father. The game's up.
SCENE IV. Enter Pifanio and Imogen.
Imo. Thou told' ft me when we came from horfe, the place Was near at hand. Ne'er long'd his mother fo To fee him first, as I have now. Pifanio, Where is Pofthumus? What is in thy mind That makes thee ftare thus? wherefore breaks that figh From th' inward of thee? one but painted thus Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd, Beyond felf-explication. Put thy felf Into a 'haviour of lefs fear, ere wildness Vanquish thy fteadier fenfes what's the matter? Why offer'ft thou that paper to me, with A look untender? if't be fummer news, Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'ft
But keep that count'nance ftill. My husband's hand?
That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
And he's at fome hard point. Speak, man; thy tongue
May take off some extremity, which to read
Would be ev'n mortal to me.
Pif. Please you read,
And you fhall find me, wretched man, a thing
The moft difdain'd of fortune.
Thy miftrefs, Pifanio, bath play'd the ftrumpet in my bed: the teftimonies whereof lye bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak furmifes, but from proof as firong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pifanio, muft act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of bers; let thine own bands take away ber life: I shall give thee opportunity at Milford-Haven. She bath my letter for the purpose; where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me
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