'What air's from home. Haply this life is beft,
If quiet life is beft; fweeter to you,

'That have a sharper 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.

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, fhall we difcourfe The freezing hours away? We have feen nothing; 'We're beaftly; 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 prison'd bird, 'And fing our bondage freely.

Bel. How you speak!

'Did you but know the cities ufuries,

'And felt them knowingly; the art o' th' court, 'As hard to leave, as keep; whofe 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' And hath as oft a fland'rous epitaph,

'As record of fair act; nay, many time,

[fearch,

• Doth ill deferve, by doing well; what's worfe, • Muft curt'fy 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 "Firft with the best 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,

"Whofe 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 have told you oft, But that two villains (whofe falfe oaths prevailed 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 honest freedom; paid

More pious debts to heaven, than in all

The fore-end of my time.

But, up to th' mountains!

This is not hunters' language; he that strikes
The venison firft, fhall be the lord o' th' feast ;
To him, the other two fhall minister,

And we will fear no poifon, which attends.

In place of greater itate.

I'll meet you in the valleys.

[Exeunt Guid, and Arvir.

How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!

These boys know little they are fons to the King;
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they're alive.

They think they're mine, tho' trained up thus meanly.
I' th' cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
The roof 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
Into my ftory: fay, thus mine enemy fell,
"And thus I fet my foot on's neck-even then
"The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
"Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture
"That as my words-The younger brother Cad
(Once Arviragus), in as like a figure
[wall
Strikes life into my fpeech, and fhewsmuch more
His own conceiving. Hark, the game is rous'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. Euriphile,

Thou waft their nurse; they take thee for their mother,
And every day do honour to thy grave;

Myfelf Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
They take for natural father. The game's up. [Exit,

trick, for cuftom, habit.

SCENE IV.

Enter Pifanio and Imogen.

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

the place

Was near at hand.

Ne'er long'd my mother fo

To fee me first, as I have now

-Pifanio,

Where is Pofthumus? What is in thy mind,

That makes thee stare 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 thyfelf

Into a 'haviour of less fear, ere wildness
Vanquish thy ftaider senses- What's the matter?.
Why tender'ft thou that paper to me, with
A look untender; if't be fummer-news,
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st

Speak, man; thy tongue: which to read

But keep that count'nance still. My husband's hand?
That drug-damn'd Italy hath outcraftied him,
And he's at fome hard point.
May take off fome extremity,
Would be e'en mortal to me.
Pif. Please you, read;

And you

fhall find me, wretched man, a thing. 'The most difdain'd of fortune.

Imogen reads.

Thy miftrefs, Pifanie, hath play'd the ftrumpet in my bed; the teftimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. Speak, not out of weak furmifes, but from proof as strong. 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 her's, let thine own hands take away her life. I fhall give thee opportunity at Milford-haven. She hath my letter for the purpose; where, if thou fear 10 ftrike, and to make me certain it is done, thou: art the pander to her dishonour, and equally to me difləyål.

Pif. • What fhall I need to draw my fword? the paper: "Hath cut her throat already--No, 'tis flander; Whofe edge is fharper than the fword, whofe tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whofe breath 'Rides on the pofting winds, and doth belye

All corners of the world. Kings, Queens, and states,,

• Maids, matrons, nay, the fecrets of the grave, • This viperous flander enters. What chear, Madam ?` Imo. Falfe 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 fleep charge na• To break it with a fearful dream of him,

• And cry myself awake? that falfe to's bed! Pif. Alas, good lady!

[ture,

Imo. I falfe? thy confcience witnefs, Iachimo,-- ; Thou didst accufe him of incontinency,

Thou then look'dst like a villain; now methinks Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy (Whofe meether was her painting) hath betray'd him :: Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion; And, for I'm richer than to hang by th' walls, 1 must be ript: to pieces with me: oh,

Mens' vows are womens' traitors. All good feeming
By thy revolt, oh husband, fhall be thought

Put on for villainy: not born, where't grows;
But worn, a bait for ladies.

Pif. Madam, hear me

Imo. True honest men being heard, like falfe Æneas, • Were in his time thought falfe: and Sinon's weeping • Did fcandal many a holy tear; took pity.

• From most true wretchedness.

So thou, Posthumus,

Wilt lay the leaven to all proper men;

Goodly, and gallant, fhall be falfe and perjur'd, From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest, Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou feest him, A little witness my obedience. Look!

I draw the fword myself, take it, and hit

The innocent manfion 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, ftrike:;:
Thou may'st be valiant in a better caufe,
But now thou feem'ft a coward..

Pif. Hence, vile inftrument !
Thou shalt not damn my hand.
Imo. Why, I muft die;

And, if I do not by thy hand, thou art
No fervant of thy mafter's.

'Gainst self-slaughter

There is a prohibition fo divine,–

That cravens my weak hand : come, here's my heart, (Something's afore't)-foft, foft, we'll no defence;

Obedient as the fcabbard.!.

[Opening her breast.. What is here?

The fcriptures of the loyal Leonatus

All turn'd to herefy? away, away,

[Pulling his letters out of her bofom.

Corrupters of my faith! you. fhall no more

Be ftomachers to my heart: thus may poor fools
Believe false teachers: tho' thofe that are betray'd,
Do feel the treafon fharply, yet the traitor

Stands in worfe cafe of woe. And thou, Pofthumus,
That fet my disobedience 'gainst the King,
And mad'ft me put into contempt the fuits.
Of princely fellows, fhalt hereafter find,
It is no act of common paffage, but
A ftrain of rarenefs: and I grieve myself,
To think, when thou shalt be difedg'd by her
Whom now thou tir'ft on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.-

The lamb intreats the butcher.

-Pr'ythee, dispatch;;
Where's thy knife?

Thou art too flow to do thy master's bidding,

When I defire it too..

Pif. O gracious Lady!

Since I receiv'd command to do this business,

I have not flept one wink,

Imo. Do't, and to bed then..

Pif. I'll break mine eye-balls first.

Imo. Ah, wherefore then

Didft undertake it? why haft thou abus'd.

So many miles, with a pretence? this place?

Mine action and thine own? our horfes' labour? The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court,

For my being abfent? whereunto I never

Purpose return.

Why haft thou gone so far,

To be unbent, when thou haft ta en thy ftand,
Th' elected deer before thee.?

Pif. But to win time

To lofe fo bad employment, in the which
I have confider'd of a courie, good lady,

*i, c. makes me a coward..