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their meeting place, and the fellow dares not deceive me.

[Exit. S C E N E II.

Changes to the Front of the Cave.
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, and Imogen,

from the Cave.
Bel. You are not well: remain here in the cave ;

We'll come l' you after hunting.
Arv, Brother, stay here:

[To Imogen. Are we not brothers?

Imo. So man and man should be ;
But clay and clay differs in dignity,
Whore dust is both alike. I'm very sick.

Guid. Go you to hunting, I'll abide with him.

Imo. So sick I am not, yet I am not well ; But not so citizen a wanton, as To seem to die, ere fick : fo please you, leave me; Stick to your journal course; the breach of custom Is breach of all. I'm ill, but your being by me Cannot amend me. Society is no comfort To one nọt sociable: I'm not very fick, Since I can reason of it. Pray you trust me here, I'll rob none but myself; and let me die, Stealing so poorly.

Guid. I love thee : I have spoke it ; : How much the quantity, the weight as much, As I do love my father.

Bel. What? how? how?

Arv. If it be sin to say so, Sir, I yoke me
In my good brother's fault: I know not why
I love this youth, and I have heard you say,
Love reasons without reason. The bier at door,
And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say,
My father, not this youth.

BelO noble strain !

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worthiness of nature, breed of greatness! Cowards father cowards, and base things fire the base : Nature hath meal and bran; contempt and grace. I'm not their father ; yet who this should be, Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me! 'Tis the ninth hour o'th' morn.

Arv. Brother, farewel.
Imo. I wish ye sport.
Aru. You health so please you, Sir.
Imo. These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies

I've heard !
Our courtiers say, all's savage, but at court:
Experience, oh, how thou disprov'st report,-
Th' imperious seas breed monsters; for the dish,
Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish;
I am sick ftill, heart-sick--Pisanio,
I'll now taste of thy drug. [Drinks out of the viol.

Guid. I could not ftir him;
He said, he was gentle, but unfortunate;
Dishonestly afficted, but yet

honest. Arv. Thus did he answer me; yet said, hereafter I might know more.

Bel. To th' field, to th' field:
We'll leave you for this time; go in and rest,

Arv. We'll not be long away.

Bel. Pray, be not sick,
For you must be our housewife.

Imo. Well or ill,
I am bound to you. [Exit Imogen, to the Cave,

Bel. And shall be ever.
This youth, howe'er distress’d, appears to have had
Good ancestors.

Arv. How angel-like he sings!
Guid. But his neat cookery!

Arv. He cut our roots in characters;
And sauc'd our broth, as Juno had been sick,
And he her dieter.

Arv. Nobly he yokes
A smiling with a figh, as if the sigh
Was that it was, for not being fuch a fmile :
The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly
From so divine a temple, to commix
With winds chat failors rail ac.

Guid. I do note,
That grief and patience, rooted in him both,
* Mingle their spurs together.

Arv. Grow, Patience ! And let the stinking Elder, Grief, untwine His perishing root, with the encreasing vine ! Bel. It is great morning. Come, away: who's

there?

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Enter Cloten,
Clot. I cannot find those runagates : that villain
Hath mock'd me. I am faint.

Bel. Those runagates!
Means he not us? | parily know him ; 'cis
Cloten, the son o'th Queen ; I fear some ambush----
I saw him not these many years, and yet
I know, 'cis he: we're held as Out-laws; hence.

Guid. He is but one; you and my brother search
What companies are near : pray you, away:
Let me alone with him.

[Exeunt Belarius and Arviragus.
Clot. Soft! what are you,
That fly me thus : fome villain-mountaineer.
I've heard of such. What Nave art thou?

Guid. A thing
More Navish did I ne'er, than answering
A Nave without a knock.

2 Mingle their spurs together.] Spurs, an old word for the fibres of a tree.

Clot,

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Mr. Pope.

X 4

Clot. Thou art a robber,
A law-breaker, a villain; yield thee, thief.

Guid. To whom? 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. Say, what thou art,
Why I should yield to thee?

Clot. Thou villain base,
Know'st me not by my cloaths ?

Guid. No, nor thy tailor, rascal,
Who is thy grandfather ; he made those cloaths, ,
Which, as it seems, make thee.

Clot. Thou precious varlet !
My tailor made them not.

Guid. Hence then, and thank
The man that gave them thee. Thou art fome fool;
I'm loth to beat thee.

Clot. Thou injurious thief,
Hear but my name, and tremble.

Guid. What's thy name?
Clot. Cloten, thou villain.

Guid. Cloten, then, double villain, be thy name, I cannot tremble at it; were it toad, adder, spider, 'Twould move me sooner.

Clot. To thy further fear,
Nay, to thy meer confusion, thou shalt know
I'm fon to th’ Queen.

Guid. I'm sorry for't; not seeming
So worthy as thy birth.

Clot. Art not afraid ?
Guid. Those that I rev'rence, those I fear ; the

wife :
At fools I laugh, not fear them.

Clot. Die the death !
When I have Nain thee with my proper hand,
I'll follow those that even now fied hence,

And

And on the gates of Lud's town set

your heads ; Yield, rustick mountaineer. [Fight, and Exeunt.

SC EN N E IV.

Enter Belarius and Arviragus.

Bel. No company's abroad.
Arv. None in the world; you did mistake him, sure,

Bel. I cannot tell: long is it since I saw him,
But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour
Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice,
And burst of speaking, were as his: I'm absolute,
'Twas very Cloten.

Arv. In this place we left them;
I wish my brother make good ţime with him,
You say he is so fell.

Bel. Being scarce made up,
I mean, to man, he had not apprehension
Of roaring terrors; for defect of judgment
(@) Is oft the cure of fear. But see, thy brother,

Enter Guiderius, with Cloten's Head.
Guid. This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse,
There was no mony in't; not Hercules
Could have knock'd our his brains, for he had none;
Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne
My head, as I do his.

Bel. What hast thou done?

Guid. I'm perfect, what; cut off one Cloten's head, Son to the Queen, after his own report ; Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore With his own single hand he'd take us in ; Displace our heads, where, thanks to th' Gods, they

grow, And set them on Lud's town.

[(a) is oft the cure of fear. Oxford Editor, VulgIs off the cause of fear.)

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