So much as this fact comes to? Do't; the letter

[Reading.

That I have sent her, by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity.-0 damned paper!
Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless bauble,
Art thou a feodary for this act, and look'st
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.
Enter IMOGEN.

I am ignorant in what I am commanded.
Imo. How now, Pisanio?

Pis. Madam, here is a letter from my lord.
Imo. Who? thy lord? that is my lord? Leonatus?
O learned indeed were that astronomer,
That knew the stars, as I his characters;
He'd lay the future open.-You good gods,
Let what is here contained relish of love,
Of my lord's health, of his content,- yet not,
That we two are asunder, let that grieve him,-
(Some griefs are med'cinable;) that is one of them,
For it doth physic love;-of his content,.

All but in that!-Good wax, thy leave.-Blessed be
You bees, that make these locks of counsel! Lovers,
And men in dangerous bonds, pray not alike;
Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet

You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods! [Reads.

Justice, and your father's wrath, should he take me in his dominions, could not be so cruel to me as you, O the dearest of creatures, would not even renew me with your eyes. Take notice, that I am in Cambria, at Milford-Haven. What your own love will, out of this, advise you, follow. So, he wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your, increasing in love,

LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.

O for a horse with wings!-Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
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 Pisanio,
(Who long'st, like me, to see thy lord; who long'st
O let me 'bate,-but not like me;-yet long'st,-
But in a fainter kind-O not like me;

For mine's beyond beyond) say, and speak thick;
(Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,
To the smothering of the sense,) how far it is

To this same blessed Milford. And, by the way,
Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as
To inherit such a haven. But, first of all,

How we may steal from hence; and, for the gap
That we shall make in time, from our hence-going,
And our return to excuse.-But first, how get hence:
Why should excuse 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?

Pis. One score, twixt sun and sun,

Madam, 's enough for you; and too much too.

Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, man, Could never go so slow. I have heard of riding wagers, Where horses have been nimbler than the sands That run i' the clock's behalf. But this is foolery.Go, bid my woman feign a sickness, say

She'll home to her father; and provide me, presently, A riding-suit; no costlier than would fit

A franklin's housewife.

Pis.

Madam, you're best consider
Imo. I see before me, man, nor here, nor here,
Nor what ensues; but have a fog in them,
That I cannot look through. Away, I pr'ythee;
Do as I bid thee. There's no more to say;
Accessible is none but Milford way.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. Wales. A mountainous Country, with a Cave.

Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.

Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys. This gate Instructs you how to adore the heavens; and bows you To a morning's holy office. The gates of monarchs Are arched so high, that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbans on, without Good morrow to the sun.- Hail, thou fair heaven! We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly As prouder livers do.

Gui.

Arv.

Hail, heaven!

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 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 brabe;
Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk:

Such gain 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 discurse
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 valor is, to chase what flies; our cage
We make a quire, as doth the prison bird,
And sing our bondage freely.

Bel.
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

I' the name of fame, and honor; 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 court'sy 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,
A storm or robbery, call it what you will,
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves,

And left me bare to weather.

Gui.

Uncertain favor!

Bel. My fault being nothing (as I have told you oft) But that two villains, whose false oaths prevailed Before my perfect honor, 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 mountains;
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 GUI. and ARV. 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 shows 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 honor 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 'havior 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.

Pis.

Please you, read; And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing The most disdained of fortune.

Imo. [Reads.] Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises; 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 opportunities at MilfordHaven. 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 dishonor, and equally to me disloyal.

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