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their meeting place, and the fellow dares not deceive

me.

S C EN E II.

Changes to the Front of the Cave.

[Exit.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, and Imogen, from the Cave.

OU are not well: remain here in the cave;

Bel. We'll come t' you after hunting.

Arv. Brother, ftay here: Are we not brothers?

Imo. So man and man fhould be;

But clay and clay differs in dignity,

[To Imogen.

Whofe duft is both alike. I'm very fick.
Guid. Go you to hunting, I'll abide with him.
Imo. So fick I am not, yet I am not well;

But not fo citizen a wanton, as

To feem to die, ere fick: so please you, leave me ;
Stick to your journal courfe; 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 not fociable: I'm not very sick,
Since I can reason of it. Pray you trust me here,
I'll rob none but myfelf; and let me die,

Stealing fo 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 fin to fay fo, Sir, I yoke me
In my good brother's fault: I know not why
I love this youth, and I have heard you fay,
Love reasons without reafon. The bier at door,
And a demand who is't fhall die, I'd fay,
My father, not this youth.

Bel. O noble ftrain!

X 3

O 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 fhould be,
Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me!
'Tis the ninth hour o' th' morn.

Arv. Brother, farewel.

Imo. I wifh ye sport.

Arv. You health-so please you, Sir.

Imo. Thefe are kind creatures. Gods, what lies
I've heard!

Our courtiers fay, all's favage, but at court:
Experience, oh, how thou difprov'ft report,
Th' imperious feas breed monfters; for the difh,
Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish;

I am fick ftill, heart-fick-Pifanio,

I'll now taste of thy drug.

Guid. I could not ftir him;

[Drinks out of the viol.

He faid, he was gentle, but unfortunate;

Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.

Arv. Thus did he answer me; yet faid, hereafter

I might know more.

Bel. To th' field, to th' field:

We'll leave you for this time; go in and reft,

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.

Bel. And fhall be ever.

[Exit Imogen, to the Cave.

This youth, howe'er diftrefs'd, appears to have had

Good ancestors.

Arv. How angel-like he fings!

Guid. But his neat cookery!

Arv. He cut our roots in characters;

And fauc'd our broth, as Juno had been sick,

And he her dieter.

Arv. Nobly he yokes

A fmiling with a figh, as if the figh

Was that it was, for not being fuch a fmile:
The fmile mocking the figh, that it would fly
From fo divine a temple, to commix

With winds that failors rail at.
Guid. I do note,

2

That grief and patience, rooted in him both,
Mingle their fpurs together.

Arv. Grow, Patience!

And let the ftinking Elder, Grief, untwine

His perifhing root, with the encreasing vine! Bel. It is great morning. Come, away: who's there?

S CE
CEN E III.

Enter Cloten.

Clot. I cannot find thofe runagates: that villain Hath mock'd me.I am faint.

Bel. Thofe runagates!

Means he not us? I partly know him; 'tis
Cloten, the fon o' th' Queen; I fear fome ambush-
I faw him not thefe many years, and yet

I know, 'tis he: we're held as Out-laws; hence.
Guid. He is but one; you and my brother fearch
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 fuch.

Guid. A thing

What flave art thou?

More flavish did I ne'er, than answering

A flave without a knock.

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

X 4

Mr. Pope.

Clot.

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'ft me not by my cloaths?

Guid. No, nor thy tailor, rafcal,

Who is thy grandfather; he made those cloaths,,
Which, as it feems, 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, fpider, 'Twould move me fooner.

Clot. To thy further fear,

Nay, to thy meer confufion, thou shalt know

I'm fon to th' Queen.

Guid. I'm forry for't; not feeming

So worthy as thy birth.

Clot. Art not afraid?

Guid. Thofe that I rev'rence, thofe I fear; the

wife:

At fools I laugh, not fear them.

Clot. Die the death!

When I have flain thee with my proper hand,

I'll follow thofe that even now fled hence,

And

And on the gates of Lud's town fet your heads;
Yield, ruftick mountaineer. [Fight, and Exeunt.

SCENE

Enter Belarius and Arviragus.

Bel. No company's abroad.

IV.

Arv. None in the world; you did mistake him, fure. Bel. I cannot tell: long is it fince I faw him, But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour Which then he wore; the fnatches in his voice, And burst of speaking, were as his: I'm abfolute, 'Twas very Cloten.

Arv. In this place we left them ;

I wish my brother make good time with him,
You say he is so fell.

Bel. Being scarce made up,

I mean, to man, he had not apprehenfion
Of roaring terrors; for defect of judgment
(a) Is oft the cure of fear. But fee, 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 out his brains, for he had none: Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne

My head, as I do his.

Bel. What haft 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 fingle hand he'd take us in ;

Displace our heads, where, thanks to th' Gods, they grow,

And fet them on Lud's town.

[(a) Is oft the cure of fear. Oxford Editor. Vulg, Is oft the cause of fear.]

Bel,

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