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. But not fo citizen a wanton, as To feem to die, ere fick: so please you, leave me ; Stealing fo poorly. Guid. I love thee: I have spoke it; Bel. What? how? how? Arv. If it be fin to fay fo, Sir, I yoke me Bel. O noble ftrain! X 3 O worthiness of nature, breed of greatness! Arv. Brother, farewel. Imo. I wifh ye sport. Arv. You health-so please you, Sir. Imo. Thefe are kind creatures. Gods, what lies Our courtiers fay, all's favage, but at court: 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: With winds that failors rail at. 2 That grief and patience, rooted in him both, 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 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 I know, 'tis he: we're held as Out-laws; hence. [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 Clot. Thou villain base, Guid. No, nor thy tailor, rafcal, Who is thy grandfather; he made those cloaths,, 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; 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, Bel. Being scarce made up, I mean, to man, he had not apprehenfion Guid. This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse, 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 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, |