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Must court'sey at the censure:-O, boys, this story
The world may read in me: My body's mark'd
With Roman swords: and my report was once
First with the best of note: Cymbeline lov'd 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 favour!

Bel. My fault being nothing (as I have told you

oft),

But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail'd
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline,
I was confederate with the Romans: so,
Follow'd my banishment; and, this twenty years,
This rock, and these demesnes, 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 the moun

tains;

This is not hunter's 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.

leys.

I'll meet you in the val[Exeunt Gui. and Arv. sparks of nature!

How hard it is, to hide the
These boys know little, they are sons to the king;
Nor Cymbeline dreains that they are alive.

They think, they are mine: and, though train'd 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 call'd 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 pos-

ture

That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal, (Once Arvirágus), in as like a figure,

Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more
His own conceiving. Hark! the game is rous'd!—
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 mo

ther,

And every day do honour to her grave:

Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,

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 long'd 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 perplex'd

Beyond self-explication: Put thyself

Into a haviour 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-damn'd 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 disdain'd of fortune.

Imo. [Reads.] Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play. ed 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 Milford-Haven: she hath my letter for the purpose: Where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal.

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

paper

Hath cut her throat already.-No, 'tis slander;
Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue
Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie
All corners of the world: kings, queens, and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters.-What cheer, madam?
Imo. False to his bed! What is it, to be false?

• For behaviour.

To lie in watch there, and to think on him?

To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge na

ture,

To break it with a fearful dream of him,

And cry myself awake? That's false to his bed?
Is it?

Pis. Alas, good lady!

Imo. I false? Thy conscience witness:-Iachimo, Thou didst accuse him of incontinency;

Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks,
Thy favour's good enough.-Sonie jay* of Italy,
Whose mother was her painting +, hath betray'd him:
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion;
And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls,

I must be ripp'd:-to pieces with me!-O,

Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming,
By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought

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

Pis.

Good madam, hear me

Imo. True honest men being heard, like false

Æneas,

Were, in his time, thought false: and Sinon's weep

ing

Did scandal many a holy-tear; took pity

From most true wretchedness: So, thou, Posthú.

mus,

Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men ;

Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and perjur'd,
From thy great fail.-Come, fellow, be thou honest:
Do thou thy master's bidding: When thou see'st him,
A little witness my obedience: Look!

I draw the sword myself: take it; and hit
The innocent mansion 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; strike.

Putta, in Italian, signifies both a jay and a ↑ Likeness.

whore.

Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause;
But now thou seem'st a coward.

Pis.

Hence, vile instrument!

Why, I must die;

Thou shalt not damn my hand.

Imo.

And if I do not by thy hand, thou art

No servant of thy master's: Against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine,

That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my heart;

Something's afore't-Soft, soft; we'll no defence;
Obedient as the scabbard.-What is here ?
The scripturest of the loyal Leonatus,
All turn'd to heresy? Away, away,

Corrupters of my faith! you shall no more
Be stomachers to my heart! Thus may poor fools
Believe false teachers: Though those that are be-
tray'd

Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe.

And thou, Posthumus, thou that didst set up
My disobedience 'gainst the king my father,
And make me put into contempt the suits
Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find
It is no act of common passage, but
A strain of rareness; and I grieve myself,
To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her
That now thou tir'st‡ on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.-Pr'ythee, despatch:
The lamb entreats the butcher: Where's thy knife?
Thou art too slow to do thy master's bidding,
When I desire it too.

Pis.

O gracious lady,

Since I receiv'd command to do this business,

I have not slept one wink.

Imo.

Pis. I'll wake mine eye-balls blind first.

Do't, and to bed then.

+ The writings.

• Cowards.
Feedest or preyest on.

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