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Must courl'sey at the censure :-0, 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 liangings, pay, my leaves,
And left me bare to weather.

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 banislıment; 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. I'll meet you in the val. leys.

(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 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 uature 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-

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.

And every day do honour to her grave:
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call’d,
They take for natural father. The game is up.



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

May take off some extremity, which to read
Would be even mortal to nie.

Please you, read; you

shall find me, wretched man, a thing The most disdain'J of fortune.

Imo. [Reads.] Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play. ed the strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. 1 speak not out of weal surmises ; from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I erpect my revenge. Thut 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 oppor. tunities 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 IIath cut her throat already.--No, 'tis slander; Whose edge is sharper thau 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 ua.

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 t, 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!-0, Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming, By thy revolt, О 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 whore.

+ Likeness.

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

Hence, vile instrument!
Thou shalt not damn my hand.

Why, I must die; 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 iny

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 foels Believe false teachers : Though those that are be.

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, sbalt hereafter find
It is no act of commoa passage, but
A strain of rareness; and I grieve myself,
To think, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her
That now thou tir’sti on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.-Prythee, 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.

O gracious lady,
Since I receiv'd command to do this business,
I have not slept one wink.

Do't, and to bed then.
Pis. I'll wake mine eye-balls bliud first.


+ The writings. Feedest or preyest on.

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