With Roman (words; and my report was once
First with the best of note. Cymbeline lov'd me,
And when a foldier was the theam, 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.

Guid. Uncertain favour!

Bel. My fault being nothing, as I told you oft,
But that two villains (whose false oaths prevail'd
Before my perfect honour) fwore to Cymbeline,
I was confed'rate with the Romans: fo

Follow'd my banishment; and this twenty years,
This rock and these demefnes have been my world;
Where I have liv'd at honeft freedom, pay'd

More pious debts to heaven, than in all

The fore-end of my time---- but, up to th' mountains!
This is not hunters language; he that ftrikes

The venison first, shall be the lord o'th' 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.

How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature?

These boys know little they are fons to th' king,

Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.

[Exeunt boys.

They think they're mine; tho' trained up thus meanly
Here in the cave, wherein their thoughts do hit
The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them
In fimple and low things, to prince it, much
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydor,
(The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom

The

The king his father call'd Guiderius,) Jove!
When on my three-foot ftool I fit, and tell
The warlike feats I've done, his fpirits fly out
Into my story: fay, thus mine enemy fell,
And thus I fet my foot on's 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 Cadwall,
(Once Arviragus,) in as like a figure

4134

Strikes life into my fpeech, and fhews much more
His own conceiving. Hark, the game is rouz'd --
Oh Cymbeline! heav'n and my conscience know
Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon

At three, and two years old, I stole these babes,
Thinking to bar thee of fucceffion, as

Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,

Thou waft their nurse, they take thee for their mother,

And every day do honour to her grave;

My felf Belarius that am Morgan call'd,

They take for natural father. The game's up.

[Exit.

Imo. Thou told'st me when we came from horse, the place

Was near at hand. Ne'er long'd my mother fo

To see me first, as I have now ----- Pifanio,

Where is Pofthumus? What is in thy mind

That makes thee ftare thus? wherefore breaks that figh

From th' inward of thee? one but painted thus
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond self-explication. Put thy felf
Into a 'haviour of lefs fear, ere wildness

6

Van

Vanquish thy steadier senses ---- what's the matter?
Why offer'ft thou that paper to me, with
A look untender? if't be fummer news,
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou needst

But keep that count'nance ftill. My husband's hand?
That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
And he's at fome hard point.
May take off some extremity,
Would be ev'n mortal to me.

Pis. Please you read,

Speak, man; thy tongue which to read

And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
The most difdain'd of fortune.

Imogen reads.

THY mistress, Pifanio, bath play'd the firumpet in my bed: the teftimonies whereof lye bleeding in me. I Speak not out of weak furmifes, but from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part thou Pifanio 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 opportunity at Milford-Haven. She hath my letter for the purpose; where, if thou fear to ftrike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the Pander to her dishonour, and equally to me difloyal.

Pif. What fhall I need to draw

my

fword? the paper

< Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis flander,
< Whose edge is sharper than the fword, whofe tongue
'Out-venoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath
'Rides on the posting winds, and doth belye

All corners of the world. Kings, Queens, and states,

Maids, matrons, nay the fecrets of the grave

This viperous flander enters. What chear, madam?
Imo. Falfe to his bed! what is it to be false?

To

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

To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge nature,

To break it with a fearful dream of him,

And cry my self awake? that false to's bed!

Pif. Alas, good lady!

Imo. I falfe? thy confcience witness, Iachimo,

Thou didst accuse him of incontinency,

Thou then look'dst like a villain: now, methinks,
Thy favour's good enough. Some Jay of Italy
(Whose mother was her painting) hath betray'd him:
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion,

And for I'm richer than to hang by th' walls,

I must be ript: to pieces with me: oh,

Mens vows are womens traitors. All good feeming
By thy revolt, oh husband, fhall be thought.

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

Pif. Madam, hear me --

Imo. True honeft men being heard, like false Æneas, ‹ Were in his time thought false: and Synon's weeping 'Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity

• From most true wretchedness. So thou Pofthumus,

Wilt lay the leven to all proper men;

Goodly, and gallant, fhall be falfe and perjur'd,

From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest, Do thou thy master's bidding:

A little witness my obedience.

when thou seeft him,

Look!

I draw the sword my self, take it, and hit
The innocent manfion 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;
Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause,

Vo L. VI.

Ꮓ

But

But now thou feem'ft a coward.

Pif. Hence, vile inftrument!

Thou shalt not damn my hand.
Imo. Why, I must die;

And if I do not by thy hand, thou art

No fervant of thy mafter's.

'Gainst self-slaughter

There is a prohibition fo divine

That cravens my weak hand: come, here's my (Something's afore't ---- soft, soft, we'll no defence;

heart--

[Opening her breast.)

[Pulling his letters out of her bofom.

Corrupters of my faith, you shall no more
Be ftomachers to my heart: thus may poor fools
Believe falfe teachers: thofe that are betray'd
Do feel the treason fharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worfe cafe of woe. And thou Pofthumus,
That fet my disobedience 'gainst the king,
And mad'ft me put into contempt the suits
Of princely fellows; fhalt hereafter find
It is no act of common paffage, but
A strain of rareness: and I grieve my self,
To think, when thou shalt be dif-edg'd by her
Whom now thou tir'ft on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me---- Pr'ythee dispatch,
The lamb entreats the butcher. Where's the knife?
Thou art too flow to do thy master's bidding,
When I defire it too.

Pif. O gracious lady!

Since I receiv'd command to do this business,

I have not flept one wink.

Imo. Do't, and to bed then.

+ makes me a coward.

Pif