Imatges de pàgina
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'Twere beft not call; I dare not call; yet famine,
Ere it clean o'er-throw nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty and peace breeds cowards, hardness ever
Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who's here?
If any thing that's civil, fpeak; if savage,
Take, or lend ---- ho! no answer? then I'll enter.
Best draw my fword; and if mine enemy
But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
Grant fuch a foe, good heav'ns!

[She goes into the cave. Enter Bellarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. Bel. You Polidore have prov'd best woodman, and Are master of the feaft; Cadwal and I

Will play the cook, and servant, 'tis our match:

The sweat of industry would dry, and die

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But for the end it works to. Come, our stomachs
Will make what's homely favo'ry; weariness

Can fnore upon the flint, when refty sloth

Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be here,
Poor house, that keep'ft thy felf!

Guid. I'm throughly weary.

Arv. I'm weak with toil, yet ftrong in appetite.

Guid. There is cold meat i'th' cave, we'll brouze on that

Whilft what we've kill'd be cook'd.

Bel. Stay, come not in

But that it eats our victuals, I fhould think

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[Looking in.

T'have

T' have begg'd, or bought, what I have took: good troth
I have stoln nought, nor would not, though I'd found
Gold ftrew'd i'th' floor. Here's mony for my meat,

I would have left it on the board fo foon

As I had made my meal: and parted thence
With prayers for the provider.

Guid. Mony, youth?

Arv. All gold and filver rather turn to dirt!
As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those
Who worship dirty gods.

Imo. I fee you're angry:

Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
Have dy'd, had I not made it.

Bel. Whither bound?

Imo. To Milford-Haven.

Bel. What's your name?

Imo. Fidele, Sir; I have a kinfman, who
Is bound for Italy: he'embark'd at Milford,
To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
I'm faln in this offence.

Bel. Pr'ythee, fair youth,

Think us no churls; nor measure our good minds
By this rude place we live in. Well-encounter'd!
'Tis almost night, you fhall have better cheer
Ere you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it.
Boys, bid him welcome.

Guid. Were you a woman, youth,

I should wooe hard, but be your groom in honesty;
I bid for you, as I do buy.

Arv. I'll make't my comfort

He is a man; I'll love him as my brother:
And fuch a welcome as I'd give to him,

After long abfence, fuch is yours. Most welcome!

Be

Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends.

Imo. 'Mongst friends?

If brothers, would it had been so, that they
Had been my father's fons; then had my prize

Been lefs, and fo more equal ballafting

To thee, Pofthumus.

Bel. He wrings at some distress.
Guid. Would I could free't!

Arv. Or I, whate'er it be,

What pain it cost, what danger; gods!

Bel. Hark, boys.

Imo. Great men,

That had a court no bigger than this cave,

That did attend themselves, and had the virtue

Which their own conscience seal'd them; laying by

That nothing-gift of differing multitudes,

Could not out-peer these twain.

Pardon me gods,

I'd change my sex to be companion with them,

Since Leonatus is falfe.

Bel. It fhall be fo:

Boys, we'll go dress our hunt. Fair youth come in ;
Discourse is heavy, fafting; when we've supp'd

We'll mannerly demand thee of thy ftory,

So far as thou wilt speak.

Guid. I pray draw near.

[afide.

[Whispering.

Arv. The night to th' owl, and morn to th❜lark, less welcome!

less welcome!

SCENE VIII. Rome.

Enter two Roman Senators, and Tribunes.

1 Sen. THIS is the tenor of the Emperor's writ;

That fince the common men are now in action

'Gainft the Pannonians and Dalmatians,

And that the legions now in Gallia, are

[Exeunt. * SCENE

[Exeunt.

Full

SCENE VIII.

Cymbeline's Palace.

Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pifanio.

Cym. AGAIN, and bring me word how 'tis with her;

fever with the absence of her fon;

Madness, of which her life's in danger; heav'ns!
How deeply you at once do touch me. Imogen,
The great part of my comfort, gone! my queen
Upon a desperate bed, and in a time

When fearful wars point at me! her fon gone,
So needful for this prefent! it strikes me, past
The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,
Who needs must know of her departure, and
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll force it from thee
By a sharp torture.

Pif. Sir, my life is yours,

I set it at your will: but for my mistress,

Beseech your highness,

I nothing know where fhe remains; why gone,
Nor when the purposes return.
Hold me your loyal fervant.

Full weak to undertake our war against
The fall'n off Britains; that we do incite
The gentry to this business. He creates
Lucius pro-conful: and to you the tribunes
For this immediate levy, he commands
His abfolute commiffion. Long live Cæfar!
Tri. Is Lucius gen'ral of the forces?

2 Sen. Ay.

Tri. Remaining now in Gallia?

I Sen. With those legions

Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy

Must be fuppliant: the words of your commiffion

Will tie you to the numbers and the time

Of their dispatch.

Tri. We will difcharge our duty.

[Exeunt.

Lord.

Lord. Good my liege,

The day that she was miffing, he was here;
I dare be bound he's true, and fhall perform
All parts of his fubjection loyally. For Cloten,
There wants no diligence in seeking him,
And will no doubt be found.

Cym. The time is troublesome;

We'll flip you for a season, but our jealousie
Do's yet depend.

Lord. So please your majesty,

The Roman legions all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your coaft, with large fupply
Of Roman Gentlemen, by th' fenate sent.

Cym. Now for the counsel of my fon and queen:
I am amaz'd with matter.

Lord. Good my liege,

Your preparation can affront no less

Than what you hear of. Come more, for more you're ready;

The want is, but to put these powers in motion,

That long to move.

Cym. I thank you; let's withdraw And meet the time, as it seeks us. What can from Italy annoy us, but We grieve at chances here. Away.

We fear not

Pif. I heard no letter from my master, since
I wrote him Imogen was flain. 'Tis ftrange;
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise
To yield me often tidings. Neither know I
What is betide to Cloten, but remain

Perplext in all. The heavens ftill must work;
Wherein I'm falfe, I'm honeft; not true, to be true.
These present wars shall find I love my country,
Ev'n to the note o'th' king, or I'll fall in them;
VOL VI.

B b

[Exeunt.

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