Pisa.

One score, 'twixt sun and sun,

Madam, 's enough for you; and too much too. Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, man, Could never go so slow; I have heard of riding

wagers,

Where horses have been nimbler than the sands That run i' the clock's behalf:—But this is foolery: Go, bid my woman feign a sickness; say

She'll home to her father: and provide me, presently, A riding suit; no costlier than would fit

A franklin's* housewife.

Pisa.

Madam, you're best consider. Imo. I see before me, man, nor here, nor here, Nor what ensues; but have a fog in them, That I cannot look through. Away, I pr'ythee; Do as I bid thee; There's no more to say: Accessible is none but Milford way.

[Exeunt.

SCENE. Wales. A mountainous Country, with a Cave.

Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.

Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys: This gate Instructs you how to adore the heavens; and bows

you

To morning's holy office: The gates of monarchs
Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet through
And keep their impious turbans on, without
Good morrow to the sun.-Hail, thou fair heaven!
We house i'the rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.

Gui.
Arv.

* A freeholder.

Hail, heaven!

Hail, heaven!

+ Strut, walk proudly.

Bel. Now, for our mountain sport: Up to yon hill, Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider,

When you above perceive me like a crow,
That it is place which lessens, and sets off.
And you may then revolve what tales I have told
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
This service is not service, so being done,
But being so allow'd: To apprehend thus,
Draws us a profit from all things we see:
And often, to our comfort, shall we find
The sharded* beetle in a safer hold
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life
Is nobler, than attending for a check;
Richer, than doing nothing for a babe;
Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours.
Gui. Out of your proof you speak: we, poor un-
fledg'd,

Have never wing'd from view o'the nest; nor know

not

What air's from home. Haply, this life is best,
If quiet life be best; sweeter to you,

That have a sharper known; well corresponding
With your stiff age; but, unto us, it is
A cell of ignorance; travelling abed;
A prison for a debtor, that not dares
To stride a limit.

Arv.
What should we speak of,
When we are old as you? when we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December, how
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse

* Scaly-winged. +i. e. Compared with ours.
To overpass his bound.

The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing:
We are beastly; subtle as the fox, for prey;
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat:
Our valour is, to chase what flies; our cage
We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,
And sing our bondage freely.

Bel.

Did you

How you speak!

but know the city's usuries,
And felt them knowingly: the art o' the court,
As hard to leave, as keep: whose top to climb
Is certain falling, or so slippery, that

The fear's as bad as falling: the toil of the war,
A pain that only seems to seek out danger

I' the name of fame, and honour; which dies i' the search;

And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph,

As record of fair act; nay, many times,
Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
Must court'sy 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 mountains;

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.

How hard it is, to hide the sparks of nature! These boys know little, they are sons to the king; Nor Cymbeline dreams 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 minc 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 Arviragus), in as like a figure,

Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more His own conceiving.

SLANDER.

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.

A WIFE'S INNOCENCY.

False to his bed! What is it, to be false?
To lie 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 myself awake? that's false to his bed?

WOMAN IN MAN'S APPAREL.

You must forget to be a woman; change Command into obedience; fear, and niceness, (The handmaids of all women, or, more truly, Woman its pretty self), to a waggish courage; Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and As quarrellous as the weasel: nay, you must Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart! Alack no remedy!) to the greedy touch Of common-kissing Titan*; and forget Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein You made great Juno angry.

*The sun.