Enter Pifanio reading a letter.
Pif. HOW? of adultery? wherefore write you not
What monsters have accus'd her? Leonatus !
Oh mafter, what a ftrange infection
Is fall'n into thy heart? what falfe Italian,
As pois'nous tongu'd as handed, hath prevail'd
On thy too ready ear? Difloyal? no,
She's punifh'd for her truth; and undergoes,
More Goddefs-like than wife-like, fuch affaults
As would take in fome virtue. Oh my mafter!
Thy mind to 'hers is now as low, as were
Thy fortunes. How? that I fhould murther her?
Upon the love and truth and vows, which I
Have made to thy command!I her!her blood!
If it be fo to do good fervice, never
Let me be counted ferviceable. How look I,
That I fhould feem to lack humanity,
So much as this fact comes to? Do't-the letter [Reading.
That I have fent her, by her own command
Shall give thee opportunity. Damn'd paper!
Black as the ink that's on thee: fenfelefs bauble!
Art thou a foedarie for this act, that look'ft
So virgin-like without? Lo, here fhe comes.
I'm ignorant in what I am commanded.
Imo. How now, Pifanio?
Pif. Madam, here is a letter from my Lord.
Imo. Who! thy Lord? that is my Lord Leonatus ? Oh, learn'd indeed were that astronomer
That knew the ftars, as I his characters:
He'd lay the future open. You good Gods,
Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
Of my Lord's health, of his content; yet not
That we two are afunder; let that grieve him!
Some griefs are medicinable, that is one of them,
For it doth phyfick love: of his content
'In all but that Good wax, thy leave-blest be You bees that make these locks of counfel! Lovers, And men in dang'rous bonds pray not alike. Though forfeiters you caft in prifon, yet
You clafp young Cupid's tables: good news, Gods!
[Reading. JUfice, and your father's wrath, should be take me in
bis dominion, could not be fo cruel to me, but you, ob the dearest of creatures, would even renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria at MilfordHaven: what your own love will out of this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all happiness, that remains loyal to his vow, and your's increafing in love,
Oh for a horse with wings! hear'ft thou, Pifanio?
He is at Milford-Haven: read, and tell me
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
May plod it in a week, why may not I
Glide thither in a day? then, true Pifanio,
Who long'st like me to fee thy Lord; who long'ft,
(Oh let me bate) but not like me, yet long'ft,
But in a fainter kindoh, not like me;
For mine's beyond, beyond fay, and speak thick;
Love's counsellor fhould fill the bores of hearing
To th' fmoth'ring of the fenfehow far it is
To this fame bleffed Milford: and by th' way
Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as
T'inherit fuch a haven. But first of all,
How may we steal from hence? and for the gap
That we fhall make in time, from our hence going
Till our return, t'excufe-but firft, how get hence?
Why fhould excufe be born or-e'er begot?
We'll talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee speak, How many score of miles may we well ride 'Twixt hour and hour?
Pif. One score 'twixt fun and fun,
Madam,'s enough for you: and too much too.
Imo. Why, one that rode to's execution, man,
Could never go fo flow: I've heard 'of wagers,
Where horses have been nimbler than the fands
That run i'th' clock's behalf. But this is fool'ry.
Go, bid my woman feign a sickness, say
She'll home t'her father: and provide me present
A riding fuit; no coftlier than would fit
A Franklin's housewife.
Pif. Madam, you'd beft confider.
Imo. I fee before me, man; nor here, nor here,
Nor what enfues, but have a fog in them
That I cannot look thro'. Away, I pr'ythee,
Do as I bid thee; there's no more to fay;
Acceffible is none but Milford-way.
A Foreft with a Cave, in Wales.
Enter Bellarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.
Bel. A Goodly day! not to keep house, with fuch
Whofe roof's as low as ours: 'ftoop, boys!
Inftructs you how t'adore the heav'ns; and bows you
To morning's holy office. Gates of Monarchs
Are arch'd fo high, that giants may jet through
And keep their impious turbands on, without
Good-morrow to the fun. Hail, thou fair heav'n!
We house i'th' rock, yet ufe thee not fo hardly
As prouder livers do.
Bel. Now for our mountain fport, up to yond hill,
Your legs are young: I'll tread thefe flats. Confider,
When you above perceive me like a crow,
That it is place which leffens and sets off;
And you may then revolve what tales I told you,
Of Courts, of Princes, of the tricks in war,
That fervice is not fervice, fo being done,
But being fo allow'd. To apprehend thus,
Draws us a profit from all things we fee:
And often, to our comfort, fhall we find
The fharded beetle in a fafer hold
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. Oh, this life
Is nobler than attending for a check;
Richer, than doing nothing for a 7 'bribe;
Prouder, than ruftling in unpaid-for filk:
Such gain the cap of him that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncrofs'd; no life to ours.
Guid. Out of your proof you fpeak; we poor unfledg'd
Have never wing'd from view o'th' neft; nor know
What air's from home. Haply this life is beft,
If quiet life is beft, fweeter to you
That have a fharper known: well correfponding
With your ftiff age; but unto us, it is
A cell of ign'rance; travelling a-bed;
A prifon, for a debtor that not dares
To ftride 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 fhall we difcourfe
The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing,
We're beastly; fubtle as the fox for prey,
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat :
Our valour is to chafe what flies; our cage
We make a choir, as doth the prifon'd bird,
And fing our bondage freely.
Bel. How you speak!
Did you but know the city's ufuries,
And felt them knowingly; the art o'th' Court,
As hard to leave, as keep; whofe top to climb
Is certain falling, or fo flipp'ry that
The fear's as bad as falling; the toil of war,
A pain, that only feems to feek out danger
I'th' name of fame and honour; which dies i'th' search,
And hath as oft a fland'rous epitaph,
As record of fair act; nay, many times
Doth ill deferve, by doing well what's worfe,
Muft curt'fie at the cenfure:-Oh boys, this story
The world may read in me: my body's mark'd
With Roman fwords; and my report was once
Firft with the best of note. Cymbeline lov'd me,
And when a foldier was the theme, my name
Was not far off: then was I as a tree
Whofe boughs did bend with fruit. But in one night,
A ftorm, or robbery, call it what you will,
Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, And left me bare to weather.
Bel. My fault being nothing, as I told you oft,
But that two villains (whofe falfe 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 thefe 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 venifon firft, fhall be the Lord o'th' feaft;
To him the other two fhall minifter,
And we will fear no poifon which attends
I'll meet you in the vallies
[Exeunt Guiderius and Arviragus.
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