For mine's beyond beyond,) say, and speak thick,
(Love's counsellor fhould fill the bores of hearing,
To the fmothering of the fenfe,) how far it is
To this fame bleffed Milford: And, by the way,
Tell me how Wales was made fo happy, as
To inherit fuch a haven : But, first of all,

How we may steal from hence; and, for the gap
That we fhall make in time, from our hence-going,
And our return, to excufe :-but first, how get hence:
Why should 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 fcore, 'twixt fun and fun,

Madam, 's enough for you; and too much too.

Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, man, Could never go fo flow: I have heard of riding wagers, Where horses have been nimbler than the fands

That run i' the clock's behalf:-But this is foolery :Go, bid my woman feign a fickness; fay

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

A franklin's housewife.

Pif.

Madam, you're best confider.

Ima. I fee before me, man, nor here, nor here,
Nor what enfues; 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;
Acceffibles none but Milford way.

[Exeunt.

SCENE

SCENE III.

Wales. A mountainous Country, with a Cave.

Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.

Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with fuch Whofe roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys: This gate Inftructs you how to adore the heavens; and bows you To morning's holy office: The 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 heaven! We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly As prouder livers do.

Gui.

Arv.

Hail, heaven!

Hail, heaven!

Bel. Now, for our mountain fport: Up to yon 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 have told

Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
This fervice is not service, 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, shall we find
The fharded beetle in a fafer 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 filk:

Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncrofs'd: no life to ours.

Gui. Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledg`d, Have never wing'd from view o' the neft; nor know not What air's from home. Haply, this life is best,

If quiet life be beft; fweeter to you,

That have a sharper known; well correfponding
With your ftiff age: but, unto us, it is
A cell of ignorance; travelling abed;
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 discourse
The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing :
We are beastly; fubtle as the fox, for prey;
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat :
Our valour is, to chace what flies; our cage
We make a quire, 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' the court,
As hard to leave, as keep; whofe top to climb

Is certain falling, or fo flippery, that

The fear's as bad as falling: the toil of the war,

A pain that only feems to feek out danger

I'the name of fame, and honour; which dies i' the search; And hath as oft a flanderous epitaph,

As record of fair act; nay, many times,

Doth ill deferve by doing well; what's worse,

Muft court'fy at the cenfure :-O, boys, this story
The world may read in me : My body's mark'd
With Roman fwords; and my report was once
First with the best of note: Cymbeline lov'd me;

And

And when a foldier 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 ftorm, 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, whofe false oaths prevail'd
Before my perfect honour, fwore to Cymbeline,
I was confederate 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 the mountains;
This is not hunters' 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 valleys.

[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 dreams that they are alive.

They think, they are mine: and, though train'd up

meanly

I' the cave, wherein they bow, 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 Polydore,→
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom
The king his father call'd Guiderius,—Jove!
When on my three-foot stool I fit, and tell

E 4

thus

The

The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out
Into my story: fay,-Thus mine enemy fell;

And thus I fet my foot on his 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, 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 confcience, knows,
Thou didft unjustly banish me: whereon,

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

Thou reft'ft me of my lands. Euriphile,

Thou waft their nurfe; they took thee for their mother, And every day do honour to her grave:

Myfelf, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,

They take for natural father. The game is up. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

Near Milford-Haven.

Enter PISANIO and IMOGEN.

Imo. Thou told 'ft me, when we came from horfe, the place Was near at hand :-Ne'er long'd my mother fo

To fee me first, as I have now:-Pifanio! Man!
Where is Pofthúmus? What is in thy mind,

That makes thee ftare thus? Wherefore breaks that figh
From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus,
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond felf-explication: Put thyfelf
Into a haviour of lefs fear, ere wildness

Vanquish