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 bauble;
Prouder, than rustling in unpaid for filk :

Such gain the cap of him, that makes them Ene,"
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 not
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.
3 To ftride a limit.

Arv. What fhould 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,

himself equally authorifed to make bribe. I think babe cannot be right.

2 Toftride a limit.] To overpals his bound.

3 What Should we speak of, This dread of an old age, unfupplied with matter for difcourfe and meditation, is a fentiment natural and noble. No ftate can be more deftitute than that of him who, when the delights of fenfe forfake him, has no pleafures of the mind.

Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat ;
Our valour is to chafe what flies; our cage
We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,
And fing our bondage freely.

Bel. How you fpeak!

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
fearch,

And hath fo oft a fland'rous epitaph,

As record of fair act; nay, many time,
Doth ill deferve, by doing well: what's worse,
Muft curt'fy at the cenfure. Oh, boys, this ftory
The world may read in me: my body's mark'd
With Roman fwords; and my Report was once
First with the beft of note; Cymbeline lov'd me,
And when a foldier was the theam, my name
Was not far off; then was I as 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.

Guid. Uncertain favour!

Bel. My fault being nothing, as I have 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, thefe 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

VOL. VII.

Y

The

The fore-end of my time.-But, up to th' mountains!
This is not hunters' language; he, that strikes
The venison firit, fhall be the lord o' th' feast;
To him the other two fhall minister,

And we will fear no poison, which attends

In place of greater State.

I'll meet you in the valleys.

[Exeunt Guid. and Arvir.

How hard it is to hide the fparks of nature! These boys know little they are Sons to th' King; Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.

They think, they're mine: and tho' train'd up thus meanly

I' th' Cave, whereon the Bow their thoughts do hit The roof of Palaces; and nature prompts them,

4 P' th' Cave, &c.] Mr. Pope reads,

Here in the Cave, wherein their thoughts do hit The roof of Palaces; but the fentence breaks off imperfectly. The old editions read,

I' th' Cave, whereon the Bow

their thoughts do hit, &c. Mr. Rowe faw this likewife was faulty; and therefore mended it thus:

I th' Cave, where, on the Bow

their thoughts do hit, &c. I think, it fhould be, only with the alteration of one letter, and the addition of another;

Ith Cave, there, on the Brow, And fo the grammar and syntax of the fentence is compleat. We call the arching of a cavern, or overhanging of a bll, metaphorically, the Brow; and in like manner the Greeks and Latins used ippus, and Supercil um. THEOB.

—tho' trained up thus meanly, I th' Cave, THERE ON THE

In

BROW,-] The old editions read, I' th' Cave WHEREON THE BOW; which, tho' very corrupt, will direct us to the true reading, which, when rightly pointed, is thus,

-tho' trained up thus meanly. I th' Cave WHEREIN THEY

BOW

i. e. thus meanly brought up. Yet in this very Cave, which is fo low that they must bow or bend in entering it, yet are their thoughts fo exalted, &c. This is the antithefis. Belarius had fpoken before of the lownefs of this cave.

A goodly day! not to keep house
with fuch

Whose roof's as low as ours:
fee, boys! this gate
Instructs you how t'adore the
heav'ns; and bows you
To morning's holy office. WARB.
Hanmer reads,

I' th' Cave, here in this brow.
I think the reading is this,

In fimple and low things, to prince it, much
Beyond the trick of others. This Paladour,
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom
The King his father call'd Guiderius, Jove!
When on my three-foot flool 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 fweats,
Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in pofture
That acts my words. The younger brother Cadwal,
Once, Arviragus, in as like a figure

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

At three and two years old 5 I ftole these babes;
Thinking to bar thee of fucceffion, as

Thou reft'ft me of my lands. Euriphile,

Thou waft their nurse; they take thee for their mo

ther,

And every day do honour to her Grave;

Myfelf Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,

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

SCENE IV.

Enter Pifanio, and Imogen.

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

Was near at hand. Ne'er long'd my mother fo
To fee me firft, as I have now. Pifanio, Man,
Where is Pofthumus? What is in thy mind,
That makes thee ftare thus? wherefore breaks that figh
From th' inward of thee? one, put painted thus,
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond felf-explication. Put thyself
Into a 'haviour of lefs fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my staider fenfes. What's the matter?
Why tender'ft thou that paper to me, with
A look untender? if't be fummer news,
Smile to 't before; if winterly, thou need'st

But keep that count'nance ftill. My husband's hand?
That drug damn'd Italy hath out craftied him,

6

And he's at fome hard point. Speak, man; thy

tongue

May take off fome extremity, which to read
Would be e'en mortal to me.

Pis. Please you, read;

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

T

Imogen reads.

HY mifirefs, Pifanio, bath play'd the firumpet in my bed the teftimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I Speak not out of weak furmises, but from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. That

6-drug-damn'd-] This is another allufion to Italian poifons.

part