Puslapio vaizdai
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Nor what ensues, but have a fog in Ken,
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.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to a Foreft with a Cave, in Wales.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.

Bel. A Goodly day! not to keep house, with such

Whofe roof's as low as ours; fee, boys!

this gate

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 Sun. Hail, thou fair heav'n!
We house i'th' rock, yet ufe thee not fo hardly
As prouder livers do.

Guid. Hail, heaven!

Arv. Hail, heav'n!

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 safer hold,

in profpect, within Sight, before my Eyes. So, afterwards, in this Play;

Milford,

When from the Mountain-top Pifanio fhew'd thee,

Thou waft within a Ken.

So, in zd Henry IV.

For, lo! within a Ken our Army lies.

And in many other Paffages.

Than

7

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 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. Hap'ly, this life is beft,
If quiet life is beft; fweeter to you,

That have a sharper known: well corresponding
With your stiff 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 fhall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December? how,
In this our pinching Cave, fhall we difcourfe
The freezing hours away? We have feen nothing;
We're beaftly; 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'
fearch,

And hath as oft a fland'rous epitaph,

As record of fair act; nay, many time,

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

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 beft of note. Cymbeline lov'd me;
And when a foldier was the theam, 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.

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) swore to Cymbeline, I was confed'rate 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.

tains!

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But, up to th' moun

This is not hunters' language; he, that strikes
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
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; tho' trained up thus meanly (31)

(31)

tho' trained up thus meanly

Here in the Cave, wherein their Thoughts do hit

The Roof of Palaces.

-]

I'th'

Thus Mr. Pope; but the Sentence breaks off imperfectly. The old Editions read,

Ith Cave, whereon the Bow their Thoughts do hit, &c." Mr. Rowe faw, this likewife was faulty; and therefore amended it thus: Ith 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;

I'th' Cave, there, on the Brow,

And

I'th' Cave, there, on the Brow, their thoughts do hit
The roof of Palaces; and nature prompts them,
In fimple and low things, to prince it, much
Beyond the trick of others. This Paladour, (32)
(The heir of Cymbeline and Britaine, whom
The King his father call'd Guiderius,) Jove! -
When on my three-foot-ftool 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 posture
That acts my words-The younger brother Cadwall,
(Once, Arviragus,) in as like a figure

Strikes life into my fpeech, and thews 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, I ftole these babes;
Thinking to bar thee of fucceffion, as

Thou reft'ft me of my lands. Euriphile,

Thou waft their nurfe; they take thee for their mo ther,

And every day do honour to her Grave;

My felf Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,

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

And fo the Grammar and Syntax of the Sentence is compleat. We call the Arching of a Cavern, or Overhanging of a Hill, metaphorically, the Brow; and in like manner the Greeks and Latines ufed depus, and Supercilium.

(32) This Polydore,] Tho' the Name be feveral times writ thus in the Old Books, I am perfuaded it is not as the Author intended. It is a Compound purely Greek, without the Turn or Foundation of a British Name. The firft Time this Name is mention'd in both the old Folio's, it is written Paladour, as I have reform'd the Text; because this, as well as Cadwal, is of the British Caft. What Pala in the first Name, or Wal in the other, may fignify, I am not deep enough in Cambrian to know; but dour, or dhür, means, profluens aque; as Câd, does, Capat.

Enter

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Enter Pifanio, 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 see me firft, as I have now

Pifanio,

Where is Pofthumus? What is in thy mind,

That makes thee ftare thus? wherefore breaks that figh
From th' inward of thee? one, but painted thus,
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond felf-explication. Put thy felf
Into a 'haviour of lefs fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my ftayder 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'ft

But keep that count'nance ftill. My husband's hand?

That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,

And he's at fome hard point. Speak, man; thy tongue May take off fome extremity, which to read

Would be ev'n mortal to me.

Pif. Please you, read;

And you fhall find me, wretched man, a thing

The moft difdain'd of fortune.

Imogen reads.

THY mistress, Pifanio, bath play'd the ftrumpet in my bed: the teftimonies whereof lye bleeding in me. I Speak not out of weak furmifes, but from proof as frong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge, That part thou, Pifanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers; let thine own hands take away her life: I shall give thee opportunity at Milford-Haven. She bath my letter for the purpose; where, if thou fear to frike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the Pander to her dishonour, and equally to me difloyal.

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