Puslapio vaizdai
PDF
„ePub“

Clot. It is Pofthumus's hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou would'st not be a villain, but do me true service; undergo those employments, wherein I fhould have cause to use thee, with a ferious induftry; that is, what villany foe'er I bid thee do, to perform it directly and truly, I would think thee an honest man; thou shouldst neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment.

Pif. Well, my good Lord.

Clot. Wilt thou ferve me? for fince patiently and conftantly thou haft ftuck to the bare fortune of that beggar Pofthumus, thou can'ft not in the course of gratitude but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou ferve me?

Pif. Sir, I will.

Clot. Give me thy hand, here's my purfe. Haft any of thy late master's garments in thy poffeffion?

Pif. I have, my lord, at my lodging, the fame fuit he wore when he took leave of my lady and mistress. Clot. The first fervice thou doft me, fetch that fait hither; let it be thy firft fervice, go. Pif. I fhall, my lord.

[Exit. Clot. Meet thee at Milford-Haven?—(I forgot to ask him one thing, I'll remember't anon;) even there, thou villain Pofthumus, will I kill thee. I would, these garments were come. She faid upon a time, (the bitternefs of it I now belch from my heart,) that the held the very garment of Pofthumus in more refpect than my noble and natural perfon, together with the adornment of my qualities. With that fuit upon my back will I ravith her; firft kill him, and in her eyes(there fhall fhe fee my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt.) He on the ground, my fpeech of infultment ended on his dead body; and when my luft hath dined, (which, as I fay, to vex her, I will execute in the cloaths that the fo prais’d) to the Court I'll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath despised me rejoycingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge.

Entr

Enter Pifanio, with a fuit of cloaths.

Be those the garments?

Pif. Ay, my noble lord.

Clot. How long is't fince fhe went to Milford-Ha

ven ?

Pif. She can scarce be there yet.

Clot. Bring this apparel to my chamber, that is the fecond thing that I have commanded thee. The third is, that thou wilt be a voluntary Mute to my design. Be but duteous, and true preferment fhall tender it felf to thee. My revenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to follow it! come and be true. [Exit. Pif. Thou bidd'ft me to my lofs: for true to thee, Were to prove falfe, which I will never be, To him that is moft true. To Milford go, And find not her, whom thou purfu't. Flow, flow, You heav'nly Bleffings, on her! this fool's speed Be croft with flowness; labour be his meed! [Exit.

Imo.

SCENE changes to the Forest and Cave.

I

Enter Imogen, in boys cloaths.

See, a man's life is a tedious one;

I've tir'd my felf; and for two nights together Have made the ground my bed. I fhould be fick, But that my refolution helps me. Milford, When from the mountain top Pifanio fhew'd thee, Thou waft within a ken.-Oh Jove, I think, Foundations fly the wretched; fuch, I mean, Where they fhould be reliev'd. Two beggars told me, I could not mifs my way. Will poor folks lie, That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis A punishment, or tryal? yes, no wonder, When rich ones fcarce tell true. To lapfe in fullness Is forer, than to lie for need; and falfhood Is worfe in Kings, than Beggars. My dear lord! Thou'rt one o'th' falfe ones; now I think on thee, My hunger's gone, but ev'n before, I was

At

At point to fink for food. But what is this?
[Seeing the Cave.
Here is a path to't-'tis fome favage Hold;
'Twere beft, not call; I dare not call; yet famine,
Ere it clean o'er-throw nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty, and peace, breeds cowards; hardness ever
Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who's here?
If any thing that's civil, fpeak; if savage,
Take, or lend-ho! no anfwer? then I'll enter.
Beft draw my fword; and if mine enemy

But fear the fword like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
Grant such a foe, good heav'ns! [She goes into the Cave.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.

Bel. You, Paladour, have prov'd best woodman, and Are mafter of the feaft; Cadwal and I

Will play the cook, and fervant; 'tis our match:
The fweat of induftry would dry, and die,

But for the end it works to. Come,, our ftomachs
Will make what's homely favo'ry; weariness
Can fnore upon the flint, when refty floth

Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be here,
Poor houfe, that keep'ft thy felf!

Guid. I'm throughly weary.

Arv. I'm weak with toil, yet ftrong in appetite. Guid. There is cold meat i'th' Cave, we'll brouze on

That,

Whilft what, we've kill'd, be cook'd.

Bel. Stay, come not in

[Looking in.

But that it eats our victuals, I should think,

It were a Fairy.

Guid. What's the matter, Sir?

Bel. By Jupiter, an Angel! or if not, An earthly Paragon. Behold Divineness No elder than a Boy.

Enter Imogen.

Imo. Good mafters, harm me not;

Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought

T'have begg'd, or bought, what I have took: good.

troth,

I

I have ftoln nought, nor would not, though I'd found
Gold ftrew'd i'th' floor. Here's mony for my meat;
I would have left it on the board, fo foon

As I had made my meal; and parted thence
With prayers for the provider.

Guid. Mony, youth?

Arv. All gold and filver rather turn to dirt!
As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those
Who worship dirty Gods,

Imo. I fee, you're angry:

Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
Have dy'd, had I not made it.

Bel. Whither bound?
Imo. To Milford-Haven.

Bel. What's your name?

Imo. Fidele, Sir; I have a Kinsman, who
Is bound for Italy: he embark'd at Milford;
To whom being going, almoft fpent with hunger,

I'm faln in this offence.

Bel. Prythee, fair youth,

Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds
By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd!
'Tis almoft night, you fhall have better cheer
Ere you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it.
Boys, bid him welcome.

1

Guid. Were you a woman, youth,

I should wooe hard, but be your groom in honefty; I bid for you, as I do buy.

Arv. I'll make't my comfort,

He is a man I'll love him as my brother:

And such a welcome as I'd give to him,

After long abfence, fuch is yours. Moft welcome!
Be fprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends.

Imo. (37) 'Mongft friends,

If brothers; Would it had been fo, that they)

[ocr errors]

Had been my father's fons! then had my prize afide. Been lefs, and fo more equal ballafting

[blocks in formation]

If Brothers, would it had been fo, that they

To

Had been my Father's Sons ] I cannot think this the Poet's Point

To thee, Pofthumus.

Bel. He wrings at some distress.
Guid. Would I could free't!
Arv. Or I, whate'er it be,

What pain it coft, what danger, Gods!

Bel. Hark, boys.

Imo. Great men,

[Whispering.

That had a Court no bigger than this Cave,

That did attend themselves, and had the virtue

Which their own conscience seal'd them; (38) laying by

That nothing-gift of defering multitudes,

Could not out-peer these twain.

Pardon me, Gods! I'd change my Sex to be companion with them,

Since Leonatus is falfe.

Bel. It fhall be fo:

Boys, we'll go drefs our Hunt. Fair youth, come in;

ing, and therefore have ventur'd to reform it. Arviragus had faid, he would love Imogen as a Brother, gives her a Welcome as fuch, and tells her, She is fall'n among Friends. Among Friends, indeed, replies She very naturally, if I am to ftand in the Rank of a Brother. Then ftriking into a private Reflexion on having loft her own Brothers, She wifhes, thefe Two kind Youths were but her Father's Sons. This Senfe is plainly confirm'd by What she fays in the last Scene of the Play, where they are discover'd to be really her Brothers.

(38)

You call'd me Brother,

When I was but your Sifter 3 I, you Brothers;
When ye were fo, indeed.

laying by

That Nothing Gift of differing Multitudes,

Could not out-peer thefe Twain.] The only Idea, that differing can here convey, is, variable, changing Multitudes; as in the Prologue to 2 Henry IV.

The still-difcordant, wav'ring Multitude.

But then what is the Nothing-Gift which they are fuppos'd to bestow? The Poet muft mean, that Court, that obfequious Adoration, which the fhifting Vulgar pay to the Great, is a Tribute of no Price or Value. So in K. Henry V..

O Ceremony, her me but thy Worth;

Art Thou Aught elfe, but Place, Degree, and Forme ?

I am perfuaded therefore, our Poet coin'd this Participle from the French Verb, and wrote

That Nothing Gift of defering Multitudes,

i. e. obfequious, paying Deference. quelcun, abeir, candefcendre &c. RICHELET.

Deferer, Ceder par Respect à

Difcourfe

« AnkstesnisTęsti »