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The fear's as bad as falling: the toil of the war,
A pain that only seems to seek out danger

I' the name of fame, and honour; which dies i' the

search;

And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph,
As record of fair act; nay, many times,

Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
Must curt'sy at the censure: -0, boys, this story
The world may read in me: My body's mark'd
With Roman swords; and my report was once
First with the best of note: Cymbeline lov'd me;
And when a soldier was the theme, my name
Was not far off: Then was I'as a tree,

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Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but, in one night,
A storm, 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, whose false oaths prevail'd
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline,
I was confederate with the Romans: so,

Follow'd my banishment; and, these twenty years,
This rock, and these demesnes, have been my world :
Where I have liv'd at honest freedom; pay'd

More pious debts to heaven, than in all

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The fore-end of my time. But, up to the moun

tains;

This is not hunters' language: He, that strikes

The

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 vallies.

[Exeunt GUID. 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.

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

thus meanly

I' the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
The roofs of palaces; and nature prompts them,
In simple 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 sit, and tell
The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out

270

Into my story: say-Thus mine enemy fell;
And thus I set 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, Arviragus) in as like a figure,

Strikes life into my speech, and shews much more
His own conceiving. Hark! the game is rouz'd!-
O Cymbeline I heaven, and my conscience, knows,
Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon,
At three, and two years old, I stole these babes;
Thinking to bar thee of succession, as

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Thou

Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,
Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their

mother,

And every day do honour to her grave:

Myself, 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'st me, when we came from horse, the place

Was near at hand: -Ne'er long'd my mother so 290 To see me first, as I have now:-Pisanio! Man! Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind,

That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that

sigh

From the inward of thee? One, but painted thus,
Would be interpreted a thing perplex'd
Beyond self-explication: Put thyself
Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness

Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter?

Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with
A look untender? If it be summer news,

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Smile to't before: if winterly, thou need'st

But keep that countenance still. - My husband's

hand!

That drug-damn'd Ita'y hath out-crafted him,

And

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

tongue

May take off some extremity, which to read

Would be even mortal to me.

Pis. Please you, read;

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

IMOGEN reads.

309

Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play'd the strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises; but from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part, thou, Pisanio, must alt for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of her's. Let thine own hands take away her life: I shall give thee opportunity at Milford-Haven: she hath my letter for the purpose: Where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal. 319

Pis. What shall I need to draw my sword? the

paper

Hath cut her throat already. No, 'tis slander;
Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue
Out-venoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie
All corners of the world: kings, queens, and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam?
Imo. False to his bed! What is it, to be false?

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To

To lie in watch there, and to think on him? To weep 'twixt clock and clock ? if sleep nature,

charge

To break it with a fearful dream of him,
And cry myself awake? that's false to his bed?
Is it?

Pis. Alas, good lady!

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Imo. I false? Thy conscience witness :-Iachimo, Thou didst accuse him of incontinency;

340

Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks,
Thy favour's good enough.-Some jay of Italy,
Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd him:
Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion;
And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls,
I must be ript:-to pieces with me!-0,
Men's vows are women's traitors! All good seeming,
By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought
Put on for villany; not born, where't grows;
But worn, a bait for ladies.

Pis. Good madam, hear me.

Imo. True honest men being heard, like false Æneas, Were, in his time, thought false: and Sinon's weep

ing

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Did scandal many a holy tear; took pity
From most true wretchedness: So, thou, Posthumus,
Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men;

Goodly, and gallant, shall be false, and perjur'd,

From thy great fail. -Come, fellow, be thou honest : Do thou thy master's bidding: When thou see'st him, A little witness my obedience: Look!

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