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They think, they're mine; tho' trained up thus meanly

(14) l'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, inuch Beyond the trick of others. This Paladour, (1 he heir of Cymbeline and Britaine, whom The King his father calld Guiderius,) Jove! When on my three-foot-stool I fit, and tell The warlike feats I've done, his fpirits fly out Into my story: say, “ thus mine enemy fell, “ And thus' I set my foot on's neck”.

even then The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats, 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 speech, and shews much more His own conceiving. Hark, the game is rouz’d.-Oh Cymbelive ! heav'n and my conscience know, Thou didft unjuitly banish me: whereon, At three and two years old, I stole these babes; Thinking to bar thee of succession, as Thou refi'it me of my lands. Euriphile, Thou waft their nurfe ; they take thee for their ma

ther,

the trained up thus meally
Here in the Cave, wherein their i boughts do bit

The Roof of Palaces.--)
Thus Mr. Pope; but the Sentence breaks off imperfeetly. The old
Editions read,

l'th' Cave, whereon the Bow their Thoughts do bit, &c. Mr. Rowe saw, this likewise was faulty; and therefore amended it thus:

I'rb' Cave, where, on the Bow, their thoughts do bit, &c. I think, it should be, only with the Alteration of one Letter, and ihe Addition of another;

I’ib' Cave, there, on the Brow, And so the Grammar and Syntax of the Sentence is compleat. We call the Arching of a Cavern, or Overbanging of a Hill, metaphorically, the Brow; and in lik: manner the Greeks and Latines used ¢ fès, and Supercilium.

And

And every day do honour to thy Grave;
Myself Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
They take for natural father. The game's up. [Exit.

Enter Pifanio, 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 To see me first, as I have now. -Pifania, Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind, That makes thee ftare thus ? wherefore breaks that ligh From th' 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 fenses 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 countnance still. My husband's hand ? That drug-damnd Italy hath out-craftied him, And he's at some 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 shall find me, wretched man, a thing The most disdain'd of fortune.

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Imogen reads.
Hr mistress, Pisanio, hath play'd the strumpet in my

bed: the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I Speak not out of weak furmiles, but from proof as strong 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 hands take away her life : I shall give thee opportunity at Milford-Haven. She hath pły letter for the purpose; where, if thou fear to frike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the Pander 19 ber dishonour, and equally to me disloyal,

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Pif. 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 belye
All corners of the world.

Kings, Queens, and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the Grave
This viperous Nander enters. What chear, Madam ?

Imo. False to his bed! what is it to be false ?
To lie in watch there, and to think on him?
To weep 'twixt clock and clock ? if sleep charge nature,
To break it with a fearful dream of him,
And cry myself awake ? that false to’s bed!

Pif. Alas, good lady!

Imo. I false ? thy conscience witness, Iachimo,
Thoa didst accuse him of incontinency,
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 ftale, a garment out of fashion;
And, for I'm richer than to hang by th' walls,
I must be ript : to pieces with me: oh,
Men's vows are women's traitors. -All good Seeming
By thy revolt, oh husband, shall be thought
Put on for villany: not born, where't grows;
But worn, a bait for ladies.

Pif. Madam, hear me

Imo. True honeft men being heard, like false Æneas,
Were in his time thought false : and Sinon's Weeping
Did scandal many a holy tear; took pity
From most true wretchedness. So thou, Pofthumus,
Wilt lay the leven to all proper men;
Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and perjur'd,
From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honeft,
Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou feeft him,
A little witness

my

obedience. Look!
I draw the livord myself, take it, and hit
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart ;
Fear not, 'tis empty of all things, but grief;
Thy master is not there; who was, indeed,

The

The riches of it. Do his Bidding, strike;
Thou may'st be valiant in a better cause,
But now thou seem'ft a coward,

Pif. Hence, vile instrument !
'Thou shalt not damn my hand.

Imo. Why, I must die; And, if I do not by thy hand, thou art No servant of thy master's. 'Gainst self-flaughter There is a prohibition fo divine, That cravens my weak hand: come, here's my heart (Something's afore't - soft, foft, we'll no defence ;)

[Opening her breast. Obedient as the scabbard ! What is here? The Scriptures of the loyal Leonatus All turn'd to Heresy? away, away,

[Pulling his letters out of her bofom, Corrupters of my faith! you

shall no more
Be stomachers to my heart : thus may poor fools
Believe false teachers : tho' those, that are betray'd,
Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worse case of woe. And thou, Pofthumus,
That set my disobedience 'gainst the King,
And mad'it me put into contempt the suits
Of princely fellows, fhalt hereafter find,
It is no act of common passage, but
A strain of rareness : and I grieve myself,
To think, when thou shalt be dif-edg'd by her
Whom now thou tir'it on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.- Pr’ythee, dispatch;
The lamb entreats the butcher. Where's thy knife?
Thou art too flow to do thy master's bidding,
When I defire it too.

Pis. O gracious Lady!
Since I receiv'd command to do this business,
I have not sept one wink.

Imo. Do't, and to bed then.
Pif. I'll break mine eye-balls first.

Imo. Ah, wherefore then
Didīt undertake it? why hast thou abus'd
So many miles, with a pretence ? this place ?

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Mine action ? and thine own? our horses' labour?
The time inviting thee : the perturb'd Court,
For my being absent? whereunto I never
Purpose Return. Why hast thou gone fo far,
To be unbent, when thou haft ta'en thy ftand,
Th' elected deer before thee?

Pis. But to win time
To lose to bad employment, in the which
I have confider'd of a courfe; good lady,
Hear me with patience.

Imo. Talk thy tongue weary, speak,
I've heard, I am a strumpet; and mine ear
(Therein false ftruck) can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom that. But, Ipeak.

Pil. Then, Madam,
I thought, you would not back again.

Imo. Most like,
Bringing me here to kill me.

Pif. Not fo neither;
But if I were as wise as honest, then
My purpose would prove well; it cannot be,
But that my master is abus’d; fome villain,
And fingular in his art, hath done you both
This curfed injury.

Imo. Some Roman Courtezan

Pif. No, on my life.
I'll give him notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody sign of it: for 'tis commanded,
I should do so. You shall be miss'd at Court,
And that will well confirm it.

Imo. Why, good fellow,
What shall I do the while? where 'bide? how live?
Or in my life what comfort, when I am
Dead to my husband ?

Pis. If you'll back to th’ Court

Imo. No Court, no Father; nor no more ado
With that harsh, noble, fimple, Nothing, Cloten:
That Cloten, whose love-fuit hath been to me
As fearful as a fiege.

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