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

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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,
(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 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 conscience know,
Thou didst unjustly banish me: whercon,

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

Thou reft'it me of my lands. Euriphile,

Thou waft their nurfe; they take thee for their mother,

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tho' trained up thus mearly

Here in the Cave, wherein their boughts do bit

The Roof of Palaces.-]

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

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

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

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

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 fès, and Supercilium.

And

And every day do honour to thy Grave;
Myfelf Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,

They take for natural father. The game's up. [Exit. 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 first, as I have now.

-Pifania,

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 thyfelf
Into a 'haviour of less fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my ftaider 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'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 e'en mortal to me.

Pif. Please you, read;

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

TH

Imogen reads.

I

HY miftrefs, Pifanio, hath play'd the ftrumpet in my bed: the teftimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. Speak not out of weak furmises, 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 fhall 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 Pander to ber difhonour, and equally to me difloyal,

Pif.

Pif. What fhall I need to draw my fword? the paper
Hath cut her throat already.- ·No, 'tis flander;
Whofe edge is sharper than the fword, whofe tongue
Out-venoms all the worms of Nile; whofe breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belye

All corners of the world. Kings, Queens, and states,
Maids, matrons, nay, the fecrets of the Grave
This viperous flander enters. What chear, Madam ?
Imo. Falfe to his bed! what is it to be falfe?

To lie in watch there, and to think on him?
To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if fleep charge nature,
To break it with a fearful dream of him,

And cry myself awake? that falfe to's bed!

Pif. Alas, good lady!

Imo. I falfe? thy confcience witnefs, Iachimo,-
Thou didst accufe him of incontinency,

Thou then look'dst like a villain: now, methinks,
Thy favour's good enough. Some Jay of Italy
(Whofe mother was her painting) hath betray'd him:
Poor I am stale, 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 falfe Æneas, Were in his time thought falfe: and Sinon's Weeping Did fcandal many a holy tear; took pity

From most true wretchedness. So thou, Pofthumus,
Wilt lay the leven to all proper men;

Goodly, and gallant, fhall be falfe and perjur'd,
From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honeft,
Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou feest him,
A little witness my obedience. Look!

I draw the sword myself, take it, and hit
'The innocent manfion of my love, my heart;
Fear not, 'tis empty of all things, but grief;
Thy mafter 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 feem'ft a coward,

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

Imo. Why, I muft die;

And, if I do not by thy hand, thou art

No fervant of thy mafter's.

'Gainst self-flaughter

There is a prohibition fo divine,

That cravens my weak hand: come, here's my heart(Something's afore't foft, foft, we'll no defence ;)

Obedient as the fcabbard!

[Opening her breaft.

What is here?

The Scriptures of the loyal Leonatus
All turn'd to Herefy? away, away,

[Pulling his letters out of her bofom.

Corrupters of my faith! you fhall no more
Be ftomachers to my heart: thus may poor fools
Believe false teachers: tho' thofe, that are betray'd,
Do feel the treason fharply, yet the traitor
Stands in worfe cafe of woe. And thou, Pofthumus,
That fet my difobedience 'gainst the King,
And mad'it me put into contempt the fuits
Of princely fellows, fhalt hereafter find,
It is no act of common paffage, but
A ftrain of rarenefs: and I grieve myself,
To think, when thou fhalt be dif-edg'd by her
Whom now thou tir'ft on, how thy memory
Will then be pang'd by me.- Pr'ythee, difpatch;
The lamb entreats the butcher. Where's thy knife?
Thou art too flow to do thy master's bidding,
When I defire it too.

Pif. O gracious Lady!

Since I receiv'd command to do this business,
I have not flept one wink.

Imo. Do't, and to bed then.

Pif. I'll break mine eye-balls first.

Imo. Ah, wherefore then

Didft undertake it? why haft thou abus'd
So many miles, with a pretence? this place?

Mine action

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

Pif. But to win time

To lofe fo bad employment, in the which
I have confider'd of a courfe; good lady,
Hear me with patience.

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

Pif. Then, Madam,

I thought, you would not back again.
Imo. Moft like,

Bringing me here to kill me.

Pif. Not fo neither;

But if I were as wife as honest, then

My purpofe would prove well; it cannot be,
But that my mafter is abus'd; some 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 fend him
Some bloody fign of it: for 'tis commanded,

I fhould do fo. You fhall be mifs'd at Court,
And that will well confirm it.

Imo. Why, good fellow,

What fhall I do the while? where 'bide? how live? Or in my life what comfort, when I am

Dead to my

hufband?

Pif. 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.