[Exit Imogen, to the Cave. Imo. Well or ill, I am bound to you. Bel. And fhalt be ever. This youth, howe'er diftrefs'd, appears to have had Good ancestors. Arv. How angel-like he fings! Guid. But his neat cookery! Arv. He cut out roots in characters; And fauc'd our broth, as Juno had been fick, Aru. Nobly he yokes A fmiling with a figh, as if the figh Guid. I do note, That grief and patience, rooted in him both, Arv. Grow, patience! And let the stinking Elder, Grief, untwine His perishing root, with the encreasing vine! Bel. It is great morning. Come, away: who's there? Enter Cloten. Clot. I cannot find these runagates: that villain Hath mock'd me.--I am faint. Bel. Thofe runagates! Means he not us? I partly know him; 'tis I faw him not thefe many years, and yet I know, 'tis he: we're held as Out-laws; hence. brother fearch What companies are near: pray you, away; Let me alone with him. [Exeunt Belarius and Arviragus. Clot. Soft! what are you, That fly me thus? fome villain-mountaineer.. I've heard of fuch. What flave art thou? Guid. A thing More flavish did I ne'er, than answering 5 A A flave without a knock. Clot. Thou art a robber, A law-breaker, a villain; yield thee, thief. Guid. To whom? to thee? what art thou? have not I An arm as big as thine? a heart as big? Thy words, I grant, are bigger: for I wear not My dagger in my mouth. Say, what thou art, Clot. Thou villain base, Know'ft ine not by my clothes ? Guid. No, nor thy tailor, rafcal, Who is thy grandfather; he made those clothes, Clot. Thou precious varlet! Guid. Hence then, and thank The man that gave them thee. Thou art fome fool; I'm loth to beat thee. Clot. Thou injurious thief, Hear but my name, and tremble. Guid. What's thy name? Clot. Cloten, thou villain. Guid. Cloten, then, double villain, be thy name, I cannot tremble at it; were it toad, adder, spider, 'Twould move me fooner. Clot. To thy further fear, Nay, to thy meer confufion, thou shalt know I'm fon to th' Queen. Guid. I'm forry for't; not feeming So worthy as thy birth. Clot. Art not afraid? Guid. Thofe that I rev'rence, those I fear; the wife: At fools I laugh, not fear them. Clot. Die the death! When I have flain thee with my proper hand, I'll follow thofe that even now fled hence, And on [Fight, and Exeunt. Enter Belarius and Arviragus. Bel. No company's abroad. Arv. None in the world; you did mistake him, fure. Bel. I cannot tell: long is it fince I faw him, But time hath nothing blurr'd thofe lines of favour Which then he wore; the fnatches in his voice, And burft of speaking, were as his: I'm abfolute, 'Twas very Cloten. Arv. In this place we left them; I wish my brother make good time with him, Bel. (21) Being scarce made up, I mean, to man, he had not apprehenfion Enter Guiderius, with Cloten's Head. Guid. This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse, There was no mony in't; not Hercules Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none (21) ·Being fcarce made up, I mean, to Man, he had not Apprehenfion Of roaring Terrors; for defect of Judgment If I understand this Paffage, it is mock-reafoning as it ftands, and the text must have been flightly corrupted. Belarius is giving a Defcription of what Cloten formerly was; and in Answer to what Arviragus fays of bis being fo fell. "Ay, fays, Belarius, he was so fell, and being scarce then at Man's Eftate, he had no Appre"henfion of roaring Terrors, i. e. of any thing that could check "him with Fears." But then, how does the Inference come in, built upon this? For Defect of Judgment is oft the Caufe of Fear, think, the Poet meant to have said the mere contrary. Cloten was defective in Judgment, and therefore did not fear. Apprehenfions of Fear grow from a Judgment in weighing Dangers. And a very eafy Change, from the Traces of the Letters, gives us this Senfe, and reconciles the Reasoning of the whole Paffage. ·For th' Effect of Judgment Is oft the Caufe of Fear. Yet Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne My head, as I do his. Bel. What haft thou done? Guid. I'm perfect, what; cut off one Cloten's head, Son to the Queen, after his own report; Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore Difplace our heads, where, thanks to th' Gods, they grow, Bel. We're all undone ! Guid. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose, But what he swore to take, our lives the law Protects not us; then why fhould we be tender, To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us? Discover you abroad? Bel. No fingle foul What company Can we fet eye on; but, in all fafe reafon, He must have fome attendants. (22) Though his humour Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that From one bad thing to worse; yet not his frenzy, Not abfolute madness, could fo far have rav'd, To bring him here alone; although, perhaps, may be heard at court, that fuch as we It Cave here, haunt here, are Out-laws, and in time May make fome ftronger head: the which he hearing, (As it is like him,) might break out, and swear, He'd fetch us in; yet is't not probable To come alone, nor he fo undertaking, Nor they fo fuffering; then on good ground we fear, Was nothing but Mutation, &c.] What has his Honour to do here, in his being changeable in this fort? in his acting as a Madinan, or not? I have ventur'd to fubfitute Humour, against the Authority of the printed Copies; and the Meaning feems plainly this. "Tho' he was always fickle to the last degree, and govern'd by Humour, not found Senfe; yet not Madness itfelf could make him fo hardy to attempt an Enterprize of this Nature alone, and unfeconded," M 5 If I do fear, this body hath a tail Come, as the Gods forefay it; how foe'er, Bel. I had no mind To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness Guid. With his own fword, Which he did wave against my throat, I've ta'en And tell the fishes, he's the Queen's fon, Cloten. That's all I reck. Bel. I fear, 'twill be reveng'd: [Exit. 'Would, Paladour, thou hadst not done't! though valour Becomes thee well enough. Arv. 'Would I had done't, So the revenge alone purfu'd me! Paladour, I love thee brotherly, but envy much, Thou't robb'd me of this deed; I would, revenges, That poffible ftrength might meet, would feek us thro', And put us to our answer. Bel. Well, 'tis done: We'll hunt no more to-day, nor feek for danger "Till hafty Paladour return, and bring him Arv. Poor fick Fidele! I'll willingly to him: To gain his colour, I'd let a parish of fuch Clotens blood, And praise myself for charity. Bel. O thou Goddefs, Thou divine Nature! how thyself thou blazon't Not wagging his fweet head; and yet as rough, [Exit. And |