Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

Confider,

Your legs are young: I'll tread these flats.
When you, above, perceive me like a crow,
That it is place which leffens and sets off;
And you may then revolve what tales I told you,
Of Courts, of Princes, of the tricks in war;
That fervice is not fervice, fo being done,
But being fo allow'd. To apprehend thus,
Draws us a profit from all things we fee:
And often, to our comfort, shall we find
The fharded beetle in a safer hold,
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. Oh, this life
Is nobler than attending for a check;
Richer, than doing nothing for a bauble;
Prouder, than ruftling in unpaid-for filk:
Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncrofs'd; no life to ours.

Guid. Out of your proof you speak; we, poor, unfledg'd,

Have never wing'd from view o'th' neft; nor know,
What air's from home. Hap'ly, this life is best,
If quiet life is beft; fweeter to you,

That have a fharper known: well correfponding
With your ftiff age; but unto us, it is
A cell of ign'rance; travelling a-bed;
A prison, for a debtor that not dares
To ftride a limit.

Arv. What should we speak of,

When we are old as you? when we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December? how,
In this our pinching Cave, fhall we discourse
The freezing hours away? We have feen nothing;
We're beaftly; fubtle as the fox for prey,
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat :
Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage
We make a choir, as doth the prison'd bird,
And fing our bondage freely.

Bel. How you speak!

Did you but know the city's ufuries,

And felt them knowingly; the art o'th' Court,
As hard to leave, as keep; whofe top to climb,

[ocr errors]

Is certain falling; or fo flipp'ry, that

The fear's as bad as falling; the toil of war; A pain, that only feems to feek out danger 1'th' name of fame and honour; which fearch,

And hath as oft a fland'rous epitaph,

As record of fair act; nay, many time,

dies i'th'

Doth ill deserve, by doing well: what's worse,
Muft curt'fie at the cenfure:- -Oh, boys, this story
The world may read in me: my body's mark'd
With Roman fwords; and my Report was once
Firft with the beft of note. Cymbeline lov'd me;
And when a foldier was the theam, my name
Was not far off: then was I as a tree,
Whofe boughs did bend with fruit.
night,

A ftorm, or robbery, call it what you will,

But, in one

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 (whofe falfe oaths prevail'd

Before my perfect honour) fwore to Cymbeline,
I was confed'rate with the Romans: fo,

Follow'd my banishment; and, this twenty years,
This rock and these demeafnes have been my world;
Where I have liv'd at honeft freedom; pay'd

More pious debts to heaven, than in all

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

tains !

This is not hunters' language; he, that strikes

The venison firft, fhall be the lord o'th' feaft;
To him the other two fhall minister,

And we will fear no poifon, which attends

In place of greater State:

I'll meet you in the valleys.

[Exeunt Guid. and Arvir.

How hard it is to hide the fparks of nature!

These boys know little, they are Sons to th' King;
Nor Cymbeline dreams, that they are alive.

L 5

They

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

ly (14)

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 spirits fly out
Into my ftory: fay, "thus mine enemy fell,
“And thus I fet my foot on's 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 Cadwall, (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: whereon,
At three and two years old, I ftole these babes;
Thinking to bar thee of fucceffion, as

Thou reft'ft me of my lands. Euriphile,

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

(14)

-tho' trained up thus meanly

Here in the Cave, wherein their Thoughts do hit

The Roof of Palaces.

[ocr errors]

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

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

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

Ith 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 used depùs, and Supercilium,

And

And every day do honour to her Grave;
My felf 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 fo

To see me firft, as I have now.

Pifanio,

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 thy felf
Into a 'haviour of lefs fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my ftayder fenfes.

[ocr errors]

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.
May take off fome extremity,
Would be e'en mortal to me.

Pif. Please you, read;

Speak, man; thy tongue which to read

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

Imogen reads.

I

THY mistress, Pifanio, bath play'd the firumpet in my bed: the teftimonies whereof lye bleeding in me. Speak not out of weak furmifes, but from proof as ftrong 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 MilfordHaven. She bath my letter for the purpose; where, if thou fear to frike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the Pander to her difconcur, and equally to me difloyal.

Pif. What shall I need to draw my fword? the paper
Hath cut her throat already.—No, 'tis flander ;
Whose 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 lye 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 my felf awake? that false to's bed!

Pif. Alas, good lady!

Imo. I falfe? thy confcience witnefs, lachimo,-
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency,

'Thou then look'dft 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 womens' traitors.- -All good Seeming
By thy revolt, oh husband, fhall 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 moft true wretchednefs. 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 honest,
Do thou tny mafter's bidding: when thou feest him,
A little witnefs my obedience. Look!
I draw the fword my felf, 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

« ZurückWeiter »