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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

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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,

Döth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
Must curt'sy at the censure:-O, 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,
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 leavės,
And left me bare to weather.

Guid. Uncertain favour!

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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

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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
Into my story: say—Thus mine enemy fell;
And thus I set my foot on his néck; 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,
Smile to't before: if winterly, thou need'st

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But keep that countenance still.- My husband's

hand!

That drug-damn'd Italy 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.

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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 act 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.

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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?

Το

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To lie in watch there, and to think on him?

To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep

nature,

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!

charge

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Imo. I false? Thy conscience witness :-Iachimo, Thou 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 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,

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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

Did scandal many a holy tear; took pity

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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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