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Which then they had to take from 's, to resume
We have again. Remember, sir, my liege,

The kings your ancestors, together with
The natural bravery of your isle, which stands

As Neptune's park, ribb'd and pal'd in
With rocks unscalable and roaring waters,

With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats
But suck them up to th' top-mast. A kind of conquest

Caesar made here; but made not here his brag
Of 'came, and saw, and overcame.' With shame-

The first that ever touch'd him- he was carried
From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping-

Poor ignorant baubles!- on our terrible seas,
Like egg-shells mov'd upon their surges, crack'd

As easily 'gainst our rocks; for joy whereof
The fam'd Cassibelan, who was once at point-

O, giglot fortune!- to master Caesar's sword,
Made Lud's Town with rejoicing fires bright

And Britons strut with courage.
CLOTEN. Come, there's no more tribute to be paid. Our kingdom is

stronger than it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no
moe such Caesars. Other of them may have crook'd noses; but to

owe such straight arms, none.
CYMBELINE. Son, let your mother end.

CLOTEN. We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan.
I do not say I am one; but I have a hand. Why tribute? Why should

we pay tribute? If Caesar can hide the sun from us with a blanket,
or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light;

else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now.
CYMBELINE. You must know,

Till the injurious Romans did extort
This tribute from us, we were free. Caesar's ambition-

Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch
The sides o' th' world- against all colour here

Did put the yoke upon's; which to shake of
Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon

Ourselves to be.
CLOTEN. We do.

CYMBELINE. Say then to Caesar,
Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which

Ordain'd our laws- whose use the sword of Caesar
Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise

Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed,
Though Rome be therefore angry. Mulmutius made our laws,

Who was the first of Britain which did put
His brows within a golden crown, and call'd

Himself a king.
LUCIUS. I am sorry, Cymbeline,

That I am to pronounce Augustus Caesar-
Caesar, that hath moe kings his servants than

Thyself domestic officers- thine enemy.
Receive it from me, then: war and confusion

In Caesar's name pronounce I 'gainst thee; look
For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied,

I thank thee for myself.
CYMBELINE. Thou art welcome, Caius.

Thy Caesar knighted me; my youth I spent
Much under him; of him I gather'd honour,

Which he to seek of me again, perforce,
Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect

That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for
Their liberties are now in arms, a precedent

Which not to read would show the Britons cold;
So Caesar shall not find them.

LUCIUS. Let proof speak.
CLOTEN. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day or

two, or longer. If you seek us afterwards in other terms, you
shall find us in our salt-water girdle. If you beat us out of it,

it is yours; if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare
the better for you; and there's an end.

LUCIUS. So, sir.
CYMBELINE. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine;

All the remain is, welcome. Exeunt
SCENE II.

Britain. Another room in CYMBELINE'S palace
Enter PISANIO reading of a letter

PISANIO. How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not
What monsters her accuse? Leonatus!

O master, what a strange infection
Is fall'n into thy ear! What false Italian-

As poisonous-tongu'd as handed- hath prevail'd
On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal? No.

She's punish'd for her truth, and undergoes,
More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults

As would take in some virtue. O my master!
Thy mind to her is now as low as were

Thy fortunes. How? that I should murder her?
Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I

Have made to thy command? I, her? Her blood?
If it be so to do good service, never

Let me be counted serviceable. How look I
That I should seem to lack humanity

So much as this fact comes to? [Reads] 'Do't. The letter
That I have sent her, by her own command

Shall give thee opportunity.' O damn'd paper,
Black as the ink that's on thee! Senseless bauble,

Art thou a fedary for this act, and look'st
So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes.

Enter IMOGEN
I am ignorant in what I am commanded.

IMOGEN. How now, Pisanio!
PISANIO. Madam, here is a letter from my lord.

IMOGEN. Who? thy lord? That is my lord- Leonatus?
O, learn'd indeed were that astronomer

That knew the stars as I his characters-
He'd lay the future open. You good gods,

Let what is here contain'd relish of love,
Of my lord's health, of his content; yet not

That we two are asunder- let that grieve him!
Some griefs are med'cinable; that is one of them,

For it doth physic love- of his content,
All but in that. Good wax, thy leave. Blest be

You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers
And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike;

Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet
You clasp young Cupid's tables. Good news, gods!

[Reads]
'Justice and your father's wrath, should he take me in his

dominion, could not be so cruel to me as you, O the dearest of
creatures, would even renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I

am in Cambria, at Milford Haven. What your own love will out of
this advise you, follow. So he wishes you all happiness that

remains loyal to his vow, and your increasing in love
LEONATUS POSTHUMUS.'

O for a horse with wings! Hear'st thou, Pisanio?
He is at Milford Haven. Read, and tell me

How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
May plod it in a week, why may not I

Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio-
Who long'st like me to see thy lord, who long'st-

O, let me 'bate!- but not like me, yet long'st,
But in a fainter kind- O, not like me,

For mine's beyond beyond!-say, and speak thick-
Love's counsellor should fill the bores of hearing

To th' smothering of the sense- how far it is
To this same blessed Milford. And by th' way

Tell me how Wales was made so happy as
T' inherit such a haven. But first of all,

How we may steal from hence; and for the gap
That we shall make in time from our hence-going

And our return, to excuse. But first, how get hence.
Why should excuse be born or ere begot?

We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee speak,
How many score of miles may we well ride

'Twixt hour and hour?
PISANIO. One score 'twixt sun and sun,

Madam, 's enough for you, and too much too.
IMOGEN. Why, one that rode to's execution, man,

Could never go so slow. I have heard of riding wagers
Where horses have been nimbler than the sands

That run i' th' clock's behalf. But this is fool'ry.
Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say

She'll home to her father; and provide me presently
A riding suit, no costlier than would fit

A franklin's huswife.
PISANIO. Madam, you're best consider.

IMOGEN. I see before me, man. Nor here, nor here,
Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them

That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee;
Do as I bid thee. There's no more to say;

Accessible is none but Milford way. Exeunt
SCENE III.

Wales. A mountainous country with a cave
Enter from the cave BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS

BELARIUS. A goodly day not to keep house with such
Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate

Instructs you how t' adore the heavens, and bows you
To a morning's holy office. The gates of monarchs

Are arch'd so high that giants may jet through
And keep their impious turbans on without

Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!
We house i' th' rock, yet use thee not so hardly

As prouder livers do.
GUIDERIUS. Hail, heaven!

ARVIRAGUS. Hail, heaven!
BELARIUS. Now for our mountain sport. Up to yond hill,

Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Consider,
When you above perceive me like a crow,

That it is place which lessens and sets off;
And you may then revolve what tales I have told you

Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war.
This service is not service so being done,

But being so allow'd. To apprehend thus
Draws us a profit from all things we see,

And often to our comfort shall we find
The sharded beetle in a safer hold

Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life
Is nobler than attending for a check,

Richer than doing nothing for a bribe,
Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:

Such gain the cap of him that makes him fine,
Yet keeps his book uncross'd. No life to ours!

GUIDERIUS. Out of your proof you speak. We, poor unfledg'd,
Have never wing'd from view o' th' nest, nor know not

What air's from home. Haply this life is best,
If quiet life be best; sweeter to you

That have a sharper known; well corresponding
With your stiff age. But unto us it is

A cell of ignorance, travelling abed,
A prison for a debtor that not dares

To stride a limit.


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