Bel.
A goodly day! not to keep house with such,
Whose roof's as low as ours. See, boys! this gate
Instructs you how t'adore the Heav'ns; and bows you
To morning's holy office. Gates of monarchs
Are arch'd so high, that giants may get through,
And keep their impious turbans on, without
Good-morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair Heav'n!
We house i'th' rock, yet use thee not so hardly,
As prouder livers do.

Guid.
Hail, Heav'n!

Arv.
Hail, Heav'n!

Bel.
Now for our mountain sport, up to yon 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 told you,
Of courts of princes, of the tricks in war,
That 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. Oh, this life
Is nobler than attending for a check;
Richer, than doing nothing for a bauble;
Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk.
Such gain the cap of him that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncross'd; no life to ours.

Guid.
Out of your proof, you speak; we, poor unfledg'd,
Have never wing'd from view o'th' nest; nor know
What air's from home. Hap'ly this life is best,
If quiet life is best; sweeter to you,
That have a sharper known: well corresponding
With your stiff age. But unto us it is
A cell of ignorance;
A prison for a debtor, that not dares
To stride 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, shall we discourse
The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing.

Bel.
How you speak!* ^note

—But up to th' mountains;
This is not hunter's language. He that strikes
The venison first, shall be lord o'th' feast;
To him the other two shall minister,
And we will fear no poison, which attends
In place of greater state. Up, up,
I'll meet you in the valleys. [Exeunt Guid. and Arv.
How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
These boys know little they are sons to th' king,
And Cymbeline dreams not they are alive.
They think they are mine, and, tho' train'd up thus meanly,
I'th' cave, there on the brow, 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 Cadwall,
(The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom
The king, his father, call'd Arviragus) Jove!

When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell
The warlike feats I've done, his spirits fly out
Into my story, say, “thus mine enemy fell,
“And, thus I set 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, Paladour,
(Once Guiderius) in as like a figure,
Strikes life into my speech, and shews much more
His own conceiving. [A Horn sounds.
Hark, the game is rouz'd—* ^note
O, Cymbeline! Heav'n and my conscience know
Thou did'st unjustly banish me, whereon,
At three and two years old, I stole these babes,
Thinking to bar thee of succession, as
Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile,
Thou wast their nurse, they take thee for their mother,
And every day do honour to her grave.
Myself Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
They take for natural father. [Horn sounds again.
The game is up. [Exit.

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