Bel.
A goodly day not to keep house with such
Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, ^note boys: ^note this gate
Instructs you how to adore the heavens, and bows you
To a ^note morning's holy office: the ^note gates of monarchs
Are arch'd so high that giants may jet ^note through
And keep their impious turbans ^note on, without
Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!
We house i' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.

Gui.
Hail, heaven!

Arv.
Hail, heaven!

Bel.
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 ^note told you
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
This ^note service is not service, so being done,
But being so allow'd ^note: to apprehend thus,
Draws us a profit from all things we see;
And often, to our comfort, shall we find
The sharded beetle ^note in a safer hold
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life

Is nobler than attending for a check ^note,
Richer than doing nothing ^note for a bauble ^{note note},
Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
Such gain the cap of him that makes 'em ^note fine,
Yet keeps his ^note book uncross'd: no life to ours.

Gui.
Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledged,
Have never wing'd from view o' the nest, nor know ^note not ^note
What air's from home. Haply ^note 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 a-bed ^note,
A prison for ^note a debtor that not dares
To stride a limit.

Arv.
What should we speak of
When we are old ^note as you? when we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December, how ^note
In this our pinching cave shall we discourse
The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing:
We are ^note beastly; subtle ^note 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 quire ^note, as doth the prison'd bird,
And sing our bondage freely.

Bel.
How you speak! ^note

Did you but know the city's ^note usuries,
And felt ^note them knowingly: the art o' the court,
As hard to leave as keep; whose top to climb
Is certain falling, or so slippery that
The fear's as bad as falling: the toil o' the war ^note,
A pain that only seems to seek out ^note danger
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 ^note,
Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
Must court'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 loved 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 leaves,
And left me bare to weather ^note.

Gui.
Uncertain favour!

Bel.
My fault being nothing, as I have ^note 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 ^note my banishment; and this ^note twenty years
This rock and these demesnes have been my world:
Where I have lived at honest freedom, paid ^note
More pious debts to heaven than in all
The fore-end of my time. But up to the mountains!
This is not hunters' ^note language: he that strikes
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 valleys. ^note [Exeunt ^note Guiderius and Arviragus.
How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
These boys ^note know little they are sons to the king;
Nor Cymbeline dreams ^note that they are alive.
They think they are mine: and though train'd ^note up thus meanly ^{note note}
I' the cave wherein they bow, ^note their thoughts do hit
The roofs ^note of palaces, and nature prompts them
In simple and low things to prince it much
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore ^note,
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who ^note
The king his father call'd Guiderius,—Jove! ^note
When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell
The warlike feats I have ^note done, his spirits fly out
Into ^note my story: say ‘Thus mine enemy fell,
And thus I set my foot on's ^note neck,’ ^note 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 ^note
Strikes life into my speech and shows much more
His own conceiving. Hark, the game is roused!
O Cymbeline! heaven and my conscience knows ^note
Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon,
At three and two years old, I stole these babes,
Thinking to bar thee of succession as
Thou reft'st ^note me of my lands. Euriphile,
Thou wast their nurse; they took ^note thee for their mother,
And every day do honour to her ^note grave:
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
They take for natural father. The game is ^note up. [Exit. ^note

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