Arviragus.
&plquo;Bel.
6 note
&plquo;A goodly day! not to keep house, with such
&plquo;Whose roof's as low as ours: see, boys! this gate
&plquo;Instructs you how t'adore the heav'ns; and bows you
&plquo;To morning's holy office. Gates of monarchs
&plquo;Are arch'd so high, that Giants may jet through
&plquo;And keep their impious Turbands on, without
&plquo;Good morrow to the Sun. Hail, thou fair heav'n!
&plquo;We house i'th' rock, yet use thee not so hardly
&plquo;As prouder livers do.&prquo;
Guid.
Hail, heaven!
Arv.
Hail, heav'n!
&plquo;Bel.
&plquo;Now for our mountain sport, up to yond hill,
&plquo;Your legs are young: I'll tread these flats. Consider,
&plquo;When you, above, perceive me like a crow,
&plquo;That it is place which lessens and sets off;
&plquo;And you may then revolve what tales I told you,
&plquo;Of Courts, of Princes, of the tricks in war;
&plquo;That service is not service, so being done,
&plquo;But being so allow'd. 7 note
To apprehend thus,
&plquo;Draws us a profit from all things we see:
&plquo;And often, to our comfort, shall we find
-- 286 --
&plquo;The sharded beetle in a safer hold,
&plquo;Than is the full-wing'd eagle. Oh, this life
&plquo;Is nobler than attending for a check;
&plquo;Richer, 8 notethan doing nothing for a bauble;
&plquo;Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
&plquo;Such gain the cap of him, that makes them fine,
&plquo;Yet keeps his book uncross'd; no life to ours.&prquo;
&plquo;Guid.
&plquo;Out of your proof you speak; we, poor, unfledg'd,
&plquo;Have never wing'd from view o'th' nest; nor know,
&plquo;What air's from home. Hap'ly, this life is best,
&plquo;If quiet life is best; sweeter to you,
&plquo;That have a sharper known: well corresponding
&plquo;With your stiff age; but unto us, it is
&plquo;A cell of ign'rance; travelling a-bed;
&plquo;A prison, for a debtor that not dares
&plquo;To stride a limit.&prquo;
&plquo;Arv.
&plquo;What should we speak of,
&plquo;When we are old as you? when we shall hear
&plquo;The rain and wind beat dark December? how,
&plquo;In this our pinching Cave, shall we discourse
&plquo;The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing;
&plquo;We're beastly; subtle as the fox for prey,
&plquo;Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat:
&plquo;Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage
&plquo;We make a choir, as doth the prison'd bird,
&plquo;And sing our bondage freely.&prquo;
&plquo;Bel.
&plquo;How you speak!
&plquo;Did you but know the city's usuries,
&plquo;And felt them knowingly; the art o'th' Court,
&plquo;As hard to leave, as keep; whose top to climb,
&plquo;Is certain falling; or so slipp'ry, that
&plquo;The fear's as bad as falling; the toil of war;
&plquo;A pain, that only seems to seek out danger
-- 287 --
&plquo;I'th' name of fame and honour; which dies i'th' search,
&plquo;And hath as oft a sland'rous epitaph,
&plquo;As record of fair act; nay, many time,
&plquo;Doth ill deserve, by doing well: what's worse,
&plquo;Must curt'sie at the censure:&prquo;—&wlquo;Oh, boys, this story
&wlquo;The world may read in me: my body's mark'd
&wlquo;With Roman swords; and my Report was once
&wlquo;First with the best of note. Cymbeline lov'd me;
&wlquo;And when a soldier was the theam, my name
&wlquo;Was not far off: then was I as a tree,
&wlquo;Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But, in one night,
&wlquo;A storm, or robbery, call it what you will,
&wlquo;Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves;
&wlquo;And left me bare to weather.&wrquo;
Guid.
Uncertain favour!
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 confed'rate with the Romans: so,
Follow'd my banishment; and, this twenty years,
This rock and these demeasnes have been my world;
Where I have liv'd at honest freedom; pay'd
More pious debts to heaven, than in all
The fore-end of my time.—But, up to th' mountains!
This is not hunters' language; he, that strikes
The venison first, shall be the lord o'th' 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.
[Exeunt Guid. and Arvir.
How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
These boys know little, they are Sons to th' King;
Nor Cymbeline dreams, that they are alive.
-- 288 --
They think, they're mine, 9 note
tho' trained up thus meanly.
I'th' Cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit
The roof of Palaces; and nature prompts them,
In simple and low things, to prince it, much
1 noteBeyond the trick of others. This Paladour,
(The heir of Cymbeline and Britaine, whom
The King his father call'd Guiderius,) Jove!—
&wlquo;When on my three-foot-stool I sit, and tell
&wlquo;The warlike feats I've done, his spirits fly out
&wlquo;Into my story: say, thus mine enemy fell,
&wlquo;And thus I set my foot on's neck—even then
&wlquo;The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats,
&wlquo;Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture
&wlquo;That acts my words—The younger brother Cadwall,&wrquo;
(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—
Oh Cymbeline! heav'n and my conscience know,
Thou didst unjustly banish me: whereon,
At three and two years old, I stole these babes;
-- 289 --
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 thy Grave;
My self Belarius, that am Morgan call'd,
They take for natural father. The game's up.
[Exit.
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
