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How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
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,
That we shall make in time, from our hence-going,
Pis. One score, 'twixt sun and sun,
Madam, 's enough for you; and too much too.
Imo. Why, one that rode to his execution, man, Could never go so slow: I have heard of riding wagers, Where horses have been nimbler than the sands That run i'the clock's behalf :---But this is foolery :--
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 housewife.
Pis. Madam, you're best consider.
Imo. 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 pr'ythee;
SCENE III.---Wales. A mountainous Country, with a
Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop, boys: This gate Instructs you how to adore the heavens; and bows you To morning's holy office: The gates of monarchs Are arch'd so high, that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbands 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!
Aro. Hail, heaven!
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 have told you,
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life
Is nobler, than attending for a check;
Gui. Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledg'd,
Have never wing'd from view o'the nest; nor know not
Aro. What should we speak of,
Bel. How you speak!
Did you but know the city's usuries,
The fear's as bad as falling: the toil of the war,
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,
Doth ill deserve by doing well; what's worse,
Whose boughs did bend with fruit: but, in one night,
Gui. 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 confederate with the Romans: so, Follow'd my banishment; and, this twenty years, This rock, and these demesnes, have been my world: Where I have liv'd at honest freedom; paid More pious debts to heaven, than in all
The fore-end of my time.---But, up to the mountains ;
The venison first, shall be the lord o'the feast;
And we will fear no poison, which attends
In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys.
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think, they are mine: and, though train'd up thus
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
Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more
At three, and two years old, I stole these babes;
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.