Clo. 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.

Luc. So, sir.

Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine :

All the remain is, welcome.

SCENE II.

Upon the written history of the sons of Cymbeline, Shakspere has engrafted the romantic story that they were stolen from their father's care, and brought up amongst the mountain fastnesses of Wales, in the primitive simplicity of the hunter's life.

The nurture which Shakspere has assigned to these youths is in harmony with their historical prowess. There are few things finer in the Shaksperean drama than the scenes in which these bold mountaineers display the influence of their primitive habits. They are not ignorant; they are full of natural piety; they have strong affections; but the world has been shut out from them, and the conventional usages of the world have no power over their actions. The fierce courage with which they rush to slaughter, and the exquisite tenderness with which they mourn their poor Fidele, are equally the results of their inartificial education. The very structure of the dramatic verse seems to partake of the rugged freedom of their characters :

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 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' the rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.

Gui.

Hail, heaven!

Consider

Bel. Now for our mountain sport: up to yon hill,
Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats.
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 toid 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.

Oh, this life

Is nobler, than attending for a check;

Richer, than doing nothing for a bribe;

Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk :

Such gains the cap of him that makes him fine,

Yet keeps his 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 known 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.

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;
We are beastly; subtle 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, as doth the prison'd bird,
And sing our bondage freely.

Bel.
How you speak!
Did you but know the city's usuries,

And felt 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 of the war

A pain that only seems to seek out 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,

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 marked
With Roman swords; and my report was once
First with the best of note: Cymbeline lov'd 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.

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 by 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;
This is not hunters' language :—He that strikes
The venison first shall be the lord o' the feast;

To him the other two shall minister;

And we will fer no poison, which attends

In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys.

LUCIUS, a Captain, and other Officers, and a Soothsayer.
Cap. To them, the legions garrison'd in Gallia,
After your will, have cross'd the sea; attending
You here at Milford-Haven, with your ships:
They are here in readiness.

Luc.
But what from Rome?
Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners,
And gentlemen of Italy; most willing spirits
That promise noble service: and they come
Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,

Sienna's brother.

Luc.

When expect you them?
Cap. With the next benefit o' the wind.

Luc.
This forwardness
Makes our hopes fair. Command, our present numbers
Be muster'd; bid the captains look to 't.-Now, sir,
What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's purpose ?

Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a vision:
(I fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence,) Thus:—

I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
From the spungy south to this part of the west,
There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends

(Unless my sins abuse my divination)

Success to the Roman host.

The cave of Belarius hears the din of the coming strife. One of the youths has

tiain Cloten, the queen's son. The old man vainly strives to persuade them to fly to deeper recesses of their mountains :

Of many in the army: many years,

Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore hir
From my remembrance. And, besides, the king

Hath not deserv'd my service, nor your loves;

Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless
To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd,
But to be still hot summer's tanlings, and
The shrinking slaves of winter.

Gui.
Than be so,
Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army:
I and my brother are not known: yourself
So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown,
Cannot be question'd.

Arv.

By this sun that shines,
I'll thither: What thing is it, that I never

Did see man die ? scarce ever look'd on blood,

But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison ?
Never bestrid a horse, save one, that had

A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel
Nor iron on his heel? I am asham'd

Bel. No reason I, since of your lives you set

So slight a valuation, should reserve

My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys:

If in your country wars you chance to die,

That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lie:

Lead, lead.-The time seems long: their blood thinks scorn, [Aside.

Till it fly out and show them princes born.

The Briton, Posthumus, who has landed with the Roman army, and believes that his lady, Imogen, has been put to death by his own rash commands, through the falsehood of Iachimo, determines to take part with his countrymen :

I am brought hither

Among the Italian gentry, and to fight

Against my lady's kingdom: "Tis enough

That, Britain, I have kill'd thy mistress. Peace!
I'll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens,
Hear patiently my purpose; I'll disrobe me
Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself
As does a Briton peasant; so I'll fight
Against the part I come with; so I'll die
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
Is, every breath, a death: and thus, unknown,
Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril

Myself I'll dedicate. Let me make men know
More valour in me, than my habits show.
Gods, put the strength o' the Leonati in me!
To shame the guise o' the world, I will begin
The fashion less without, and more within.

The contest between the Roman and British armies is, in this play, exhibited in dumb-show. The drama preceding Shakspere was full of such examples. But Shakspere uniformly rejected the practice, except in this instance. The stage directions of the original copy are very curious; and we therefore carry on the narrative by the aid of these stage directions :—

Enter at one door LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Roman army, and the British army at another. LEONATUS POSTHUMUS following, like a poor soldier. They march over and go out. Then enter again, in skirmish, IACHIMO and POSTHUMUS: he vanquisheth and disarmeth IACHIMO, and then leaves him.

Iach. The heaviness and guilt within my bosom
Takes off my manhood: I have belied a lady,
The princess of this country, and the air on 't
Revengingly enfeebles me. Or, could this carl,