1 Sen.

With those legions

Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy
Must be supplyant: The words of your commission
Will tie you to the numbers, and the time

Of their despatch.

Tri.

We will discharge our duty.

f

[Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

THE FOREST, NEAR THE CAVE.

Enter Cloten.

Clo. I am near to the place where they should meet, if Pisanio have mapp'd it truly. How fit his garments serve me! Why should his mistress, who was made by him that made the tailor, not be fit too? the rather (saving reverence of the word) for 'tis said, a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must play the workman. I dare speak it to myself, (for it is not vain-glory, for a man and his glass to confer; in his own chamber, I mean,) the lines of my body are as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong, not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike conversant in general services, and more remarkable in single oppositions: yet this imperseverant thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is! Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, shall within this hour be off; thy mistress enforced; thy garments cut to pieces before thy face: and all this done, spurn her home to her father; who may, haply, be a little angry for my so rough usage: but my mother, having power of his testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. My horse is tied up safe: Out, sword, and to a sore purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand! This is the very de

scription of their meeting-place; and the fellow

dares not deceive me.

SCENE II.

BEFORE THE CAVE.

[Exit.

Enter, from the Cave, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, and Imogen.

Bel. You are not well: [to Imogen.] remain here

But clay and clay differs in dignity,

Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.
Gui. Go you to hunting, I'll abide with him.
Imo. So sick I am not ;-yet I am not well:
But not so citizen a wanton, as

To seem to die, ere sick: So please you, leave me;
Stick to your journal course: the breach of custom
Is breach of all. I am ill; but your being by me
Cannot amend me: Society is no comfort

To one not sociable: I'm not very sick,
Since I can reason of it.
I'll rob none but myself;
Stealing so poorly.

Pray you, trust me here:
and let me die,

Gui.

I love thee; I have spoke it:

How much the quantity, the weight as much,

As I do love my father.

Bel.

What? how? how?
Aro. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me
In my good brother's fault: I know not why
I love this youth; and I have heard you say,
Love's reason's without reason; the bier at door,
And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say,

My father, not this youth.

Bel.

O noble strain! [Aside. O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness! Cowards father cowards, and base things sire base: Nature hath meal, and bran; contempt, and grace. I am not their father; yet who this should be, Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me.

'Tis the ninth hour o'the morn.

Aro.

Brother, farewel.

You health. So please you, sir.

Imo. I wish ye sport.

Aro.

Imo. [Aside.] These are kind creatures. Gods,

what lies I have heard!

Our courtiers say, all's savage, but at court:
Experience, O, thou disprov'st report!

The imperious seas breed monsters; for the dish,
Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish.

I am sick still; heart-sick :-Pisanio,
I'll now taste of thy drug.

Gui.

I could not stir him:

He said, he was gentle, but unfortunate;

Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.

Aro. Thus did he answer me: yet said, hereafter I might know more.

Bel.

To the field, to the field:

We'll leave you for this time; go in, and rest.
Aro. We'll not be long away.

This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears, he hath had

Good ancestors.

Aro.

How angel-like he sings!

Gui. But his neat cookery! He cut our roots in

characters;

And sauc'd our broths, as Juno had been sick,
And he her dieter.

Aro.

Nobly he yokes

A smiling with a sigh: as if the sigh

Was that it was, for not being such a smile;
The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly
From so divine a temple, to commix

With winds that sailors rail at.

Gui.

I do note,

That grief and patience, rooted in him both,
Mingle their spurs together.

Aro.

Grow, patience!

And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine

His perishing root, with the increasing vine! Bel. It is great morning. Come; away.-Who's there?

Enter Cloten.

Clo. I cannot find those runagates; that villain