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,-]

Webster has happily expressed a similar idea :-
"Yet stay, heaven gates are not so highly arch'd
As Princes' pallaces, they that enter there
Must go upon their knees."

Duchesse of Malfy, Act IV. Sc. 2, 4to. 1623.

e Richer, than doing nothing for a bribe;] The old text reads Babe, for which Rowe substituted, bauble; Hanmer, bribe; John

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

с

GUI. Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledg'd,

Have never wing'd from view o' the nest; nor know 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 o'ert 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.
you

d

How you speak! Did 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 o' 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 mark'd

(*) Old text, him. (+) Old text, or. son, brabe; and Mr. Collier's annotator, bob. Of these emendations, the original being of course wrong, we prefer Hanmer's bribe; though we have very little confidence even in that.

d The city's usuries,-] Usuries, in this instance, would appear to mean no more than usages, customs, &c.; though, in "Measure for Measure," Act III. Sc. 2, where the word occurs seemingly in the same general sense-"'T was never merry world since, of two usuries, the merriest was put down, and the worser allowed by order of law a furred gown to keep him warm; "-it certainly bears a particular reference to usury: for what says Taylor, the water-poet, in his "Waterman's suit concerning Players," 1630?— "and sleepe with a quieter spirit then many of our furre gownd mony-mongers that are accounted good common-wealths men."

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 moun-
tains!

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 fear no poison, which attends

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

[Exeunt GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAgus. How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature! These boys know little they are sons to the king; Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. They think they are mine: and, though train'd up thus meanly

[hit
I' the cave, wherein they bow," their thoughts do
The roofs of palaces; and nature prompts them,
In simple and low things, to prince it much
Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore,-
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom
The king his father call'd Guiderius,-Jove!
When on my three-foot stool I sit, and tell
The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out
Into my story: say,-Thus mine enemy fell;
And thus I set my foot on 's neck—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
Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more
His own conceiving. Hark! the game is rous'd!-
O Cymbeline! heaven and my conscience knows
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 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.

a Wherein they bow,-] A correction of Warburton's: the old text having, "whereon the Bowe."

b Whose mother was her painting,-] The meaning, if the text be right, is, her painting was her mother, i.e. she is made up by art. In support of this interpretation, Steevens cites a passage from an old comedy, "-a parcel of conceited feather-caps, whose fathers were their garments," and the following, which we find in Middleton's play of "Michaelmas Terme," Act III. Sc. 1, is equally pertinent:-"Why should not a woman confess what

Beyond self-explication: put thyself

Into a 'haviour of less fear, ere wildness
Vanquish my staider senses. What's the matter?
Why tender'st thou that paper to me, with
A look untender? If't be summer news,
Smile to't before; if winterly, thou need'st [hand!
But keep that count'nance still.-My husband's
That drug-damn'd Italy hath out-craftied him,
And he's at some hard point.-Speak, man; thy
tongue

May take off some extremity, which to read
Would be even mortal to me.

PIS.
Please you, read;
And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing
The most disdain'd of fortune.

IMO. [Reads.] Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the strumpet in my bed: the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises, but from proof as strong as my grief, and as certain as I expect my revenge. That part, thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away her life: I shall give thee opportunity at Milford-Haven: she hath my letter for the purpose: where, if thou fear to strike, and to make me certain it is done, thou art the pander to her dishonour, and equally to me disloyal.

PIs. What shall I need to draw my sword? the

paper

Hath cut her throat already.-No, 'tis slander, Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue

Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath
Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie
All corners of the world; kings, queens, and states,
Maids, matrons,-nay, the secrets of the grave
This viperous slander enters.-What cheer,
madam?

IMO. False to his bed! What is it to be false?
To lie in watch there, and to think on him?
To weep 'twixt clock and clock? if sleep charge
nature,

To break it with a fearful dream of him,
And cry myself awake? that's false to's bed? is it?
PIs. Alas, good lady!
[Iachimo,

IMO. I false? Thy conscience witness :-
Thou didst accuse him of incontinency;
Thou then look'dst like a villain; now, methinks,
Thy favour's good enough.-Some jay of Italy,
Whose mother was her painting, hath betray'd

him :

b

she is now, since the finest are but deluding shadows, begot between tire-women and tailors? for instance behold their parents." Hanmer reads, "Whose feathers are her painting." Capell, "Whose feather was her painting." And Mr. Collier's annotator proposes a change which every one must admit to be singularly striking and ingenious:

"Some jay of Italy, Who smothers her with painting," &c.

Did scandal many a holy tear; took pity
From most true wretchedness: so thou, Posthumus,
Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men;

Goodly and gallant, shall be false and perjur'd,
From thy great fail.-Come, fellow, be thou honest:
Do thou thy master's bidding: when thou seest
him,

A little witness my obedience: look!
I draw the sword myself: take it, and hit
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart:
Fear not; 'tis empty of all things but grief:
Thy master is not there, who was, indeed,
The riches of it: do his bidding; strike.
Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause,
But now thou seem'st a coward.

PIS.
Hence, vile instrument !
Thou shalt not damn my hand.
IMO.

Why, I must die; And if I do not by thy hand, thou art No servant of thy master's: against self-slaughter There is a prohibition so divine

That cravens my weak hand. Come, here's my

PIs. I'll wake mine eye-balls first.
IMO.

Wherefore, then, Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus'd

So many miles with a pretence? this place?
Mine action, and thine own? our horses' labour?
The time inviting thee? the perturb'd court,
For my being absent; whereunto I never
Purpose return? Why hast thou gone so far,
To be unbent when thou hast ta'en thy stand,
The elected deer before thee?

PIS.
But to win time
To lose so bad employment; in the which
I have consider'd of a course. Good lady,
Hear me with patience.

IMO.
Talk thy tongue weary; speak:
I have heard I am a strumpet; and mine ear,
Therein false struck, can take no greater wound,
Nor tent to bottom that: but speak.
PIS.

I thought you would not back again.
IMO.

Bringing me here to kill me.
PIS.

Then, madam,

Most like,

Not so, neither:
But if I were as wise as honest, then
My purpose would prove well. It cannot be
But that my master is abus'd:
Some villain, ay, and singular in his art,
Hath done you both this cursed injury.
IMO. Some Roman courtezan.

PIS.
No, on my life.
I'll give but notice you are dead, and send him
Some bloody sign of it; for 'tis commanded
I should do so you shall be miss'd at court,
And that will well confirm it.

IMO. Why, good fellow, What shall I do the while? where bide? how live?

Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night,
Are they not but in Britain? I'the world's volume
Our Britain seems as of it, but not in 't;
In a great pool, a swan's nest: pr'y thee, think
There's livers out of Britain.

PIS.
I am most glad
You think of other place. The ambassador,
Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford-Haven
To-morrow: now, if you could wear a minda
Dark as your fortune is—and but disguise
That which, to appear itself, must not yet be
But by self-danger;-you should tread a course
Pretty," and full of view: yea, haply, near
The residence of Posthumus,— —so nigh at least
That, though his actions were not visible, yet
Report should render him hourly to your ear,
As truly as he moves.

IMO.
O, for such means!
Though peril to my modesty, not death on't,
I would adventure.

PIS.
Well, then, here's the point:
You must forget to be a woman; change
Command into obedience; fear and niceness,-
The handmaids of all women, or, more truly,
Woman it pretty self,-into a waggish courage:
Ready in gibes, quick-answer'd, saucy, and
As quarrelous as the weasel; nay, you must
Forget that rarest treasure of your check,
Exposing it, but, O, the harder heart!
Alack, no remedy!-to the greedy touch
Of common-kissing Titan: and forget
Your laboursome and dainty trims, wherein
You made great Juno angry.

IMO.

Nay, be brief:
I see into thy end, and am almost
A man already.

if you could wear a mind
Dark, &c.]

"To wear a dark mind," Johnson remarks, "is to carry a mind impenetrable to the search of others. Darkness, applied to the mind, is secrecy; applied to the fortune, is obscurity." Warburton, however, suspected "mind" to be an error of the press, and would read,if you could wear a mien

Dark," &c.

PIS. First, make yourself but like one. Fore-thinking this, I have already fit, ('Tis in my cloak-bag) doublet, hat, hose, all That answer to them: would you, in their serving, And with what imitation you can borrow From youth of such a season, 'fore noble Lucius Present yourself, desire his service, tell him Wherein you're happy,-which will make him. know,d

If that his head have ear in music,-doubtless With joy he will embrace you; for he's honourable. [abroad, And, doubling that, most holy. Your means You have me, rich; and I will never fail Beginning nor supplyment.

IMO. Thou art all the comfort The gods will diet me with. Pr'ythee, away: There's more to be consider'd; but we'll even All that good time will give us this attempt I'm soldier to, and will abide it with A prince's courage. Away, I pr'ythee.

Prs. Well, madam, we must take a short fare-
well;

Lest, being miss'd, I be suspected of
Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress,
Here is a box; I had it from the queen;
What's in 't is precious; if you are sick at sea,
Or stomach-qualm'd at land, a dram of this
Will drive away distemper.-To some shade,
And fit you to your manhood:-may the gods
Direct you to the best!
IMO.

Amen: I thank thee.
[Exeunt.

which you will make him know; " but neither is satisfactory. We might perhaps come nearer to Shakespeare by reading,-"Which will make him bow," i. e. incline, yield, &c.; a change supported by,

"Orpheus, with his lute, made trees,
And the mountain-tops that freeze,
Bow themselves, when he did sing."
Hen. VIII. Act III. Sc. 1.
3 B

e Abroad,-] Disbursed, expended.