Gui.
Arv.

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.

Hail, heaven!

Hail, heaven! Bel. Now, for our mountain sport: up to yond 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
of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war:
this service is not service, so being done,
but being so allowed: 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 bauble;
prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
such gain the cap of him that makes 'em fine,
yet keeps his book uncrossed: no life to ours.

1002 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 blest,

Arv.

Bel.

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.

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;
our valour is to chase what flies; our cage
we make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,
and sing our bondage freely.

How you speak!
did you but know the city's usuries,
and felt them knowingly: the art of the court,
as hard to leave as keep: the toil o' the war,
a pain that only seems to seek out danger

Gui.

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 courtsey at the censure:-O boys, this story
the world may read in me: Cymbeline loved 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.

Uncertain favour!

1003 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;
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 i' the valleys. 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

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
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.

W. SHAKESPEARE

1004 GRIEF, EASILY ADMONISHED BY THOSE WHO FEEL IT NOT

I

LEONATO TO ANTONIO

PRAY thee, cease thy counsel,

which falls into mine ears as profitless

as water in a sieve: give not me counsel;

nor let no comforter delight mine ear

but such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.
Bring me a father that so lov'd his child,
whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine,
and bid him speak of patience;

measure his woe the length and breadth of mine,
and let it answer every strain for strain,

as thus for thus, and such a grief for such,

in every lineament, branch, shape, and form:

if such a one will smile, and stroke his beard,
and-sorrow, wag! cry hem, when he should groan,
patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk
with candle-wasters,-bring him yet to me,

and I of him will gather patience.

But there is no such man: for, brother, men,
can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief
which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,
their counsel turns to passion, which before
would give preceptial medicine to rage,
fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
charm ache with air, and agony with words:
no, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience
to those that wring under the load of sorrow;
but no man's virtue nor sufficiency,

to be so moral when he shall endure

the like himself. Therefore give me no counsel:
my griefs cry louder than advertisement.

W. SHAKESPEARE

05 CLEOPATRA'S SPEECH ON APPLYING THE ASP

0.

CLEOPATRA-CHARMIAN

GIVE me my on my win more

IVE me my robe, put on my crown; I have

the juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip:-
yare, yare, good Iras; quick.—Methinks I hear
Antony call; I see him rouse himself

to praise my noble act; I hear him mock
the luck of Cæsar, which the gods give men
to excuse their after wrath:-husband, I come:
now to that name my courage prove my title!
I am fire and air; my other elements

I give to baser life.-So,-have you done?
ome then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
arewell, kind Charmian;-Iras, long farewell.
lave I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall?
thou and nature can so gently part,

T

the

in

e stroke of death is as a lover's pinch,

S

ich hurts, and is desired. Dost thou lie still?
thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world
s not worth leave-taking.

beyon

the he

solve, thick cloud, and rain; that I may say, gods themselves do weep!

the king

This proves me base:

e first meet the curléd Antony,

make demand of her; and spend that kiss,
h is my heaven to have.—Come, thou mortal
wretch,

thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate

at once untie: poor venomous fool,

gry, and dispatch. O, couldst thou speak,
might hear thee call great Cæsar ass
cied!

O eastern star!

Peace, peace!

ou not see my baby at my breast,

ks the nurse asleep?

W. SHAKESPEARE

when 03

the warl

into my st

and thus !

the princey

Ca boy,

THE PAGE

the gods, I hope, to this intent,

not yet seen in the court. Hunting the buck,
I found him sitting by a fountain's side,

of which he borrow'd some to quench his thirst,
and paid the nymph again as much in tears.
A garland lay him by, made by himself,
of many several flowers bred in the vale,
stuck in that mystic order that the rareness
delighted me; but ever when he turn'd
his tender eyes upon 'em, he would weep,
as if he meant to make 'em grow again.
Seeing such pretty helpless innocence
dwell in his face, I ask'd him all his story:
he told me that his parents gentle died,
leaving him to the mercy of the fields,

which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs,
which did not stop their courses; and the sun,
which still, he thanked him, yielded him his light.
then took he up his garland, and did shew
what every flower, as country-people hold,
did signify, and how all, order'd thus,

express'd his grief: and, to my thoughts, did read
the prettiest lecture of his country-art

that could be wish'd: so that methought I could
have studied it. I gladly entertain'd

him, who was glad to follow: and have got
the trustiest, loving'st and the gentlest boy,
that ever master kept. Him will I send
to wait on you, and bear our hidden love.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER

J007 BELLARIO DISCOVERED TO BE A WOMAN CONFESSES THE MOTIVE OF HER DISGUISE TO HAVE

BEEN LOVE FOR PRINCE PHILASTER

Y father oft would speak

MY

your worth and virtue; and, as I did grow more and more apprehensive, I did thirst to see the man so praised. But yet all this was but a maiden-longing, to be lost as soon as found; till once I saw a god I thought (but it was you) enter our gates; my blood flew out and back again, as fast as I had puff'd it forth and sucked it in