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Why should excuse be born or e'er begot11?
We'll talk of that hereafter. Pr'ythee, speak,
How many score of miles may we well ride
"Twixt hour and hour ?
Pis.

One score, 'twixt sun and sur, 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

wagers12, Where horses have been nimbler than the sands That run i'the clock's behalf13: -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 14 housewife. Pis.

Madam, you're best15 consider. Imo. I see before me, man, nor here, nor here, Nor what ensues; but have a fog in them, That I cannot look through16. Away, I pr'ythee; Do as I bid thee : There's no more to say; Accessible is none but Milford way. [Exeunt.

He cannot temperately support his honours

From where he should begia and end.: See note on that passage, p. 153, vol. viii.

11 i. e. before the aci is done for ch excuse will be necessary.

12. This practice was, perhaps, not much less prevalent in Shakspeare's time than it is at present. Fynes Moryson, speaking of his brother's putting out money to be paid with interest on his return froin Jerusalem (or, as we shonld now speak, travelling thither for a wager), defends it ag an honest means of gaining the charges of his journey, especially when “no meane lords and lords' sonnes, and gentlemen in our court, put out money upon a horse race under themselves, yea, upon a journey afoote.'

13 It may be necessary to apprize the reader that the sand of an hour glass used to measure time is meant. The figurative meaning is swifter than the flight of time.

14 A franklin is a yeoman. See vol. v. p. 146, note 12.

15 That is you'd best consider.' This again in Sc. 6. 'I were best not call." 16 1

see neither on this side nor on that, nor behind me; but findi a fog in each of those quariers that my eye cannot pierce. The way in Milford is alone clear and open : Let us therefore in. stantly set forward.' By · what ensues,'* Imogen means what will be the consequence of the slep I am going to take.

SCENE III.

Wales. A mountainous Country, with a Care.

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 a morning's holy office: The gates of monarchs Are arch'd so high, that giants may jetl 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, hearen! Aru.

Hail, heaven! Bel. Now, for our mountain sport: Up to yon hill, Your legs are young; I'll tread these flats. Con

sider, 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 allow'd2: To apprehend thus, Draws us a profit from all things we see: And often to our comfort, shall we find The sharded3 beetle in a safer hold

| Strut, walk proudly. So in Twelfth Night, “How he jets under his advanced plumes.' The idea of a giant was, among the readers of romances, who were almost all the readers of those times, al. way, confounded with that of a Saracen.

2. In any service done, the advantage rises not from the act, but from the allowance (i. e. approval) of it.'

3 i. e. scaly winged becile. See vol. iv. p. 219, note 8. And Antony and Cleopatra, Act iji Sc. 2, vote 3. The epithet fullwinged, applied to the cagle, sufficienily marks the conirast of the poet's imagery; for whilst the bird can soar beyond the reach of human eye, the insect can but just rise above the surface of the earth, aud that at the close of day.

Than is the full-wing'd eagle. O, this life

Is nobler, than attending for a check ;
(babe) Richer, than doing nothing for a brabet;
50 676 Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk:

Such gain the cap of him, that makes him fine,
Yet keeps his book uncross'd .. no life to ours5.
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 for a debtor, that not dares
To stride a limit6.
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

4 The old copy reads babe; the uncommon word brabe not being familiar to the compositor. A brabe is a contemptuous or proud look, word, or gesture; quasi, a brave. Spegbt, in his Glossary to Chaucer, edit. 1602, explains Heth (or hething ) brabes and such like,' i. e. scornful or contumelious looks or words. The context requires a word of this meaning. To check is to reprove, to taunt, to rebuke. Doing nothing means being buried in petty and unimportant employments, Nihil agere. Dr. Johnson proposed the word brabe from brabium, Lat. or Bpc Belov, a fee or reward; but he

aware that it existed in our language with a different meaning. Bauble and bribe have been proposed and adopted by some editors.

5 i. e, compared to ours. See vol. iv. p. 25+, note 9. 6 To stride a liinit is to overpass his bound.

1•This dread of an old age unsupplied with matter for discourse and meditation, is a sentiment natural and noble. No state can be inore destitute than that of him, who, when the delights of sense forsake him, has no pleasures of the mind.'

JOHNSON.

was not

We make a quire, as doth the prison'dbird,
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
l'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’sey at the censure:-0, boys, this story The world may read in me: My body's mark'd 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 weather9. 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:

8 Otway seems to have taken many hints for the conversation which passes between Acasto and his song from the scene before 09. 9 Tbus in Timon of Athens:

• That numberless upon me stuck, as leaves
Do on the oak, have with one winter's brush
Fallen from their boughs, and left me, open, bare,
For every storm that blows.'

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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 state10. I'll meet you in the
valleys.

[Exeunt Gui. and Arv.
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 eseen) 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 callid 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 his 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 Arvirágus), 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 babes11;

10

nulla aconita, bibuntur
Fictilibus ; tunc illa time, cum pocula rumes

Gemmata, et Jato Setinum ardebit in auro.' Juv.
11 Shakspeare seems to intend Belarius for a good character, yet
he makes him forget the injury which he has done to the young
princes, whom he has robbed of a kingdom, oply to rob their

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