Pif. I fhall, my lord. [Exit. Clot. Meet thee at Milford-Haven ?- -(I forgot to ask him one thing, I'll remember't anon;) even there, thou villain Pofthumus, will I kill thee. I would, these garments were come. She faid upon a time, (the bitternefs of it I now belch from my heart,) that she held the very garment of Pofthumus in more respect than my noble and natural perfon, together with the adornment of my qualities. With that fuit upon my back will I ravish her; first kill him, and in her eyes- -(there shall she fee my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt.) He on the ground, my fpeech of infultment ended on his dead body;- -and when my luft hath dined, (which, as I fay, to vex her, I will execute in the cloaths that she so prais'd) to the court I'll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath despised me rejoycingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge. Enter Pifanio, with a fuit of cloaths. Be those the garments? Pif. Ay, my noble lord. Clot. How long is't fince she went to Milford-Haven? Pif. She can scarce be there yet. Clot. Bring this apparel to my chamber, that is the fecond thing that I have commanded thee. The third is, that thou wilt be a voluntary Mute to my defign. Be but duteous, and true preferment fhall tender itself to thee. My revenge is now at Milford, 'would I had wings to follow it! come and be true. [Exit. Pif. Thou bidd'ft me to my lofs: for true to thee, Were to prove falfe, which I will never be, To him that is most true. To Milford go, And find not her, whom thou purfu'ft. Flow, flow, [Exit. SCENE SCENE changes to the Forest and Cave. Imo. I see, a man's life is a tedious onnis I've tir'd myself; and for two nights together Have made the ground my bed. I fhould be fick, But that my refolution helps me. Milford, When from the mountain top Pifanio fhew'd thee, Thou waft within a ken.- -O Jove, I think, Foundations fly the wretched; fuch, I mean, Where they should be reliev'd. Two beggars told me, I could not miss my way. Will poor folks lie, That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis A punishment, or tryal? yes; no wonder, When rich ones fcarce tell true. To lapfe in fulness Is forer, than to lie for need; and falfhood Is worse in Kings, than Beggars. My dear lord! Thou'rt one o'th' falfe ones; now I think on thee, My hunger's gone; but ev'n before, I was At point to fink for food. But what is this? [Seeing the Cave. Here is a path to't- -'tis fome favage hold; 'Twere beft, not call; I dare not call; yet famine, Ere it clean o'er-throw nature, makes it valiant. Plenty, and peace, breeds cowards; hardness ever Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who's here? If any thing that's civil, speak; if favage, Take, or lend -ho! no anfwer? then I'll enter. Best draw my fword; and if mine enemy But fear the fword like me, he'll scarcely look on't. Grant fuch a foe, good heav'ns! [She goes into the Cave Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. · Bel. You, Paladour, have prov'd beft woodman, and Are mafter of the feaft; Cadwal and I Will play the cook, and fervant; 'tis our match: Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be here, Guid. I'm thoroughly weary. Arv. I'm weak with toil, yet ftrong in appetite. Guid. There is cold meat i'th' cave, we'll brouze on that, Whilft what, we've kill'd, be cook'd. Bel. Stay, come not in But that it eats our victuals, I fhould think, It were a Fairy. Guid. What's the matter, Sir? Bel. By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not, An earthly Paragon. Behold divineness No elder than a boy. Enter Imogen. Imo. Good mafters, harm me not; Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought [Looking in. T' have begg'd, or bought, what I have took; good troth, I have ftoin nought, nor would not, though I'd found As I had made my meal; and parted thence Guid. Mony, youth? Arv. All gold and filver rather turn to dirt! Imo. I fee, you're angry: Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should Bel. Whither bound? Bel. What's your name? Imo. Fidele, Sir; I have a kinfman, who Bel. Bel. Pr'ythee, fair youth, Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds Guid. Were you a woman, youth, I should wooe hard, but be your groom in honefty; Arv. I'll make't my comfort, He is a man I'll love him as my brother; After long abfence, fuch is yours. Most welcome! If brothers;-Would it had been fo, that they Had been my father's fons! then had my prize Been lefs, and fo more equal ballasting To thee, Pofthumus. Bel. He wrings at fome distress. Guid. 'Would I could free't! Arv. Or I, whate'er it be, What pain it coft, what danger, Gods! Bel. Hark, boys. Imo. Great men, That had a court no bigger than this cave, Afide. [Whispering. That did attend themselves, and had the virtue (18) Imo. 'Mongft Friends ? If Brothers, 'would it bad been so, that they I cannot think this the Poet's Pointing, and therefore have ventur❜d to reform it. Arviragus had faid, he would love Imogen as a Brother, gives her a welcome as fuch, and tells her, She is fall'n among Friends. Among Friends, indeed, replies She very naturally, if I am to stand in the Rank of a Brother. Then ftriking into a private Reflection on having lost her own Brothers, She wishes, thefe Two kind Youths were but her Father's Sons. VOL. VII. M Which Which their own confcience feal'd them; (19) laying by Could not out-peer these twain.-Pardon me, Gods! Bel. It fhall be fo: Boys, we'll go drefs our Hunt. Fair youth, come in; Difcourfe is heavy, fafting; when we've fupp'd, We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story, So far as thou wilt fpeak. Guid. I pray, draw near. Arv. The night to the owl, and morn to th' lark, less welcome! Imo. Thanks, Sir. Arv. I pray, draw near. 1 Sen. S. CENE changes to Rome. [Exeunt. Enter two Roman Senators, and Tribunes. T HIS is the tenor of the Emperor's Writ; That fince the common men are now in action 'Gainft the Pannonians and Dalmatians, And that the legions now in Gallia are That Nothing Gift of differing Multitudes, The only Idea, that differing can here convey, is, variable, changing Multitudes; but then what is the Nothing Gift which they are fuppos'd to bestow? The Poet must mean, that Court, that obfequious Adoration, which the shifting Vulgar pay to the Great, is a Tribute of no Price or Value. I am perfuaded therefore, our Poet coin'd this Participle from the French Verb, and wrote That Nothing-Gift of defering Multitudes, i. e. obfequious, paying Deference.-Deferer, Ceder par Respect à quelcun, obeir, condescendre, &c. Deferent, civil, re Spectueux, &c. RICHELET. Full! |