That opportunity, Which then they had to take from us, to resume The kings your ancestors; together with The natural bravery of your isle, which stands As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in With rocks unscaleable, and roaring waters; With sands that will not bear your enemies' boats, But suck them up to the top-mast. A kind of conquest Of came, and saw, and overcame with shame From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping Clo. Come, there's no more tribute to be paid: Our kingdom is stronger than it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no more such Cæsars: other of them may have crooked noses, but to owe such straight arms, none. Cym. Son, let your mother end. Clo. We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan: I do not say I am one; but I have a hand. Why tribute? why should we pay tribute? If Cæsar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his pocket, we will pay him tribute for light; else, sir, no more tribute, pray you now. Cym. You must know, Till the injurious Romans did extort This tribute from us, we were free: Caesar's ambition (Which swell'd so much that it did almost stretch The sides o' the world), against all colour, here Ordain'd our laws; (whose use the sword of Cæsar Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, Though Rome be therefore angry); Mulmutius made our laws, His brows within a golden crown, and call'd I am sorry, Cymbeline, Luc. (Cæsar that hath more kings his servants than Receive it from me, then :-War, and confusion, I thank thee for myself. Сут. Luc. Let proof speak. Clo. His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day, or two, or longer: If you seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in our salt-water girdle: if you beat us out of it, it is yours; if you fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the better for you; and there's an end. Luc. So, sir. Cym. I know your master's pleasure, and he mine : SCENE II. Upon the written history of the sons of Cymbeline, Shakspere has engrafted the romantic story that they were stolen from their father's care, and brought up amongst the mountain fastnesses of Wales, in the primitive simplicity of the hunter's life. The nurture which Shakspere has assigned to these youths is in harmony with their historical prowess. There are few things finer in the Shaksperean drama than the scenes in which these bold mountaineers display the influence of their primitive habits. They are not ignorant; they are full of natural piety; they have strong affections; but the world has been shut out from them, and the conventional usages of the world have no power over their actions. The fierce courage with which they rush to slaughter, and the exquisite tenderness with which they mourn their poor Fidele, are equally the results of their inartificial education. The very structure of the dramatic verse seems to partake of the rugged freedom of their characters: BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. Bel. A goodly day not to keep house with such Gui. Hail, heaven! Hail, heaven! Consider Arv. Such gains the cap of him that makes him fine, Yet keeps his book uncross'd: no life to ours. Gui. Out of your proof you speak: we, poor unfledged, Have never wing'd from view o' the nest; nor known 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 Arv. Bel. And felt them knowingly: the art o' the court, 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 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 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, Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, Bel. My fault being nothing (as I have told you oft) The fore-end of my time.-But, up to the mountains ; The venison first shall be the lord o' the feast ; To him the other two shall minister; And we will fer no poison, which attends In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys. SCENE III. The Roman legions at length tread the British soil: LUCIUS, a Captain, and other Officers, and a Soothsayer. Luc. When expect you them? Luc. (I fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence,) Thus: I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd (Unless my sins abuse my divination) Success to the Roman host. The cave of Belarius hears the din of the coming strife. One of the youths has slain Cloten, the queen's son. The old man vainly strives to persuade them to fly to deeper recesses of their mountains :--- Of many in the army: many years, Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him Hath not deserv'd my service, nor your loves; Who find in my exile the want of breeding, Gui. Arv. By this sun that shines, Did see man die? scarce ever look'd on blood, But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison ? A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel |