ACT 3
Scene 3

...but Milford way.
Enter, as from a cave, Belarius as Morgan, Guiderius as Polydor, and Arviragus as Cadwal.
as Morgan
A goodly day not to keep house with such
Whose roof’s as low as ours! Stoop, boys. This gate
Instructs you how t’ adore the heavens and bows you
To a morning’s holy office. The gates of monarchs
Are arched so high that giants may jet through
And keep their impious turbans on, without
Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!
We house i’ th’ rock, yet use thee not so hardly
As prouder livers do.

... Hail, heaven!
as Morgan
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-winged eagle. O, this life
Is nobler than attending for a check,
Richer than doing nothing for a robe,
Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
Such gain the cap of him that makes him fine
Yet keeps his book uncrossed. No life to ours.

...our bondage freely.
as Morgan
How you speak!
Did you but know the city’s usuries
And felt them knowingly; the art o’ th’ court,
As hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb
Is certain falling, or so slipp’ry that
The fear’s as bad as falling; the toil o’ th’ war,
A pain that only seems to seek out danger
I’ th’ name of fame and honor, which dies i’ th’ search
And hath as oft a sland’rous epitaph
As record of fair act—nay, many times
Doth ill deserve by doing well; what’s worse,
Must curtsy at the censure. O boys, this story
The world may read in me. My body’s marked
With Roman swords, and my report was once
First with the best of note. 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 favor!
as Morgan
My fault being nothing, as I have told you oft,
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevailed
Before my perfect honor, swore to Cymbeline
I was confederate with the Romans. So
Followed my banishment; and this twenty years
This rock and these demesnes have been my world,
Where I have lived at honest freedom, paid
More pious debts to heaven than in all
The fore-end of my time. But up to th’ mountains!
This is not hunters’ language. He that strikes
The venison first shall be the lord o’ th’ 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.
How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
These boys know little they are sons to th’ King,
Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive.
They think they are mine, and, though trained up thus meanly,
I’ th’ 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 Polydor,
The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who
The King his father called 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 roused!
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 refts me of my lands. Euriphile,
Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their mother,
And every day do honor to her grave.
Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan called,
They take for natural father. The game is up!
He exits.

Scene 6

...foe, good heavens!
Enter Belarius as Morgan, Guiderius as Polydor, and Arviragus as Cadwal.
as Morgan
You, Polydor, have proved best woodman and
Are master of the feast. Cadwal and I
Will play the cook and servant; ’tis our match.
The sweat of industry would dry and die
But for the end it works to. Come, our stomachs
Will make what’s homely savory. Weariness
Can snore upon the flint when resty sloth
Finds the down pillow hard. Now peace be here,
Poor house, that keep’st thyself.

...killed be cooked.
as Morgan, looking into the cave
Stay, come not in!
But that it eats our victuals, I should think
Here were a fairy.

...the matter, sir?
as Morgan
By Jupiter, an angel! Or, if not,
An earthly paragon. Behold divineness
No elder than a boy.

...not made it.
as Morgan
Whither bound?

...To Milford Haven.
as Morgan
What’s your name?

...in this offense.
as Morgan
Prithee, fair youth,
Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds
By this rude place we live in. Well encountered!
’Tis almost night; you shall have better cheer
Ere you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it.—
Boys, bid him welcome.

...To thee, Posthumus.
as Morgan
He wrings at some distress.

...what danger. Gods!
as Morgan
Hark, boys.
They talk aside.

...Since Leonatus false.
as Morgan
It shall be so.
Boys, we’ll go dress our hunt.—Fair youth, come in.
Discourse is heavy, fasting. When we have supped,
We’ll mannerly demand thee of thy story
So far as thou wilt speak it.

...pray, draw near.
They exit.

ACT 4
Scene 2

...not deceive me.
Enter Belarius as Morgan, Guiderius as Polydor, Arviragus as Cadwal, and Imogen as Fidele, from the cave.
as Morgan, to Fidele
You are not well. Remain here in the cave.
We’ll come to you after hunting.

...love my father.
as Morgan
What? How, how?

...not this youth.”
aside
O, noble strain!
O, worthiness of nature, breed of greatness!
Cowards father cowards and base things sire base;
Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace.
I’m not their father, yet who this should be
Doth miracle itself, loved before me.—
’Tis the ninth hour o’ th’ morn.

...might know more.
as Morgan
To th’ field, to th’ field!
To Fidele.
We’ll leave you for this time. Go in and rest.

...be long away.
as Morgan
Pray, be not sick,
For you must be our huswife.

...bound to you.
as Morgan
And shalt be ever.
This youth, howe’er distressed, appears he hath had
Good ancestors.

...the increasing vine!
as Morgan
It is great morning. Come, away. Who’s there?

...I am faint.
as Morgan, to Polydor and Cadwal
“Those runagates”?
Means he not us? I partly know him. ’Tis
Cloten, the son o’ th’ Queen. I fear some ambush.
I saw him not these many years, and yet
I know ’tis he. We are held as outlaws. Hence.

...alone with him.
Belarius and Arviragus exit.

...Yield, rustic mountaineer!
Enter Belarius as Morgan and Arviragus as Cadwal.
as Morgan
No company’s abroad?

...mistake him sure.
as Morgan
I cannot tell. Long is it since I saw him,
But time hath nothing blurred those lines of favor
Which then he wore. The snatches in his voice
And burst of speaking were as his. I am absolute
’Twas very Cloten.

...is so fell.
as Morgan
Being scarce made up,
I mean to man, he had not apprehension
Of roaring terrors; for defect of judgment
Is oft the cause of fear.

Enter Guiderius as Polydor, carrying Cloten’s head.
But see, thy brother.

...I do his.
as Morgan
What hast thou done?

...on Lud’s Town.
as Morgan
We are all undone.

...Discover you abroad?
as Morgan
No single soul
Can we set eye on, but in all safe reason
He must have some attendants. Though his humor
Was nothing but mutation—ay, and that
From one bad thing to worse—not frenzy,
Not absolute madness could so far have raved
To bring him here alone. Although perhaps
It may be heard at court that such as we
Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time
May make some stronger head, the which he hearing—
As it is like him—might break out and swear
He’d fetch us in, yet is ’t not probable
To come alone, either he so undertaking
Or they so suffering. Then on good ground we fear,
If we do fear this body hath a tail
More perilous than the head.

...hath done well.
as Morgan
I had no mind
To hunt this day. The boy Fidele’s sickness
Did make my way long forth.

...all I reck.
as Morgan
I fear ’twill be revenged.
Would, Polydor, thou hadst not done ’t, though valor
Becomes thee well enough.

...to our answer.
as Morgan
Well, ’tis done.
We’ll hunt no more today, nor seek for danger
Where there’s no profit. I prithee, to our rock.
You and Fidele play the cooks. I’ll stay
Till hasty Polydor return, and bring him
To dinner presently.

...myself for charity.
O thou goddess,
Thou divine Nature, thou thyself thou blazon’st
In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
As zephyrs blowing below the violet,
Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
Their royal blood enchafed, as the rud’st wind
That by the top doth take the mountain pine
And make him stoop to th’ vale. ’Tis wonder
That an invisible instinct should frame them
To royalty unlearned, honor untaught,
Civility not seen from other, valor
That wildly grows in them but yields a crop
As if it had been sowed. Yet still it’s strange
What Cloten’s being here to us portends,
Or what his death will bring us.

...his return.Solemn music.
as Morgan
My ingenious instrument!
Hark, Polydor, it sounds! But what occasion
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark.

...he at home?
as Morgan
He went hence even now.

...in his arms.
as Morgan
Look, here he comes,
And brings the dire occasion in his arms
Of what we blame him for.

...thou grew’st thyself.
as Morgan
O melancholy,
Whoever yet could sound thy bottom, find
The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare
Might eas’liest harbor in?—Thou blessèd thing,
Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,
Thou died’st, a most rare boy, of melancholy.—
How found you him?

...speak it then.
as Morgan
Great griefs, I see, med’cine the less, for Cloten
Is quite forgot. He was a queen’s son, boys,
And though he came our enemy, remember
He was paid for that. Though mean and mighty,
Rotting together, have one dust, yet reverence,
That angel of the world, doth make distinction
Of place ’tween high and low. Our foe was princely,
And though you took his life as being our foe,
Yet bury him as a prince.

...the whilst.—Brother, begin.
Belarius exits.

...be thy grave.
Enter Belarius as Morgan, with the body of Cloten.

...lay him down.
Cloten’s body is placed by Imogen’s.
as Morgan
Here’s a few flowers, but ’bout midnight more.
The herbs that have on them cold dew o’ th’ night
Are strewings fitt’st for graves. Upon their faces.—
You were as flowers, now withered. Even so
These herblets shall, which we upon you strew.—
Come on, away; apart upon our knees.
The ground that gave them first has them again.
Their pleasures here are past; so is their pain.
They exit.

Scene 4

...are not steered.
Enter Belarius as Morgan, Guiderius as Polydor, and Arviragus as Cadwal.

...round about us.
as Morgan
Let us from it.

...slay us after.
as Morgan
Sons,
We’ll higher to the mountains, there secure us.
To the King’s party there’s no going. Newness
Of Cloten’s death—we being not known, not mustered
Among the bands—may drive us to a render
Where we have lived, and so extort from ’s that
Which we have done, whose answer would be death
Drawn on with torture.

...whence we are.
as Morgan
O, I am known
Of many in the army. Many years,
Though Cloten then but young, you see not wore him
From my remembrance. And besides, the King
Hath not deserved my service nor your loves,
Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
The certainty of this hard life, aye hopeless
To have the courtesy your cradle promised,
But to be still hot summer’s tanlings and
The shrinking slaves of winter.

...say I. Amen.
as Morgan
No reason I—since of your lives you set
So slight a valuation—should reserve
My cracked one to more care. Have with you, boys!
If in your country wars you chance to die,
That is my bed, too, lads, and there I’ll lie.
Lead, lead. Aside.
The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn
Till it fly out and show them princes born.
They exit.

ACT 5
Scene 2

...you are gods.
The battle continues. The Britons fly; Cymbeline is taken. Then enter, to his rescue, Belarius as Morgan, Guiderius as Polydor, and Arviragus as Cadwal.
as Morgan
Stand, stand! We have th’ advantage of the ground.
The lane is guarded. Nothing routs us but
The villainy of our fears.

...stand, and fight!
They rescue Cymbeline and exit. Then enter Lucius, Iachimo, and Imogen as Fidele.

Scene 3

...to th’ King.
Enter Cymbeline, Attendants, Belarius as Morgan, Guiderius as Polydor, Arviragus as Cadwal, Pisanio, Soldiers, and Roman captives. The Captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers him over to a Jailer.
They exit.

Scene 5

...preferment in ’t.
Enter Cymbeline, Belarius as Morgan, Guiderius as Polydor, Arviragus as Cadwal, Pisanio, Attendants, and Lords.

...make him so.
as Morgan
I never saw
Such noble fury in so poor a thing,
Such precious deeds in one that promised naught
But beggary and poor looks.

...are. Report it.
as Morgan
Sir,
In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen.
Further to boast were neither true nor modest,
Unless I add we are honest.

...Bow your knees.
They kneel. He taps their shoulders with his sword.

...becoming your estates.
They rise.

...aside and talk.
as Morgan
Is not this boy revived from death?

...dead thing alive.
as Morgan
Peace, peace. See further. He eyes us not. Forbear.
Creatures may be alike. Were ’t he, I am sure
He would have spoke to us.

...see him dead.
as Morgan
Be silent. Let’s see further.

...I was dead.
as Morgan, aside to Guiderius and Arviragus
My boys,
There was our error.

...Your blessing, sir.
as Morgan, aside to Guiderius and Arviragus
Though you did love this youth, I blame you not.
You had a motive for ’t.

...Attendants bind Guiderius.
as Morgan
Stay, sir king.
This man is better than the man he slew,
As well descended as thyself, and hath
More of thee merited than a band of Clotens
Had ever scar for.—Let his arms alone.
They were not born for bondage.

...die for ’t.
as Morgan
We will die all three
But I will prove that two on ’s are as good
As I have given out him.—My sons, I must
For mine own part unfold a dangerous speech,
Though haply well for you.

...our good his.
as Morgan
Have at it, then.—By leave,
Thou hadst, great king, a subject who
Was called Belarius.

...A banished traitor.
He it is that hath
Assumed this age; indeed a banished man,
I know not how a traitor.

...not save him.
Not too hot.
First pay me for the nursing of thy sons
And let it be confiscate all, so soon
As I have received it.

...of my sons?
I am too blunt and saucy. Here’s my knee. He kneels.
Ere I arise I will prefer my sons,
Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir,
These two young gentlemen that call me father
And think they are my sons are none of mine.
They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
And blood of your begetting.

...How? My issue?
So sure as you your father’s. I, old Morgan,
Am that Belarius whom you sometime banished.
Your pleasure was my mere offense, my punishment
Itself, and all my treason. That I suffered
Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes—
For such and so they are—these twenty years
Have I trained up; those arts they have as I
Could put into them. My breeding was, sir, as
Your Highness knows. Their nurse Euriphile,
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
Upon my banishment. I moved her to ’t,
Having received the punishment before
For that which I did then. Beaten for loyalty
Excited me to treason. Their dear loss,
The more of you ’twas felt, the more it shaped
Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir,
Here are your sons again, and I must lose
Two of the sweet’st companions in the world.
The benediction of these covering heavens
Fall on their heads like dew, for they are worthy
To inlay heaven with stars.
He weeps.

...of worthier sons.
Be pleased awhile.
This gentleman whom I call Polydor,
Most worthy prince, as yours is true Guiderius;
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,
Your younger princely son. He, sir, was lapped
In a most curious mantle, wrought by th’ hand
Of his queen mother, which for more probation
I can with ease produce.

...mark of wonder.
This is he,
Who hath upon him still that natural stamp.
It was wise Nature’s end in the donation
To be his evidence now.

...such a peace.
They exit.