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Belarius

Town and Country

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In Cymbeline, Belarius advises his two adoptive sons to embrace the idyllic life in the country rather than the political life at court:

“O, this life
Is nobler than attending for a check;
Richer than doing nothing for a bable;
Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk:
Such gain the cap of him that makes him fine,
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Now for our mountain sport: up to yond hill

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Belarius
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,
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Source:
Act 3
Scene 3
Line 10

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Town and Country

The sweat of industry would dry and die

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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.
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Source:
Act 3
Scene 6
Line 31

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I love thee; I have spoke it

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Guiderius
I love thee; I have spoke it;
How much the quantity, the weight as much,
As I do love my father.
Belarius
What? How? How?
Arviragus
If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me
In my good brother’s fault. I know not why
I love this youth,
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Source:
Act 4
Scene 2
Line 16

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O thou goddess, Thou divine Nature

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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 enchaf’d, as the rud’st wind
That by the top doth take the mountain pine
And make him stoop to th’ vale.
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Source:
Act 4
Scene 2
Line 171

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Let us bury him

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Guiderius, as Polydor
Let us bury him
And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt. To th’ grave.
Arviragus, as Cadwal
Say, where shall ‘s lay him?
Guiderius, as Polydor
By good Euriphile, our mother.
Arviragus, as Cadwal
Be ‘t so.
And let us, Polydor,
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Source:
Act 4
Scene 2
Line 294

Source Type:
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Spoken by:
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Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made Preservers of my throne

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Cymbeline
Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made
Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart
That the poor soldier that so richly fought,
Whose rags sham’d gilded arms, whose naked breast
Stepp’d before targes of proof, cannot be found.
He shall be happy that can find him, if
Our grace can make him so.
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Source:
Act 5
Scene 5
Line 1

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