Belarius

Belarius (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.
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Belarius
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.

The game is up!

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,
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Belarius, 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.
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Belarius, as Morgan, to Fidele
You are not well. Remain here in the cave.
We’ll come to you after hunting.
Arviragus, as Cadwal, to Fidel
Brother, stay here.
Are we not brothers?

I am ill, but your being by me
Cannot amend me. Society is no comfort
To one not sociable.
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Belarius, as Morgan
This youth, howe’er distressed, appears he hath had
Good ancestors.
Arviragus, as Cadwal
How angel-like he sings!

Nobly he yokes
A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh
Was that it was for not being such a smile

Guiderius,
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Cloten, to himself
I cannot find those runagates. That villain
Hath mocked me. I am faint.
Belarius, 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,
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Arviragus, as Cadwal
You did mistake him sure.
Belarius, 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.
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Guiderius, as Polydor
I have sent Cloten’s clotpole down the stream
In embassy to his mother. His body’s hostage
For his return.
 Solemn music.
Belarius, as Morgan
My ingenious instrument!
Hark, Polydor, it sounds! But what occasion
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark.
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Arviragus as Cadwal
And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to th’ ground,
As once to our mother; use like note and words,
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.
Guiderius as Polydor
Cadwal,
I cannot sing. I’ll weep, and word it with thee;
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Guiderius, as Polydor
The noise is round about us.
Belarius, as Morgan
Let us from it.
Arviragus, as Cadwal
What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it
From action and adventure?

Have with you, boys!
If in your country wars you chance to die,
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