You are not well. Remain here in the cave.

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.

Imogen, as Fidele
So man and man should be,
But clay and clay differs in dignity,
Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.
Guiderius, as Polydor, to Morgan and Cadwal 
Go you to hunting. I’ll abide with him.
Imogen, as Fidele
So sick I am not, yet I am not well;
But not so citizen a wanton as
To seem to die ere sick. So please you, leave me.
Stick to your journal course. The breach of custom
Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me
Cannot amend me. Society is no comfort
To one not sociable. I am not very sick,
Since I can reason of it. Pray you trust me here—
I’ll rob none but myself—and let me die,
Stealing so poorly.
Guiderius, as Polydor
I love thee—I have spoke it—
How much the quantity, the weight as much
As I do love my father.
Belarius, as Morgan
What? How, how?
Arviragus, as Cadwal
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, and I have heard you say
Love’s reason’s without reason. The bier at door,
And a demand who is ’t shall die, I’d say
“My father, not this youth.”
Belarius, 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.
Arviragus, as Cadwal to Fidele
Brother, farewell.
Imogen, as Fidele
I wish you sport.
Arviragus, as Cadwal
You health.—So please you, sir.
Imogen, aside
These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I have heard!
Our courtiers say all’s savage but at court;
Experience, O, thou disprov’st report!
Th’ imperious seas breeds monsters; for the dish
Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish.
I am sick still, heart-sick. Pisanio,
I’ll now taste of thy drug.  She swallows the drug.
Guiderius, as Polydor to Morgan and Cadwal 
I could not stir him.
He said he was gentle but unfortunate,
Dishonestly afflicted but yet honest.
Arviragus, as Cadwal
Thus did he answer me, yet said hereafter
I might know more.
Belarius, as Morgan
To th’ field, to th’ field!
To Fidele. We’ll leave you for this time. Go in and rest.
Arviragus, as Cadwal
We’ll not be long away.
Belarius, as Morgan
Pray, be not sick,
For you must be our huswife.
Imogen, as Fidele
Well or ill,
I am bound to you.
Belarius, as Morgan
And shalt be ever.
 Imogen exits as into the cave.