You, Polydor, have proved best woodman

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. 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.

All gold and silver rather turn to dirt,
As ’tis no better reckoned but of those
Who worship dirty gods.

Guiderius, as Polydor
I am throughly weary.
Arviragus, as Cadwal
I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.
Guiderius, as Polydor
There is cold meat i’ th’ cave. We’ll browse on that
Whilst what we have killed be cooked.
Belarius, as Morgan, looking into the cave
Stay, come not in!
But that it eats our victuals, I should think
Here were a fairy.
Guiderius, as Polydor
What’s the matter, sir?
Belarius, as Morgan
By Jupiter, an angel! Or, if not,
An earthly paragon. Behold divineness
No elder than a boy.
 Enter Imogen as Fidele.
Imogen, as Fidele
Good masters, harm me not.
Before I entered here, I called, and thought
To have begged or bought what I have took. Good troth,
I have stol’n naught, nor would not, though I had found
Gold strewed i’ th’ floor. Here’s money for my meat.
 She offers money.
I would have left it on the board so soon
As I had made my meal, and parted
With prayers for the provider.
Guiderius, as Polydor
Money, youth?
Arviragus, as Cadwal
All gold and silver rather turn to dirt,
As ’tis no better reckoned but of those
Who worship dirty gods.
Imogen, as Fidele
I see you’re angry.
Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should
Have died had I not made it.
Belarius, as Morgan
Whither bound?
Imogen, as Fidele
To Milford Haven.
Belarius, as Morgan
What’s your name?
Imogen, as Fidele
Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who
Is bound for Italy. He embarked at Milford,
To whom being going, almost spent with hunger,
I am fall’n in this offense.
Belarius, 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.
Guiderius, as Polydor
Were you a woman, youth,
I should woo hard but be your groom in honesty,
Ay, bid for you as I do buy.
Arviragus, as Cadwal
I’ll make ’t my comfort
He is a man. I’ll love him as my brother.—
And such a welcome as I’d give to him
After long absence, such is yours. Most welcome.
Be sprightly, for you fall ’mongst friends.
Imogen, as Fidele
’Mongst friends?
If brothers—(aside) Would it had been so, that they
Had been my father’s sons! Then had my prize
Been less, and so more equal ballasting
To thee, Posthumus.