Page 503 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

Did you but know the city’s usuries, [45]
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 [50]
I’ th’ name of fame and honour, 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 court’sy at the censure. O boys, this story [55]
The world may read in me: my body’s mark’d

With Roman swords; and my report was once
First, with the best of note. Cymbeline lov’d me,
And when a soldier was the theme, my name
Was not far off: then was I as a tree [60]

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.

GUIDERIUS
Uncertain favour!

BELARIUS
My fault being nothing (as I have told you oft) [65]
But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail’d
Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline
I was confederate with the Romans: so

Follow’d my banishment, and this twenty years
This rock, and these demesnes, have been my world, [70]
Where I have liv’d 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 hunter’s language; he that strikes
The venison first shall be the lord o’ th’ feast, [75]
To him the other two shall minister,

And we will fear no poison, which attends