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That tends to vice in man, but I affirm
is the woman's part; be it lying, note it,
The woman's flattering, hers; deceiving, hers;
Lut, and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers;
Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, difdain,
Nice-donging, flanders, mutability;

All faults that may be named, nay, that hell knows,
Why, hers, in part, or all; but rather all.

to vice

For even

They are not conftant, but are changing still ;
One vice, but of a minute old, for one
Not half fo old as that. I'll write against them,
Deteft them, curse them--yet 'tis greater fkill
In a true hate, to pray they have their will;

The

very devils cannot plague them better.

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A Wife's Impatience to meet her Husband. (8) Oh, for a horse with wings! Hear'ft thou, Pifanio?

He

(8) Nothing can be conceived more natural and more inimitable than this impatient fondnefs of the faithful and amiable wife: the no fooner hears news of her husband, than fhe is immediately even for flying to him, for gliding thither in an inftant of time: Pifanio's affiftance was neceffary: fhe knew he loved his lord; fhe tells him fo; how then does the jealous fondnefs of her affection break out-None could love him, none must long to see him like her: she must be told of the place, the distance, the manner of going, ere it can poffibly be told; fhe must contrive how to escape, the muft invent an excufe-foolish and impertinent; fhe then reflects-how muft fhe be gone; how many score miles can fhe ride 'twixt hour and hour? how mortifying the reply! but one fcore betwixt-not hour and hour, but fun and fun! difgufted at this, fhe wants to hear no more of it, but meditates folely her departure. Her trufty Pifanio withes her to confider of this dangerous ftep. She replies, "It is enough for me that I fee before me-I do that, indeed; but neither here nor here, [what is on this hand or that hand,] nor what enfues, [what is or may be the confequence of this step]

but

He is at Milford-Haven: read and tell me
How far 'tis thither. If one of mean affairs
May plod it in a week, why may not I
Glide thither in a day? then, true Pifanio,
Who long'ft like me, to fee thy lord; who long't-
(Oh, let me bate) but not like me, yet long'st
But in a fainter kind- -Oh, not like me;
For mine's beyond, beyond-fay, and speak thick:
Love's counfellor fhould fill the bores of hearing
To th' fmothering of the sense-how far it is
To this fame bleifed Milford? And by th' way,
Tell me how Wales was made so happy, as
T' inherit fuch a haven. But first of all
How may we steal from hence: and for the gap
That we shall make in time, from our hence going,
And our return t'excufe-but firft, how get hence?
Why should excufe be born, or e'er begot?
We'll talk of that hereafter. Prithee, fpeak,
How many fcore of miles may we well ride
'Twixt hour and hour?

Pif. One fcore 'twixt fun and fun,

Madam's enough for you; and too much too.

Imo. Why, one that rode to's execution, man, Could never go fo flow: I have heard of riding wagers,

Where horfes have been nimbler than the fands

''That run i'th' clocks behalf. But this is foolery.
Go, bid my woman feign a fickness, fay

She'll home to her father, and provide me, prefent,
A riding fuit: no coftlier than would fit

A franklin's housewife.

Pif. Madam, you'd beft confider.

Imo. I fee before me, man; nor here, nor here,
Nor what enfues, but have a fog in them,
That I cannot look thro'. Away, I prithee,

De

but have a fog in them which I cannot pierce thro'; all things, but juft the prefent, before my fight are dark and mifty to me." This is certainly a just and natural fenfe of the paffage, and confequently, preferable to any other, which the alterations of critics render precarious.

Do as I bid thee; there's no more to fay;
Acceffible is none but Milford way.

[Exeun

SCENE III. A Foreft, with a Cave in Wales.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. Bel. (9) A goodly day! not to keep houfe, with fuch, Who's roof's as low as ours: fee boys! this gate

Inftructs

(9) A goodly, &c.] If the reader will be pleafed to confult the 2d Act and 2d Scene of the Two noble Kinfmen, he will find, as has been obferved, "great fimilitude of fentiment, ftyle, and fpirit:" Palamon and Arcite are there introduced into prifon together;-Arcite, amongst other things obferves;

This is all our world

We fhall know nothing here but one another:
Hear nothing but the clock that tells our woes :
The vine fhall grow, but we shall never see it :
Summer fhall come, and with her all delights,
But dead cold winter muft inhabit here still.
Pal. 'Tis too true, Arcite. To our Theban hounds
That shook the aged forests with their echoes,
No more now must we hollow, no more shake
Our pointed javelin, whilst the angry swine
Flies like a Parthian quiver from our rages,

Struck with our well-fteel'd darts. All valiant uses,
The food and nourishment of noble minds,
In us two here fhall perish: we shall die,
Which is the curfe of honour, lazily,
Children of grief and ignorance.

Arc. Yet, coufin,

Even from the bottom of thefe miferies,
From all that fortune can inflict upon us,
1 fee two comforts rifing, two mere bleffings,
If the gods please to hold here, a brave patience,
And the enjoying of our griefs together.

Whilft Palamon is with me, let me perish,
If I think this our prifon.

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Let's think this prifon a holy fanctuary,

To keep us from corruption of worfe men;

We're young, and yet defire the ways of honour,
That liberty and common converfation,

The

Inftructs
you
how t'adore the heav'ns; and bows you
To morning's holy office. Gates of monarchs
Are arch'd fo high, that giants may get thro'
And keep their impious turbands on, without
Good-morrow to the fun. Hail, thou fair heav'n!
We houfe i'th' rock, yet ufe thee not fo hardly,
As prouder livers do.

Guid. Hail, heav'n!

The poifon of pure fpirits, might, like women,
Woo us, to wander from. What worthy bleffing
Can be, but our imaginations

May make it ours? and here being thus together

We are an endless mine to one another;

We're one another's wife, ever begetting

Arv.

New births of love: we're father, friends, acquaintance,
We are in one another, families,

I am your heir, and you are mine: this place

Is our inheritance: no hard oppreffor

Dare take this from us: here, with a little patience,
We shall live long, and loving: no furfeits feek us:
The hand of war hurts none here, nor the feas
Swallow their youth: were we at liberty

A wife might part us lawfully, or business;
Quarrels confume us: envy of ill men

Reave our acquaintance: I might ficken, coufin,
Where you should never know it, and so perish
Without your noble hand to close mine eyes,
Or prayers to the gods: a thousand chances
Were we from hence wou'd fever us.
Pal. You have made me,

(I thank you, coufin Arcite) almost wanton
With my captivity: what a mifery

It is to live abroad, and every where ?

'Tis like a beast, methinks: I find the court here;
I'm fure a more content, and all those pleasures
That woo the wills of men to vanity,

I fee thro' now: and am fufficient

To tell the world, 'tis but a gaudy shadow.
That old time, as he passes by, takes with him.
What had we been? been old in the court of Creon
Where fin is juftice, luft and ignorance,
The virtues of the great ones: coufin, Arcite,
Had not the loving gods found this place for us,
W' had died as they do, ill old men unwept,
And had their epitaphs the peoples curfes.

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Arv. Hail, heav'n!

Bel. Now for our mountain fport: up to yond hill,
Your legs are young: I'll tread these flats. Confider,
When you above perceive me like a crow,

That it is place which leffens and sets off,
And you may then revolve what tales I've told you,
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war,
That fervice is not fervice, fo being done,
But being fo allow'd. To apprehend thus,
Draws us a profit from all things we see :
And often to our comfort fhall we find
The fharded beetle in a safer hold
Than is the full-wing'd eagle. Oh, this life,
Is nobler than attending for a check;
Richer than doing nothing for a bauble;
Prouder than ruftling in unpaid-for filk:

Such gain the cap of him that makes them fine,
Yet keeps his book uncrofs'd: no life to ours.

Guid. Out of your proof you speak; we, poor, un
fledg'd,

Have never wing'd from view o'th' neft; nor know
What air's from home. Hap'ly this life is beft,
If quiet life is best; sweeter to you

stiff your

age;

That have a fharper known: well correfponding
With
but unto us it is
A cell of ignorance; travelling a-bed,
A prifon for a debtor, that not dares
To ftride a limit.

Arv. What should we speak of

When we are old as you? when we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December? how,
In this our pinching cave, fhall we discourse
The freezing hours away? we have seen nothing:
We are beaftly; fubtle as the fox for prey,
Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat:
Our valour is to chafe what flies, our cage
We make a choir, as doth the prison'd bird,
And fing our bondage freely.

Bel

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