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Bel. Now for our mountain sport, up to yond hill,
Guid. Out of your proof you speak; we, poor, unfledg'd,
age : but unto us, it is
Arv. What should we speak of, When we are old
? When we shall hear
Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat,
BEL. How you speak !
Guid. Uncertain favour !
Bel. My fault being nothing, as I have told you oft, But that two villains whose false oaths prevail'd Before my perfect honour) swore to Cymbeline, I was confed’rate with the Romans : fo Follow'd niy banishment; and, these twenty years This rock and thefe demesnes have been my world ;
Where I have liv'd at honest freedom ; paid
B в оо. К
CH A P. I.
EAR Sensibility! source inexhausted of all that's
precious in our joys, or costly in our sorrows ! thou chainest thy martyr down upon his bed of straw, and it is thou who lifteft him up to Heaven. Eternal Fountain of our feelings ! It is here I trace thee, and this is thy divi. nity which stirs within me : not, that in some sad and fickening moments, . my soul shrinks back upon herself, and startles at destruction'
of words !--but that I feel fome generous joys and generous cares beyond myself--all comes from thee, great, great Sensorium of the world! Which vibrates, if a hair of our head but falls
upon the ground, in the remotest defert of thy creation. Touched with thee, Eugenius draws my curtain when I languish ; kears my tale of symptoms, and blames the weather for the disorder of his nerves. Thou givest a portion of it some
times to the roughest peasant who traverses the bleakeft mountains.--He finds the lacerated lamb of another's flock. This moment I behold him leaning with his head against his crook, with piteous inclination looking down upon it ---Oh! had l come one moment fooner !-it bleeds to death-his gentle heart bleeds with it.
Peace to thee, generous swain! I see thou walkest off with anguish—but thy joys shall balance it ; for happy is thy *cottage, and happy is the sharer of it, and happy are the Jambs which sport about you.
LIBERTY AND SL A VERY,
ISGUISE thyself as thou wilt, ftill SLAVERY! still
thou art a bitter draught ; and though thousands in all ages
have been made to drink of thee, thou art not less bitter on that account. It is thou, LIBERTY, thrice sweet and gracious goddess, whom all in public or in private worä ship, whose taste is grateful, and ever will be so, till nature herself shall change no tint of words can spot thy snowy mantle, or chymic power turn thy sceptre into ironwith thee to fmile upon him as he eats his crust, the swain is happier than his monarch, from whose court thou art exiled. Gracious Heaven! grant me but health, thou great Bestower of it, and give me but this fair goddess as my companion ; and shower down thy mitres, if it seem good unto thy divine providence, upon those heads which are aching.
PURSUING these ideas, I sat down clofe by my table, and leaning my head upon my hand, I began to figure to myself M 5