Document:  All > Shakespeare > Comedies > Cymbeline > Act IV, scene IV


GUIDERIUS: The noise is round about us.

BELARIUS: Let us from it.

ARVIRAGUS: What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it
	From action and adventure?

GUIDERIUS: Nay, what hope
	Have we in hiding us? This way, the Romans
	Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us
	For barbarous and unnatural revolts
	During their use, and slay us after.

	We'll higher to the mountains; there secure us.
	To the king's party there's no going: newness
	Of Cloten's death--we being not known, not muster'd
	Among the bands--may drive us to a render
	Where we have lived, and so extort from's that
	Which we have done, whose answer would be death
	Drawn on with torture.

GUIDERIUS: This is, sir, a doubt
	In such a time nothing becoming you,
	Nor satisfying us.

ARVIRAGUS:                   It is not likely
	That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,
	Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes
	And ears so cloy'd importantly as now,
	That they will waste their time upon our note,
	To know from whence we are.

BELARIUS: O, I am known
	Of many in the army: many years,
	Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him
	From my remembrance. And, besides, the king
	Hath not deserved my service nor your loves;
	Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
	The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless
	To have the courtesy your cradle promised,
	But to be still hot summer's tamings and
	The shrinking slaves of winter.

GUIDERIUS: Than be so
	Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army:
	I and my brother are not known; yourself
	So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown,
	Cannot be question'd.

ARVIRAGUS: By this sun that shines,
	I'll thither: what thing is it that I never
	Did see man die! scarce ever look'd on blood,
	But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison!
	Never bestrid a horse, save one that had
	A rider like myself, who ne'er wore rowel
	Nor iron on his heel! I am ashamed
	To look upon the holy sun, to have
	The benefit of his blest beams, remaining
	So long a poor unknown.

GUIDERIUS: By heavens, I'll go:
	If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave,
	I'll take the better care, but if you will not,
	The hazard therefore due fall on me by
	The hands of Romans!


BELARIUS: No reason I, since of your lives you set
	So slight a valuation, should reserve
	My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys!
	If in your country wars you chance to die,
	That is my bed too, lads, an there I'll lie:
	Lead, lead.


	The time seems long; their blood
	thinks scorn,
	Till it fly out and show them princes born.



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