INNOGEN How now, Pisanio?

PISANIO

Madam, here is a letter from my lord.

INNOGEN

Who, thy lord that is my lord, Leonatus?

O learned indeed were that astronomer

That knew the stars as I his characters—

He’d lay the future open. You good gods,

Let what is here contained relish of love,

Of my lord’s health, of his content—yet not

That we two are asunder; let that grieve him.

Some griefs are med’cinable; that is one of them,

For it doth physic love—of his content

All but in that. Good wax, thy leave. Blest be

You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers

And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike;

Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet

You clasp young Cupid’s tables. Good news, gods!

She opens and reads the letter

’Justice and your father’s wrath, should he take me in

his dominion, could not be so cruel to me as you, O

the dearest of creatures, would even renew me with

your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria, at Milford

Haven. What your own love will out of this advise you,

follow. So he wishes you all happiness, that remains

loyal to his vow, and your increasing in love,

Leonatus Posthumus.’

O for a horse with wings! Hear‘st thou, Pisanio?

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 Pisanio,

Who long‘st like me to see thy lord, who long’st—

O let me bate—but not like me—yet long‘st

But in a fainter kind—O, not like me,

For mine’s beyond beyond; say, and speak thick—

Love’s counsellor should fill the bores of hearing,

To th’ smothering of the sense—how far it is

To this same blessèd Milford. And by th’ way

Tell me how Wales was made so happy as

T’inherit such a haven. But first of all,

How we may steal from hence; and for the gap

That we shall make in time from our hence-going

Till our return, to excuse; but first, how get hence.

Why should excuse be born or ere begot?

We’ll talk of that hereafter. Prithee speak,

How many score of miles may we well ride

’Twixt hour and hour?

PISANIO

One score ’twixt sun and sun,

Madam, ’s enough for you, and too much too.

INNOGEN

Why, one that rode to ’s execution, man,

Could never go so slow. I have heard of riding wagers

Where horses have been nimbler than the sands

That run i‘th’ clock’s behalf. But this is fool’ry.

Go bid my woman feign a sickness, say

She’ll home to her father; and provide me presently

A riding-suit no costlier than would fit

A franklin’s housewife.

PISANIO

Madam, you’re best consider.

INNOGEN

I see before me, man. Nor here, nor here,

Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them

That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee,

Do as I bid thee. There’s no more to say:

Accessible is none but Milford way.

Exeunt

3.3 Enter Belarius, followed by Guiderius and Arviragus, ⌈from a cave in the woods⌉

BELARIUS

A goodly day not to keep house with such

Whose roof’s as low as ours. Stoop, boys; this gate

Instructs you how t‘adore the heavens, and bows you

To a morning’s holy office. The gates of monarchs

Are arched so high that giants may jet through

And keep their impious turbans on without

Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven!

We house i’th’ rock, yet use thee not so hardly

As prouder livers do.

GUIDERIUS

Hail, heaven!

ARVIRAGUS

Hail, heaven!

BELARIUS

Now for our mountain sport. Up to yon hill,

Your legs are young; I’ll tread these flats. Consider,

When you above perceive me like a crow,

That it is place which lessens and sets off,

And you may then revolve what tales I have told you

Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war;

That service is not service, so being done,

But being so allowed. To apprehend thus

Draws us a profit from all things we see,

And often to our comfort shall we find

The sharded beetle in a safer hold

Than is the full-winged eagle. O, this life

Is nobler than attending for a check,

Richer than doing nothing for a bauble,

Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk;

Such gain the cap of him that makes ’em fine,

Yet keeps his book uncrossed. No life to ours.

GUIDERIUS

Out of your proof you speak. We, poor unfledged,

Have never winged from view o’th’ nest, nor know

not

What air’s from home. Haply this life is best,

If quiet life be best; sweeter to you

That have a sharper known; well corresponding

With your stiff age, but unto us it is

A cell of ignorance, travelling abed,

A prison for a debtor, that not dares

To stride a limit.

ARVIRAGUS (to Belarius) What should we speak of