Cymbeline

1 Enter Imogen alone, in boy’s clothes.
2 IMOGEN.
3 I see a man’s life is a tedious one.
4 I have tir’d myself, and for two nights together
5 Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick
6 But that my resolution helps me. Milford,
7 When from the mountain-top Pisanio show’d thee,
8 Thou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think
9 Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean,
10 Where they should be reliev’d. Two beggars told me
11 I could not miss my way. Will poor folks lie,
12 That have afflictions on them, knowing ’tis
13 A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder,
14 When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness
15 Is sorer than to lie for need; and falsehood
16 Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord!
17 Thou art one o’ th’ false ones. Now I think on thee
18 My hunger’s gone; but even before, I was
19 At point to sink for food. But what is this?
20 Here is a path to’t; ’tis some savage hold.
21 I were best not call; I dare not call. Yet famine,
22 Ere clean it o’erthrow nature, makes it valiant.
23 Plenty and peace breeds cowards; hardness ever
24 Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who’s here?
25 If anything that’s civil, speak; if savage,
26 Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I’ll enter.
27 Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy
28 But fear the sword, like me, he’ll scarcely look on’t.
29 Such a foe, good heavens!
30 [_Exit into the cave._]