Enter Innogen, in boy's clothes
I see a man's life is a tedious one,
I have tired myself: and for two nights together
Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick,
But that my resolution helps me: Milford,
When from the mountain-top Pisanio showed thee,
Thou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think
range of sight, view, visible distance
Foundations fly the wretched: such, I mean,
Where they should be relieved. Two beggars told me
I could not miss my way. Will poor folks lie,
That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder,
When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness
Is sorer than to lie for need: and falsehood
Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord,
Thou art one o'th' false ones! Now I think on thee,
My hunger's gone; but even before, I was
At point to sink, for food. – But what is this?
Here is a path to't: 'tis some savage hold:
I were best not call; I dare not call: yet famine,
Ere clean it o'erthrow Nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty and peace breeds cowards: hardness ever
Of hardiness is mother. Ho! Who's here?
If any thing that's civil, speak: if savage,
Take, or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I'll enter.
Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy
But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
Such a foe, good heavens!
Exit, to the cave