Have never wing'd from view o' th' nest; nor know not
What air's from home. Haply this life is best,
If quiet life is 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 a-bed,
A prison for a debtor, that not dares
To stride a limit.

Arviragus. What should we speak of
When we are old as you? When we shall hear
The rain and wind beat dark December! How,
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing.
We are beastly; subtle as the fox for prey,
Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat:
Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage
We make a quire, as doth the prison'd bird,
And sing our bondage freely.

The answer of Bellarius to this expostulation is hardly
satisfactory; for nothing can be an answer to hope, or the passion
of the mind for unknown good, but experience.--The forest of Arden
in As You Like It can alone compare with the mountain scenes in
Cymbeline: yet how different the contemplative quiet of the one from
the enterprising boldness and precarious mode of subsistence in the
other! Shakespeare not only lets us into the minds of his
characters, but gives a tone and colour to the scenes he describes
from the feelings of their imaginary inhabitants. He at the same
time preserves the utmost propriety of action and passion, and gives