Aru. With faireft flowers, Whilft fummer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, With charitable bill, (oh bill, fore-fhaming Guid. Pr'ythee, have done; And do not play in wench-like words with that Aru. Say, where thall's lay him! And let us, Paladour, though now our voices (45) The Raddock would, With charitable bill, bring thee all this; Yea, and furred mols befides. When flowers are none To winter-ground thy corfe-] Here again the metaphor is ftrangely mangled. What fenfe is there in winter-grounding a corfe with mofs? A corfe might indeed be faid to be winter-grounded in good thick clay. But the epithet furred to mofs directs us plainly to another reading; To winter-gown thy corfe: i. e. Thy fummer habit fhall be a light gown of flower, thy winter habit a good warm furred gown of mofs. Mr Warburton. Guid. Cadwall, I cannot fing: I'll weep, and word it with thee; For notes of forrow, out of tune, are worse Than Priefts and Fanes that lie. Arv. We'll speak it then. Bel. Great griefs, I fee, med'cine the lefs. For Is quite forgot. He was a Queen's fon, boys; (That angel of the world) doth make distinction Guid. Pray, fetch him hither. Therfites' body is as good as Ajax, When neither are alive. Arv. If you'll go fetch him, We'll fay our fong the whilit: Brother, begin. Guid. Nay, Cadwall, we must lay his head to the My father had a reason for't. Arv. 'Tis true. Guid. Come on then, and remove him. [Eaft; Arv. So, begin. SONG. Guid. Fear no more the heat o' the fun, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. As chimney-fweepers, come to duft. Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The fceptre, learning, phyfic, muft Arv. Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-ftone. Arv. Thou haft finished joy and moan. Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! Enter BELARIUS, with the Body of Cloten. Guid. We've done our obfequies, come, lay him down. Bel. Here's a few flowers, but about midnight more; The herbs, that have on them cold dew o' th' night, The ground, that gave them firft, has them again : IMOGEN, awaking. Imo. Yes, Sir, to Milford-Haven, which is the way?-I thank you by yond bufh?-pray, how far thither? 'Ods pittikins-can it be fix mile yet?-- I've gone all night-'faith, I'll ly down and fleep. But, foft! no bedfellow.---Oh gods, and goddeffes! [Seeing the Body Thefe flowers are like the pleafures of the world; And ceok to honeft creatures. But 'tis not fo: I tremble still with fear; (46) but if there be The brawns of Hercules: but his jovial face-- (46)—but if there be Yet left in Heaven as fmall a drop of pity So again, in Othello; I fhould have found in fome place of my foul Though this expreffion is very pathetic and fine in both thefe ruftic, in the time of war, is robbed of a yoke of oxen by the Bootians; he has almost cried his eyes out, he says, for the lofs of his cattle; and he comes to beg for a drop of peace in a quill, to anoint his eyes with. Σὺ δ ̓ ἀλλὰ μοι σαλαγμὸν εἰρήνης ἕνα Εἰς τὸν καλαμίσκον ἐντάλαξον τυτονί. Though I have translated xaxauloxov (which is a diminutive from xahaμos) a quill, I know it fignifies among the furgeons a probe, an inftrument to convey balfam into wounds; fpecilium. I am furprifed that neither Hefychius nor Suidas acknowledge the word, which has fo- good an authority as Ariftophanes.--But Julius Pollux quotes it, and brings the paffage from our comic poet in con fimation. Murder in heaven?---how!---'tis gone!--Pisanio!--- Struck the main-top! oh, Pofthumus, alas, Pifanio might have killed thee at the heart, And left thy head on. How should this be, Pifanio?--'Tis he and Cloten. Malice and lucre in them Have laid this woe here. Oh, 'tis pregnant, preg nant! The drug he gave me, which, he faid, was precious Lord! Enter LUCIUS, Captains, and a Soothsayer. Cap. to them, the legions garrifoned in Gallia, After your will, have crofled the fea, attending You here at Milford-Haven, with your fhips: They are in readiness. Luc. But what from Rome? Cap. The Senate hath stirred up the confiners, Luc. When expect you them? Сс |