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With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
And worms will not come to thee.
Arv.

With fairest flowers Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not

lack The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, The azur'd harebell, like thy veins, no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweet'ned not thy breath. The ruddock

would, With charitable bill, - O bill, sore shaming 225 Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie Without a monument ! - bring thee all this ; Yea, and furt'd moss besides, when flowers are

none, To winter-ground thy corse. Gui.

Prithee, have done ; And do not play in wench-like words with

that
Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt. To the grave!
Arv.

Say, where shall's lay him?
Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother.
Arv.

Be't so ; And let us, Polydore, though now our voices 236 Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the

ground, As once our mother; use like note and words, Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

Gui. Cadwal,
I cannot sing.' I'll weep, and word it with

thee ;
For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse
Than priests and fanes that lie.
Arv.

We 'll speak it, then. Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less ;

for Cloten Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys; And though he came our enemy, remember 245 He was paid for that. Though mean and mighty,

rotting Together, have one dust, yet reverence, That angel of the world, doth make distinc

tion Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was

princely ; And though you took his life, as being our foe, Yet bury him as a prince. Gui.

Pray you, fetch him hither. Thersites' body is as good as Ajax', When neither are alive. Arv.

If you 'll go fetch him, We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.

(Erit Belarius.] Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east;

256 My father hath a reason for 't. Ary.

'Tis true. Gui. Come on then, and remove him. Arv.

So. Begin.

SONG.
Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun,

Nor the furious winter's rages;

Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. Golden lads and girls all must,

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great ;

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke.
Care no more to clothe and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak.
The sceptre, learning, physic, must

All follow this, and come to dust.
Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash;
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan.
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must

Consign to thee, and come to dust.
Gui. No exorciser harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have,

And renowned be thy grave!
Re-enter BELARIUS, with the body of Cloten.
Gui. We have done our obsequies. Come, lay

him down. Bel. Here's a few flowers; but 'bout mid

night, more. The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the

night Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their

faces. You were as flowers, now wither'd; even so These herblets shall, which we upon you strew. Come on, away; apart upon our

knees. The ground that gave them first has them

again. Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. 24

(Exeunt (Belarius, Guiderius, and

Arviragus). Imo. (Awaking.] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haren ; which is the

way

2 I thank you.

By yond bush ? – Pray, how far thither? 'Ods pittikins ! can it be six mile yet? I have gone all night. Faith, I 'u lie down and

sleep. But, soft! no bedfellow!,-0 gods and god

desses ! (Seeing the body of Cloten.) 235 These flowers are like the pleasures of the

world; This bloody man, the care on 't. I hope I

dream; For so I thought I was a cave-keeper And cook to honest creatures. But 't is not so. 'T was but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, 309 Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very

eyes Are sometimes like our judgements, blind.

Good faith, I tremble still with fear; but if there be Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it! The dream 's here still, even when I wake. It is

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Without me, as within me; not imagin’d, felt.
A headless man! The garments of Posthumus!
I know the shape of 's leg; this is his hand,
His foot Mercurial, his Martial thigh,
The brawns of Hercules; but his Jovial face-
Murder in heaven? - How ! - 'Tis gone. Pi-

sanio, All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, And mine to boot, be darted on thee!

Thou, Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten, 315 Hath here cut off my lord. To write and read Be henceforth treacherous ! Damn'd Pisanio Hath with his forged letters, - damn'd Pi

sanio From this most bravest vessel of the world Struck the main-top! O Posthumus! alas, Where is thy head? Where's that? Ay me!

where's that? Pisanio might have kill'd

thee at the heart, And left this head on. How should this be ?

Pisanio? 'Tis he and Cloten. Malice and lucre in them Have laid this woe here. 0, 't is pregnant,

pregnant! The drug he gave me, which he said was

precious And cordial to me, have I not

found it Murd'rous to the senses? That confirms it

home. This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's. O! Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, 330 That we the horrider may seem to those Which chance to find us. O, my lord, my lord !

'[Falls on the body.] Enter Lucius, CAPTAINS, and a SOOTHSAYER. 1. Cap. To them the legions garrison'd in

Gallia, After your will, have cross'd the sea, attending You here at Milford-Haven with your ships. 235 They are in readiness. Luc.

But what from Rome? 1. Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the con

finers And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits, That promise noble service; and they come Under the conduct of bold Iachimo, Sienna's brother. Luc.

When expect you them? 1. Cap. With the next benefit o' the wind. Luc.

This forwardness Makes our hopes fair. Command our present

numbers Be muster'd ; bid the captains look to 't. Now,

sir, What have you dream'd of late of this war's

purpose ? Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a

vision-
I fast and pray'd for their intelligence - thus:
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
From the spongy south to this part of the west,
There vanish'd in the sunbeams; which por-

tends -
Unless my sins abuse my divination
Success to the Roman host.
Luc.

Dream often so,

And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here Without his top? The ruin speaks that some

time It was a worthy building. How! a page! Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather ; For nature doth abhor to make his bed With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. Let's see the boy's face. 1. Cap.

He's alive, my lord. Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body.

Young one, Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems They crave to be demanded. Who is this Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow ? Or who was

he That, otherwise than noble nature did, Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy

interest In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it? What art thou? Imo.

I am nothing: or if not, Nothing to be were better. This was my

master, A very valiant Briton and a good, That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas ! 370 There is no more such masters. I may wander From east to occident, cry out for service, Try many, all good, serve truly, never Find such another master, Luc.

Lack, good youth! Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining

than Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good

friend. Imo. Richard da Champ. [Aside.) If I do

lie and do No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope They 'll pardon it. - Say you,

sir ? Luc.

Thy name? Imo.

Fidele, sir. Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very

same ; Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say Thou shalt be so well master'd, but, be sure, No less belov’d. The Roman Emperor's letters, Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner Than thine own worth prefer thee. Go with me. Imo. I'll follow, sir. But first, an 't please

the gods, I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep As these poor pickaxes can dig į and when With wild-wood leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd

his grave, And on it said a century of prayers, Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh; And leaving so his service, follow you, So please you entertain me. Luc.

Ay, good youth ; And rather father thee than master thee. My friends, The boy hath taught us manly duties. Let us Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can, And make him with our pikes and partisans A grave. Come, arm him. Boy, he is pre

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By thee to us, and he shall be interr'd
As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes.
Some falls are means the happier to arise.

[Exeunt. SCENE III. (A room in Cymbeline's palace.] Enter CYMBELINE, LORDS, PISANIO (and At

tendants). Cym. Again; and bring me word how 't is with her.

[Exit an attendant.] A fever with the absence of her son, A madness, of which her life 's in danger.

Heavens, How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen, The great part of my comfort, gone; my

queen Upon a desperate bed, and in a time When fearful wars point at me; her son gone, So needful for this present: it strikes me, past The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow, Who needs must know of her departure and 10 Dost seem so ignorant, we 'll enforce it from

thee By a sharp torture. Pis.

Sir, my life is yours ; I humbly set it at your will; but, for my mis

tress, I nothing know where she remains, why gone, Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your

Highness, Hold me your loyal servant. 1. Lord.

Good my liege, The day that she was missing he was here. I dare be bound he's true and shall perform All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten, There wants no diligence in seeking him, And will, no doubt, be found. Cym.

The time is troublesome. [To Pisanio.) We'll slip you for a season; but

our jealousy Does yet depend. 1. Lord.

So please your Majesty, The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, Are landed on your coast, with a supply Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent. Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and

queen! I am amaz'd with matter. 1. Lord.

Good my liege, Your preparation can affront no less Than what you hear of. Come more, for more

you're ready ; The want is but to put those powers in motion That long to move.

Cym. I thank you. Let 's withdraw, And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not What can from Italy annoy us; but We grieve at chances here. Away!

[Exeunt (all but Pisanio). Pis. I heard no letter from my master

since I wrote him Imogen was slain. 'Tis strange. Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise To yield me often tidings; neither know I What is betid to Cloten ; but remain Perplex'd in all. The heavens still must work.

Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to

be true. These present wars shall find I love my country, Even to the note o' the King, or I'll fall in

them. All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd. • Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd.

(Erit. SCENE IV. (Wales. Before the cave of Bela

rius.] Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGCS.

Gui. The noise is round about us.
Bel.

Let us from it.
Arv. What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to

lock it From action and adventure ? Gui.

Nay, what hope Have we in hiding us? This way, the Romans Must or for Britons slay us, or receive as For barbarous and unnatural revolts During their use, and slay us after. Bel.

Sons, We'll higher to the mountains ; there secure ns, To the King's party there's no going. Newness Of Cloten's death - we being not known, not

muster'd Among the bands — may drive us to a render Where we have liv'd, and so extort from 's

that Which we have done, whose answer would be

death Drawn on with torture. Gui.

This is, sir, a doubt In such a time nothing becoming you, Nor satisfying us. Arv.

It is not likely That when they hear the Roman horses neigh, Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their

eyes And ears so cloy'd importantly as now, That they will waste their time upon our note, se To know from whence we are. Bel.

O, I am known Of many in the army. Many years, Though Cloten then but young, you see, not From my remembrance. And, besides, the

King Hath not deserv'd my service nor your loves, o Who find in my exile the want of breeding, The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless To have the courtesy your cradle promis'd, But to be still hot Summer's tanlings and The shrinking slaves of Winter. Gui.

Than be so 3 Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to the army. I and my brother are not known ; yourself So out of thought, and thereto so o'ergrown, Cannot be question'd. Arv.

By this sun that shines, I 'll thither. What thing is it that I never Did see man die ! scarce ever look'd on blood, But that of coward hares, hot goats, and veniNever bestrid a horse, save one that had

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More plentiful than tools to do 't, struck down Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon 't, * Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some And vent it for a mockery? Here is one: falling

Two boys, an old man twice a boy, a lane, Merely through fear; that the straight pass Preserv'd the Britons, was the Romans' bane." was damm’d

Lord. Nay, be not angry, sir. With dead men hurt behind, and cowards liv- Post.

Lack, to what end ? ing

Who dares not stand his foe, I'll be his To die with length'ned shame.

friend; Lord.

Where was this lane? For if he'll do as he is made to do, Post. Close by the battle, ditch'd, and I know he'll quickly fly my friendship too. wall'd with turf;

You have put me into rhyme. Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, 18 Lord.

Farewell ; you 're angry. An honest one, I warrant; who desery'd

(Ezut. So long a breeding as his white beard came to, Post. Still going? This is a lord ! O noble In doing this for 's country. Athwart the lane, misery, He, with two striplings — lads more like to run To be i’ the field, and ask "what news ? ” of me! The country base than to commit such slaugh- To-day how many would have given their hon

ter, With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer To have sav'd their carcases ! took heel to do 't, Than those for preservation cas'd, or shame, - And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm'd, Made good the passage ; cried to those that Could not find Death where I did hear him fed,

groan, “Our Britain's harts die flying, not our men. Nor feel him where he struck. Being an ugly To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards.

monster, Stand!

'Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft Or we are Romans and will give you that

beds, Like beasts which you shun beastly, and may Sweet words; or hath moe ministers than we

That draw his knives if the war. Well, I will But to look back in frown. Stand, stand!”

find him ; These three,

For being now a favourer to the Briton, Three thousand confident, in act as many - No more a Briton, I have resum'd again For three performers are the file when all The part I came in. Fight I will no more, The rest do nothing - with this word “Stand, But yield me to the veriest hind that shall stand!"

Once touch my shoulder, Great the slaughter is Accommodated by the place, more charming Here made by the Roman ; great the answer be With their own nobleness, which could have Britons must take. For me, my ransom 's turn'd

death. A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks.

On either side I come to spend my breath ; Part shame, part spirit renew'd;

that some,

Which neither here I'll keep nor bear again, turn'd coward

But end it by some means for Imogen.
But by example – 0, a sin in war,
Damnd in the first beginners ! - gan to look

Enter two (British) CAPTAINS and Soldiers. The way that they did, and to grin like lions

1. Cap. Great Jupiter be prais'd! Lucius is Upon the pikes o' the hunters. Then began

taken. A stop i' the chaser, a rétire, anon

'Tis thought the old man and his sons were A rout, confusion thick. Forthwith they fly

angels. Chickens, the way which they stoop'd eagles ;

2. Cap. There was a fourth man, in a silly slaves, The strides they victors made: and now our

habit,

That gave the affront with them. cowards,

1. Cap.

So 't is reported; Like fragments in hard voyages, became

But none of 'em can be found. Stand I who's The life o' the need. Having found the back

there?

Post. A Roman, Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they Who had not now been drooping here, if sec wound !

onds Some slain before ; some dying ; some their Had answer'd him. friends

2. Cap.

Lay hands on him ; a dog ! O'er-borne i' the former wave; ten, chas'd by

A leg of Rome shall not return to tell one,

What crows have peck'd them here. He brags Are now each one the slaughter-man of twenty.

his service Those that would die or ere resist are grown to

As if he were of note. Bring him to the King. The mortal bugs o' the field. Lord.

This was strange chance. Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, ArviA narrow lane, an old man, and two boys !

ragus, Pisanio (Soldiers, Attendants) and Post. Nay, do not wonder at it; you are Roman Captives. The Captains present Postmade

humus to Cymbeline, who delivers him over Rather to wonder at the things you hear

to a Gaoler. "[Then exeunt omnes.?

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