Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none :
Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne
My head, as I do his.

Bel. What haft thou done?

Guid. I'm perfect, what; cut off one Cloten's head, Son to the Queen, after his own report;

Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore

With his own fingle hand he'd take us in ;

Difplace our heads, where, thanks to th' Gods, they

Guid. Why, worthy father, what have we to lofe, But what he swore to take, our lives? the law Protects not us; then why should we be tender, To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us? Play judge, and executioner, all himself? For we do fear the law. What company Discover you abroad?

Bel. No fingle foul

Can we fet eye on; but, in all safe reason,

He must have some attendants. (22) Though his humour

Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that

From one bad thing to worfe; yet not his frenzy,
Not abfolute madnefs, could fo far have rav'd,
To bring him here alone; although, perhaps,
It may be heard at court, that fuch as we

Cave here, haunt here, are Out-laws, and in time
May make fome ftronger head: the which he hearing,
(As it is like him,) might break out, and swear,
He'd fetch us in; yet is't not probable

(22)

Tho' his Honour

Was nothing but Mutation, &c.].

What has his Honour to do here, in his being changeable in this Sort in his acting as a Madman, or not? I have ventur'd to fubftitute Humour, against the Authority of the printed Copies ; and the Meaning feems plainly This. "Tho' he was always "fickle to the laft degree, and govern'd by Humour, not found "Senfe; yet not Madness itself could make him fo hardy to attempt an Enterprize of this Nature alone, and unfeconded."

To come alone, nor he fo undertaking,

Nor they fo fuffering; then on good ground we fear,
If I do fear, this body hath a tail
More perilous than the head.

Arv. Let ordinance

Come, as the Gods forefay it; howfoe'er,
My brother hath done well.

Bel. I had no mind

To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness
Did make my way long forth.

Guid. With his own fword,

Which he did wave against my throat, I've ta'en
His head from him: I'll throw't into the creek
Behind our rock; and let it to the fea,

And tell the fishes, he's the Queen's fon, Cloten.

That's all I reck.

Bel. I fear, 'twill be reveng'd:

[Exit.

'Would, Paladour, thou hadst not done't! though valour Becomes thee well enough.

Arv. 'Would I had done't,

So the revenge alone purfu'd me! Paladour,

I love thee brotherly, but envy much,

'Thou'ft robb'd me of this deed; I would, revenges, That poffible ftrength might meet, would feek us thro", And put us to our answer.

Bel. Well, 'tis done :

We'll hunt no more to day, nor feek for danger
Where there's no profit. Pr'ythee, to our rock,

You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll ftay

'Till hafty Paladour return, and bring him

To dinner presently.

Arv. Poor fick Fidele!

I'll willingly to him: To gain his colour,

I'd let a parish of fuch Clotens blood,

And praise myself for charity.

Bel. O thou Goddefs,

Thou divine Nature! how thyself thou blazon'st
In these two princely boys! they are as gentle,
As Zephyrs blowing below the violet,

Not wagging his fweet head; and yet as rough,

[Exit:

(Their royal blood enchaf'd,) as the rud'st wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him ftoop to th' vale- 'Tis wonderful,

That an invifible inftinct should frame them
To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,
Civility not feen from other; valour,

That wildly grows in them; but yields a crop
As if it had been fow'd. Yet ftill it's ftrange
What Cloten's being here to us portends,
Or what his death will bring us.

Re-enter Guiderius.

Guid. Where's my brother?

I have fent Cloten's clot-pole down the stream,
In embaffie to his mother; his body's hoftage
For his return.

Bel. My ingenious inftrument!

[Solemn mufick

Hark, Paladour! it founds: but what occafion
Hath Cadwall now to give it motion? hark!

Guid. Is he at home?

Bel. He went hence even now.

Guid. What does he mean? Since death of my dear'st

Mother,

It did not speak before. All folemn things

Should anfwer folemn accidents.

The matter ?

Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys,
Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys.

Is Cadwall mad?

Enter Arviragus, ruith Imogen dead, bearing her in

bis arms.

Bel. Look, here he comes!

And brings the dire occafion, in his arms,

Of what we blame him for.

Arv. The bird is dead,

That we have made fo much on! I had rather
Have skipt from fixteen years of age to fixty;
And turn'd my leaping time into a crutch,

Than have feen this.

Guid. Oh fweeteft, faireft lilly!

My

My brother wears thee not one half fo well,

As when thou grew'st thyself.

Bel. (23) O melancholy !

Who ever yet could found thy bottom ? find

The ooze, to fhew what coaft thy sluggish carrack

Might eas'lieft harbour in ?

thou bleffed thing!

Jove knows, what man thou might'st have made; but ah! Thou dy'dft, a moft rare boy, of melancholy!

How found you him?

Arv. Stark, as you fee:

Thus fmiling, as fome fly had tickled flumber!

Not as Death's dart being laugh'd at: his right cheek Repofing on a cushion.

Guid Where?

Arv. O'th' floor:

His arms thus leagu'd; I thought, he flept; and put My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness Answer'd my steps too loud.

Guid. Why, he but fleeps;

If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed;
With female Fairies will his tomb be haunted,
And worms will not come near thee.

Arv. With fairest flow'rs,

'Whilst fummer lafts, and I live here, Fidele,

I'll fweeten thy fad grave.

Thou shalt not lack

The flow'r that's like thy face, pale Primrose; nor

The azur'd Hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor

(23) Oh, Melancholy!

Who ever yet could found thy Bottom? find

The Ooze, to shew what Coast thy fluggish Care
Might eas' lieft harbour in?]

But as plaufible as This at firft Sight may feem, all Thofe, who know any thing of good Writing, will agree, That our Author muft have wrote;

~to shew what Coast thy fuggish Carrack Might eas' lieft harbour in?

Carrack is a flow, heavy built, Veffel of Burthen. This reftores the Uniformity of the Metaphor, compleats the Senfe, and is a Word of great Propriety and Beauty to defign a melancholic. Perfon. Mr. Warburton.

The

The leaf of Eglantine; which not to flander,
Out-fweeten'd not thy breath. (24) The Raddock would,
With charitable bill, (oh bill, fore-fhaming
Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lye
Without a Monument !) bring thee all this;
Yea, and furr'd mofs befides, when flow'rs are none,
Those winter-gown thy coarse,

Guid. Pr'ythee, have done;

And do not play in wench-like words with that:
Which is fo ferious. Let us bury him,
And not protract with admiration what

Is now due debt.

-To th' grave.

Arvu. Say, where fhall's lay him?

Guid. By good Euriphile, our mother.
Arv. Be't fo:

And let us, Paladour, though now our voices

Have got the mannifh crack, fing him to th' ground;
As, once, our mother: use like note, and words,
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

Guid. Cadwall,

I cannot fing: I'll weep, and word it with thee;
For notes of forrow, out of tune, are worfe
Than Priests and Fanes that lie.

Arv We'll fpeak it then.

Bel. Great griefs, I fee, med'cine the lefs. For Cloten Is quite forgot. He was a Queen's fon, boys,

And though he came our enemy, remember,

Was paid for that: the mean and mighty, rotting

(24)

The Radock would,

With charitable Bill, bring thee all this;

Tea, and furr'd Mofs befides. When Flow'rs are none
To winter-ground thy Course]

Here, again, the Metaphor is ftrangely mangled. What Senfe is there in winter-grounding a Coarfe with Mofs? A Coarfe might indeed be faid to be winter-grounded in good thick. Clay. But the Epithet fürr'd to Moss directs us plainly to another Reading.

To Winter-gown thy Coarse.

i. e. Thy Summer Habit shall be a light Gown of Flowers, thy Winter Habit a good warm furr'd Gown of Moss. Mr. Warburton. Together,