Together, have one duft; yet reverence,
(That angel of the world,) doth make distinction
Of place 'twixt high and low. Our foe was princely,
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him, as a Prince.

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 whilft: Brother, begin.
Guid. Nay, Cadwall, we muft lay his head to th
Eaft;

My father hath a reason for't.

Aru. 'Tis true.

Guid. Come on then, and remove him:

Arv. So, begin.

SONG.

Guid. Fear no more the heat o'th' Sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages ;
Thou thy worldly task haft done,

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

As chimney Sweepers, come to duft.
Arv. Fear no more the frown o'th' Great,
Thou art paft the tyrant's ftroke ;

Care no more to cloath and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak:
The Scepter, learning, phyfick, muft
All follow this, and come to duft.
Guid. Fear no more the lightning-flafb.
Arv. Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-flone.
Guid. Fear no flander, cenfure rash.
Arv. Thou haft finish'd joy and moan.
Both, All lovers young, all lovers, muft
Confign to thee, and come to duft.
Guid. No exorcifer harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Guid. Ghoft, unlaid, forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!

Both.

Both. Quiet confummation have,
And renowned be thy Grave!

Enter Belarius, with the body of Cloten.

Guid. We've done our obfequies: come, lay him down. Bel. Here's a few flow'rs, but about midnight more; The herbs, that have on them cold dew o'th' night, Are ftrewings fitt'ft for Graves. Upon their facesYou were as flow'rs, now wither'd; even fo These herbelets fhall, which we upon you ftrow. Come on, away, apart upon our knees

The ground, that gave them firft, has them again :
Their pleasure here is past, fo is their pain.

Imogen, awaking.

Imo. Yes, Sir, to Milford-Haven, which is the

I thank youthither?

'Ods pittikins

I've gone all night

by yond bush?

can it be fix mile yet?

But, foft! no bedfellow..

[Exeunt

pray, how far

all night-'faith, I'll lye down and fleep. Oh Gods, and Goddeffes! [Seeing the body.

These flow'rs are like the pleasures of the world;

This bloody man the care on't.I hope, I dream;
For, fure, I thought I was a cave-keeper,

And cook to honeft creatures. But 'tis not fo:
"Twas but a bolt of nothing, fhot at nothing,
Which the brain makes of fumes: Our very eyes
Are fometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
I tremble ftill with fear; but if there be
Yet left in heav'n as small a drop of pity

As a wren's eye, oh Gods! a part of it!
The dream's here ftill; ev'n when I wake, it is
Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
A headless man!- -the garments of Pofthumus?
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.
Murther in heaven?-

Pifanio!

-how!

'tis gone!

All

All curfes madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! thou,
'Twas thou, confpiring with that devil Cloten,
Hast here cut off my lord. To write, and read,
Be henceforth treach'rous !-Damn'd Pifanio
Hath with his forged letters-damn'd Pifanio!:
From this the braveft veffel of the world
Struck the main-top! oh Pofthumus, alas,

Where is thy head? where's That? ah me, where's
That?

Pifanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,

And left his head on. How fhould this be, Pifanio?·
"Tis he and Cloten. Malice and lucre in them
Have laid this woe here. Oh, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
The drug he gave me, which, he faid, was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it

Murth'rous to th' fenfes ? that confirms it home ::
This is Pifanio's deed, and Cloten's. Oh!
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may feem to thofe
Which chance to find us. Oh, my

lord! my

lord!

Enter Lucius, Captains, and a Soothsayer. Cap. To them, the legions garrifon'd in Gallia, After your will, have crofs'd the fea, attending You here at Milford-Haven, with your Ships: They are in readiness.

Luc. But what from Rome ?

Cap. The Senate hath stirr'd up the Confiners, And Gentlemen of Italy, moft willing fpirits, That promise noble service: and they come Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,

Syenna's Brother.

Luc. When expect you them?

Cap. With the next benefit o'th' wind..

Luc. This forwardness

Makes our hopes fair. Command, our prefent numbers Be mufter'd; bid the Captains look to't. Now, Sir, What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's purpose ? Seath. Last night, the very Gods fhew'd me a vision.

(I faft, and pray'd for their intelligence)
I faw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
From the fpungy fouth, to this part of the Weft,
There vanish'd in the fun-beams; which portends
(Unless my fins abuse my divination)

Succefs to th' Roman Hoft.

Luc. Dream often so,

And never false !- -Soft, ho, what Trunk is here
Without his top? the ruin fpeaks, that fometime
It was a worthy building. How! a page!
Or dead, or fleeping on him? but dead, rather:
For Nature doth abhor to make his couch
With the defunct, or fleep upon the dead.
Let's fee the boy's face.

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'ft thy bloody pillow? who was he,
That, otherwise than noble Nature did,

Hath alter'd that good picture? what's thy interest
In this fad wreck ? how came it, and who is it?
What art thou?

Imo. I am nothing; or if not,

Nothing to be, were better. This was my mafter,
A very valiant Briton, and a good,

That here by mountaineers lyes flain: alas!
There are no more fuch masters: I may wander
From Eaft to Occident, cry out for service,
Try many, all good, ferve them truly, never
Find fuch another master.

Luc. 'Lack, good youth!

Thou mov'ft no lefs with thy complaining, than
Thy mafter in bleeding: fay his name, good friend.
Imo. Richard du Champ. If I do lye, and do
No harm by it, though the Gods hear, I hope, [afide.
They'll pardon it. Say you, Sir?

Luc. Thy name?

Imo. Fidele, Sir.

Luc. Thou doft approve thy felf the very same ;

Thy

Thy name well fits thy faith; thy faith, thy name:
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not fay
Thou fhalt be fo well master'd, but, be fure,
No lefs belov'd. The Roman Emperor's letters,
Sent by a Conful to me, fhould no fooner,
prefer thee: go with me.
Imo. I'll follow, Sir. But firft, an't please the Gods,
I'll hide my mafter from the flies as deep

Than thine own worth,

As thefe door pickaxes can dig: and when

With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' ftrew'd his Grave,

And on it faid a century of pray❜rs,

(Such as I can,) twice o'er, I'll weep and figh;

And, leaving fo his fervice, follow you,

So please you entertain me.

Luc. Ay, good youth,

And rather father thee, than mafter thee.
My friends,

The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us
Find out the prettiest dazied-Plot we can,
And make him with our pikes and partizans
A Grave; come, arm him: boy, he is preferr'd
By thee to us, and he shall be interr'd
As foldiers can. Be chearful, wipe thine eyes:
Some Falls are means the happier to arise.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to Cymbeline's Palace.

Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pifanio.

Cym. A a fever with the abfence of her fon;

Gain; and bring me word, how 'tis with her;
A

Madness, of which her life's in danger; heav'ns!
How deeply you at once do touch me. Imogen,
The great part of my comfort, gone! my Queen
Upon a defperate bed, and in a time

When fearful wars point at me! her fon gone,
So needful for this prefent! it ftrikes me, paft
The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,
Who needs muft know of her departure, and
Doft seem so ignorant, we'll force it from thee

By