Is breach of all. I am ill; but your being by me
Cannot amend me: Society is no comfort
To one not sociable: I'm not very sick,
Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here;
I'll rob none but myself; and let me die,
Stealing so poorly.

Gui. I love thee; I have spoke it:
How much the quantity, the weight as much,
As I do love my father.

Bel. What? how? how?

Arv. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me In my good brother's fault: I know not why I love this youth; and I have heard you say, Love's reason's without reason; the bier at door, And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say, My father, not this youth.

Bel. O noble strain!

[Aside.

O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness! Cowards father cowards, and base things sire base: Nature hath meal, and bran; contempt, and

Arv. Brother, farewell.

Imo. I wish you sport.

Arv. You health. So please you, sir.

Imo. Aside. These are kind creatures.
Gods, what lies I have heard!

Our courtiers say, all's savage, but at court:
Experience, O, thou disprov'st report!

The imperious seas breed monsters; for the dish,
Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish.

I am sick still; heart-sick :-Pisanio,

I'll now taste of thy drug.

Gui. I could not stir him:

He said, he was gentle, but unfortunate;
Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.

Arv. Thus did he answer me: yet said, hereafter

I might know more.

Bel. To the field, to the field:

We'll leave you for this time; go in, and rest. Arv. We'll not be long away.

And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine
His perishing root, with the increasing vine!
Bel. It is great morning. Come; away.-
Who's there?

Gui. He is but one: You and my brother search

What companies are near: pray you, away,
Let me alone with him.

[Exeunt Belarius and Arviragus.

Clo. Soft! what are you

That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers?
I have heard of such.-What slave art thou?
Gui. A thing

More slavish did I ne'er, than answering
A slave without a knock.

Clo. Thou art a robber,

A law-breaker, a villain: Yield thee, thief.
Gui. To who? to thee? What art thou?
Have not I

An arm as big as thine? a heart as big?
Thy words, I grant, are bigger; for I wear not
My dagger in my mouth. Say, what thou art;
Why I should yield to thee?

Clo. Thou villain base,
Know'st me not by my clothes?

Gui. No, nor thy tailor, rascal,

Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes, Which, as it seems, make thee.

Clo. Thou precious varlet, My tailor made them not.

the wise:

At fools I laugh, not fear them.

Clo. Die the death:

When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
I'll follow those that even now fled hence,
And on the gates of Lud's town set your heads:
Yield, rustic mountaineer. [Exeunt fighting.

Enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS.
Bel. No company's abroad.

Arv. None in the world: You did mistake him, sure.

Bel. I cannot tell: Long is it since I saw him, But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour,

Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice, And burst of speaking, were as his: I am absolute,

'Twas very Cloten.

Arv. In this place we left them:

I wish my brother make good time with him, You say he is so fell.

Bel. Being scarce made up,

I mean, to man, he had not apprehension
Of roaring terrors; for the effect of judgment
Is oft the cause of fear: But see, thy brother.

Re-enter GUIDERIUS, with CLOTEN's head.
Gui. This Cloten was a fool; an empty purse,
There was no money in't: not Hercules
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 hast thou done?

Gui. I am 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 single hand he'd take us in,
Displace our heads, where (thank the gods!)
they grow,

And set them on Lud's town.

Bel. We are all undone.

hearing,

(As it is like him,) might break out, and swear He'd fetch us in; yet is't not probable

To come alone, either he so undertaking,
Or they so suffering: then on good ground we
fear,

If we do fear this body hath a tail
More perilous than the head.

Arv. Let ordinance

Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'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.

Gui. With his own sword,

Which he did wave against my throat, I have

ta'en

His head from him: I'll throw it into the creek
Behind our rock; and let it to the sea,
And tell the fishes, he's the queen's son, Cloten:
That's all I reck.
[Exit.

Bel. I fear 'twill be reveng'd: 'Would, Polydore, thou had'st not done't! though valour

Becomes thee well enough.

Arv. 'Would I had done't,

So the revenge alone pursued me!-Polydore,
I love thee brotherly; but envy much,
Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would,
revenges,

That possible strength might meet, would seek us through,

And put us to our answer.

Bel. Well, 'tis done :

We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger
Where there's no profit. I pry'thee, to our rock;
You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay
Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him
To dinner presently.

Arv. Poor sick Fidele!

I'll willingly to him: To gain his colour, I'd let a parish of such Clotens blood, And praise myself for charity.

Bel. O thou goddess,

[Eril.

rudeness

Answer'd my steps too loud.

Gui. Why, he but sleeps:

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

Re-enter GUIDERIUS.

Gui. Where's my brother?

I have sent Cloten's clotpole down the stream,
In embassy to his mother: his body's hostage
For his return.
[Solemn music.

Bel. My ingenious instrument!
Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion! Hark!
Gui. Is he at home?

Bel. He went hence even now.

Gui. What does he mean? since death of my dear'st mother

It did not speak before. All solemn things
Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?
Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys,
Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys.
Is Cadwal mad?

Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, bearing IMOGEN, as
dead, in his arms.

Bel. Look, here he comes,
And brings the dire occasion in his arms,
Of what we blame him for!

Arv. The bird is dead,

That we have made so much on. I had rather Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty, To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch, Than have seen this.

Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily!

If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed; 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;

nor

The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock
would,

With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming
Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a monument !) bring thee all this;
Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are
none,

To winter-ground thy corse.

Gui. Pry'thee 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
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,

As when thou grew'st thyself.

Bel. O, melancholy!

Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare Might easiliest harbour in?-Thou blessed thing! Jove knows what man thou might'st have made; but I,

Thou died'st, a most rare boy, of melancholy !— How found you him?

Arv. Stark, as you see:

Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at: his right cheek

rotting

Together, have one dust; yet reverence, (That angel of the world,) doth make distinction 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. [Exit Belarius. Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to

the east ;

My father hath a reason for❜t.

Arv. '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 about midnight, 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 herb'lets shall, which we upon you strow.—
Come on, away: apart upon your knees.
The ground, that gave them first, has them again:
Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.
[Exeunt Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.
Imo. Awaking. Yes, sir, to Milford-Ha-
ven; Which is the way?—

I thank you.-By yon bush ?-Pray, how far thither?

'Ods pittikins!-can it be six miles yet?—
I have gone all night;-'Faith, I'll lie down and
sleep.

But, soft! no bedfellow :-O, gods and goddess-
es!
Seeing the body.
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 'tis not so;
'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
Which the brain makes of fumes; Our very eyes

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
Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
A headless man!-The garments of Posthúmus!
I know the shape of his 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.-Pisanio,
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten,
Hast here cut off my lord.-To write, and read,
Be henceforth treacherous!-Damn'd Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters,-damn'd Pisanio-
From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the main-top!-O Posthumus! alas,
Where is thy head? where's that? Ah 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. O, 'tis 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,
That we the horrider may seem to those
Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord!

Enter LUCIUS, a Captain, and other Officers,

and a Soothsayer.

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: They are here in readiness.

Luc. But what from Rome?

Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners, And gentlemen of Italy; most willing spirits, That promise noble service; and they come Under the conduct of bold Íachimo, Sienna's brother.

Luc. When expect you them?

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