With his own single hand he'ld take us in, Displace our heads where-thank the gods!—they

grow,

And set them on Lud's-town.

Bel.

We are all undone.

Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose,

But that 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?

No single soul

Bel.
Can we set eye on; but in all safe reason

130

He must have some attendants. Though his

humour

Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that

From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not
Absolute* madness could so far have raved *Certain.
To bring him here alone; although perhaps

It may be heard at court that such as we
Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time
May make some stronger head; the which he hear-
ing-

As it is like him-might break out, and swear 140
He'ld 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.

Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er,
My brother hath done well.

Bel.

Let ordinance

I had no mind

With his own sword,

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

Gui.

Which he did wave against my throat, I have

ta'en

His head from him: I'll throw't into the creek
Behind our rock; and let it to the sea,

150

[Exit.

And tell the fishes he's the queen's son, Cloten: That's all I reck.

Bel.

I fear 'twill be revenged:

Would, Polydore, thou hadst 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 re

venges,

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 prithee, 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'ld let a parish of such Clotens blood,
And praise myself for charity.

160

[Exit.

Bel.
O thou goddess, 169
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 sweet head; and yet as rough,
Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonder
That an invisible instinct should frame them
To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,
Civility not seen from other, valour
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.

180

Gui.

Re-enter GUIDERIUS.

Where's my brother?

I have sent Cloten's clotpoll 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.

Gui.

He went hence even now.

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?

Bel.

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

190

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

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, 200 Than have seen this.

Gui.

O sweetest, fairest lily! My brother wears thee not the one half so well 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 mightst have made; *Ship of burden

but I,

Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy.
How found you him?

Arv.

Stark, as you see:
*

*Stiff.

Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, 210 Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at; his right

cheek

Reposing on a cushion.

Gui.

Arv.

Where?

O' the floor;

His arms thus leagued: I thought he slept, and put My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rude

ness

Answer'd my steps too loud.

Gui. Why, he but sleeps: 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.

219

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 azured harebell, 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.

*Redbreast. †Protect from frost.

Prithee, have done;

Gui.
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.

231

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.

241

*Repeat words. 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

He was paid for that: though mean and mighty,

rotting

Together, have one dust, yet reverence,

That angel of the world, doth make distinction
Of place 'tween high and low.

princely;

Our foe was

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

Gui.
Thersites' body is as good as Ajax',
When neither are alive.

Pray you, fetch him hither. 251

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.

SONG.

So. Begin.

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.

260

270