Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done 't! though valour ACT IV 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

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 pr'ythee, 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 colour1
I'ld let a parish of such Clotens blood,
And praise myself for charity.

BEL.

O thou Goddess,

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 enchaf'd, as the rud'st 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.

160

[exit.

170

180

Sc. II

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.

1 to restore him to health.

ACT IV BEL.

Sc. II

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.

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,
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 shew what coast thy sluggish care

Might easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed Thing!

200

Jove knows what man thou might'st have made; but I,
Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy.

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 leagu'd: I thought he slept; and put

My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
Answer'd my steps too loud.

GUI.

Why, he but sleeps:

With fairest flowers,

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.
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 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.

GUI.

Pr'ythee, 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.

220

230

Say, where shall's lay him?

Be't so:

GUI. By good Euriphile, our mother.
ARV.

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.

240

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

He was paid for that: though mean and mighty rotting
Together have one dust, yet Reverence

ACT IV
Sc. II

ACT IV
Sc. II

(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.

250

Pray you, fetch him hither.

GUI. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the East;

ARV.

GUI.

ARV.

GUI.

ARV.

Вотн.

GUI.

ARV.

GUI.

ARV.

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.

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.
Fear no more the lightning-flash,

Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ;
Fear not slander, censure rash ;

Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorciser harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!

260

270

Вотн.

Quiet consummation have;

280

ACT IV
Sc. II

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 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 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.

290

[Exeunt BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. IмO. [awaking.] Yes, Sir, to Milford-Haven; which is the way?

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'll lie down and sleep.
But, soft! no bedfellow.-O Gods and Goddesses!

[seeing the body of CLOTEN.

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

300

Are sometimes, like our judgments, 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
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.-Pisanio,
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,

310