Arv. 'Would I had done't,

So the revenge alone purfu'd me!-Polydore,

I love thee brotherly; but envy much,

h

Thou halt robb'd me of this deed: I would, revenges,

That poffible ftrength might meet, would feek us through, 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. I pr'ythee, to our rock;
You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay

'Till hafty Polydore 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 sweet head; and yet as rough,
Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rudeft wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful,
That an invifible inftinct fhould 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,

h

[Exit.

revenges,]-fuch purfuits of vengeance as would admit but the poffibility of refiftance.

iTo gain his colour,]-For the recovery of Fidele, I'd let a thousand fuch clowns blood.

k invifible]-hidden, fecret, the caufe whereof was unknown and unfufpected.

What

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 embaffy to his mother; his body's hoftage
For his return.

Bel. My ingenious inftrument!

[Solemn mufic,

Hark, Polydore, it founds! But what occafion
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!

Guid. Is he at home?

Bel. He went hence even now.

Guid. What does he mean? fince death of my dearest mother

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

Is Cadwal mad?

Re-enter Arviragus, with Imogen as dead, bearing her in

his 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 skipp'd'from fixteen years of age to fixty,
And turn'd my leaping time into a crutch,
Than have seen this.

Guid. Oh sweetest, fairest lilly!

My brother wears thee not the one half fo well,
As when thou grew'ft thyself.

ingenious]-harmonious, musical,

Bel.

Bel. O, melancholy! ·

Who ever yet could found thy bottom? find
The ooze, or fhew what coaft thy fluggish "crare
Might eafiliest harbour in ?-Thou blessed thing!
Jove knows what man thou might'ft have made; but I,
Thou dy'dft, a moft rare boy, of melancholy!-·
How found you him?

Arv. Stark, as you see;

Thus fmiling, as fome fly had tickled flumber,

P

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

Guid. Where?

Arv. O' the floor;

His arms thus leagu'd: I thought, he flept; and put My clouted brogues from off my feet, whofe 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 to him.

Arv. With fairest flowers,

Whilft fummer lafts, and I live here, Fidele,

I'll sweeten thy fad grave: Thou shalt not lack
The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrofe; nor
The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to flander,

Out sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would,
With charitable bill (O bill, fore fhaming

Thofe rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a monument!) bring thee all this;

Yea, and furr'd mofs befides, when flowers are none,

To winter ground thy corfe.

mcrare]-crayer, bark, veffel.

• Stark,]-Stiff.

" but I,]-know only-but ab!

P being laugh'd at:]-as is apparent from his placid countenance. a brogues]-fhoes.

thee.

the ruddock]-the red-breaft.

To winter-ground thy corfe.]-To fcreen it from the inclemency of

that feafon.

Guid

i

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 the grave.

Arv. Say, where fhall's lay him?

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

And let us, Polydore, though now our voices

Have got the mannish crack, fing him to the ground, As once our mother; ufe like note, and words,

Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

Guid. Cadwal,

I cannot fing: I'll weep, and word it with thee:
For notes of forrow, out of tune, are worse

Bel. Great griefs, I fee, medicine the lefs: for Cloten Is quite forgot. He was a queen's fon, boys;

And, though he came our enemy, remember,

x

He was paid for that: Though mean and mighty, rotting

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 you, fetch him hither.

Therfites' body is as good as Ajax,

When neither are alive.

protra]-the payment of a debt already due.

fanes]-monumental infcriptions, tomb itones in temples.

* paid]-punished.

reverence,]-a due regard to fubordination, that power which preferves peace and decorum in the world.

Arv. If you'll go fetch him,

We'll fay our fong the whilft.-Brother, begin.

[Exit Belarius.

Guid. Nay, Cadwal, we muft lay his head to the east;

My father hath a reason for't.

Guid. Come on then, and remove him.

Arv. So,-begin.

SONG.

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

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Both. Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-fweepers, come to duft.

Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great,

Thou art past the tyrant's ftroke;

Care no more to cloath, and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak:

Both. The fcepter, learning, phyfic, must
All follow thee, and come to duft.

a

Guid. Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-ftone;
Guid. Fear not flander, cenfure rash;
Arv. Thou haft finish'd joy and moan :

Both. All lovers young, all lovers must

b

Confign to thee, and come to duft.

The feepter, learning, &c.]-All human excellence is equally fubject to the stroke of death: neither the power of kings, nor the fcience of scholars, nor the art of those whofe immediate ftudy is the prolongation of life, can protect them from the final destiny of man. a this.

b Confign to thee,]-Seal the fame contract with thee, add their names to thine in death's regifter.