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Guid. • Fear no more the lightning-fash.

Arv. Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-stone.
Guid. · Fear no Nander, censure rash.

Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and mnoan,
Both, All lovers young, all lovers must

Consign to thee, and come to duft.
Guid. No exorciser harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Guid. Ghost, unlaid, forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee !
Both. Quiet confummation have

Unremoved be ihy 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'oight,
" Are strewings fitt'st for graves.-Upon their faces-

You were as flow'rs, now wither'd; even so or These herblets shall, which we upon you strow, 6. Come on, away, apart upon our knees“ The ground that gave them first, has them again : « Their pleasure here is paft, so is their pain. [Exeura

S CE N E VI. Imogen awaking Imo." Yes, Sir, to Milford-haven, which is the way ' I thank you by yond bush? -Pray, how far

thither ? . 'Ods pitikins- can it be fix mile yet? • I've gone all night'faith, I'll lie down and sleep. • But, loft! no bedfellow-Oh gods and goddesses!

[Seeing the body. · These flow'rs are like the pleasures of the world ; • This bloody man the care on't l hope I dream; ^ For sure I thought I was a cave-keeper,

And cook to honelt creatures. But 'tis not so: « 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, • Which the brain makes of fumes : our very eyes • Are sometimes like our judgments, blind, Good faitba • I tremble still with fear; but if there be " Yet left in beav'n as small a drop of pity

1

“As a wren's eye, oh gods ! a part of it !

The dream's here still; ev'n when I wake, it is 5. 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!-how l-'tis gone !--Pisanio!
All curses 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 Pilaniol.
From this the bravest vessel 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 thy head on, How should 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 said was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it
Murth'rous to th' senses ? that confirms it home ::
This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's. Oh !
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, ,
That we the horrider may seem to those
Which chance to find us.

Lord!

my

Lord !!

oh, my

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Enter. Lucius, Captains, and a Soothsayer. Cap. To them, the legions garrison'd in Gallia,', After your will, have crois’d the sea, attending You here at Milford-haven, with your thips : They are in readiness

Luc. But what from Rome ?

Cap: The Senate bath stirr'd up the confiners,";
And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits,
That promile noble service ; and they come
Under the conduct of bold lachimo,
Sycana's brother.

Luc. When expect you them?
Cap. With the next benefit o'th' wind.

Luc. This forwardness
Makes our hopes fair, Command our present numbers
Be muller'd ; bid the Captains look to't. Now, Sir,

[Ta the Soothsayer. What have you dream'd of late, of this war's purpose ?

Sooth. Last night, the very gods shew'd me a vision. (I fall and pray'd for their intelligence). I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd From the (pungy fouth, to this part of the west, There vanith in the sun-beams ; which portends (Unless my fins abuse my divination), Success to th’ Roman hoft.

Luc, Dream often fo,
And never falle! -Soft, ho, what trunk is here
Without his top? the ruia speaks, that fometime
It was a worthy building. How! a page ?
Or dead, or fleepiog on him? but dead rather :
For nature doth abhor to make his couch
With the defunct, or fleep upon the dead.
Let's see the boy's face.

Capt. He's alive, my Lord.

Lúc. He'll then instruct us of this body. Young one,
Inform us of thy fortunes ; for it feems
They crave to be demanded. Who is tbis
Thou mak'lt 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 master,
A very valiant Briton, and a good,
I hat here by mountaineers lies Alain : alas !
There are are no more such malters, I

may

wander From east to occident, cry out for service, Try many, all good, serve them truly, never Find such another master.

Luc. ’Lack, gocd youth ! Thou mov'it no less with thy complaining, than "Ihy maiter bleeding : fay his naue, good friend..

Ima. Richard du Champ. If I du lye, and do

fame;

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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 dost approve thyself the very
Thy name well fits thy faith ; thy faith, thy name.
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say
Thou shalt be so well master'd, but, be sure,
No less belov'd. The Roman Emperor's letters,
Sent by a conful to me, should no sooner,
Than thine own worth, prefer thee: go with me.

Imo. I'll follow, Sir. But first, an't please the gods,
I'll hide my master from the flies as deep
As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when
With wild wood leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd bis
And on it said a century of pray'rs

[grave, (such as I can) twice o'er, I'll weep and figh; And, leaving so his service, follow you, So please you entertain me.

Luc. Ay, good youth,
And racher father thee, than master 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 partisans

grave ; come, arm him*: boy, he is preferr'd
By thee to us, and he shall be interr'd
As soldiers can.

Be chearful, wipe thine eyes, Sone falls are means the happier to arise. [Exeunt.. SCENE VIII. Changes to Cymbeline's palace.

Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pifanio. Cym. Again; "and bring me word how 'tis with her lo A fever with the absence of her son ; 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 desperate bed, and in a time When fearful wars point at me! her son gone, 1 So needful for this present! it strikes me palt

* 1.... take him up in your arms.

А

The hope of comfort. ' But for thee, fellow,
Who needs must know of her departure, and
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll force it from thee
By a sharp torture.

Pif. Sir, my life is your's,
I set it at your will : but for my mistress,
I nothing know where she remains; why gone;
Nor when she purposes return. 'Beseech your High
Hold me your loyal servant,

[ness,
Lord, Good my Liege,
The day that she was missing, he was here ;
I dare be bound he's true, and shalt perform
All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,
There wants no diligence in seeking him,
And will no doubt be found.

Cym. The time is troublesome;
We'll flip you for a season, but our jealousy
Do's yet depend:

Lord. So, please your Majesty,
The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your coast, with large supply
Of Roman gentlemen, by th' lenate sent,

Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and Queen ? I am amaz'd with matter.

Lord. Good my Liege, Your preparation can affront no less Than what you hear of. Come more, for more you're :

ready :: The want is, but to put

there

powers in motion, That long to move..

Gym. I thank you ; let's withdraw,
And meet the time, as it seeks us.

We fear not:
What can from Italy annoy' us, but
We grieve at chances here.-

[Exeunt Cymbeline and Lordtá
Pif. I've had no letter from my master, fince
I wrote him Imogen was Nain. 'Tis strange;
Nor hear I from my mistrels, who did promise
To yield me often tidings. Neither know. I,
What is betide to Cloten ; but remain
Perplex'd in all

The heavens stili must work; : Wherein. I'm false, I'm honelt: not true, to be trucu These present wars lhall find I love my country,

-Away.

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