Guid. This Cloten was a fool; not Hercules Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none. Bel. What hast thou done?

Guid. 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.

Guid. 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?

Bel. No single soul

Can we set eye on; but, in all safe reason,
He must have some attendants;

It is not probable he would come alone.—
I had no mind

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

Guid. With his own sword,

Which he did wave against my throat, I've ta'en
His head from him: I'll throw't 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.

Bel. I fear, 'twill be reveng'd:

[Exit.

'Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't! though

valour

Becomes thee well enough.

Arv. 'Would I had done't!

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'l 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.

[Exi , nto he Cave,

Bel. O tho go dess,

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 wonderful,
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.

Enter Guiderius.

Guid. Where's my brother?

I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,
In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage
[Solemn Music in the Cave.
Bel. My ingenious instrument!-

For his return.

Hark, Polydore! it sounds! But what occasion
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!
Guid. Is he at home?

Bel. He went hence even now.

Guid. What does he mean?

Since death of my dear'st mother,

It did not speak before. All solemn things
Should answer solemn accidents.

Enter Arviragus.

Bel. Look, here he comes!

Aro. The bird is dead,

That we have made so much on. I had rather
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
Than have seen this.

Guid. O sweetest, fairest lily!

And art thou gone, my poor Fidele?

Bel. What! is he dead? How found you him? Aro. Stark:—smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,

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

Guid. Where?

Arc. O' the floor;

His arms thus leagu'd: I thought, he slept.

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:

Our foe was princely;

And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him as a prince. Go, bring your lily.
[Exeunt Guiderius and Arviragus into the
Cave.

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; but,

ah!

Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy.

Enter GUIDERIUS and Arviragus, from the Cave, bearing Imogen's Body.

Come, let us lay the bodies each by each,

And strew them o'er with flow'rs; and on the morrow Shall the earth receive them.

Are. Sweet Fidele!

Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's blast;

Thou thy worldly task hast done,
And the dream of life is past.

Guid. Monarchs, sages, peasants, must

Follow thee, and come to dust.

[Exeunt, bearing the Body.

SCENE V.

Cymbeline's Palace.

Enter Cymbeline, Second Lord, Pisanio, and Attendants.

Cym. Again; and bring me word, how the queen

does.

[Exit an Attendant.

A fever, with the absence of her son;

A madness, of which her life's in danger :—Heavens,
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,
So needful for this present: It strikes me, past
The hope of comfort.—But for thee, fellow,
Who needs must know of her departure, and
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
By a sharp torture.

Pisanio. Sir, my life is yours,
I humbly set it at your will.
2 Lord. Good my liege,

The day that she was missing, he was here:
I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform
All parts of his subjection loyally.

For Cloten,—

There wants no diligence in seeking him,
He will, no doubt, be found.

Cym. The time is troublesome;

We'll slip you for a season: but our jealousy
Does yet depend.

Enter First Lord.

1 Lord. So please your majesty,

The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,

Are landed on your coast.

Cym. Now for the counsel of my son, and queen!

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, the Two Lords, and
Attendants.

Pisanio. I heard no letter from my master, since
I wrote him, Imogen was slain: 'Tis strange:
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise
To yield me often tidings: Neither know I
What is betid to Cloten; but remain

Perplex'd in all. The Heavens still must work :
Wherein I'm false, I'm honest; not true, to be true.
These present wars shall find I love my country,
Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in them.
All other doubts, by time, let them be clear'd:
Fortune brings in some boats, that are not steer'd.

[Exit.