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No, 'tis slander ; Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile : whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world: kings, queens, and states, Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave, This viperous slander enters.

SCENE.

Before the Cave of Belarius.

Enter Imogen, in Boy's Clothes.

Imo. I see a man's life is a tedious one: I have tired myself; and for two nights together Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick, But that my resolution helps me.- Milford, When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee, Thou wast within a ken: 0 Jove! I think, Foundations fly the wretched : such, I mean, Where they should be relieved. Two beggars told me, I could not miss my way: will poor folks lie, That have afflictions on them; knowing 'tis

A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder,
When rich ones scarce tell true: to lapse in fulness
Is sorer, than to lie for need; and falsehood
Is worse in kings than beggars.—My dear lord !
Thou art one o' the false ones. Now I think on thee,
My hunger's gone : but even before, I was
At point to sink for food.—But what is this?
Here is a path to it: 'tis some savage hold :
I were best not call; I dare not call : yet famine,
Ere clean it o’erthrow nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty and peace breed cowards; hardness ever
Of hardiness is mother.

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FUNERAL DIRGE.
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,

Thoua rt 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

Consignt to thee, and come to dust.

Gui. No exorcisor harm thee !
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have;

And renowned be thy grave.

IN-BORN ROYALTY.

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 enchafed, as the rudest 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.

* Judgment.

+ Seal the same contract.

A ROUTED ARMY.

No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost,
But that the heavens fought : the king himself
Of his wings destitute, the army broken,
And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying
Through a straight lane; the enemy full-hearted,
Lolling the tongue with slaughtering, having work
More plentiful than tools to do’t, struck down
Some mortally, some slightly touch’d, some falling,
Merely through fear; that the strait pass was damm'd
With .dead men, hurt behind, and cowards living
To die with lengthen'd shame.

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I, in mine own woe charm’d, Could not find death where I did hear him groan; Nor feel him where he struck: being an ugly monster, 'Tis strange, he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, Sweet words; or hath more ministers than we That draw his knives i’ the war.

IMOGEN AWAKING.

Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven;
Which is the way ?
I thank you.-. By yon bush ?—Pray, how far thither ?
'Ods pettikins !*—can it be six miles yet ?
I have gone all night :-'faith, I'll lie down and sleep.
But, soft! no bedfellow :-0, gods and goddesses !

[Seeing the body.
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
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 imagined, felt.

H A MLET.

MORNING.
But, look, the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill.

REAL GRIEF.
Seems, madam! nay, it is; I know not seems.
'Tis not alone, my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,

* This diminutive adjuration is derived from God's my pity.

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