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With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
And worms will not come to thee.
Arv. With faírest flowers,
Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll fweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack
The flow'r that's like thy face, pale primrose; not
The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, which not to flairder,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath. The ruildeckt would
With charitable bill, oh bill fore-flarning
Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers ly
Without a monuinent ! bring thee all this;
Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flow'rs are none,
To winter-ground thy corse.
Guid. Prøythee, have done ;
And do not play in wench-like words with that
Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
And not protract with adıniration what
Is now due debt.-
Arv. Say, where all's lay him?
Guid. By good Euriphile, our mother.
Ary. Be't fo:
And let us, Paladour, though now our voices
Have got the mannish crack, ling him to th'ground,
As, once, our mother; use 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 sorrow out of tune, are worte Than priests and fanes that lie.
Ary. We'll speak it then.
Bel. Great griefs I see ined'cine 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, Together, have one dust, yei Reverence; Erotting That angel of the world, douli inake 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.
+ The růddock is the redbreast. Johnson. VOL. IX.
Guid. Pray fetch him hither.
Therfies' body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.
Arv. If you'll go fetch him,
We'll say our song the whilft. Brother, begin.
Guid. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to th' My father haih a reason for't.
[east; Arv. 'Tis true. Guid. Come on then, and remove him. Arv. So, begin.
Guid. Fear no more the heat o'th' sun,
· Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly talk haft done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wagei.
Both golden lads and girls all must,
As chinney-sweepers, come to duft.
Arv. Fear no more the frown oʻth great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to cloath and eat;
To thee the reed is, as the oak :
Both the fceptre, learning, physic, mu?
All follow this, and come to dust.
Guid. Fear no more the lightning-flash.
Arv. Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-stone.-
Guid. Fear not sander, cenfure ras.
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and nioan.
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.
Guid. No exorciser harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Guid. Ghost, urlaid, forbear thee!
Ary. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consumination have,
And renowned be thy grave.
S CE N E VI. Enter Belarius, with the body of Cloten. Guid. We've done our obfequies: come, lay him
down. Bel. Here's a few flowrs, but about midnight more; The herbs that have on them cold dew o'th' night, Are strewings firt'lt for graves.-Upon their facesYou were as flow'rs, now witherd; even so These herbelets Mall, which we upon you strow. Come on, away. . Apart upon our knees.
- The ground that gave the first has them again: Their pleasure here is past, so is their pain. [Exeunt.
Imogen awaking. Imo. Yes, Sir; to Milford-haven which is the
I thank you-by yon bush? —pray, how far this
ther? 'Ods pittikins-can it be fix mile yet?
all nightfaith I'll ly 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. 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 fumès. Our very eyes Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith I tremble still with fear; but if there be Yet left in Heav'n as finall a drop of pity As a wren's eye, fear'd gods!'a part of it! The dreain's here still; ev'n when I wake it is Without me as within me; not iinagin'd, felt. A headless man!--the garinents of Posthumnus?' 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 cures madded Hecuba gave the Greckssi
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! thou,
'Twas thou, conspiring with that devil Cloten,
Haft here cut off my Lord. To write and read
Be bence forth treach'rous? - Damn'd Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters-damn'd Pisanio!
From this the braveft vessel of the world
Struck the main-top ! oh Posthumus, alas,
Where is thy head? where's that? ah me, where's
Pisanio might have killd thee at the beart, (that?
And left this head on. How should this be? Pifanio?
'Tis he and Cloten. Malice and luere in them
Have laid this woe here. Oh, 'tis pregnant, pregnant !
The drug he gave me, which he faid was precious,
And cordial to me, have I not found it
Murd'rous to th' senses that confirms it home :
This is Pifanio's deed and Cloten's. Oh!
Give colour to my pale cheek with rby blood,
That we the horrider may feem to those
Which chance to find us. Oh, my Lord! my Lord!
Enter Lucius, Captains, and a Soothsayer.
Capt. To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia,
After your will, have cross'd the sea, attending
You here at Milford-haven; with your thips
They are in readiness.
Luc. But what from Rome?
Capt. The Senate hath ftirr'd up the confiners,
And gentlemen of Italy, moft willing spirits,
That promise noble service; and they come
Under the conduct of bold lachimo,
Luc. When expect you them?
Capt. With the next benefit o'th' wind.
Luc. This forwardness
Makes our hopes fait. Command our present num.
Be musterd; bid the captains look to't. Now, Sir,
What have you dream'd of lare of this war's purpose
Sooth. Last night the very gods shew'd me a vilian, (1 fult and pray'd for their intelligence).
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing's
From the spungy south to this part of the west,
There vanim'd in the sun-beains; which portends, ·
Unlets my fins abufe my divination,
Success to the Roman host.
Luc. Dream often fo,
And never false!--Soft, ho, what trunk is here -
Without his top? the ruin fpeaks, that sometiine -
It was a worthy building. How! a page !-
Or dead, or sleeping on him? but dead rather : -
Før Nature doth abhor to make his couch
Wiih the defunct, or sleep upon the deada,
Let's see the boy's face.
Capt. He's alive, my Lord. '
Lúc. He'll then įnitruct us of this body. Young
Inform us of thy fortunes, for, it feems, [one;
'They crave to be demanded: who is this
Thou mak'ıt thy bloody pillow? who was he,
That, otherwise than noble Nature did,
Hath alter'd that good picture? what's thy interest :
In this sad 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 masterz:
A very valiant Briton and a good,
That here by mountaineers lves slain : alas!
There are no more such masters: I may wander?
From east to occident, cry out for service,
Try many, and all good, serve truly, never
Find such another master.
Luc. 'Lack, good youth!
Thou mov'ít no less with thy complaining than
Thv master in bleeding : say his name, good friend.
Imo. Richard du Champ. If I do lie, ani do
No harın by it, though the gods bear, I hope [ Afide,
They'll pardon it
Say you, Sir?
Luc Thy name? :
Imo. Fidele, Sir.
Luc. (hou dost approve thyself the very same;
Thy naine well fits ihy faith; thy faith thy name.
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say:
Thou Ahalt be lo well master'd, but, be sure,