Enter Belarius and Arviragus.

Bel. No company's abroad.

Aro. None in the world: You did mistake him,

sure.

Bel. I cannot tell: Long is it since I saw him, But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice, And burst of speaking, were as his : I am absolute, 'Twas very Cloten.

Aro.

In this place we left them: I wish my brother make good time with him, You say he is so fell.

Bel.

Being scarce made up,
I mean, to man, he had not apprehension

Of roaring terrors: for the effect of judgement
Is oft the cause of fear: But see, thy brother.

Re-enter Guiderius, with Cloten's head.

Gui. This Cloten was a fool; an empty purse, There was no money in't: Not Hercules

Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none: Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne

My head as I do his.

Bel.

What hast thou done?

Gui. I am perfectt, what: 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.

• Countenance. Conquer, subdve.

VOL. VII.

We are all undone.

+ I am well-informed what.

Gui. 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. Though bis humour
Was nothing but mutations; ay, and that
From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not
Absolute madness could so far have rav'd,
To bring him here alone: Although, perhaps,
It may be heard at court, that such as we
Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time
May make some stronger head: the which he hearing
(As it is like him), might break out, and swear
He'd fetch us in; yet is't not probable

To come alone, either he so undertaking,

Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear, If we do fear this body hath a tail

More perilous than the head.

Arv.

Come as the gods foresay it:

My brother hath done well.

Let ordinance howsoe'er,

I had no mind

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

Gui.
With his own sword,
Which he did wave against my throat, I have 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:

For, because.
Did make my walk tedious.

Change, alteration.
§ Care.

[Exit.

valour

'Would, Polydore, thou had'st not done't! though

Becomes thee well enough.

Aro.

'Would I had done't,

So the revenge alone pursued me!-Polydore,

I love thee brotherly; but envy much,

Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would, revenges, That possible strength might meet, would seek us

through,

And put us to our answer.

Bel.

Well, 'tis done :

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'll stay

Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him

To dinner presently.

Aro.

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.

[Exit.

Bel.
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 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 seem 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.

* Regain, restore.

Gui.

Re-enter Guiderius.

Where's my brother?

I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,
In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage
For his return.

Bel.

[Solemn musick.

My ingenious instrument!

Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!

Gui. Is he at home?
Bel.

Gui. What does he

dear'st mother

He went hence even now.

mean? since death of my

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

Is Cadwal mad?

Re-enter Arviragus, bearing Imogen as dead in his

Bel.

arms.

Look, here he comes,

The bird is dead,

And brings the dire occasion in his arms,

Of what we blame him for!

Arv.
That we have made so much on. I bad rather
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch,
Than have seen this.

Gui.
O sweetest, fairest lily!
My brother wears thee not the one half so well,
As when thou grew'st thyself.

Bel.
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!

• Trifles. + A slow-sailing, unwieldy vessel.

Jove knows what man thou might'st have made;

but I,

Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy !

How found

Aro.

you him?

Stark*, as you see:

Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,
Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at: his right cheek
Reposing on a cushion.

Gui.

Aro.

Where?

O'the floor;

His arms thus leagu'd: I thought, he slept; and put My clouted brogues † from off my feet, whose rude

ness

Answer'd my steps too loud.

Gui.

Why, he but sleeps:

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 thee.

With fairest flowers,

Aro.
Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack
The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor
The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would,
With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming

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

Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
To winter-grounds thy corse.

Gui.

Pr'ythee, have done;

And do not play in wench-like words with that
Which is so serious. Let us bury him,

And not protract with admiration what

Is now due debt.-To the grave.

Stiff.

+ Shoes plated with iron.

The red-breast.

Probably a corrupt reading, for, wither round thy corse.