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Say, where shall's lay bim? Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. Art.

Be't so:
And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
Have got the maunish crack, sing him to the ground,
As once our mother; use like note, and words,
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

Gui. Cadwal,
I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee:
For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse
Than priests and fanes that lie.

We'll speak it then. 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: Though mean and mighty,

rotting Together, have one dust; yet reverence (That angel of the world) doth make distinction Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely ; And though you took his life, as being our foe, Yet bury him as a prince. Gui.

Pray you, fetch him bither. Thersites' body is as good as Ajax, When neither are alive. Aru.

If you'll go fetch him, We'll say our song the whilst.-Brother, begin,

[Erit Belarius. Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the

east; My father hath a reason for't. Aro.

'Tis true. Gui. Come on then, and remove him. Aro.


• Punished.


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,

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ;
Care no more to clothe, and eat ;

To thee the reed is as the oak:'
The sceptre, learning, physick, 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* rush;
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan:
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must

Consignt to thee, and come to dust.
Gui. No exorciser 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 gravet!

Re-enter Belarius, with the body of Cloten. Gui. We have done our obsequies : Come, lay him

down. Bel. Here's a few flowers; but about midnight,

more :

• Judgement.
# Seal the same contract.

See W. Collins's song at the end of the Play.

The herbs, that have on them cold dew o'the night,
Are strewings fitt'st for graves.--Upon their faces :-
You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so
These herb'lets shall, which we upon you strew.
Come on, away: apart upon our knees.
The ground, that gave them first, has them again;
Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.

[Exeunt Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. Imo. (Awaking.] Yes, sir, to Milford- Haven ;

Which is the way? I thank you. By yon bush?--Pray, how far thither? 'Ods pittikins !-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 boltt of nothing, shot at nothing,
Which the brain makes of fumes : Our very eyes
Are sometimes like our judgements, blind. Good

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 imagin'd, felt.
A headless man!—The garments of Posthumus!
I know the shape of his leg: this is his hand;
His foot Mercurial ; his Martial thigh;
The brawns of Hercules : but his Jovial t face-
Murder in heaven -Howl-'Tis gone. Pisanio,
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,

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

1 An arrow. A face like Jove's.

Conspir’d with that irregulous* devil, Cloten,
Hast here cut off my lord. - To write, and read,
Be henceforth treacherous ! -Damn'd Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters,—damn'd Pisanio-
From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the main-top!-0, Posthumus! alas,
Where is thy head? where's that? Ah me! where's

that? Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart, And left this head on.--How should this be? Pisa

nio? "Tis he, and Cloten: malice and lucre in them Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnantt! The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious And cordial to me, have I not found it Murd'rous to the senses? That confirms it home: This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: 01Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, That we the horrider may seem to those Which chance to find us; O, my lord, my lord!

Enter Lucius, a Captain and other Officers, and a

Soothsayer. Cap. To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia, After your will, have cross'd the sea; attending You here at Milford-Haven, with your ships : They are here in readines. Luc.

But what from Rome?
Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the cónfipers,
And gentlemen of Italy; most willing spirits,
That promise noble service: and they come
Under the conduct of bold (achimo,
Sienna's brother.

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

This forwardness

• Lawless, licentious.
ti. e. 'Tis a ready, apposite conclusion,

Makes our hopes fair. Command, our present numbers Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't. Now, sir, What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's pur.

pose ? Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a

vision : (I fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence,) Thus:I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd From the spongy south to this part of the west, There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends (Unless my sins abuse my divination), Success to the Roman host. Luc.

Dream often so, And never false.Soft, ho! what trunk is here, Without his top? The ruin speaks, that sometime It was a worthy building.--How! a page! Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead, rather : For uature doth abhor to make his bed With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. Let's see the boy's face. Cap.

He is alive, my lord. Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body. Young

one, Inform us of thy fortunes; for, it seems. They crave to be demanded: Who is this, Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who he, That, otherwise than noble nature did, Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest In this sad wreck? How came it? 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, That here by mountaineers lies slain :-Alas! There are no more such masters: I may wander From east to occidente, cry out for service, Try many, all good, serve truly, never Find such another master.

• The west.

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