Arv. Let ordinance Come as the gods foresay it; howsoe'er, I had no mind Bel. With his own sword, Gui. And tell the fishes, he's the queen's son, Cloten. Bel. I fear 'twill be revenged; [Exit. 'Would, Polydore, thou had'st not done't! though valor Becomes thee well enough. 'Would I had done't, Arv. I love thee brotherly; but envy much, Thou hast robbed 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 ;— 2 We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him To dinner presently. Arv. Poor sick Fidele! I'll willingly to him. To gain his color, Bel. O thou goddess, [Exit. 1 "Fidele's sickness made my walk forth from the cave tedious.” 2 "Such pursuit of vengeance as fell within any possibility of opposition." 3 "To restore Fidele to the bloom of health, to recall the color into his cheeks, I would let out the blood of a whole parish, or any number of such fellows as Cloten." A parish is a common phrase for a great number. Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough, That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop Gui. Re-enter GUIderius. Where's my brother? [Solemn music. I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream, Bel. Gui. Is he at home? Bel. He went hence even now. Gui. What does he mean? Since death of my dear'st mother It did not speak before. All solemn things Should answer solemn accidents. The matter? 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, And brings the dire occasion in his arms, Of what we blame him for! 1 Toys are trifles. Arv. Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily! Bel. The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare1 Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy !— How found you him? Arv. Stark, as you see. Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, Not as death's dart, being laughed at; his right cheek Reposing on a cushion. Gui. Arv. 4 Where? O' the floor; His arms thus leagued. I thought he slept; and put My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness Answered my steps too loud. Gui. Why, he but sleeps. If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed; Arv. With fairest flowers, Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, 1 A crare was a small vessel of burden, sometimes spelled craer, crayer, and even craye. The old copy reads, erroneously, " thy sluggish care." The emendation was suggested by Sympson in a note on The Captain of Beaumont and Fletcher. 2 We should most probably read, "but ah!" Ay is always printed ah! in the first folio, and other books of the time. Hence, perhaps, I, which was used for the affirmative particle ay, crept into the text. 3 Stark means entirely cold and stiff. 4" Clouted brogues" are coarse wooden shoes, strengthened with clout or hob-nails. In some parts of England thin plates of iron, called clouts, are fixed to the shoes of rustics. I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack 1 The ruddock 1 would With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming Yea, and furred moss besides, when flowers are none, 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. Arv. Say, where shall's lay him? Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. Be't so. And let us, Polydore, though now our voices Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground Gui. Cadwal, I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee; Than priests and fanes that lie. Arv. We'll speak it then. Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less; 3 for Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys; He was paid for that. Though mean and mighty, rotting 1 The ruddock is the redbreast. 2 To winter-ground appears to mean to dress or decorate thy corse with "furred moss," for a winter covering. 3 So in King Lear :— 66 Where the greater malady is fixed, 4 i. e. punished. Together, have one dust; yet reverence Pray you, fetch him hither. Gui. When neither are alive. Arv. If you'll go fetch him, [Exit BELARIus. Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east; My father hath a reason for't. Arv. 'Tis true. Gui. Come on, then, and remove him. Arv. SONG. So,―begin. Gui. Fear no more the heat o'the sun, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. Golden lads and girls all must, 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. Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash. 1 The Poet's sentiment seems to have been this:-All human excellence is equally subject to the stroke of death: neither the power of kings, nor the science of scholars, nor the art of those whose immediate study is the prolongation of life, can protect them from the final destiny of man. |