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Gui. Come on then, and remove him.
Aro. So,- Begin.

SONG.
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 taen 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, 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

Consign 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 grade!

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: 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 strow.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.

IMOGEN, 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 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 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 face
Murder in heaven ?-How ?- 'Tis gone.--Pisanio,
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
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? Pisanio?
'Tis hc, and Cloten: malice and lucre in them
Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
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: 0 !---
Give 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 readiness.

Luc. But what from Rome?

Cap. The senate hath stirr’d up the confiners,
And gentlemen of Italy; inost willing spirits,
That promise noble service: and they come
Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
Sienna's brother.

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

Luc. This forwardness
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 purpose?

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 nature 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 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? 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 occident, cry out for service,
Try many, all good, serve truly, never
Find such another master.

Luc. ’Lack, good youth !
Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than
Thy master in bleeding: Say his name, good friend.

Imo. Richard du Champ. If I do lie, and do
No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope [Aside.
They'll pardon it. Say you, sir?

Luc. Thy name?
Imo. Fidele.

Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same :
Thy name well fits thy faith ; thy faith, thy name.
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say,
Thou shalt be so well master'd; but, be sure,
No less belov’d. The Roman emperor's letters,
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
Than thine own worth prefer thee: Go with me.

Imo. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods,
I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep
As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when

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