Murd'rous to th' fenfes ? that confirms it home:
This is Pifanio's deed, and Cloten's. Oh!

Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may seem to those

Which chance to find us.

Oh, my Lord! my Lord!

SCENE

VII.

Enter Lucius, Captains, and a Soothsayer.

Cap. To them, the legions garrifon'd in Gallia, After your will, have crofs'd the fea, attending You here at Milford-Haven; with your Ships, They are in readiness.

Luc. But what from Rome?

Cap. The Senate hath ftirr'd up the Confiners,
And Gentlemen of Italy, moft willing fpirits,
That promife noble fervice; and they come
Un er the conduct of bold Tachimo,

Syenna's Brother.

Luc. When expect you them?

Cap. With the next benefit o' th' wind.
Luc. This forwardness

Makes our hopes fair. Command, our prefent num

bers

Fe mufter'd; bid the Captains look to't. Now, Sir, What have you dream'd of late, of this war's purpofe?

I

Sooth. Laft night, the very Gods fhew'd me a vi

fion.

Last night, the VERY Gods Jhew'd me a vifion.] The very Gods may, indeed, fignify the Gods themselves immediately, and not by the intervention

(I fast,

of other agents or instruments;
yet I am perfuaded the reading is
corrupt, and that Shakespear
wrote,

Laft night, the WAREY Gods-
Warty

(I fast, and pray'd for their intelligence)
I faw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
From the fpungy fouth, to this part of the Weft,
There vanifh'd in the fun-beams; which portends,
Unless my fins abufe my divination,

Succefs to th' Roman Hoft.

Luc. Dream often fo,

And never falfe !Soft, ho, what Trunk is here
Without his top? the ruin fpeaks, that fometime
It was a worthy building. How! a page!
Or dead, or fleeping on him? but dead, rather:
For Nature doth abhor to make his couch
With the defunct, or fleep upon the dead.
Let's fee the boy's face.

Cap. He's alive, my Lord.

Luc. He'll then inftruct us of this body: Young

one,

Inform us of thy fortunes, for, it feems,

They crave to be demanded; who is this.
Thou mak'ft thy bloody pillow?

2

who was he, That, otherwise than noble Nature did, Hath alter'd that good picture? what's thy intereft

In

at this paffage. He fays, it is far from being ftrictly grammati cal: and yet, what is strange, he fubjoins a paraphrafe of his own, which fhews it to be ftrictly grammatical. For, fays he, the conftruction of these words is this, who bath alter'd that good picture otherwife than nature alter'd it. I fuppofe then this editor's meaning was, that the grammatical conftruction would not conform to the fenfe; for a bad writer, like a bad man, generally fays one thing, and means another. He fubjoining, Shakespeare de

In this fad 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 mafter,
A very valiant Briton, and a good,

That here by mountaineers lies flain: alas!
There are no more fuch mafters: I may wander
From East to Occident, cry out for service,
Try many, and all good, ferve truly, never
Find fuch another master.

Luc. 'Lack, good youth!

Thou mov't no lefs with thy complaining, than
Thy mafter in bleeding: fay his name, good friend.
Imo. Richard du Champ. If I do lye, and do
No harm by it, though the Gods hear, I hope, [Afide.
They'll pardon it. Say you, Sir?

Luc. Thy name?

Imo. Fidele, Sir.

Luc. Thou doft approve thyself the very fame; Thy name well fits thy faith; thy faith, thy name.

figned to fay, If the text be genuine, who bath alter'd that good picture from what noble nature at frit made it. Here again he is mistaken; Shakespear meant, like a plain man, juft as he spoke; and as our editor firft paraphrafed him, who hath alter'd that good picture otherwife than nature al ter'd it? And the folution of the difficulty in this fentiment, which fo much perplexed him, is this: The fpeaker fees a young man without a head, and confequently much forten'd in ftature; on which he breaks out into this exclamation, who hath alter'd this good form, by making it fhorter; fo contrary to the practice of nature which by yearly accllion of

growth alters it by making it taller. No occafion then for the editor to change DID into BID with an allufion to the command against murder; which then fhould have been forbid instead of bid.

WARBURTON.

Here are many words upon a very flight debate. The fenfe is not much cleared by either critick. The queftion is afked, not about a body, but a picture, which is not very apt to grow fhorter or longer. To de a picture, and a picture is well done, are ftanding phrafes; the queftion therefore is, who has altered this picture, fo as to make it otherwife than nature did it.

Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not fay
Thou shalt be so well master'd, but, be fure,
No lefs belov'd. The Roman Emperor's letters,
Sent by a Conful to me, fhould not fooner

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 thefe poor pickaxes can dig; when

With wild wood-leaves and weeds I' ha' ftrew'd his Grave,

And on it faid a century of pray'rs,

Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and figh;

And, leaving fo his fervice, follow you,

So please you entertain me.

Luc. Ay, good youth,

And rather father thee, than mafter thee.
My friends,

The boy hath taught us manly duties. Let us
Find out the prettiest dazied-Plot we can,

And make him with our pikes and partizans

A Grave. Come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr❜d
By thee to us, and he fhall be interr'd

As foldiers can. Be chearful, wipe thine eyes:
Some Falls are means the happier to arife. [Exeunt.

Сут.

Changes to Cymbeline's Palace.

Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pifanio.

Cym. A

Gain; and bring me word, how 'tis with

her.

A fever with the abfence of her fon;

Madness, of which her life 's in danger; heav'ns!
How deeply you at once do touch me. Imogen,
The great part of my comfort, gone! My Queen
Upón a defperate bed, and in a time

When fearful wars point at me! Her fon gone,
So needful for this prefent. It ftrikes me, paft
The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,
Who needs muft know of her departure, and
Doft feem fo ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee
By a fharp torture.

Pif. Sir, my life is yours,

I humbly fet it at your will; but, for my miftrefs,
I nothing know where fhe remains; why, gone;
Nor when the purposes Return. 'Befeech your High-
nefs,

Hold me your loyal fervant.

Lord. Good my Liege,

The day that she was miffing, he was here;
I dare be bound he's true, and fhall perform
All parts of his fubjection loyally. For Cloten,
There wants no diligence in seeking him,
And will no doubt be found.

5 Changes to Cymbeline's Palace.] This fcene is omitted against all authority by Sir T. Hanner. It is indeed of no great

ufe in the progrefs of the fable, yet it makes a regular preparation for the next act.

Cym