Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily! My brother wears thee not the one half so well, 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! Jove knows what man thou might'st have made; but I, Arv. Stark, as you see":2 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. Where ? Arv. O' the floor; His arms thus leagu'd: I thought, he slept ; and put My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness Answer'd 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, Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, [1] A crare, says the author of The Revisal, is a small trading vessel, called in the Latin of the middle ages, crayera. [2] Stark-i. e. stiff. STEEVENS. STEEVENS. In [3] Clouted brogues are shoes strengthened with clout or hob-nails. some parts of England, thin plates of iron called clouts, are likewise fixed to the shoes of ploughmen and other rustics. Brog is the Irish word for a kind of shoe peculiar to that kingdom. STEEVENS. [4] To winter-ground a plant, is to protect it from the inclemency of the winter season, by straw, dung, &c. laid over it. This precaution is comonly taken in respect of tender trees or flowers, such as Aviragus, who Gui. Pr'ythee, have done ; And do not play in wench-like words with that And not protract with admiration what Is now due debt. To the grave. Arv. Be't so: And let us, Polydore, though now our voices Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground, Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. 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: 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)4 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 hither. Thersites' body is as good as Ajax, When neither are alive. Arv. If you'll go fetch him, We'll say our song the whilst.-Brother, begin. [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. loved Fidele, represents her to be. The ruddock is the red-breast, and is so called by Chaucer and Spenser. STEEVENS.-In Cornucopia, or divers Secrets, c. 4to 1596, it is said, "The robin redbrest if he find a man or woman dead, will cover all the face with mosse, and some thinke that if the body should remaine unburied that he would cover the whole body also." REED. [4] Reverence, or due regard to subordination, is the power that keeps peace and order in the world. JOHNSON, SONG. Gui. Fear no more the heat o'the sun, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Arv. Fear no more the frown o'the great,3 To thee the reed is as the oak: Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash, Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan. Gui. No exorciser harm thee! And renowned be thy grave !7 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 [5] This is the topic of consolation that nature dictates to all men on these occasions. The same farewell we have over the dead body in Lucian. WARBURTON. [6] 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 arts of those whose immediate study is the prolongation of life, can protect them from the final destiny of man. JOHNS. [7] For the obsequies of Fidele, a song was written by my unhappy friend, Mr. William Collins of Chichester, a man of uncommon learning and abilities. I shall give it a place at the end, in honour of his memory. JOHNS. These herb'lets shall, which we upon you strow.- The ground, that gave them first, has them again : I thank you. By yon bush ?-Pray, how far thither? 'Ods pittikins!-can it be six mile yet? I have gone all night :-'Faith, I'll lie down and sleep. And cook to honest creatures: But 'tis not so; Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith, As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it! And left this head on.-How should this be? Pisanio? > [8] Jovial face, signifies in this place, such a face as belongs to Jove. It is frequently used in the same sense by other old dramatic writers. STEEV And cordial to me, have I not found it Murd'rous to the senses? That confirms it home: Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, 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; most 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 Success to the Roman host. Luc. Dream often so, And never false.-Soft, ho! what trunk is here, Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead, rather: 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, |