Bel. Those runagates! Hence. Means he not us? I partly know him; 'tis Clo. [Exeunt BELARIUS and ARVIRagus. Soft! What are you A thing That fly me thus ? some villain mountaineers? Clo. Thou art a robber, A law-breaker, a villain: Yield thee, thief. Gui. To who? to thee? What art thoù? Have not I An arm as big as thine? a heart as big? Clo. Know'st me not by my Gui. Thou villain base, clothes? No, nor thy tailor, rascal, Who is thy grandfather; he made those clothes, Which, as it seems, make thee. Clo. My tailor made them not. Gui. The man that gave them thee. Clo. Thou precious varlet, Hence then, and thank Thou art some fool; Thou injurious thief, What's thy name? Hear but my name, and tremble. Gui. Clo. Cloten, thou villain. Gui. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name, I cannot tremble at it; were't toad, or adder, spider, 'Twould move me sooner. Clo. Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know I'm son to the queen. Gui. So worthy as thy birth. To thy further fear, I'm sorry for't; not seeming Art not afeard? Gui. Those that I reverence, those I fear; the wise: At fools I laugh, not fear them. Clo. Die the death: When I have slain thee with my proper hand, I'll follow those that even now fled hence, And on the gates of Lud's town set your heads: Yield, rustick mountaineer. [Exeunt, fighting. Enter BELARIUS and ARVIragus. Bel. No company's abroad. Arv. None in the world: You did mistake him, sure. Bel. I cannot tell: Long is it since I saw him, But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour' Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice, And burst of speaking, were as his : I am absolute, 'Twas very Cloten. Arv. In this place we left them; Bel. Re-enter GUIDERIUS, with CLOTEN'S Head. Gui. This Cloten was a fool; an empty purse, There was no money in't: not Hercules ' Countenance. Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none : Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne My head, as I do his. Bel. What hast thou done? Gui. I am perfect, what: cut off one Cloten's head, Son to the queen, after his own report; Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer; and swore, Displace our heads, where (thank the gods!) they Bel. We are all undone. Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose, But, that he swore, to take our lives? The law Protects not us: Then why should we be tender, To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us; Play judge, and executioner, all himself; For we do fear the law? What company Discover you abroad? Bel. No single soul Can we set eye on, but, in all safe reason, He must have some attendants. Though his humour From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not (As it is like him,) might break out, and swear To come alone, either he so undertaking, Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear, If we do fear this body hath a tail More perilous than the head. 2 Conquer, subdue. Arv. Let ordinance Come as the gods foresay it; howsoe'er, Bel. I had no mind To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness Did make my way long forth. With his own sword, Gui. Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en His head from him: I'll throw't into the creek Behind our rock; and let it to the sea, And tell the fishes, he's the queen's son, Cloten: That's all I reck. 3 Bel. [Exit. I fear, 'twill be reveng'd: 'Would, Polydore, thou had'st not done't! though valour Becomes thee well enough. Arv. Would I had done't, So the revenge alone pursued me! - Polydore, I love thee brotherly; but envy much, Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would, re We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger Where there's no profit. I pr'ythee, to our rock; You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him To dinner presently. Arv. Poor sick Fidele! I'll willingly to him: To gain his colour, [Exit. Bel. 3 Care. As zephyrs, blowing below the violet, 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? I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream, [Solemn musick. Bel. 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 Is Cadwal mad? Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, bearing IMOGEN as dead, in Bel. his Arms. Look, here he comes, And brings the dire occasion in his arms, Of what we blame him for ! 4 Trifles. |