Arv.

The bird is dead,

That we have made so much on. I had rather
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
Than have seen this.

Gui.

O sweetest, fairest lily! My brother wears thee not the one half so well, As when thou grew'st thyself.

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,

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 laugh'd at his right

cheek

Reposing on a cushion.

Gui.

Arv.

Where?

O'the floor;

His arms thus leagu'd: I thought, he slept; and

put

My clouted brogues' from off my feet, whose rude

ness

Answer'd my steps too loud.

Gui. Why, he but sleeps: If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed; With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, And worms will not come to thee.

With fairest flowers,

Arv. Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor

5 A slow-sailing, unwieldy vessel.

7 Shoes plated with iron.

6 Stiff.

The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would,
With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming
Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a monument!) bring thee all this;

Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none,
To winter-ground thy corse.

Gui.

9

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. Arv.

Be't so:

And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the

ground,

As once our mother; use like note, and words,
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

Gui. Cadwal,

I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee.
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,) 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.

8 The red-breast.

9 Probably a corrupt reading, for, wither round thy corse.

'Pray you, fetch him hither.

Gui.
Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.

Arv.

If you'll go fetch him,
Brother, begin.

We'll say our song the whilst.

[Exit BELARIUS.

Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the

1 east;

My father hath a reason for't.

Arv.

'Tis true.

Gui. Come on then, and remove him.

Arv.

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 ta'en 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, physick, 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.

1 Judgment.

2 Seal the same contract.

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 grave!

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.

Imo. [Awaking.] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven ; Which is the ? way:

I thank you. thither?

By yon bush? - Pray, how far

Is't possible it can be six miles yet?

I have gone all night:- I will lie down and sleep. But, soft! no bedfellow :- O, 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 3 of nothing, shot at nothing, Which the brain makes of fumes: Our very eyes

3 An arrow.

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 Posthúmus!
I know the shape of his leg: this is his hand;
His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh;

4

The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face -
Murder in heaven? How?-'Tis gone.

sanio,

Ri

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. O Pisanio,

Pisanio, with his forged letters, hath

From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the main-top!-O, 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? Pi

sanio?

'Tis he, 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: O!-
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

4 A face like Jove's.

lord!

5 Lawless, licentious. 6 i. e. 'Tis a ready, apposite conclusion.