Arv. The bird is dead, That we have made so much on. I had rather 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, Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, 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 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 ground, As once our mother; use like note, and words, Gui. Cadwal, I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee. We'll speak it then. Cloten : Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys: 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, 8 The red-breast. 9 Probably a corrupt reading, for, wither round thy corse. 'Pray you, fetch him hither. Gui. Arv. If you'll go fetch him, 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, Arv. Fear no more the frown o'the great, Care no more to clothe, and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash, 1 Judgment. 2 Seal the same contract. Gui. No exorciser harm thee! 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 4 The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face - 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 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 Murd'rous to the senses? That confirms it home: 4 A face like Jove's. lord! 5 Lawless, licentious. 6 i. e. 'Tis a ready, apposite conclusion. |