Bel. I had no mind To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness 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. 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, revenges, That possible strength might meet, would seek us through, And put us to our answer. Bel. Well, 'tis done: 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. O thou goddess, Bel. 5 Did make my way long forth.] Fidele's sickness made my walk forth from the cave tedious. To gain his colour,] i. e. to restore him to the bloom of health, to recall the colour of it into his cheeks. 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, Bel. [Solemn Musick. My ingenious instrument! Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion Hath Cadwal now to give it motion! Hark! Gui. Is he at home? 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, 7- lamenting toys,] Toys formerly signified freaks, or frolicks. And brings the dire occasion in his arms, Arv. Gui. Bel. 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, His arms thus leagu'd: I thought, he slept; and put My clouted brogues' from off my feet, whose rude 8 Gui. Why, he but sleeps: what coast thy sluggish crare] A crare, is a small trading vessel, called in the Latin of the middle ages crayera. 9 Stark,] i. e. stiff. 1 clouted brogues-] are shoes strengthened with clout or hob-nails. In some parts of England, thin plates of iron called clouts, are likewise fixed to the shoes of ploughmen and other rusticks. Brog is the Irish word for a kind of shoe peculiar to that kingdom. If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed; Arv. With fairest flowers, 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 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.3 Gui. 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. Be't so: And let us, Polydore, though now our voices Gui. Cadwal, I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee: ? The ruddock is the red-breast, and is so called by Chaucer and Spenser. To winter-ground thy corse.] 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 commonly taken in respect of tender trees or flowers, such as Arviragus, who loved Fidele, represents her to be. 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: Together, have one dust; yet reverence, (That angel of the world,*) doth make distinction Gui. Pray you, fetch him hither. Thersites' body is as good as Ajax, When neither are alive. Arv. If you'll go fetch him. [Exit BELARIUS. We'll say our song the whilst.-Brother, begin. 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. Arv. So,-Begin. 4 SONG. GUI. Fear no more the heat o'the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages; Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, He was paid for that:] Paid is for punished. reverence, (That angel of the world,)-] Reverence, or due regard to subordination, is the power that keeps peace and order in the world. |