Arv. Fear no more the frown o'the great, To thee the reed is as the oak: Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash, 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, 5 Consign to thee,] Perhaps: To consign to thee, is to seal the same contract with thee, i. e. add their names to thine upon the register of death. No exorciser harm thee!] Shakspeare invariably uses the word exorciser to express a person who can raise spirits, not one who lays them. 7 thy grave!] 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. JOHNSON. Are strewings fitt'st for graves.-Upon their faces:- The ground, that gave them first, has them again: [Exeunt BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and AR VIRAGUS. Imo. [Awaking.] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; I thank you. By yon bush?-Pray, how far thither? 'Ods pittikins!-can it be six miles yet?— I have gone all night:-'Faith, I'll 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; Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face- 8 'Ods pittikins!] This diminutive adjuration is derived from God's my pity, which likewise occurs in Cymbeline. 9 his Jovial face-] Jovial face signifies in this place, such a face as belongs to Jove. It is frequently used in the same sense by other old dramatick writers. All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart, And left this head on.-How should this be? Pisanio? Murd'rous to the senses? That confirms it home: 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 cónfiners, And gentlemen of Italy; most willing spirits, 1that irregulous devil,] Irregulous (if there be such a word) must mean lawless, licentious, out of rule, jura negans sibi nata. 2 the main-top!] i. e. the top of the mainmast. 3 clusion. 'tis pregnant, pregnant!] i. e. 'tis a ready, apposite con That promise noble service: and they come 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 num bers Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't.-Now, sir, What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's pur pose? Sooth. Last night the very gods show'd me a vision : (I fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence,) Thus:I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd From the spongy south to this part of the west, There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends, (Unless my sins abuse my divination,) Success to the Roman host. Dream often so, Luc. With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. 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, ↑ Sienna's brother:] i. e. (as I suppose Shakspeare to have meant) brother to the Prince of Siunna: but, unluckily, Sienna was a republick. STEEVANS. 37 Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it? What art thou? Imo. I am nothing: or if not, Nothing to be were better. This was my master, A very valiant Briton, and a good, That here by mountaineers lies slain:-Alas! Luc. 'Lack, good youth! Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than Thy master in bleeding: Say his name, good friend. Imo. Richard du Champ. If I do lie, and do No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope They'll pardon it. Say you, sir? Luc. Imo. [Aside. Thy name? Fidele. Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same: Thy name well fits thy faith; thy faith, thy name. Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say, Thou shalt be so well master'd; but, be sure, No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters, Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner Than thine own worth prefer thee: Go with me. Imo. I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods, I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep As these poor pickaxes' can dig: and when With wild wood-leaves and weeds I have strew'd his grave, And on it said a century of prayers, Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep, and sigh; these poor pickaxes-] Meaning her fingers. |