I'll willingly to him: To gain his colour,

I'd let a parish of such Cloten's blood,

And praise myself for charity. ́

Bel.. O thou goddess,

[Exit.

Thou divine Nature, thou thyself thou blazon'st 240

In these two princely boys! They are as gentle

As zephyrs, blowing below the violet,

Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rudest wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful,
That an invisible instinct should frame them
To royalty unlearn'd; honour untaught;
Civility not seen from other; valour,

That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
As if it had been sow'd! Yet still it's strange,
What Cloten's being here to us portends;
Or what his death will bring us.

Re-enter GUIDERIUS.

Guid. Where's my brother?

I have sent Cloten's clot-pole down the stream,

In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage

For his return.

Bel. My ingenious instrument !

$50

[Solemn Musick.

Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion

Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!

Guid. Is he at home?

Bel. He went hence even now,

I

260

Guid.

Guid. What does he mean? since death of my dear

est mother.

It did not speak before. All solemn things
Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?
Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys,
Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys.

Is Cadwal mad?

Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, with IMOGEN as dead, bearing her in his Arms.

Bel. Look, here he comes,

And brings the dire occasion in his arms,

Of what we blame him for!

Aru. The bird is dead,

That we have made so much on. I had rather
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
And turn'd my leaping time into a crutch,
Than have seen this.

Guid. Oh sweetest, fairest lily!

My brother wears thee not the one half so well,
As when thou grew'st thyself.

Bel. O, melancholy!

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280

Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find
The ooze, to shew what coast thy sluggish crare
Might easiliest harbour in ?—Thou blessed thing!
Jove knows what man thou might'st have made;
but I,

Thou dy'dst, a most rare boy, of melancholy !—
How found you him?

Aru.

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.

Guid. Where ?

Arv. O' the floor;

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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.

Guid. 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.

Aru. With fairest flowers,

I

300

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.

Guid. Pr'ythee, have done;

And do not play in wench-like words with that

311

Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt.-To the grave,

Aru. Say, where shall's lay him?

Guid. By good Euriphile, our mother.

Arv. Be't so :

And let us, Polydore, though now our voices

320

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.

Guid. Cadwal,

I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee:
For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse
Than priests and fanes that lie.

Aru. 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; 330 And, though he came our enemy, remember,

He was paid for that: Though mean and mighty,

Together, have one dust; yet reverence

(That angel of the world), doth make distinction
Of place 'twixt high and low. Our foe was princely;
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him as a prince.

Guid. Pray you, fetch him hither.
Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.¿

Arv. If you'll go fetch him,

840

We'll

We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.

[Exit BELARIUS.

Guid. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east; My father hath a reason for't.

Aru. 'Tis true.

Guid. Come on then, and remove him.

Arv. So-Begin.

SONG..

Guid. 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:
Both 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.

Guid. Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ;
Guid. Fear not slander, censure rash;
Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan :
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must

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Consign to thee, and come to dust.