The herbs, that have on them cold dew o'the night,
Are strewings fite'st for graves.-U pon their faces :-
You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so
These herb'lets shall, which we upon you strew.-
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-Ilaven;

Which is the way? I thank you.-By yon bush?—Pray, how far thither! 'Ods pittikins* !-can it be six miles yet? I have gone all night:-'Faitli, I'll lie down and

sleep But, soft! no bed fellow:-0, gods and goddesses !

[Seeing the body.
These flowers are like the pleasures of the world;
This bloody man, the care on't,- I hope, 1 dreanı;
For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper,
And cook to honest creatures: But 'tis not so;
'Twas but a boltt of nothing, shot at nothing,
Which the brain makes of fumes : Our very eyes
Are sometimes like our judgeinents, 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 Posthumus!
I know the shape of his leg: this is his hand;
His foot Mereurial ; his Martial thigh;
The brawps of Hercules: but his Jovialt face-
Murder in heaveu ?-How?_'Tis gone. - Pisanio,
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,

* This diminutive adjuration is derived from God's my pity. t.An arrow.

A face like Jove's.

Conspir’d with that irregulous* devil, Eloten,
Hast here cut off my lord.To write, and read,
Be henceforth treacherous ! Damn'd Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters,—damn’d Pisanio-
From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the inain-top!-0, Posthumus! alas,
Where is thy head? Where's that? Ah me! where's

that? Pisanio might have kiWd thee at the heart, And left this head on How should this be? Pisa

nio? "Tis lie, and Cloten: malice and lucre in them Have laid this woe liere, 0, 'tis pregoant, pregnantt! The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious Aud 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: 0! Give colour to my pale cheek with thy bloody That we the horrider may seem to those Which chance to find us; 0; 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 eross'd the sea; attending, You here at Milford-Haven, witis your shius: They are here in readines. Luc.

But what from Rome? Cap. The senate hath stirr'd up the cónfiuers, And gentlemen of Italy; most willing spirits, That promise poble service: and they come Under the conduct of bold Iachimo, Sicona's brother. Luc.

When expect you them? Cap. With the next benefit o'the wind. Luc.

Tuis forwardness

* Lawless, licentious.
1 i. e. 'Tis a ready, apposite conclusion.

Makes our hopes fair. Command, our present numbers 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. Luc.

Dream often so, And never false.--Soft, ho! what trunk is here, Without his top? The ruin speaks, that sometime It was a worthy building.--How! a page! Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead, rather : For nature doth abhor to make his bed With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. Let's see the boy's face. Сар.

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, Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who he, That, otherwise than noble nature did, 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! There are no more such masters: I may wander From east to occidente, cry out for service, Try many, all good, serve truly, never Find such another master.

• The west.

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

[Aside. They'll pardon it. Say you, sir? Luc.

Thy name?
Imo.

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;
And, leaving so his service, follow you,
So please you entertain me.
Luc.

Ay, good youth;
And rather father thee, than master thee,
My friends,
The boy hath taught us manly duties: Let us
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,
And make him with our pikes and partisans
A grave: Come, arm him.-Boy, he is preferr'd
By thee to us; and he shall be interr'd,
As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes ;
Some falls are means the happier to arise. (Exeunt.

. Her fingers.

SCENE IIL.

A room in Cymbeline's palace.

Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pisanio. Cym. Again; and bring me word, bow 'tis with ber. A fever with the absence of her son ; A madness, of which her life's iu danger:- Heavens, How deeply you at once dp touch me! Imogen, The great part of my comfort, gone: my queen Upon a desperate bed; and in a time When fearful wars point at me; her son gone, So needful for this present: It strikes me, past The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow, Who needs must know of her departure, and Dost seem so ignorant, we'll enforce it from thee By a sharp torture. Pis.

Sir, my life is yours, I hunibly set it at your will; But, for my mistress, I nothing know where she remains, why gone, Nor when she purposes return. 'Beseech your highes

ness,
IIold me your loyal servant.
1 Lord.

Good my liege,
The day that she was missing, he was here:
I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform
All parts of his subjection loyally.
For Cloten,
There wants no diligence in seeking him,
And will, no doubt, be found.
Cym,

The time's troublesome: We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy

[To Pisanio. Does yet depend. 1 Lord.

So please your majesty, The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,