Thus fmiling, as fome fly had tickled flumber!
Not as Death's dart being laugh'd at: his right check
Repofing on a cushion.

Guid. Where?

Aru. O'th' floor:

His arms thus leagu'd; I thought, he flept; and put My clouted brogues from off my feet, whofe rudeness Anfwer'd my fteps too loud.

Guid. Why, he but fleeps;

If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed;
With female Fairies will his tomb be haunted,
And worms will not come near thee.

Aru. With faireft flow'rs.

'Whilft fummer lafts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll fweeten thy fad grave. Thou shalt not lack
The flow'r that's like thy face, pale Primrofe; nor
The azur'd Hare-bell, like thy veins, no, nor
The leaf of Eglantine; which not to flander,
Out-fweeten'd not thy breath. The Raddock would,
With charitable bill, (oh bill, fore-fhaming
Thofe rich cleft heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a Monument !) bring thee all this;
Yea, and furr'd mofs befides, when flow'rs are none,
* To winter-gown thy coarse.

Guid. Pr'ythee, have done;

And do not play in wench-like words with that
Which is fo ferious. Let us bury him,

And not protract with admiration what

Is now due debt.

-To th' grave.

Aru. Say, where fhall's lay him?

Guid. By good Euriphile, our mother.
Aru. Be't fo:

And let us, Paladour, though now our voices

Have got the mannifh crack, fing him to th' ground;

To winter-ground thy coarse-The Epithet furr'd to moss directs

us plainly to another Reading,

To winter-gown thy courfe.

i. e. the Summer Habit fhall be a light Gown of Flowers, thy Winter Habit a good warm furr'd Gown of Moss.

R 2

As.

As, once, our mother: ufe like note, and words, Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

Guid. Cadwall,

I cannot fing: I'll weep, and word it with thee;
For notes of forrow, out of tune, are worse
Than Priefts and Fanes that lie.

Aru. We'll speak it then.

Bel. Great griefs, I fee, med'cine the lefs. For Cloten
Is quite forgot. He was a Queen's fon, boys,
And though he came our enemy, remember,
He has paid for that: the mean and mighty, rotting
Together, have one duft; yet Reverence,

(That angel of the world,) doth make diftinction
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, fetch him hither.
Therfites body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.

Aru. If you'll go fetch him,

We'll fay our fong the whilft : Brother, begin.
Guid. Nay, Cadwall. we must lay his head to th
Eall;

My father hath a reason for't.

Arv. 'Tis true.

Guid. Come on then, and remove him.

Aru. So, begin.

S O N G.

Guid. Fear no more the heat o' th' Sun,

Nor the furious winter's rages;

Thou thy worldly task haft done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages.

Golden lads and girls all muft,

As chimney Sweepers, come to duft.

Arv. Fear no more the frown o'th' Great,
Thou art past the tyrant's firoke;

Care no more to clothe and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak:

The

The Scepter, learning, phyfic, muft
All follow this, and come to duft.
Guid. Fear no more the lightning-flash.
Arv. Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-fione,
Guid. Fear no flander, cenfure rafh.
Arv. Thou haft finish'd joy and moan.
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must
Confign to thee, and come to duft.
Guid. No exorcifer harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Guid. Ghoft, unlaid, forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet confummation have,
And renowne t be thy Grave!

Enter Belarius, with the body of Cloten.

Guid. We've done our obfequies: come, lay him down.

Bel. Here's a few flow'rs, but about midnight more; The herbs, that have on them cold dew o'th'night, Are ftrewings fitt'ft for Graves.--Upon their facesYou were as flow'rs, now wither'd; even fo Thefe herbelets fhall, which we upon you ftrow. Come on, away, apart upon our knees

The ground, that gave them first, has them again: Their pleasure here is paft, fo is their pain. [Exeunt. Imogen, awaking.

Imo. Yes, Sir, to Milford-Haven, which is the way?

I thank you-by yond bufh?-pray, how far thither?

'Ods pittikins-can it be fix miles yet?

I've gone all night-'faith, I'll lie down and sleep. But, foft! no bedfellow-Oh Gods, and Goddeffes! [Seeing the body.

Thefe flow'rs are like the pleasures of the world; This bloody man the care on't-I hope, I dream; R 3

For,

For, fure, I thought I was cave-keeper,

And cook to honeft creatures. But 'tis not fo:
'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
Which the brain makes of fumes: Our very eyes
Are fometimes like our judgments, blind. Good
faith,

I tremble ftill with fear; but if there be
Yet left in heav'n as fmall, a drop of pity
As a wren's eye, oh Gods! a part of it!
The dream's here flill; ev'n when I wake, it is
Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
A headless man!-the garments of Pofthumus?
I know the fhape of's leg, this is his hand,
His foot mercurial, his martial thigh,

The brawns of Hercules: but his jovial face-
Murder in heaven?-how!
-'tis gone!

Pifanio!

All curfes madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! thou,
'Twas thou, confpiring with that devil Cloten,
Haft here cut off my lord. To write, and read,
Be henceforth treach'rous!----damn'd Pifanio
Hath with his forged letters----damn'd Pifanio !----
From this the braveft veffel of the world
Struck the main-top! oh Pofthumus, alas,

Where is thy head? where's That? ah me, where's
That?

Pifanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,

And left thy head on. How fhould this be, Pifanio?
'Tis he and Cloten. Malice and lucre in them
Have laid this woe here. Oh, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
The drug he gave me, which, he faid, was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it

Murd'rous to th' fenfes ? that confirms it home:
This is Pifanio's deed, and Cloten's.

Oh!

Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,

That we the horrider may

Which chance to find us.

seem to those
Oh, my

Oh, my lord! my lord!

SCENE

SCENE

VII.

Enter Lucius, Captains, and a Soothsayer.

Cap. T After your will, have crofs'd the fea, at

O them, the legions garrifon'd in Gallia,

tending

You here at Milford-Haven, with your Ships:
They are in readiness.

Luc. But what from Rome?

Cap. The Senate hath ftirr'd up the Confiners, And gentlemen of Italy, moft willing fpirits, That promife noble fervice: and they come Under the conduct of bold Iachimo, Syenna's Brother.

Luc. When expect you them?

Cap. With the next benefit o' th' wind.

Luc. This forwardness

Makes our hopes fair.

numbers

Command, our present

Be mufter'd; bid the Captains look to't. Now, Sir,
What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's purpose?
Sooth. Laft night, the very Gods fhew'd me a vision.
(I faft, and pray'd for their intelligence)

I faw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
From the fpungy fouth, to this part of the Weft,
There vanilh'd in the fun-beams; which portends
(Unless my fins abuse my divination)

Success to th' Roman Hoft.

Luc. Dream often so,

And never falfe!

-Soft, ho, what Trunk is here Without his top? the ruin speaks, that sometime It was worthy building. How! a page!— Or dead, or sleeping on him? but dead, rather: For Nature doth abhor to make his couch With the defunct, or fleep upon the dead.. Let's fee the boy's face.

Cap. He's alive, my lord.

R 4

Luc.