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Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?
Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys
Is jollity for apes and grief for boys.
Is Cadwal mad?
Bel.

Look, here he comes,
And brings the dire occasion in his arms
Of what we blame him for.

200

Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, with IMOGEN, as dead,

bearing her in his arms. 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,
To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch,
Than have seen this.
Gui.

O sweetest, fairest lily!
My brother wears thee not the one half so well
As when thou grew'st thyself.
Bel.

O melancholy !
Who ever yet could sound thy bottom ? find
The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare
Might easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing!
Jove knows what man thou mightst have made;

but I,
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,
Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at; his right

210 220

cheek

193. toys, (for) trifles.

able sea, where no soundings 205. crare, skiff ; Sympson's avail to guide to harbour. emendation for Ff care. The image ambiguously suggested in 211. Not as death's dart, being V. 204 is made explicit in 205, laugh'd at, not as if death's 206 : Melancholy is a sluggish dart had struck him, since he bark afloat upon an unfathom- laughed.

Reposing on a cushion.
Gui,

Where ?
Arv.

O' the floor; His arms thus leagued : I thought he slept, and put My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness Answer'd my steps too loud. Gui.

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.
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 azured harebell, 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, -0 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.
Gui.

Prithee, 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 ?

230

214. clouted brogues, rough shoes patched with leather (possibly, wooden shoes with hobnails).

222. harebell, wild hyacinth.

223. whom not to slander; who, without slandering it.

224. ruddock, robin.

229. winter-ground, lay in an artificial 'ground' for protection through the winter (a gardening term).

233. shall's, shall we ; probably formed on the analogy of let us,' etc.

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Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother.
Ary.

Be't so:
And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
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.

Gui. 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.
· 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, boy's; And though he came our enemy, remember He was paid for that: though mean and mighty,

rotting
Together, have one dust, yet reverence,
That angel of the world, doth make distinction
Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was

princely;
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him as a prince.
Gui.

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

If
you

'11
go

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

(Exit Belarius. 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.

250 260

SONG.
Gui. 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 :
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, physic, must

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

Consign to thee, and come to dust.
Gui. No exorciser harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Aru. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have;

And renowned be thy grave!

270

280

Re-enter BELARIUS, with the body of CLOTEN. Gui. We have done our obsequies : come, lay

him down.

262. Golden, glancing in the the same terms with thee. brilliance of youth.

276. No exorciser harm thee, 271. thunder-stone, 'thunder- i.e. by raising thy spirit. To bolt,' popularly connected with raise (not'lay) spirits was the meteoric stones.

regular Elizabethan use of exor275. Consign to thee, make cise and its derivatives.

Bel. Here's a few flowers; but 'bout midnight,

;

more:

290

The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night
Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their faces.
You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so
These herblets 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-Haven;
which is the

way

y?I thank you.—By yond bush ?—Pray, how far

thither? 'Ods pittikins ! can it be six mile yet ? I have gone all night. 'Faith, I'll lie down and

sleep. But, soft! no bedfellow !-O gods and goddesses !

[Seeing the body of Cloten.
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;
'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
Which the brain makes of fumes : our very eyes
Are sometimes like our judgements, 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!

300

285. Upon their faces, i.e. been perilously near the grotstrew the flowers. Strictly, this esque. That Shakespeare did can only apply to Imogen ; but not forget' Cloten's state is the ceremony would be spon- shown by the immediate sequel. taneously adapted to the case of the headless man, while so to 293. 'Ods pittikins ! 'God's adapt the formula would have pity.

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