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Enter Guiderius and Arviragus, from the Cave, bearing Imogen's Body.
Come, let us lay the bodies each by each,
And strew them o'er with flow'rs; and on the morrow
Shall the earth receive them.
Are. Sweet Fidele!
Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's blast;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
And the dream of life is past.
Guid. Monarchs, sages, peasants, must Follow thee, and come to dust.
[Exeunt, bearing the Body.
Enter Cymbeline, Second Lord, Pisanio, and Attendants.
Cym. Again; and bring me word, how the queen does. [Exit an Attendant.
A fever, with the absence of her son;
A madness, of which her life's in danger:—Heavens,
How deeply you at once do 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.
Pisanio. Sir, my life is yours,
I humbly set it at your will.
2 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.
There wants no diligence in seeking him,
He will, no doubt, be found.
Ct/m. The time is troublesome;
We'll slip you for a season: but our jealousy
Does yet depend.
Enter First Lord.
1 Lord. So please your majesty, The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, Are landed on your coast.
Cym. Now for the counsel of my son, and queen! Let's withdraw;
And meet the time, as it seeks us. We fear not
What can from Italy annoy us; but
We grieve at chances here.
[Exeunt Cymbeline, the Two Lords, and
Pisanio. I heard no letter from my master, since
I wrote him, Imogen was slain: 'Tis strange:
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise
To yield me often tidings: Neither know I
What is betid to Cloten; but remain
Perplex'd in all. The Heavens still must work:
Wherein I'm false, I'm honest; not true, to be true.
These present wars shall find I love my country,
Even to the note o' the king, or I'll fall in them.
All other doubts, by time, let them be clear'd:
Fortune brings in some boats, that are not steer'd.
Imogen and Cloten discovered, lying on a Bank strewed with Flowers.—Imogen awakes.
Imog. Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; 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: 'Faith, I'll lie down and
sleep.— [Seeing the Body.
But, soft! no bedfellow:—O, gods and goddesses!
These flowers are like the pleasures of the world;
This bloody man, the care on't.—I hope, a dream;
For, so, I thought I was a cave-keeper,
And cook to honest creatures.
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 !—
Oh, he is murder'd !—
Tis thou conspiring with that devil, Cloten,
Hast here cut off my lord.—
How should this be ?—Pisanio ?—
The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious
And 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: O!—
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on them !—
O, my lord! my lord!
Enter Caius Lucius, Varus, and Soldiers.
Varus. The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners,
And gentlemen of Italy; most willing spirits,
That promise noble service: and they come
Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
Luc. When expect you them?
Varus. With the next benefit o' the wind.
Luc. This forwardness
Makes our hopes fair.—
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.
Vans. He is alive, my lord.
Luc. He'll then instruct us of this body.—Young
Inform us of thy fortunes; for, it seems,
They crave to be demanded: Who is this
Thou mak'stthy bloody pillow?
What's thy interest
In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it?
What art thou ?
Imog. 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!
Luc. 'Lack, good youth! Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than Thy master in bleeding: Say, thy name, good boy.
Luc. Thy name well fits thy faith:—
Wilt take thy chance with me; I will not say,
Thou shalt be so well mastered; but, be sure,
No less belov'd.
Go with me.
Imog. I'll follow, sir. But, first, an't please the
I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep
As these poor pick-axes can dig: and when
With wild wood-leaves, and weeds, I have strew'd his
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.—
The boy hath taught us manly duties: Let us
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can,
And make him, with our pikes and partizans,
A grave: Come, arm him.
Boy, he is preferr'd
By thee, to us; and he shall beinterr'd
As soldiers can.—Be cheerful, wipe thine eyes:
Some falls are means the happier to arise.
[As the Soldiers are taking up the Body, the