To come alone, either he fo undertaking,

Or they fo fuffering: then on good ground we fear,
If we do fear this body hath a tail

More perilous than the head.

ARV. Let ordinance

Come as the gods forefay it: howsoe'er,
My brother hath done well.

BEL. I had no mind

To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness
Did make my way long forth.

GUI. With his own fword,

Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta’en
His head from him: I'll throw't into the creek
Behind our rock; and let it to the fea,

And tell the fishes, he's the queen's fon, Cloten :
That's all I reck.

BEL. I fear 'twill be reveng'd:

[Exit.

'Would, Polydore thou hadst not done't! though valour Becomes thee well enough.

ARV. 'Would I had done't,

So the revenge alone pursued me !_Polydore,

I love thee brotherly; but envy much,

Thou haft robb'd me of this deed: I would, revenges,

That poffible ftrength might meet, would feek us through, And put us to our answer.

BEL. Well, 'tis done :

We'll hunt no more to-day, nor feek for danger
Where there's no profit. I pr'ythee, to our rock;
You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay

Till hafty Polydore return, and bring him
To dinner presently.

ARV. Poor fick Fidele!

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

I'd let a parish of fuch Clotens blood,
And praise myself for charity.

BEL. O thou goddess,

Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
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 rud'ft wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful,
That an invifible inftinct fhould frame them
To royalty unlearn'd; honour untaught;
Civility not feen from other; valour,

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

Re-enter GUIDERIUS.

GUI. Where's my brother?

I have fent Cloten's clotpoll down the ftream,

In embassy to his mother; his body's hoftage
For his return.

BEL. My ingenious instrument!

[Exit.

[Solemn mufick.

Hark, Polydore, it founds! But what occafion

Hath Cadwal now to give it motion! Hark!

GUI. Is he at home?

BEL. He went hence even now.

[mother

GUI. What does he mean? fince death of my dear'ft

It did not speak before. All folemn things

Should answer folemn accidents. The matter?

Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys,
Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys.
Is Cadwal mad?

'Re-enter AR VIRAGUS, bearing IMOGEN as dead, in his arms.

BEL. Look, here he comes,

And brings the dire occafion in his arms,
Of what we blame him for!

ARV. The bird is dead,

That we have made fo much on. I had rather
Have skipp'd from fixteen years of age to fixty,
To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch,
Than have seen this.

GUI. O fweetest, fairest lily!

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

BEL. O, melancholy !

Who ever yet could found thy bottom? find
The ooze, to fhow what coaft thy fluggish crare
Might eafilieft harbour in !-Thou bleffed thing!
Jove knows what man thou might'st have made; but I,
Thou diedft, a moft rare boy, of melancholy !-
How found you him?

ARV. Stark, as you fee:

Thus fmiling, as fome fly had tickled flumber,

Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at: his right cheek Repofing on a cushion.

GUI. Where?

ARV. O'the floor;

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

GUI. 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 to thee.

ARV. With faireft flowers,

Whilft fummer lafts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy fad 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 flander,
Out-fweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would,
With charitable bill (O bill, fore-fhaming
Thofe rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a monument !) bring thee all this;
Yea, and furr'd mofs befides, when flowers are none,
To winter-ground thy corfe.

Gui. 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 the grave.
ARV. Say, where fhall's lay him?
GUI. By good Euriphile, our mother.
ARV. Be't fo:

And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
Have got

the mannish crack, fing him to the ground, As once our mother; ufe like note, and words, Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

GUI. Cadwal,

I cannot fing: I'll weep, and word it with thee :
For notes of forrow, out of tune, are worfe

Than priests and fanes that lie.

ARV. We'll speak it then.

BEL. Great griefs, I fee, medicine the lefs: for Cloten Is quite forgot. He was a queen's fon, boys;

And, though he came our enemy, remember,

He was paid for that: Though mean and mighty, rotting Together, have one duft; 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, Therfites' body is as good as Ajax, When neither are alive.

ARV. If you'll go fetch him,

We'll fay our fong the whilft.-Brother, begin.

[Exit BELARIUS.

GUI. Nay, Cadwal, we muft lay his head to the eaft;

My father hath a reason for't,

ART. 'Tis true.

GUI. Come on then, and remove him,

ARV. So, Begin.

SONG.

GUI. Fear no more the heat o'the fun,

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-fweepers, come to duft.

ARV. Fear no more the frown o'the great,

Thou art paft the tyrant's stroke ;

Care no more to clothe, and eat ;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The Scepter, learning, phyfick, muft
All follow this, and come to duft.

GUI. Fear no more the lightning-flash,
ARV. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-ftone;
GUI. Fear not flander, cenfure rash;