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What Cloten's being here to us portends;
Or what his death will bring us.



Where's my brother?

I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,
In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage
For his return.

[Solemn Musick.
My ingenious instrument !
Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion! Hark!
Gui. Is he at home?


He went hence even now.

Gui. What does he mean? since death of my dear'st mother

It did not speak before. All solemn things
Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?
Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys,1
Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys,

Is Cadwal mad?

Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, bearing IMOGEN as dead, in


his Arms.

Look, here he comes,

And brings the dire occasion in his arms,

Of what we blame him for!

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.

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

1 Trifles.



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 might'st have made; but I,

Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy ! —
How found you him?


Stark 3, as you see: Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at: his right


Reposing on a cushion.




O'the floor;

His arms thus leagu'd: I thought, he slept: and


My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rude


Answer'd my steps too loud.

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.

With fairest flowers,

Arv. 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 azur'd hare-bell, 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 (O bill, sore-shaming, Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie

2 A slow-sailing, unwieldy vessel.
4 Shoes plated with iron.

3 Stiff.

5 The red-breast.

Without a monument !) bring thee all this;
Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are


To winter-ground 6 thy corse.

Gui. Pr'ythee, 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.

Say, where shall's lay him?
Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother.

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.


We'll speak it then. Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less for


Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys:
And, though he came our enemy, remember,
He was paid for that: Though mean and mighty,

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.

• Probably a corrupt reading, for, wither round thy



7 Punished.


Pray you, fetch him hither.

Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,

When neither are alive.

Arv. If you'll go fetch him, We'll say our song the whilst.—Brother, begin.


Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the


My father hath a reason for't.


Gui. Come on then, and remove him.



'Tis true.


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, physick, 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
Consigns to thee, and come to dust.

7 Judgment.

8 Seal the same contract.

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

And renowned be thy grave !9

Re-enter BELARIUS, with the Body of CLOTEN. Gui. We have done our obsequies: Come lay him down.

Bel. Here's a few flowers, but about midnight,


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 herb'lets shall, which we upon you strow.—
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.

Imo. [awaking.] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven:
Which is the way?

I thank you. By yon bush?-Pray, how far thi


'Ods pittikins!!

can it be six miles yet? I have gone all night :-'Faith, I'll lay down and


But, soft! no bedfellow :-O, gods and goddesses! [Seeing the Body.

9 See W. Collins's song at the end of the Play.

1 This diminutive adjuration is derived from God's my pity.

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