Imo. 'Mongst friends! If brothers? Would it had been so, that they Had been my father's sons, then had my Been less; and so more equal ballasting Bel. >Aside. He wrings at some distress. What pain it cost, what danger! Gods! Imo. Great men, Enter Two Senators and Tribunes. 1 Sen. This is the tenour of the emperor's writ; Or I; whate'er it be, Lucius pro-consul: and to you the tribunes, Hark, boys. [Whispering. That had a court no bigger than this cave, Ay. Tri. Remaining now in Gallia ? We will discharge our duty. Clo. I am near to the place where they should meet, if Pisanio have mapped it truly. How fit his garments serve me! Why should his mistress, who was made by him that made the tailor, not be fit too? the rather (saving reverence of the word) for 'tis said, a woman's fitness comes by fits. Therein I must play the workman. I dare speak it to myself, (for it is not vain-glory, for a man and his glass to confer; in his own chamber, I mean,) the lines of my body are as well drawn as his; no less young, more strong, not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike conversant in general services, and more remarkable in single oppositions: yet this imperseverant thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is! Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, shall within this hour be off; thy mistress enforced; thy garments cut to pieces before thy face: and all this done, spurn her home to her father: who may, haply, be a little angry for my so rough usage: but my mother, having power of his testiness, shall turn all into my commendations. My horse is tied up safe: Out, sword, and to a sore purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand! This is the very description of their meeting-place; and the fellow dares not deceive me. [Exit. - Before the Cave. Enter, from the Cave, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, and IMOGEN. Bel. You are not well: [To IMOGEN.] remain here in the cave; We'll come to you after hunting. Arv. Are we not brothers? Brother, stay here: [TO IMOGEN. So man and man should be ; To seem to die, ere sick: So please you, leave me; Gu. I am perfect, what: cut off one Cioten's | Their royal blood enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind, head, Son to the queen, after his own report; Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer; and swore, With his own single hand he'd take us in, That by the top doth take the mountain pine, Displace our heads, where (thank the gods!) they Civility not seen from other: valour, No single soul Can we set eye on, but in all safe reason, He must have some attendants. Though his humour Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear, Arv. Let ordinance Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er, Bel. Bel. valour That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream, 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? Arv. Stark, as you see: Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, Gui. Arv. Where? O'the floor; His arms thus leagu'd: 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, ne'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 wcuid, With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less for Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys: Together, have one dust; yet reverence, Gui. Arv. If you'll go fetch him, Brother, begin. [Exit BELARIUS. lay his head to the Gu. Nay, Cadwal, we must Gut. 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. Irv. 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 Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash, Consign to thee, and come to dust. Gu. No exorciser harm thee! Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! Gur. Ghost unlaid forbear thee! Arv. Nothing ill come near thee! Both. Quiet consummation have; And renowned be thy grave! 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, more: The herbs, that have on them cold dew o'the night, I thank you. - By yon bush? - Pray, how far thither? -can it be six miles yet?. 'Ods pittikins! I have gone all night: -'faith, I'll lie down and sleep. But, soft! no bedfellow : - - O, gods and goddesses! [Seeing the body. These flowers are like the pleasures of the world; Good The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial faceMurder in heaven? How?-'Tis gone.-Pisanio, Begin. All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou, Conspir'd with that irregulous devil, Cloten, Hast here cut off my lord. To write, and read, Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio Hath with his forged letters, damn'd Pisanio From this most bravest vessel of the world that? Pisanio might have kill'd thee the heart, Pisanio? 'Tis he, and Cloten: malice and lucre in them Enter LUCIUS, a Captain, and other Officers, and a Soothsayer. Cap. To them, the legions garrison'd in Gallia, After your will, have cross'd the sea; attending A fever with the absence of her son; A madness, of which her life's in danger: How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen, Pis. I humbly set it at your will: But, for my mistress, highness, Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest | Hold me your loyal servant. Good my liege, 1 Lord. There wants no diligence in seeking him, The time's troublesome : Cym We'll slip you for a season; but our jealousy [TO PISANIO. |