From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not It may be heard at court, that such as we Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time May make some stronger head: the which he hearing, (As it is like him,) might break out, and swear He'd fetch us in; yet is't not probable To come alone, either he so undertaking, Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear, If we do fear this body hath a tail More perilous than the head. Aro. Let ordinance Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er, Bel. I had no mind To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness Gui. With his own sword, Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en His head from him: I'll throw it into the creek Behind our rock; and let it to the sea, And tell the fishes, he's the queen's son, Cloten : That's all I reck. Bell. I fear, 'twill be reveng'd: [Exit. 'Would, Polydore, thou had'st not done't! though va lour 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 hast robb'd me of this deed: I would, revenges, That possible strength might meet, would seek us through, And put us to our answer. Bel. Well, 'tis done : We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger Arv. Poor sick Fidele ! I'll willingly to him: To gain his colour, And praise myself for charity. Bel. O thou goddess, Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st [Exit. Not wagging his sweet head: and yet as rough, That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop Re-enter GUIDERIUS. Gui. Where's my brother? I have sent Cloten's clotpole down the stream, In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage For his return. Bel. My ingenious instrument! [Solemn music. Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion Hath Cadwal now to give it motion! Hark! Gui. Is he at home? Bel. 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? Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys. Is Cadwal mad? Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, bearing IMOGEN as dead, in his Arms. Bel. Look, here he comes, And brings the dire occasion in his arms, Aro. The bird is dead, That we have made so much on. I had rather Gui. O sweetest, fairest lily! My brother wears thee not the one half so well, Bel. O, melancholy! Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find Jove knows what man thou might'st have made; but I, Arv. Stark, as you see: Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at: his right cheek 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; Arv. With fairest flowers, Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, Without a monument!) bring thee all this; Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, To winter-ground 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. Aro. Say, where shall's lay him? Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. 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: Aro. We'll speak it then. Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less: for Cloten 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, 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; Gui. Pray you, fetch him hither. Aro. If you'll 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. Aro. 'Tis true. |