If he be gone he'll make his grave a bed,

With female Fairies will his tomb he haunted,
And worms will not come near thee.

Arv. With fairest flow'rs,

(Whilst summer lafts, and I live here, Fidele,)
I'll fweeten thy fad grave. Thou shalt not lack
The flow'r that's like thy face, pale Primrose, nor
The azur'd Hare-bell, like thy veins; no nor
The leaf of Eglantine, which not to flander,
Out-sweetn❜d not thy breath. The raddock would
With charitable bill (oh bill fore shaming
Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lye
Without a monument) bring thee all this,

Yea, and furr'd mofs befides. When flow'rs are none
To winter-ground thy coarfe -

Guid. 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 th' grave.

Arv. Say, where fhall's lay him?
Guid. By good Euriphile, our mother.
Arv. Be't fo:

And let us, Polidore, though now our voices

Have got

the mannish crack, fing him to th' ground As once our mother: use like note, and words, Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

Guid. Cadwall,

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 fpeak it then.

Bel. Great griefs I fee med'cine the lefs. For Cloten

Is quite forgot. He was a queen's fon, boys,
And though he came our enemy, remember
Was paid for that: the mean and mighty rotting
Together have one duft; yet reverence,

(The angel of the world,) doth make distinction
Of place 'twixt high and low. Our foe was princely,

And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him, as a prince.

Guid. Pray 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..

Guid. Nay, Cadwall, we must lay his head to th' eaft ;

My father hath a reason for't.

Arv. 'Tis true.

Guid. Come on then, and remove him.

Arv. So, begin.

SONG.

Guid. Fear no more the heat o'th' 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 must

As chimney Sweepers, come to duft.
Arv. • Fear no more the frown o'th' great,
• Thou art paft the tyrant's stroke ;

• Care no more to cloath and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak:
The Scepter, learning, phyfick, muft
All follow this, and come to duft.

4

Guid.

Guid.

Fear no more the lightning-flafb.
Arv. Nor th all dreaded thunder-ftone.
Guid. Fear no flander, cenfure rash.

Arv. Thou haft finish'd joy and moan.
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must
Confign to thee, and come to duft.
Guid. No exorcifer harm thee!
Arv. And no witchcraft charm thee?
Guid. Ghoft unlaid forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet confummation have,
And renowned be thy grave!

Enter Bellarius with the body of Cloten.

Guid. We've done our obfequies: come lay him down.
Bel. Here's a few flow'rs, but about midnight more;
The herbs that have on them cold dew o'th' night
Are ftrewings fitt'ft for graves.

- Upon their faces----
You were as flow'rs, now wither'd; even fo
These herbelets shall, which we upon you strow.
Come on, away, apart upon our knees -

The ground that gave them first, has them again:
Their pleasure here is past, fo is their pain.

SCENE VI.

Imogen awakes.

Yes, Sir, to Milford-Haven, which is the way?
I thank you----by yond bush pray how far thither?

< 'Ods pittikins

1091

< I've gone all night

can it be fix mile yet?

'faith, I'll lye down and fleep.

< But foft! no bedfellow!---- oh gods, and goddeffes!

[Exeunt.

[Seeing the body.

• The

The flow'rs are like the pleasures of the world;

Sure I dream;

This bloody man the care on't. -
For fure I thought I was a cave-keeper,

And cook to honeft creatures. 'Tis not fo:
< 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, fhot at nothing,
< Which the brain makes of fumes: Our very eyes
Are fometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith
" I tremble still with fear; but if there be
Yet left in heav'n as fmall a drop of pity
'As a wren's eye, oh gods! a part of it!
The dream's here ftill; ev'n when I wake, it is
Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
A headless man! ---- the garments of Posthumus?
I know the shape of's leg, this is his hand,
His foot mercurial, his martial thigh,
The arms of Hercules: but his jovial face

Murther in heav'n! ---- how!
- how! ----'tis gone ---- Pifanio ! --
All curfes madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! thou,
'Twas thou conspiring with that devil Cloten,
Haft here cut off my lord.
Be henceforth treach'rous.
Hath with his forged letters

To write, and read,
Damn'd Pifanio

- damn'd Pifanio

From this the braveft veffel of the world

Struck the main top! oh Pofthumus, alas,

Where is thy head? where's that? ay me, where's that?
Pifanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,

And left his head on. How should this be, Pifanio!

'Tis he and Cloten.

Malice and lucre in them

Have laid this woe here.

Oh 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
The drug he gave me, which he said was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it

Murd'rous to th' fenfes? that confirms it home:

This

This is Pifanio's deed, and Cloten's. Oh!

Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may seem to those

Which chance to find us. Oh, my lord! my lord!

Enter Lucius, Captains, and a foothsayer. Cap. To them, the legions garrifon'd in Gallia After your will, have cross'd the fea, attending You here at Milford-Haven, with your ships : They are in readiness.

Luc. But what from Rome?

Cap. The fenate 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,

Syenna's brother.

Luc. When expect you them?

Cap. With the next benefit o'th' wind.

Luc. This forwardness

Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers
Be muster'd, bid the captains look to't. Now, fir,
What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's purpose?
Sooth. Last night the very gods fhew'd me a vision
(I fast, and pray'd for their intelligence)

I faw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd
From th' fpungy fouth, to this part of the west,
There vanish'd in the fun-beams; which portends
(Unless my fins abuse my divination)

Success to the Roman hoft.

Luc. Dream often so,

And never false. ---- Soft ho, what trunk is here