If he be gone he'll make his grave a bed, With female Fairies will his tomb he haunted, Arv. With fairest flow'rs, (Whilst summer lafts, and I live here, Fidele,) Yea, and furr'd mofs befides. When flow'rs are none Guid. Pr'ythee have done, And do not play in wench-like words with that And not protract with admiration what Arv. Say, where fhall's lay him? 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, (The angel of the world,) doth make distinction And though you took his life, as being our foe, Guid. Pray fetch him hither. 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, Thou thy worldly task haft done, • Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. As chimney Sweepers, come to duft. • Care no more to cloath and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: 4 Guid. Guid. Fear no more the lightning-flafb. Arv. Thou haft finish'd joy and moan. Enter Bellarius with the body of Cloten. Guid. We've done our obfequies: come lay him down. - Upon their faces---- The ground that gave them first, has them again: SCENE VI. Imogen awakes. Yes, Sir, to Milford-Haven, which is the way? < '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. - And cook to honeft creatures. 'Tis not fo: Murther in heav'n! ---- how! To write, and read, - 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? 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! 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, 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 I faw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd Success to the Roman hoft. Luc. Dream often so, And never false. ---- Soft ho, what trunk is here |