I tremble ftill 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; even when I wake, it is
Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
A headless man!-the garments of Pofthumus?
I know the fhape 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
All curfes madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! thou,
'Twas thou confpiring with that devil Cloten,
Haft here cut off my Lord. To write, and read,
Be henceforth treach'rous! Damn'd Pifanio
Hath with his forged letters

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? ah me, where's that? Pifanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,

And left thy 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 faid was precious

And cordial to me, have I not found it

Murd'rous to th' fenfes? that confirms it home:
This is Pifanio's deed, and Cloten's. Oh!
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may feem to those
Which chance to find us. Oh, my

SCENE

Lord! my

VII.

Lord!

Enter Lucius, Captains, and a Soothsayer.

Cap. To them, the legions garrifon'd in Gallia After your will, have crofs'd the fea, attending You here at Milford-Haven, with your ships: They are in readiness.

VOL. VI.

N

Luc.

194

Luc. But what from Rome?

Cap. The fenate hath stirr'd up the confiners, And gentlemen of Italy, moft willing fpirits, That promise noble fervice: 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 prefent numbers
Be mufter'd, bid the captains look to't. Now, Sir,
[To the Soothsayer.
What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's purpose ?

8 /

Sooth. Laft very night the Gods fhew'd me a vifion; 9' (I fafting' pray'd for their intelligence)

I faw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing

From th' fpungy fouth, to this part of the weft, There vanifh in the fun-beams; which portends (Unless my fins abuse my divination)

Succefs to th' Roman hoft.

Luc. Dream often fo,

And never falfe.Soft, ho, what trunk is here
Without his top? the ruin fpeaks, that fometime
It was a worthy building. How! a page!
Or dead, or fleeping on him: but dead rather:
For nature doth abhor to make his couch
With the defunct, or fleep upon the dead.
Let's fee the boy's face.

Cap. He's alive, my Lord.

Luc. He'll then inftruct us of this body. Young one,

Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems

They crave to be demanded: who is this

Thou mak'ft thy bloody pillow? who was he
That, otherwife than noble nature did it,`

Hath alter'd that good picture? what's thy intereft
In this fad wreck? how came it, and who is it?
What art thou?

Imo.

night the very

I faft and 9

I vanish'd 2 did

Imo. I am nothing; or if not,

Nothing to be, were better. This was my mafter,
A very valiant Briton, and a good,

That here by mountaineers lyes. flain: alas!

There are no more fuch masters: I may wander
From east to occident, cry out for fervice,
Try many, all good, ferve them truly, never
Find fuch another master.

Luc. 'Lack, good youth!

Thou mov'ft no lefs with thy complaining, than
Thy mafter bleeding: fay his name, good friend.
İmo. Richard du Camp. If I do lie, and do
No harm by it, though the Gods hear, I hope
They'll pardon't. Say you, Sir?

Luc. Thy name?

Imo. Fidele.

Luc. Thou doft approve thy felf the very fame;
Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name.
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not fay
Thou shalt be fo well mafter'd, but be fure
No lefs belov'd. The Roman Emperor's letters
Sent by a Conful to me should no fooner
Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with me.

[Afide.

Imo. I'll follow, Sir. But firft, an't please the Gods, I'll hide my master from the flies as deep

As these poor pickaxes can dig: and when

With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' ftrew'd his grave,

And on it faid a century of pray❜rs,

(Such as I can,) twice o'er, I'll weep and figh,

And leaving fo his fervice follow you,

So please you entertain me.

Luc. Ay, good youth,

And rather father thee, than master thee.
My friends,

The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us
Find out the prettiest dazied-plot we can,

And make him with our pikes and partizans

A grave; come, arm him: boy, he is preferr'd
By thee to us, and he fhall be interr'd

As foldiers can.

Be chearful, wipe thine eyes.

Some falls are means the happier to arife.

Enter Bellarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.

Guid. The noife is round about us.

Bel. Let us from it.

[Exeunt.

Arv. What pleasure, Sir, find we in life, to lock it: From action and adventure?

Guid. Nay, what hope

Have we in hiding us? this way the Romans

Muft or for Britons flay us, or receive us
For barb'rous and unnatural revolters

During their use, and flay us after.

Bel. Sons,

We'll higher to the mountains, there fecure us.
To the King's party there's no going; newness
Of Cloten's death, we being not known nor muster'd
Among the bands may drive us to a render
Where we have liv'd: and fo extort from us

That which we've done, whofe answer would be death
Drawn on with torture.

Guid. This is, Sir, a doubt

(In fuch a time) nothing becoming you,

Nor fatisfying us.

Arv. It is not likely,

That when they hear the Roman horfes neigh,

Behold their quarter'd fires, have both their eyes

And ears fo cloy'd importantly as now,
That they will wafte their time upon our note
To know from whence we are.

Bel. Oh, I am known

Of many in the army; many years,

Though Cloten then but young, (you fee,) not wore him

(a) That is, take him up in your arms.

From

From my remembrance. And besides, the King
Hath not deferv'd my fervice, nor your loves;
Who find in my exile the want of breeding,
The certainty of this hard life, aye hopeless
To have the courtefie your cradle promis'd,
But to be still hot fummer's tanlings, and
The fhrinking flaves of winter.

Guid. Than be so, Better to cease to be.

Pray, Sir, to th' army; I and my brother are not known; your felf So out of thought, and thereto fo o'er-grown, Cannot be question'd.

Arv. By this fun that fhines,

I'll thither; what thing is it, that I never

Did fee man die, fcarce ever look'd on blood,

But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venifon?
Never beftrid a horfe fave one, that had

A rider like my felf who ne'er wore rowel,
Nor iron on his heel? I am afham'd

To look upon the holy fun, to have
The benefit of his bleft beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.

Guid. By heav'ns, I'll go;

If you will blefs me, Sir, and give me leave,
I'll take the better care; but if you will not,
The hazard therefore due fall on me by

The hands of Romans!

Arv. So fay I, Amen!

Bel. No reafon I, fince of

your lives

you fet

So flight a valuation, fhould referve

My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys.

If in your country wars you chance to die,

That is my bed too, lads, and there I'll lye.

Lead, lead; the time feems long, their blood thinks fcorn,

Till it flie out, and fhew them Princes born.

N 3

[Afide.

[Exeunt.

ACT