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Before the Cave of BELARIUS. | |
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Enter, from the Cave, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, and IMOGEN. | |
Bel. [To IMOGEN.] You are not well; remain here in the cave; | |
We’ll come to you after hunting. | |
Arv. [To IMOGEN.] Brother, stay here; | 5 |
Are we not brothers? | |
Imo. So man and man should be, | |
But clay and clay differs in dignity, | |
Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. | |
Gui. Go you to hunting; I’ll abide with him. | 10 |
Imo. So sick I am not, yet I am not well; | |
But not so citizen a wanton as | |
To seem to die ere sick. So please you, leave me; | |
Stick to your journal course; the breach of custom | |
Is breach of all. I am ill; but your being by me | 15 |
Cannot amend me; society is no comfort | |
To one not sociable. I am not very sick, | |
Since I can reason of it; pray you, trust me here, | |
I’ll rob none but myself, and let me die, | |
Stealing so poorly. | 20 |
Gui. I love thee; I have spoke it; | |
How much the quantity, the weight as much, | |
As I do love my father. | |
Bel. What! how! how! | |
Arv. If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me | 25 |
In my good brother’s fault: I know not why | |
I love this youth; and I have heard you say, | |
Love’s reason’s without reason: the bier at door, | |
And a demand who is ’t shall die, I’d say | |
‘My father, not this youth.’ | 30 |
Bel. [Aside.] O noble strain! | |
O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness! | |
Cowards father cowards, and base things sire base: | |
Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace. | |
I’m not their father; yet who this should be, | 35 |
Doth miracle itself, lov’d before me. | |
’Tis the ninth hour o’ the morn. | |
Arv. Brother, farewell. | |
Imo. I wish ye sport. | |
Arv. You health. So please you, sir. | 40 |
Imo. [Aside.] These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I have heard! | |
Our courtiers say all’s savage but at court: | |
Experience, O! thou disprov’st report. | |
The imperious seas breed monsters, for the dish | |
Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. | 45 |
I am sick still, heart-sick. Pisanio, | |
I’ll now taste of thy drug. [Swallows some. | |
Gui. I could not stir him; | |
He said he was gentle, but unfortunate; | |
Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. | 50 |
Arv. Thus did he answer me; yet said hereafter | |
I might know more. | |
Bel. To the field, to the field! | |
[To IMOGEN.] We’ll leave you for this time; go in and rest. | |
Arv. We’ll not be long away. | 55 |
Bel. Pray, be not sick, | |
For you must be our housewife. | |
Imo. Well or ill, | |
I am bound to you. | |
Bel And shalt be ever. [Exit IMOGEN. | 60 |
This youth, howe’er distress’d, appears he hath had | |
Good ancestors. | |
Arv. How angel-like he sings! | |
Gui. But his neat cookery! he cut our roots | |
In characters, | 65 |
And sauc’d our broths as Juno had been sick | |
And he her dieter. | |
Arv. Nobly he yokes | |
A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh | |
Was that it was, for not being such a smile; | 70 |
The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly | |
From so divine a temple, to commix | |
With winds that sailors rail at. | |
Gui. I do note | |
That grief and patience rooted in him, both | 75 |
Mingle their spurs together. | |
Arv. Grow, patience! | |
And let the stinking-elder, grief, untwine | |
His perishing root with the increasing vine! | |
Bel. It is great morning. Come, away!—Who’s there? | 80 |
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Enter CLOTEN. | |
Clo. I cannot find those runagates; that villain | |
Hath mock’d me. I am faint. | |
Bel. ‘Those runagates!’ | |
Means he not us? I partly know him; ’tis | 85 |
Cloten, the son o’ the queen. I fear some ambush. | |
I saw him not these many years, and yet | |
I know ’tis he. We are held as outlaws: hence! | |
Gui. He is but one. You and my brother search | |
What companies are near; pray you, away; | 90 |
Let me alone with him. [Exeunt BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS. | |
Clo. Soft! What are you | |
That fly me thus? some villain mountainers? | |
I have heard of such. What slave art thou? | |
Gui. A thing | 95 |
More slavish did I ne’er than answering | |
A ‘slave’ without a knock. | |
Clo. Thou art a robber, | |
A law-breaker, a villain. Yield thee, thief. | |
Gui. To who? to thee? What art thou? Have not I | 100 |
An arm as big as thine? a heart as big? | |
Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not | |
My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art, | |
Why I should yield to thee? | |
Clo. Thou villain base, | 105 |
Know’st me not by my clothes? | |
Gui. No, nor thy tailor, rascal, | |
Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes, | |
Which, as it seems, make thee. | |
Clo. Thou precious varlet, | 110 |
My tailor made them not. | |
Gui. Hence then, and thank | |
The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool; | |
I am loath to beat thee. | |
Clo. Thou injurious thief, | 115 |
Hear but my name, and tremble. | |
Gui. What’s thy name? | |
Clo. Cloten, thou villain. | |
Gui. Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name, | |
I cannot tremble at it; were it Toad, or Adder, Spider, | 120 |
’Twould move me sooner. | |
Clo. To thy further fear, | |
Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know | |
I am son to the queen. | |
Gui. I’m sorry for ’t, not seeming | 125 |
So worthy as thy birth. | |
Clo. Art not afeard? | |
Gui. Those that I reverence those I fear, the wise; | |
At fools I laugh, not fear them. | |
Clo. Die the death: | 130 |
When I have slain thee with my proper hand, | |
I’ll follow those that even now fled hence, | |
And on the gates of Lud’s town set your heads: | |
Yield, rustic mountaineer. [Exeunt fighting. | |
|
Re-enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS. | 135 |
Bel. No companies abroad. | |
Arv. None in the world. You did mistake him, sure. | |
Bel. I cannot tell; long is it since I saw him, | |
But time hath nothing blurr’d those lines of favour | |
Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice, | 140 |
And burst of speaking, were as his. I am absolute | |
’Twas very Cloten. | |
Arv. In this place we left them: | |
I wish my brother make good time with him, | |
You say he is so fell. | 145 |
Bel. Being scarce made up, | |
I mean, to man, he had not apprehension | |
Of roaring terrors; for defect of judgment | |
Is oft the cease of fear. But see, thy brother. | |
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Re-enter GUIDERIUS, with CLOTEN’S head. | 150 |
Gui. This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse, | |
There was no money in ’t. Not Hercules | |
Could have knock’d out his brains, for he had none; | |
Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne | |
My head as I do his. | 155 |
Bel. What hast thou done? | |
Gui. I am perfect what: cut off one Cloten’s 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, | 160 |
Displace our heads where—thank the gods!—they grow, | |
And set them on Lud’s town. | |
Bel. We are all undone. | |
Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose, | |
But that he swore to take, our lives? The law | 165 |
Protects not us; then why should we be tender | |
To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us, | |
Play judge and executioner all himself, | |
For we do fear the law? What company | |
Discover you abroad? | 170 |
Bel. No single soul | |
Can we set eye on; but in all safe reason | |
He must have some attendants. Though his humour | |
Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that | |
From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not | 175 |
Absolute madness could so far have rav’d | |
To bring him here alone. Although, perhaps, | |
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,— | 180 |
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 | 185 |
More perilous than the head. | |
Arv. Let ordinance | |
Come as the gods foresay it; howsoe’er, | |
My brother hath done well. | |
Bel. I had no mind | 190 |
To hunt this day; the boy Fidele’s sickness | |
Did make my way long forth. | |
Gui. With his own sword, | |
Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta’en | |
His head from him; I’ll throw ’t into the creek | 195 |
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. [Exit. | |
Bel. I fear ’twill be reveng’d. | |
Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done ’t! though valour | 200 |
Becomes thee well enough. | |
Arv. Would I had done ’t | |
So the revenge alone pursu’d me! Polydore, | |
I love thee brotherly, but envy much | |
Thou hast robb’d me of this deed; I would revenges, | 205 |
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 | |
Where there’s no profit. I prithee, to our rock; | 210 |
You and Fidele play the cooks; I’ll stay | |
Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him | |
To dinner presently. | |
Arv. Poor sick Fidele! | |
I’ll willingly to him; to gain his colour | 215 |
I’d let a parish of such Clotens blood, | |
And praise myself for charity. [Exit. | |
Bel. O thou goddess! | |
Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon’st | |
In these two princely boys. They are as gentle | 220 |
As zephyrs, blowing below the violet, | |
Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough, | |
Their royal blood enchaf’d, as the rud’st wind, | |
That by the top doth take the mountain pine, | |
And make him stoop to the vale. ’Tis wonder | 225 |
That an invisible instinct should frame them | |
To royalty unlearn’d, honour untaught, | |
Civility not seen from other, valour | |
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop | |
As if it had been sow’d! Yet still it’s strange | 230 |
What Cloten’s being here to us portends, | |
Or what his death will bring us. | |
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Re-enter GUIDERIUS. | |
Gui. Where’s my brother? | |
I have sent Cloten’s clotpoll down the stream, | 235 |
In embassy to his mother; his body’s hostage | |
For his return. [Solemn music. | |
Bel. My ingenious instrument! | |
Hark! Polydore, it sounds; but what occasion | |
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark! | 240 |
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? | 245 |
Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys | |
Is jollity for apes and grief for boys. | |
Is Cadwal mad? | |
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Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, with IMOGEN, as dead, bearing her in his arms. | |
Bel. Look! here he comes, | 250 |
And brings the dire occasion in his arms | |
Of what we blame him for. | |
Arv. The bird is dead | |
That we have made so much on. I had rather | |
Have skipp’d from sixteen years of age to sixty, | 255 |
To have turn’d my leaping-time into a crutch, | |
Than have seen this. | |
Gui. O, sweetest, fairest lily! | |
My brother wears thee not the one half so well | |
As when thou grew’st thyself. | 260 |
Bel. 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 mightst have made; but I, | 265 |
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, | |
Not as death’s dart, being laugh’d at; his right cheek | 270 |
Reposing on a cushion. | |
Gui. Where? | |
Arv. O’ the floor, | |
His arms thus leagu’d; I thought he slept, and put | |
My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness | 275 |
Answer’d my steps too loud. | |
Gui. Why, he but sleeps: | |
If he be gone, he’ll make his grave a bed; | |
With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, | |
And worms will not come to thee. | 280 |
Arv. With fairest flowers | |
While 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 | 285 |
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, | |
Out-sweeten’d not thy breath: the ruddock would, | |
With charitable bill,—O bill! sore-shaming | |
Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie | |
Without a monument,—bring thee all this; | 290 |
Yea, and furr’d moss besides, when flowers are none, | |
To winter-ground thy corse. | |
Gui. Prithee, have done, | |
And do not play in wench-like words with that | |
Which is so serious. Let us bury him, | 295 |
And not protract with admiration what | |
Is now due debt. To the grave! | |
Arv. Say, where shall ’s lay him? | |
Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. | |
Arv. Be ’t so: | 300 |
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, | 305 |
I cannot sing; I’ll weep, and word it with thee; | |
For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse | |
Than priests and fanes that lie. | |
Arv. We’ll speak it then. | |
Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less, for Cloten | 310 |
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 | 315 |
Of place ’tween high and low. Our foe was princely, | |
And though you took his life, as being our foe, | |
Yet bury him as a prince. | |
Gui. Pray you, fetch him hither. | |
Thersites’ body is as good as Ajax’ | 320 |
When neither are alive. | |
Arv. 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. | 325 |
Arv. ’Tis true. | |
Gui. Come on then, and remove him. | |
Arv. So, begin. | |
Gui. Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, | |
Nor the furious winter’s rages; | 330 |
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. | |
Arv. Fear no more the frown o’ the great, | 335 |
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, physic, must | |
All follow this, and come to dust. | 340 |
Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash, | |
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; | |
Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash; | |
Arv. Thou hast finish’d joy and moan: | |
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must | 345 |
Consign to thee, and come to dust. | |
Gui. No exorciser harm thee! | |
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! | |
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee! | |
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee! | 350 |
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 ’bout mid-night, more; | 355 |
The herbs that have on them cold dew o’ the night | |
Are strewings fitt’st for graves. Upon their faces | |
You were as flowers, now wither’d; even so | |
These herblets shall, which we upon you strew. | |
Come on, away; apart upon our knees. | 360 |
The ground that gave them first has them again; | |
Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. [Exeunt BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS. | |
Imo. [Awaking.] Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; which is the way? | |
I thank you. By yond bush? Pray, how far thither? | |
’Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet? | 365 |
I have gone all night: Faith, I’ll lie down and sleep. | |
[Seeing the body of CLOTEN.] But, soft! no bed-fellow! O gods and goddesses! | |
These flowers are like the pleasures of the world; | |
This bloody man, the care on ’t. I hope I dream; | |
For so I thought I was a cave-keeper, | 370 |
And cook to honest creatures; but ’tis not so, | |
’Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, | |
Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes | |
Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith, | |
I tremble still with fear; but if there be | 375 |
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity | |
As a wren’s eye, fear’d gods, a part of it! | |
The dream’s here still; even when I wake, it is | |
Without me, as within me; not imagin’d, felt. | |
A headless man! The garments of Posthumus! | 380 |
I know the shape of ’s leg, this is his hand, | |
His foot Mercurial, his Martial thigh, | |
The brawns of Hercules, but his Jovial face— | |
Murder in heaven? How! ’Tis gone. Pisanio, | |
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, | 385 |
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, | 390 |
From this most bravest vessel of the world | |
Struck the main-top! O Posthumus! alas! | |
Where is thy head? where’s that? Ay me! where’s that? | |
Pisanio might have kill’d thee at the heart, | |
And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio? | 395 |
’Tis he and Cloten; malice and lucre in them | |
Have laid this woe here. O! ’tis pregnant, pregnant! | |
The drug he gave me, which he said was precious | |
And cordial to me, have I not found it | |
Murderous to the senses? That confirms it home; | 400 |
This is Pisanio’s deed, and Cloten’s: O! | |
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, | |
That we the horrider may seem to those | |
Which chance to find us. O! my lord, my lord. [Falls on the body. | |
|
Enter LUCIUS, a Captain, other Officers, and a Soothsayer. | 405 |
Cap. To them the legions garrison’d in Gallia, | |
After your will, have cross’d the sea, attending | |
You here at Milford-Haven with your ships: | |
They are in readiness. | |
Luc. But what from Rome? | 410 |
Cap. The senate 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, | |
Sienna’s brother. | 415 |
Luc. When expect you them? | |
Cap. With the next benefit o’ the wind. | |
Luc. This forwardness | |
Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers | |
Be muster’d; bid the captains look to ’t. Now, sir, | 420 |
What have you dream’d of late of this war’s purpose? | |
Sooth. Last night the very gods show’d me a vision,— | |
I fast and pray’d for their intelligence,—thus: | |
I saw Jove’s bird, the Roman eagle, wing’d | |
From the spongy south to this part of the west, | 425 |
There vanish’d in the sunbeams; which portends, | |
Unless my sins abuse my divination, | |
Success to the Roman host. | |
Luc. Dream often so, | |
And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here | 430 |
Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime | |
It was a worthy building. How! a page! | |
Or dead or sleeping on him? But dead rather, | |
For nature doth abhor to make his bed | |
With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. | 435 |
Let’s see the boy’s face. | |
Cap. He’s alive, my lord. | |
Luc. He’ll, then, instruct us of this body. Young one, | |
Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems | |
They crave to be demanded. Who is this | 440 |
Thou mak’st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he | |
That, otherwise than noble nature did, | |
Hath alter’d that good picture? What’s thy interest | |
In this sad wrack? How came it? Who is it? | |
What art thou? | 445 |
Imo. I am nothing; or if not, | |
Nothing to be were better. This was my master, | |
A very valiant Briton and a good, | |
That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas! | |
There are no more such masters; I may wander | 450 |
From east to occident, cry out for service, | |
Try many, all good, serve truly, never | |
Find such another master. | |
Luc. ’Lack, good youth! | |
Thou mov’st no less with thy complaining than | 455 |
Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend. | |
Imo. Richard du Champ.—[Aside.] If I do lie and do | |
No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope | |
They’ll pardon it.—Say you, sir? | |
Luc. Thy name? | 460 |
Imo. Fidele, sir. | |
Luc. Thou dost approve thyself the very same; | |
Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name. | |
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say | |
Thou shalt be so well master’d, but be sure | 465 |
No less belov’d. The Roman emperor’s letters, | |
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner | |
Than thine own worth prefer thee. Go with me. | |
Imo. I’ll follow, sir. But first, an ’t please the gods, | |
I’ll hide my master from the flies, as deep | 470 |
As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when | |
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha’ strew’d his grave, | |
And on it said a century of prayers, | |
Such as I can, twice o’er, I’ll weep and sigh; | |
And, leaving so his service, follow you, | 475 |
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 | 480 |
Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can, | |
And make him with our pikes and partisans | |
A grave; come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr’d | |
By thee to us, and he shall be interr’d | |
As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes: | 485 |
Some falls are means the happier to arise. [Exeunt. | |
|