Cymbeline · Chapter 4Part 4
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Cym. Where is she Sir? How Can her contempt be answer'd? Mes. Please you Sir, Her Chambers are all lock'd, and there's no answer That will be giuen to'th' lowd of noise, we make
Qu. My Lord, when last I went to visit her, She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close, Whereto constrain'd by her infirmitie, She should that dutie leaue vnpaide to you Which dayly she was bound to proffer: this She wish'd me to make knowne: but our great Court Made me too blame in memory
Cym. Her doores lock'd? Not seene of late? Grant Heauens, that which I Feare, proue false. Enter.
Qu. Sonne, I say, follow the King
Clot. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old Seruant I haue not seene these two dayes. Enter.
Qu. Go, looke after: Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus, He hath a Drugge of mine: I pray, his absence Proceed by swallowing that. For he beleeues It is a thing most precious. But for her, Where is she gone? Haply dispaire hath seiz'd her: Or wing'd with feruour of her loue, she's flowne To her desir'd Posthumus: gone she is, To death, or to dishonor, and my end Can make good vse of either. Shee being downe, I haue the placing of the Brittish Crowne. Enter Cloten.
How now, my Sonne? Clot. 'Tis certaine she is fled: Go in and cheere the King, he rages, none Dare come about him
Qu. All the better: may This night fore-stall him of the comming day.
Exit Qu.
Clo. I loue, and hate her: for she's Faire and Royall, And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite Then Lady, Ladies, Woman, from euery one The best she hath, and she of all compounded Out-selles them all. I loue her therefore, but Disdaining me, and throwing Fauours on The low Posthumus, slanders so her iudgement, That what's else rare, is choak'd: and in that point I will conclude to hate her, nay indeede, To be reueng'd vpon her. For, when Fooles shall- Enter Pisanio.
Who is heere? What, are you packing sirrah? Come hither: Ah you precious Pandar, Villaine, Where is thy Lady? In a word, or else Thou art straightway with the Fiends
Pis. Oh, good my Lord
Clo. Where is thy Lady? Or, by Iupiter, I will not aske againe. Close Villaine, Ile haue this Secret from thy heart, or rip Thy heart to finde it. Is she with Posthumus? From whose so many waights of basenesse, cannot A dram of worth be drawne
Pis. Alas, nay Lord, How can she be with him? When was she miss'd? He is in Rome
Clot. Where is she Sir? Come neerer: No farther halting: satisfie me home, What is become of her? Pis. Oh, my all-worthy Lord
Clo. All-worthy Villaine, Discouer where thy Mistris is, at once, At the next word: no more of worthy Lord: Speake, or thy silence on the instant, is Thy condemnation, and thy death
Pis. Then Sir: This Paper is the historie of my knowledge Touching her flight
Clo. Let's see't: I will pursue her Euen to Augustus Throne
Pis. Or this, or perish. She's farre enough, and what he learnes by this, May proue his trauell, not her danger
Clo. Humh
Pis. Ile write to my Lord she's dead: Oh Imogen, Safe mayst thou wander, safe returne agen
Clot. Sirra, is this Letter true? Pis. Sir, as I thinke
Clot. It is Posthumus hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou would'st not be a Villain, but do me true seruice: vndergo those Imployments wherin I should haue cause to vse thee with a serious industry, that is, what villainy soere I bid thee do to performe it, directly and truely, I would thinke thee an honest man: thou should'st neither want my meanes for thy releefe, nor my voyce for thy preferment
Pis. Well, my good Lord
Clot. Wilt thou serue mee? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stucke to the bare Fortune of that Begger Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serue mee? Pis. Sir, I will
Clo. Giue mee thy hand, heere's my purse. Hast any of thy late Masters Garments in thy possession? Pisan. I haue (my Lord) at my Lodging, the same Suite he wore, when he tooke leaue of my Ladie & Mistresse
Clo. The first seruice thou dost mee, fetch that Suite hither, let it be thy first seruice, go
Pis. I shall my Lord. Enter.
Clo. Meet thee at Milford-Hauen: (I forgot to aske him one thing, Ile remember't anon:) euen there, thou villaine Posthumus will I kill thee. I would these Garments were come. She saide vpon a time (the bitternesse of it, I now belch from my heart) that shee held the very Garment of Posthumus, in more respect, then my Noble and naturall person; together with the adornement of my Qualities. With that Suite vpon my backe wil I rauish her: first kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see my valour, which wil then be a torment to hir contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insulment ended on his dead bodie, and when my Lust hath dined (which, as I say, to vex her, I will execute in the Cloathes that she so prais'd:) to the Court Ile knock her backe, foot her home againe. She hath despis'd mee reioycingly, and Ile bee merry in my Reuenge. Enter Pisanio.
Be those the Garments? Pis. I, my Noble Lord
Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford-Hauen? Pis. She can scarse be there yet
Clo. Bring this Apparrell to my Chamber, that is the second thing that I haue commanded thee. The third is, that thou wilt be a voluntarie Mute to my designe. Be but dutious, and true preferment shall tender it selfe to thee. My Reuenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to follow it. Come, and be true.
Exit
Pis. Thou bid'st me to my losse: for true to thee, Were to proue false, which I will neuer bee To him that is most true. To Milford go, And finde not her, whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow You Heauenly blessings on her: This Fooles speede Be crost with slownesse; Labour be his meede.
Exit
Scena Sexta.
Enter Imogen alone.
Imo. I see a mans life is a tedious one, I haue tyr'd my selfe: and for two nights together Haue made the ground my bed. I should be sicke, But that my resolution helpes me: Milford, When from the Mountaine top, Pisanio shew'd thee, Thou was't within a kenne. Oh Ioue, I thinke Foundations flye the wretched: such I meane, Where they should be releeu'd. Two Beggers told me, I could not misse my way. Will poore Folkes lye That haue Afflictions on them, knowing 'tis A punishment, or Triall? Yes; no wonder, When Rich-ones scarse tell true. To lapse in Fulnesse Is sorer, then to lye for Neede: and Falshood Is worse in Kings, then Beggers. My deere Lord, Thou art one o'th' false Ones: Now I thinke on thee, My hunger's gone; but euen before, I was At point to sinke, for Food. But what is this? Heere is a path too't: 'tis some sauage hold: I were best not call; I dare not call: yet Famine Ere cleane it o're-throw Nature, makes it valiant. Plentie, and Peace breeds Cowards: Hardnesse euer Of Hardinesse is Mother. Hoa? who's heere? If any thing that's ciuill, speake: if sauage, Take, or lend. Hoa? No answer? Then Ile enter. Best draw my Sword; and if mine Enemy But feare the Sword like me, hee'l scarsely looke on't. Such a Foe, good Heauens. Enter.
Scena Septima.
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Aruiragus
Bel. You Polidore haue prou'd best Woodman, and Are Master of the Feast: Cadwall, and I Will play the Cooke, and Seruant, 'tis our match: The sweat of industry would dry, and dye But for the end it workes too. Come, our stomackes Will make what's homely, sauoury: Wearinesse Can snore vpon the Flint, when restie Sloth Findes the Downe-pillow hard. Now peace be heere, Poore house, that keep'st thy selfe
Gui. I am throughly weary
Arui. I am weake with toyle, yet strong in appetite
Gui. There is cold meat i'th' Caue, we'l brouz on that Whil'st what we haue kill'd, be Cook'd
Bel. Stay, come not in: But that it eates our victualles, I should thinke Heere were a Faiery
Gui. What's the matter, Sir? Bel. By Iupiter an Angell: or if not An earthly Paragon. Behold Diuinenesse No elder then a Boy. Enter Imogen.
Imo. Good masters harme me not: Before I enter'd heere, I call'd, and thought To haue begg'd, or bought, what I haue took: good troth I haue stolne nought, nor would not, though I had found Gold strew'd i'th' Floore. Heere's money for my Meate, I would haue left it on the Boord, so soone As I had made my Meale; and parted With Pray'rs for the Prouider
Gui. Money? Youth
Aru. All Gold and Siluer rather turne to durt, As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those Who worship durty Gods
Imo. I see you're angry: Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should Haue dyed, had I not made it
Bel. Whether bound? Imo. To Milford-Hauen
Bel. What's your name? Imo. Fidele Sir: I haue a Kinsman, who Is bound for Italy; he embark'd at Milford, To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, I am falne in this offence
Bel. Prythee (faire youth) Thinke vs no Churles: nor measure our good mindes By this rude place we liue in. Well encounter'd, 'Tis almost night, you shall haue better cheere Ere you depart; and thankes to stay, and eate it: Boyes, bid him welcome
Gui. Were you a woman, youth, I should woo hard, but be your Groome in honesty: I bid for you, as I do buy
Arui. Ile make't my Comfort He is a man, Ile loue him as my Brother: And such a welcome as I'ld giue to him (After long absence) such is yours. Most welcome: Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst Friends
Imo. 'Mongst Friends? If Brothers: would it had bin so, that they Had bin my Fathers Sonnes, then had my prize Bin lesse, and so more equall ballasting To thee Posthumus
Bel. He wrings at some distresse
Gui. Would I could free't
Arui. Or I, what ere it be, What paine it cost, what danger: Gods! Bel. Hearke Boyes
Imo. Great men That had a Court no bigger then this Caue, That did attend themselues, and had the vertue Which their owne Conscience seal'd them: laying by That nothing-guift of differing Multitudes Could not out-peere these twaine. Pardon me Gods, I'ld change my sexe to be Companion with them, Since Leonatus false
Bel. It shall be so: Boyes wee'l go dresse our Hunt. Faire youth come in; Discourse is heauy, fasting: when we haue supp'd Wee'l mannerly demand thee of thy Story, So farre as thou wilt speake it
Gui. Pray draw neere
Arui. The Night to'th' Owle, And Morne to th' Larke lesse welcome
Imo. Thankes Sir
Arui. I pray draw neere.
Exeunt.
Scena Octaua.
Enter two Roman Senators, and Tribunes.
1.Sen. This is the tenor of the Emperors Writ; That since the common men are now in Action 'Gainst the Pannonians, and Dalmatians, And that the Legions now in Gallia, are Full weake to vndertake our Warres against The falne-off Britaines, that we do incite The Gentry to this businesse. He creates Lucius Pro-Consull: and to you the Tribunes For this immediate Leuy, he commands His absolute Commission. Long liue Caesar
Tri. Is Lucius Generall of the Forces? 2.Sen. I
Tri. Remaining now in Gallia? 1.Sen. With those Legions Which I haue spoke of, whereunto your leuie Must be suppliant: the words of your Commission Will tye you to the numbers, and the time Of their dispatch
Tri. We will discharge our duty.
Exeunt.
Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
Enter Clotten alone.
Clot I am neere to'th' place where they should meet, if Pisanio haue mapp'd it truely. How fit his Garments serue me? Why should his Mistris who was made by him that made the Taylor, not be fit too? The rather (sauing reuerence of the Word) for 'tis saide a Womans fitnesse comes by fits: therein I must play the Workman, I dare speake it to my selfe, for it is not Vainglorie for a man, and his Glasse, to confer in his owne Chamber; I meane, the Lines of my body are as well drawne as his; no lesse young, more strong, not beneath him in Fortunes, beyond him in the aduantage of the time, aboue him in Birth, alike conuersant in generall seruices, and more remarkeable in single oppositions; yet this imperseuerant Thing loues him in my despight. What Mortalitie is? Posthumus, thy head (which now is growing vppon thy shoulders) shall within this houre be off, thy Mistris inforced, thy Garments cut to peeces before thy face: and all this done, spurne her home to her Father, who may (happily) be a little angry for my so rough vsage: but my Mother hauing power of his testinesse, shall turne all into my commendations. My Horse is tyed vp safe, out Sword, and to a sore purpose: Fortune put them into my hand: This is the very description of their meeting place and the Fellow dares not deceiue me. Enter.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Belarius, Guiderius, Aruiragus, and Imogen from the Caue.
Bel. You are not well: Remaine heere in the Caue, Wee'l come to you after Hunting
Arui. Brother, stay heere: Are we not Brothers? Imo. So man and man should be, But Clay and Clay, differs in dignitie, Whose dust is both alike. I am very sicke, Gui. Go you to Hunting, Ile abide with him
Imo. So sicke I am not, yet I am not well: But not so Citizen a wanton, as To seeme to dye, ere sicke: So please you, leaue me, Sticke to your Iournall course: the breach of Custome, Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me Cannot amend me. Society, is no comfort To one not sociable: I am not very sicke, Since I can reason of it: pray you trust me heere, Ile rob none but my selfe, and let me dye Stealing so poorely
Gui. I loue thee: I haue spoke it, How much the quantity, the waight as much, As I do loue my Father
Bel. What? How? how? Arui. If it be sinne to say so (Sir) I yoake mee In my good Brothers fault: I know not why I loue this youth, and I haue heard you say, Loue's reason's, without reason. The Beere at doore, And a demand who is't shall dye, I'ld say My Father, not this youth
Bel. Oh noble straine! O worthinesse of Nature, breed of Greatnesse! ``Cowards father Cowards, & Base things Syre Bace; ``Nature hath Meale, and Bran; Contempt, and Grace. I'me not their Father, yet who this should bee, Doth myracle it selfe, lou'd before mee. 'Tis the ninth houre o'th' Morne
Arui. Brother, farewell
Imo. I wish ye sport
Arui. You health. - So please you Sir
Imo. These are kinde Creatures. Gods, what lyes I haue heard: Our Courtiers say, all's sauage, but at Court; Experience, oh thou disproou'st Report. Th' emperious Seas breeds Monsters; for the Dish, Poore Tributary Riuers, as sweet Fish: I am sicke still, heart-sicke; Pisanio, Ile now taste of thy Drugge
Gui. I could not stirre him: He said he was gentle, but vnfortunate; Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest
Arui. Thus did he answer me: yet said heereafter, I might know more
Bel. To'th' Field, to'th' Field: Wee'l leaue you for this time, go in, and rest
Arui. Wee'l not be long away
Bel. Pray be not sicke, For you must be our Huswife
Imo. Well, or ill, I am bound to you. Enter.
Bel. And shal't be euer. This youth, how ere distrest, appeares he hath had Good Ancestors
Arui. How Angell-like he sings? Gui. But his neate Cookerie? Arui. He cut our Rootes in Charracters, And sawc'st our Brothes, as Iuno had bin sicke, And he her Dieter
Arui. Nobly he yoakes A smiling, with a sigh; as if the sighe Was that it was, for not being such a Smile: The Smile, mocking the Sigh, that it would flye From so diuine a Temple, to commix With windes, that Saylors raile at
Gui. I do note, That greefe and patience rooted in them both, Mingle their spurres together
Arui. Grow patient, And let the stinking-Elder (Greefe) vntwine His perishing roote, with the encreasing Vine
Bel. It is great morning. Come away: Who's there? Enter Cloten.
Clo. I cannot finde those Runnagates, that Villaine Hath mock'd me. I am faint
Bel. Those Runnagates? Meanes he not vs? I partly know him, 'tis Cloten, the Sonne o'th' Queene. I feare some Ambush: I saw him not these many yeares, and yet I know 'tis he: We are held as Out-Lawes: Hence
Gui. He is but one: you, and my Brother search What Companies are neere: pray you away, Let me alone with him
Clot. Soft, what are you That flye me thus? Some villaine-Mountainers? I haue heard of such. What Slaue art thou? Gui. A thing More slauish did I ne're, then answering A Slaue without a knocke
Clot. Thou art a Robber, A Law-breaker, a Villaine: yeeld thee Theefe
Gui. To who? to thee? What art thou? Haue not I An arme as bigge as thine? A heart, as bigge: Thy words I grant are bigger: for I weare not My Dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art: Why I should yeeld to thee? Clot. Thou Villaine base, Know'st me not by my Cloathes? Gui. No, nor thy Taylor, Rascall: Who is thy Grandfather? He made those cloathes, Which (as it seemes) make thee
Clo. Thou precious Varlet, My Taylor made them not
Gui. Hence then, and thanke The man that gaue them thee. Thou art some Foole, I am loath to beate thee
Clot. Thou iniurious Theefe, Heare but my name, and tremble
Gui. What's thy name? Clo. Cloten, thou Villaine
Gui. Cloten, thou double Villaine be thy name, I cannot tremble at it, were it Toad, or Adder, Spider, 'Twould moue me sooner
Clot. To thy further feare, Nay, to thy meere Confusion, thou shalt know I am Sonne to'th' Queene
Gui. I am sorry for't: not seeming So worthy as thy Birth
Clot. Art not afeard? Gui. Those that I reuerence, those I feare: the Wise: At Fooles I laugh: not feare them
Clot. Dye the death: When I haue slaine thee with my proper hand, Ile follow those that euen now fled hence: And on the Gates of Luds-Towne set your heads: Yeeld Rusticke Mountaineer.
Fight and Exeunt.
Enter Belarius and Aruiragus.
Bel. No Companie's abroad? Arui. 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 Fauour Which then he wore: the snatches in his voice, And burst of speaking were as his: I am absolute 'Twas very Cloten
Arui. In this place we left them; I wish my Brother make good time with him, You say he is so fell
Bel. Being scarse made vp, I meane to man; he had not apprehension Of roaring terrors: For defect of iudgement Is oft the cause of Feare. Enter Guiderius.
But see thy Brother
Gui. This Cloten was a Foole, an empty purse, There was no money in't: Not Hercules Could haue knock'd out his Braines, for he had none: Yet I not doing this, the Foole had borne My head, as I do his
Bel. What hast thou done? Gui. I am perfect what: cut off one Clotens head, Sonne to the Queene (after his owne report) Who call'd me Traitor, Mountaineer, and swore With his owne single hand heel'd take vs in, Displace our heads, where (thanks the Gods) they grow And set them on Luds-Towne
Bel. We are all vndone
Gui. Why, worthy Father, what haue we to loose, But that he swore to take our Liues? the Law Protects not vs, then why should we be tender, To let an arrogant peece of flesh threat vs? Play Iudge, and Executioner, all himselfe? For we do feare the Law. What company Discouer you abroad? Bel. No single soule Can we set eye on: but in all safe reason He must haue some Attendants. Though his Honor Was nothing but mutation, I, and that From one bad thing to worse: Not Frenzie, Not absolute madnesse could so farre haue rau'd To bring him heere alone: although perhaps It may be heard at Court, that such as wee Caue heere, hunt heere, are Out-lawes, and in time May make some stronger head, the which he hearing, (As it is like him) might breake out, and sweare Heel'd fetch vs in, yet is't not probable To come alone, either he so vndertaking, Or they so suffering: then on good ground we feare, If we do feare this Body hath a taile More perillous then the head
Arui. Let Ord'nance Come as the Gods fore-say it: howsoere, My Brother hath done well
Bel. I had no minde To hunt this day: The Boy Fideles sickenesse Did make my way long forth
Gui. With his owne Sword, Which he did waue against my throat, I haue tane His head from him: Ile throw't into the Creeke Behinde our Rocke, and let it to the Sea, And tell the Fishes, hee's the Queenes Sonne, Cloten, That's all I reake. Enter.
Bel. I feare 'twill be reueng'd: Would (Polidore) thou had'st not done't: though valour Becomes thee well enough
Arui. Would I had done't: So the Reuenge alone pursu'de me: Polidore I loue thee brotherly, but enuy much Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would Reuenges That possible strength might meet, wold seek vs through And put vs to our answer
Bel. Well, 'tis done: Wee'l hunt no more to day, nor seeke for danger Where there's no profit. I prythee to our Rocke, You and Fidele play the Cookes: Ile stay Till hasty Polidore returne, and bring him To dinner presently
Arui. Poore sicke Fidele. Ile willingly to him, to gaine his colour, Il'd let a parish of such Clotens blood, And praise my selfe for charity. Enter.
Bel. Oh thou Goddesse, Thou diuine Nature; thou thy selfe thou blazon'st In these two Princely Boyes: they are as gentle As Zephires blowing below the Violet, Not wagging his sweet head; and yet, as rough (Their Royall blood enchaf'd) as the rud'st winde, That by the top doth take the Mountaine Pine, And make him stoope to th' Vale. 'Tis wonder That an inuisible instinct should frame them To Royalty vnlearn'd, Honor vntaught, Ciuility not seene from other: valour That wildely growes in them, but yeelds a crop As if it had beene sow'd: yet still it's strange What Clotens being heere to vs portends, Or what his death will bring vs. Enter Guidereus.
Gui. Where's my Brother? I haue sent Clotens Clot-pole downe the streame, In Embassie to his Mother; his Bodie's hostage For his returne.
Solemn Musick.
Bel. My ingenuous Instrument, (Hearke Polidore) it sounds: but what occasion Hath Cadwal now to giue it motion? Hearke
Gui. Is he at home? Bel. He went hence euen now
Gui. What does he meane? Since death of my deer'st Mother It did not speake before. All solemne things Should answer solemne Accidents. The matter? Triumphes for nothing, and lamenting Toyes, Is iollity for Apes, and greefe for Boyes. Is Cadwall mad? Enter Aruiragus, with Imogen dead, bearing her in his Armes.
Bel. Looke, heere he comes, And brings the dire occasion in his Armes, Of what we blame him for
Arui. The Bird is dead That we haue made so much on. I had rather Haue skipt from sixteene yeares of Age, to sixty: To haue turn'd my leaping time into a Crutch, Then haue seene this
Gui. Oh sweetest, fayrest Lilly: My Brother weares thee not the one halfe so well, As when thou grew'st thy selfe
Bel. Oh Melancholly, Who euer yet could sound thy bottome? Finde The Ooze, to shew what Coast thy sluggish care Might'st easilest harbour in. Thou blessed thing, Ioue knowes what man thou might'st haue made: but I, Thou dyed'st a most rare Boy, of Melancholly. How found you him? Arui. Starke, as you see: Thus smiling, as some Fly had tickled slumber, Not as deaths dart being laugh'd at: his right Cheeke Reposing on a Cushion
Gui. Where? Arui. O'th' floore: His armes thus leagu'd, I thought he slept, and put My clowted Brogues from off my feete, whose rudenesse Answer'd my steps too lowd
Gui. Why, he but sleepes: If he be gone, hee'l make his Graue, a Bed: With female Fayries will his Tombe be haunted, And Wormes will not come to thee
Arui. With fayrest Flowers Whil'st Sommer lasts, and I liue heere, Fidele, Ile sweeten thy sad graue: thou shalt not lacke The Flower that's like thy face. Pale-Primrose, nor The azur'd Hare-Bell, like thy Veines: no, nor The leafe of Eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweetned not thy breath: the Raddocke would With Charitable bill (Oh bill sore shaming Those rich-left-heyres, that let their Fathers lye Without a Monument) bring thee all this, Yea, and furr'd Mosse besides. When Flowres are none To winter-ground thy Coarse- Gui. Prythee haue done, And do not play in Wench-like words with that Which is so serious. Let vs bury him, And not protract with admiration, what Is now due debt. To'th' graue
Arui. Say, where shall's lay him? Gui. By good Euriphile, our Mother
Arui. Bee't so: And let vs (Polidore) though now our voyces Haue got the mannish cracke, sing him to'th' ground As once to our Mother: vse like note, and words, Saue that Euriphile, must be Fidele
Gui. Cadwall, I cannot sing: Ile weepe, and word it with thee; For Notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse Then Priests, and Phanes that lye
Arui. Wee'l speake it then
Bel. Great greefes I see med'cine the lesse: For Cloten Is quite forgot. He was a Queenes Sonne, Boyes, And though he came our Enemy, remember He was paid for that: though meane, and mighty rotting Together haue one dust, yet Reuerence (That Angell of the world) doth make distinction Of place 'tweene high, and low. Our Foe was Princely, And though you tooke his life, as being our Foe, Yet bury him, as a Prince
Gui. Pray you fetch him hither, Thersites body is as good as Aiax, When neyther are aliue
Arui. If you'l go fetch him, Wee'l say our Song the whil'st: Brother begin
Gui. Nay Cadwall, we must lay his head to th' East, My Father hath a reason for't
Arui. 'Tis true
Gui. Come on then, and remoue him
Arui. So, begin.
Guid. Feare no more the heate o'th' Sun, Nor the furious Winters rages, Thou thy worldly task hast don, Home art gon, and tane thy wages. Golden Lads, and Girles all must, As Chimney-Sweepers come to dust
Arui. Feare no more the frowne o'th' Great, Thou art past the Tirants stroake, Care no more to cloath and eate, To thee the Reede is as the Oake: The Scepter, Learning, Physicke must, All follow this and come to dust
Guid. Feare no more the Lightning flash
Arui. Nor th' all-dreaded Thunderstone
Gui. Feare not Slander, Censure rash
Arui. Thou hast finish'd Ioy and mone
Both. All Louers young, all Louers must, Consigne to thee and come to dust
Guid. No Exorcisor harme thee, Arui. Nor no witch-craft charme thee
Guid. Ghost vnlaid forbeare thee
Arui. Nothing ill come neere thee
Both. Quiet consumation haue, And renowned be thy graue. Enter Belarius with the body of Cloten.
Gui. We haue done our obsequies: Come lay him downe
Bel. Heere's a few Flowres, but 'bout midnight more: The hearbes that haue on them cold dew o'th' night Are strewings fit'st for Graues: vpon their Faces. You were as Flowres, now wither'd: euen so These Herbelets shall, which we vpon you strew. Come on, away, apart vpon our knees: The ground that gaue them first, ha's them againe: Their pleasures here are past, so are their paine.
Exeunt.
Imogen awakes.
Yes Sir, to Milford-Hauen, which is the way? I thanke you: by yond bush? pray how farre thether? 'Ods pittikins: can it be sixe mile yet? I haue gone all night: 'Faith, Ile lye downe, and sleepe. But soft; no Bedfellow? Oh Gods, and Goddesses! These Flowres are like the pleasures of the World; This bloody man the care on't. I hope I dreame: For so I thought I was a Caue-keeper, And Cooke to honest Creatures. But 'tis not so: 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot of nothing, Which the Braine makes of Fumes. Our very eyes, Are sometimes like our Iudgements, blinde. Good faith I tremble still with feare: but if there be Yet left in Heauen, as small a drop of pittie As a Wrens eye; fear'd Gods, a part of it. The Dreame's heere still: euen when I wake it is Without me, as within me: not imagin'd, felt. A headlesse man? The Garments of Posthumus? I know the shape of's Legge: this is his Hand: His Foote Mercuriall: his martiall Thigh The brawnes of Hercules: but his Iouiall face- Murther in heauen? How? 'tis gone. Pisanio, All Curses madded Hecuba gaue the Greekes, And mine to boot, be darted on thee: thou Conspir'd with that Irregulous diuell Cloten, Hath heere cut off my Lord. To write, and read, Be henceforth treacherous. Damn'd Pisanio, Hath with his forged Letters (damn'd Pisanio) From this most brauest vessell of the world Strooke the maine top! Oh Posthumus, alas, Where is thy head? where's that? Aye me! where's that? Pisanio might haue kill'd thee at the heart, And left this head on. How should this be, Pisanio? 'Tis he, and Cloten: Malice, and Lucre in them Haue laid this Woe heere. Oh 'tis pregnant, pregnant! The Drugge he gaue me, which hee said was precious And Cordiall to me, haue I not found it Murd'rous to'th' Senses? That confirmes it home: This is Pisanio's deede, and Cloten: Oh! Giue colour to my pale cheeke with thy blood, That we the horrider may seeme to those Which chance to finde vs. Oh, my Lord! my Lord! Enter Lucius, Captaines, and a Soothsayer.