Complete Plays, The (454 page)

Guiderius

Prithee, have done;
And do not play in wench-like words with that
Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt. To the grave!

Arviragus

Say, where shall’s lay him?

Guiderius

By good Euriphile, our mother.

Arviragus

Be’t so:
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.

Guiderius

Cadwal,
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.

Arviragus

We’ll speak it, then.

Belarius

Great griefs, I see, medicine the less; for Cloten
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
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.

Guiderius

Pray You, fetch him hither.
Thersites’ body is as good as Ajax’,
When neither are alive.

Arviragus

If you’ll go fetch him,
We’ll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.

Exit Belarius

Guiderius

Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east;
My father hath a reason for’t.

Arviragus

’Tis true.

Guiderius

Come on then, and remove him.

Arviragus

So. Begin.

Song

Guiderius

 
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages;
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.

Arviragus

 
Fear no more the frown o’ the great;
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.

Guiderius

 
Fear no more the lightning flash,

Arviragus

 
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;

Guiderius

 
Fear not slander, censure rash;

Arviragus

 
Thou hast finish’d joy and moan:

Both

All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

Guiderius

 
No exorciser harm thee!

Arviragus

 
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

Guiderius

 
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

Arviragus

 
Nothing ill come near thee!

Guiderius

Arviragus

Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave!

Re-enter Belarius, with the body of Cloten

Guiderius

We have done our obsequies: come, lay him down.

Belarius

Here’s a few flowers; but ’bout midnight, more:
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.
The ground that gave them first has them again:
Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain.

Exeunt Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus

Imogen

[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?— I have gone all night. ’Faith, I’ll lie down and sleep. But, soft! no bedfellow!— O god s and goddesses!

Seeing the body of Cloten

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,
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 stiff with fear: but if there be
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 imagined, 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 brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face
Murder in heaven?— How!—’Tis gone. Pisanio,
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
Conspired 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 —
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?
’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:
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 and other Officers, and a Soothsayer

Captain

To them the legions garrison’d in Gailia,
After your will, have cross’d the sea, attending
You here at Milford-Haven with your ships:
They are in readiness.

Caius Lucius

But what from Rome?

Captain

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,
Syenna’s brother.

Caius Lucius

 
When expect you them?

Captain

With the next benefit o’ the wind.

Caius Lucius

This forwardness
Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers
Be muster’d; bid the captains look to’t. Now, sir,
What have you dream’d of late of this war’s purpose?

Soothsayer

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,
There vanish’d in the sunbeams: which portends —
Unless my sins abuse my divination —
Success to the Roman host.

Caius Lucius

Dream often so,
And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here
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.
Let’s see the boy’s face.

Captain

He’s alive, my lord.

Caius Lucius

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
Thou makest 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 wreck? How came it? Who is it?
What art thou?

Imogen

 
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 is no more such masters: I may wander
From east to occident, cry out for service,
Try many, all good, serve truly, never
Find such another master.

Caius Lucius

’Lack, good youth!
Thou movest no less with thy complaining than
Thy master in bleeding: say his name, good friend.

Imogen

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?

Caius Lucius

Thy name?

Imogen

Fidele, sir.

Caius Lucius

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,
No less beloved. The Roman emperor’s letters,
Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner
Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with me.

Imogen

I’ll follow, sir. But first, 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’ 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,
So please you entertain me.

Caius Lucius

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 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
Some falls are means the happier to arise.

Exeunt

S
CENE
III. A
ROOM
IN
C
YMBELINE
’
S
PALACE
.

Enter Cymbeline, Lords, Pisanio, and Attendants

Cymbeline

Again; and bring me word how ’tis with her.

Exit an Attendant

A fever with the absence of her son,
A madness, of which her life’s in danger. Heavens,
How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,
The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen
Upon a desperate bed, and in a time
When fearful wars point at me; her son gone,
So needful for this present: it strikes me, past
The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,
Who needs must know of her departure and
Dost seem so ignorant, we’ll enforce it from thee
By a sharp torture.

Pisanio

Sir, my life is yours;
I humbly set it at your will; but, for my mistress,
I nothing know where she remains, why gone,
Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your highness,
Hold me your loyal servant.

First Lord

Good my liege,
The day that she was missing he was here:
I dare be bound he’s true and shall perform
All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,
There wants no diligence in seeking him,
And will, no doubt, be found.

Cymbeline

The time is troublesome.

To Pisanio

We’ll slip you for a season; but our jealousy
Does yet depend.

First Lord

 
So please your majesty,
The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your coast, with a supply
Of Roman gentlemen, by the senate sent.

Cymbeline

Now for the counsel of my son and queen!
I am amazed with matter.

First Lord

Good my liege,
Your preparation can affront no less
Than what you hear of: come more, for more you’re ready:
The want is but to put those powers in motion
That long to move.

Cymbeline

 
I thank you. Let’s withdraw;
And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not
What can from Italy annoy us; but
We grieve at chances here. Away!

Exeunt all but Pisanio

Pisanio

I heard no letter from my master since
I wrote him Imogen was slain: ’tis strange:
Nor hear I from my mistress who did promise
To yield me often tidings: neither know I
What is betid to Cloten; but remain
Perplex’d in all. The heavens still must work.
Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true.
These present wars shall find I love my country,
Even to the note o’ the king, or I’ll fall in them.
All other doubts, by time let them be clear’d:
Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer’d.

Exit

S
CENE
IV. W
ALES
:
BEFORE
THE
CAVE
OF
B
ELARIUS
.

Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.

Guiderius

The noise is round about us.

Belarius

Let us from it.

Arviragus

What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it
From action and adventure?

Guiderius

Nay, what hope
Have we in hiding us? This way, the Romans
Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us
For barbarous and unnatural revolts
During their use, and slay us after.

Belarius

Sons,
We’ll higher to the mountains; there secure us.
To the king’s party there’s no going: newness
Of Cloten’s death — we being not known, not muster’d
Among the bands — may drive us to a render
Where we have lived, and so extort from’s that
Which we have done, whose answer would be death
Drawn on with torture.

Guiderius

This is, sir, a doubt
In such a time nothing becoming you,
Nor satisfying us.