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Clo.

To thy further fear,

Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know

I'm son to the queen.

Gui.

So worthy as thy birth.

Clo.

I'm sorry for't; not seeming

Art not afeard?

Gui. Those that I reverence, those I fear-the

wise;

At fools I laugh, not fear them.

Die the death.

Clo.
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.

Enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS.

Bel. No company's 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 blurred those lines of favor Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice, 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.

Bel.

Being scarce made up,

I mean, to man, he had not apprehension

Of roaring terrors; for defect of judgment

Is oft the cure1 of fear. But see, thy brother.

Re-enter GUIDERIUS, with CLOTEN's head.

Gui. This Cloten was a fool; an empty purse, There was no money in't. Not Hercules

1 The old copy reads, "Is oft the cause of fear; " but Belarius is assigning a reason for Cloten's foolhardy desperation, not accounting for his cowardice. The emendation adopted is Hanmer's.

Could have knocked out his brains, for he had none: Yet, I not doing this, the fool had borne

My head, as I do his.

Bel.

1

What hast thou done?

Gui. I am perfect, what: cut off one Cloten's

head;

Son to the queen, after his own report;

Who called me traitor, mountaineer; and swore,

With his own single hand he'd take us in,2

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
Protects not us; then why should we be tender
To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us;

3

Play judge, and executioner, all himself;
For we do fear the law? What company
Discover you abroad?

Bel.

No single soul

Can we set eye on, but, in all safe reason,

He must have some attendants. Though his humor1
Was nothing but mutation; ay, and that

From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not
Absolute madness could so far have raved,

To bring him here alone. Although, perhaps,
be heard at court, that such as we

It

may Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time

4

May make some stronger head; the which he hearing, (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

More perilous than the head.

1 "I am well informed what."

2 i. e. conquer, subdue us.

3 For again in the sense of cause

4 The old copy reads, "his honor." The emendation is Theobald's.

Arv.

Let ordinance

I had no mind

Come as the gods foresay it; howsoe'er,

My brother hath done well.

Bel.
To hunt this day; the boy Fidele's sickness

Did make my way long forth.'

With his own sword,

Gui.
Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta’en
His head from him. I'll throw't into the creek
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.

Bel.

I fear 'twill be revenged;

[Exit.

'Would, Polydore, thou had'st not done't! though

valor

Becomes thee well enough.

'Would I had done't,

Arv.
So the revenge alone pursued me !-Polydore,

I love thee brotherly; but envy much,

Thou hast robbed me of this deed. I would revenges, That possible strength might meet, would seek us

through,

And put us to our answer.

Bel. Well, 'tis done ;

2

We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger
Where there's no profit. I pr'ythee, to our rock;
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 color,
I'd let a parish of such Clotens blood,3
And praise myself for charity.

Bel.

[Exit.

O thou goddess,

1 "Fidele's sickness made my walk forth from the cave tedious.'

2 "Such pursuit of vengeance as fell within any possibility of oppo

sition."

3 "To restore Fidele to the bloom of health, to recall the color into his cheeks, I would let out the blood of a whole parish, or any number of such fellows as Cloten." A parish is a common phrase for a great number.

Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
In these two princely boys! They are as gentle
As zephyrs, blowing below the violet,

Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
Their royal blood enchafed, as the rud'st wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful,
That an invisible instinct should frame them
To royalty unlearned; honor untaught ;
Civility not seen from other; valor,

That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
As if it had been sowed! Yet still it's strange
What Cloten's being here to us portends;
Or what his death will bring us.

Gui.

Re-enter Guiderius.

Where's my brother?

[Solemn music.

I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream,
In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage
For his return.

Bel.
My ingenious instrument!
Hark, Polydore, it sounds! but what occasion
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!

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?

Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys,1

Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys.

Is Cadwal mad ?

Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, bearing IMOGEN, as dead, in his

Bel.

arms.

Look, here he comes,

And brings the dire occasion in his arms,

Of what we blame him for!

1 Toys are trifles.

The bird is dead,

Arv.
That we have made so much on. I had rather
Have skipped from sixteen years of age to sixty,
To have turned 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.

Bel.
O melancholy!
Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find

The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare 1
Might easiliest harbor in?—Thou blessed thing!

1

Jove knows what man thou might'st have made?

but I,2

Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy !

How found you him?

Arv.

Stark,3 as you see.

Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,

Not as death's dart, being laughed at; his right cheek Reposing on a cushion.

Gui.

Arv.

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Where?

O' the floor;

His arms thus leagued. I thought he slept; and put My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness Answered my steps too loud.

Why, he but sleeps.

Gui.
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.

Arv.

With fairest flowers,

Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,

1'A crare was a small vessel of burden, sometimes spelled craer, crayer, and even craye. The old copy reads, erroneously, " thy sluggish care." The emendation was suggested by Sympson in a note on The Captain of Beaumont and Fletcher.

2 We should most probably read, "but ah!" Ay is always printed ah! in the first folio, and other books of the time. Hence, perhaps, I, which was used for the affirmative particle ay, crept into the text.

3 Stark means entirely cold and stiff.

4 "Clouted brogues" are coarse wooden shoes, strengthened with clout or hob-nails. In some parts of England thin plates of iron, called clouts, are fixed to the shoes of rustics.

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