ARVIRAGUS.

Nothing ill come near thee!

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.

The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face —
Murder in heaven? How? 't is gone. - Pisanio,
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Grecks,
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 ! - Damned Pisanio
Hath with his forgéd letters,—damned Pisanio,
From this most bravest vessel of the world
Struck the main-top!-O Posthumus! alas,

Bel. Here's a few flowers; but about midnight, Where is thy head? where's that? Ah me! where's

The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the Pisanio might have killed thee at the heart,
And left this head on. How should this be?

night,

Are strewings fitt'st for graves. — Upon their
faces:

You were as flowers, now withered even so
These herblets shall, which we upon you strow.
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.

Pisanio?

--

'Tis he and Cloten: malice and lucre in them Have laid this woe here. O, 't is pregnant, pregnant!

The drug he gave me, which he said was pre

cious

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!

Imo. [awaking]. Yes, sir, to Milford-Haven; Give color to my pale check with thy blood,

'Ods pittikens! can it be six miles yet?

I have gone all night. - 'Faith, I'll lie down and
sleep.

But soft! no bed-fellow. - O, gods and goddesses!
[Seeing the body.
These flowers are like the pleasures of the world;
This bloody man the care on 't. I hope I dream;
For lo! I thought I was a cave-keeper,
And cook to honest creatures: but 't is not so;
"T was 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
Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity
As a wren's eye, feared 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 his legs: this is his hand;
His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh;

vision

Sooth. Last night the very gods shewed me a 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.
Imo. I'll follow, sir. But first, an 't please the
gods,

(I fast' and prayed for their intelligence): Thus:
I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, winged
From the spongy south to this part of the west,
There vanished in the sunbeams: which portends
(Unless my sins abuse my divination)
Success to the Roman host,

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
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 Thy master in bleeding: say his name, good friend.

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, Imo. Richard du Champ. -If I do lie, and do Who needs must know of her departure, and No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope Dost seem so ignorant, we 'll enforce it from thee They'll pardon it [aside]. Say you, sir? By a sharp torture.

Luc.

Imo.

Thy name?
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 mastered; but be sure,

Pisa.

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.

Cym. Now for the counsel of my son and That which we've done, whose answer would be queen!

Than what you hear of: come more, for more Nor satisfying us.

SCENE 1.— A field between the British and Roman | Hear patiently my purpose: I'll disrobe me

Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself
As does a Briton peasant: so I'll fight
Against the part I come with; so I'll die
For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life
Is, every breath, a death: and thus, unknown,

Thou shouldst be colored thus. You married Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril

Me, wretch, more worth your vengeance. But Enter, at one side, LUCIUS, IACHIMO, and the Ro