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Cymbeline (Folio 1, 1623)

Author: William Shakespeare
Editor: Jennifer Forsyth
Peer Reviewed
The Tragedie of Cymbeline.
389
2480I 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
2485Hath 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
2490It 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?
2495
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.
2500Arui. 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.
2505Gui. 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
2510The 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?
2515Arui. 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?
2520Arui. 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:
2525If 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,
2530Ile 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
2535With 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----
2540Gui. 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.
2545Arui. 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
2550As 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
2555Then 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
2560He 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,
2565Yet 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,
2570Wee'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.
2575Arui. So, begin.
SONG.
Guid. Feare no more the heate o'th'Sun,
Nor the furious Winters rages,
Thou thy worldly task hast don,
2580Home 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,
2585Care 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.
2590Arui. 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.
2595Guid. 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,
2600And 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:
2605The 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:
2610The ground that gaue them first, ha's them againe:
Their pleasures here are past, so are their paine.
Exeunt.
bbb
Imogen