4.2.12244Enter Belarius [as Morgan], Guiderius [as Polydore], Arviragus [as Cadwal], and 2245Imogen [as Fidele] from the cave You are not well. Remain here in the cave;
We'll come to you after hunting. 2248Arviragus [To Imogen] Brother, stay here.
Are we not brothers? So man and man should be. --
4.2.62251But clay and clay differs in dignity
4.2.72252Whose dust is both alike. -- I am very sick.
4.2.82253Guiderius [To Belarius and Arviragus] Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him.
So sick I am not, yet I am not well,
4.2.112256To seem to die ere sick. So please you, leave me.
4.2.122257Stick to your journal course: the breach of custom
4.2.132258Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me
4.2.162261Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here;
4.2.172262I'll rob none but myself, and let me die,
Stealing so poorly. I love thee. I have spoke it;
4.2.192265How much the quantity, the weight as much,
As I do love my father. What? How, how?
If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me
4.2.222269In my good brother's fault. I know not why
4.2.232270I love this youth, and I have heard you say
4.2.242271Love's reason's without reason. The bier at door
4.2.252272And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say
My father, not this youth. 2274Belarius [Aside] Oh, noble strain!
4.2.272275O worthiness of Nature, breed of greatness!
4.2.282276"Cowards father cowards, and base things sire base;
4.2.292277Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace."
4.2.302278I'm not their father, yet who this should be
4.2.312279Doth miracle itself, loved before me. --
'Tis the ninth hour o'th' morn. Brother, farewell.
I wish ye sport.
I wish ye sport. You, health. --
[To Belarius]
I wish ye sport. You, health. -- So please you, sir.
These are kind creatures.
2285Gods, what lies I have heard:
4.2.352286Our courtiers say all's savage but at court;
4.2.372288Th'imperious seas breeds monsters; for the dish,
I'll now taste of thy drug. 2292Guiderius [To Belarius and Arviragus] I could not stir him.
Thus did he answer me, yet said hereafter
I might know more. To th' field, to th' field. -- [To Imogen]
4.2.452298We'll leave you for this time; go in and rest.
We'll not be long away.
We'll not be long away. Pray be not sick,
For you must be our housewife. Well or ill,
Exit [to the cave]
I am bound to you. And shalt be ever.
4.2.492305This youth, howe'er distressed, appears he hath had
Good ancestors. How angel-like he sings!
But his neat cookery!
2309He cut our roots in characters
4.2.522310And sauc'd our broths as Juno had been sick
And he her dieter. Nobly he yokes
4.2.552314Was that it was for not being such a smile;
4.2.562315The smile mocking the sigh that it would fly
With winds that sailors rail at. I do note
4.2.592319That grief and patience rooted in them both
Mingle their spurs together. Grow patient,
4.2.612322And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine
4.2.622323His perishing root with the increasing vine.
It is great morning. Come away. -- Who's there?
I cannot find those runagates; that villain
Hath mocked me. I am faint. 2328Belarius [To Guiderius and Arviragus] Those runagates?
4.2.672329Means he not us? I partly know him; 'tis
4.2.682330Clotten, the son o'th' Queen. I fear some ambush.
4.2.702332I know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws. Hence!
He is but one. You and my brother search
4.2.722334What companies are near. Pray you, away;
[Exeunt Belarius and Arviragus]
Let me alone with him. 2336Clotten [Clotten notices them] Soft; what are you
4.2.742337That fly me thus? Some villain mountaineers?
4.2.752338I have heard of such. What slave art thou?
I have heard of such. What slave art thou? A thing
A slave without a knock. Thou art a robber,
4.2.782343A law-breaker, a villain; yield thee, thief.
To who? To thee? What art thou? Have not I
4.2.812346Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not
4.2.822347My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art,
Why I should yield to thee. Thou villain base,
Knowst me not by my clothes? No, nor thy tailor, rascal,
4.2.852352Who is thy grandfather. He made those clothes,
Which, as it seems, make thee. Thou precious varlet,
My tailor made them not. Hence then, and thank
4.2.882357The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool;
I am loath to beat thee. Thou injurious thief,
Hear but my name and tremble. What's thy name?
Clotten, thou villain.
"Clotten thou double villain" be thy name,
4.2.932364I cannot tremble at it. Were it toad or adder, spider,
'Twould move me sooner. To thy further fear,
4.2.952367Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
I am son to th' Queen. I am sorry for't, not seeming
So worthy as thy birth. Art not afeard?
Those that I reverence, those I fear: the wise;
At fools I laugh, not fear them. Die the death!
4.2.1022377And on the gates of Luds-Town set your heads.
No company's abroad?
None in the world. You did mistake him sure.
I cannot tell. Long is it since I saw him,
4.2.1092383But time hath nothing blurred those lines of favor
4.2.1102384Which then he wore. The snatches in his voice
4.2.1112385And burst of speaking were as his: I am absolute
'Twas very Clotten. In this place we left them.
You say he is so fell. Being scarce made up,
2394Enter Guiderius [with Clotten's head] Is oft the cause of fear. 2395But see thy brother.
This Clotten was a fool, an empty purse;
4.2.1202398Could have knocked out his brains, for he had none;
My head as I do his. What hast thou done?
I am perfect what: cut off one Clotten's head,
4.2.1252404Who called me traitor, mountaineer, and swore
4.2.1272406Displace our heads where, thanks the gods, they grow
And set them on Luds-Town. We are all undone.
Why, worthy father, what have we to lose
4.2.1302410But that he swore to take, our lives? The law
4.2.1312411Protects not us; then why should we be tender
4.2.1322412To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us,
Discover you abroad? No single soul
4.2.1372418He must have some attendants. Though his honor
4.2.1402421Not absolute madness could so far have raved
4.2.1432424Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time
4.2.1442425May make some stronger head; the which, he hearing,
4.2.1452426As it is like him, might break out and swear
4.2.1482429Or they so suffering. Then on good ground we fear
More perilous than the head. Let ord'nance
My brother hath done well. I had no mind
Did make my way long forth. With his own sword
4.2.1552439Which he did wave against my throat I have ta'en
4.2.1562440His head from him. I'll throw't into the creek
4.2.1582442And tell the fishes he's the Queen's son, Clotten;
Exit
That's all I reck. I fear 'twill be revenged.
4.2.1602445Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't, though valor
Becomes thee well enough. Would I had done't,
4.2.1642450Thou hast robbed me of this deed. I would revenges
4.2.1652451That possible strength might meet would seek us through
And put us to our answer. Well, 'tis done.
4.2.1672454We'll hunt no more today, nor seek for danger
4.2.1682455Where there's no profit. I prithee to our rock:
To dinner presently. Poor, sick Fidele.
Exit
And praise myself for charity. O thou goddess,
4.2.1752464Thou divine Nature, thou thyself thou blazonst
4.2.1762465In these two princely boys: they are as gentle
4.2.1782467Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
4.2.1792468Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind
4.2.1822471That an invisible instinct should frame them
4.2.1862475As if it had been sowed. Yet still it's strange
Or what his death will bring us. Where's my brother?
4.2.1892480I have sent Clotten's clot-pole down the stream
4.2.1902481In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage
Solemn music
For his return. My ingenious instrument:
4.2.1922484Hark, Polydore, it sounds; but what occasion
Is he at home?
Is he at home? He went hence even now.
What does he mean?
2489Since death of my dear'st mother
Look, here he comes,
Of what we blame him for. The bird is dead
4.2.2062502Have skipped from sixteen years of age to sixty,
4.2.2072503To have turned my leaping time into a crutch
Than have seen this. O sweetest, fairest lily,
4.2.2092506My brother wears thee not the one half so well
As when thou grewst thyself. O melancholy,
4.2.2122510The ooze to show what coast thy sluggish care
4.2.2132511Might easil'est harbor in. Thou blessèd thing,
4.2.2142512Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I,
How found you him? Stark, as you see;
4.2.2182516Thus smiling as some fly had tickled slumber,
4.2.2192517Not as death's dart being laughed at, his right cheek
Reposing on a cushion. Where?
Reposing on a cushion. Where? O'th' floor,
4.2.2222521His arms thus leagued; I thought he slept and put
4.2.2232522My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
Answered my steps too loud. Why, he but sleeps.
4.2.2262526With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,
And worms will not come to thee. With fairest flowers
4.2.2282529Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,
4.2.2292530I'll sweeten thy sad grave; thou shalt not lack
4.2.2302531The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor
4.2.2332534Outsweetened not thy breath. The ruddock would
4.2.2352536Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie
4.2.2372538Yea, and furred moss besides. When flowers are none
To winter-ground thy corpse -- Prithee have done,
4.2.2392541And do not play in wench-like words with that
Is now due debt. To th' grave. Say, where shall's lay him?
By good Euriphile, our mother.
By good Euriphile, our mother. Be't so,
4.2.2452549Have got the mannish crack, sing him to th' ground
4.2.2462550As once to our mother, use like note and words,
Save that "Euriphile" must be "Fidele." Cadwal,
4.2.2482553I cannot sing; I'll weep and word it with thee,
Than priests and fanes that lie. We'll speak it, then.
Great griefs, I see, med'cine the less, for Clotten
4.2.2522558Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys,
4.2.2542560He was paid for that. Though mean and mighty rotting
4.2.2562562That angel of the world, doth make distinction
4.2.2572563Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely,
4.2.2582564And though you took his life as being our foe,
Yet bury him as a prince. Pray you, fetch him hither;
When neither are alive. If you'll go fetch him,
[Exit Belarius]
We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.
Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to th'east;
My father hath a reason for't. 'Tis true.
Come on, then, and remove him.
Come on, then, and remove him. So, begin.
Guiderius
Fear no more the heat o'th' sun,
Fear no more the frown o'th' great;
Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Nor th'all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;
Thou hast finished joy and moan.
All lovers young, all lovers must
No exorciser harm thee,
Nor no witchcraft charm thee;
Ghost unlaid forbear thee;
Nothing ill come near thee;
Quiet consummation have,
We have done our obsequies;
2603come, lay him down.
Here's a few flowers, but 'bout midnight more;
4.2.2942605The herbs that have on them cold dew o'th' night
4.2.2952606Are strewings fitt'st for graves: upon their faces. --
4.2.2972608These herblets shall, which we upon you strew. --
4.2.2992610The ground that gave them first has them again.
4.2.3002611Their pleasures here are past, so are their pain.
2613Yes, sir, to Milford Haven, which is the way?
4.2.3042614I thank you. By yond bush? Pray, how far thither?
4.2.3062616I have gone all night. Faith, I'll lie down and sleep.
4.2.3082617But soft; no bedfellow! Oh, gods and goddesses!
4.2.3092618These flowers are like the pleasures of the world;
4.2.3102619This bloody man, the care on't. I hope I dream,
4.2.3122621And cook to honest creatures. But 'tis not so:
4.2.3132622'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
4.2.3142623Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes
4.2.3152624Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
4.2.3192628The dream's here still. Even when I wake it is
4.2.3202629Without me as within me; not imagined, felt.
4.2.3222631I know the shape of's leg; this is his hand,
4.2.3242633The brawns of Hercules, but his Jovial face --
4.2.3282637Conspired with that irregulous devil Clotten,
4.2.3292638Hast here cut off my lord. To write and read
4.2.3312640Hath with his forgèd letters (damned Pisanio!)
4.2.3342643Where is thy head? Where's that? Ay me! Where's that?
4.2.3362645And left this head on. How should this be, Pisanio?
4.2.3372646'Tis he and Clotten; malice and lucre in them
4.2.3382647Have laid this woe here. Oh, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
4.2.3392648The drug he gave me, which he said was precious
4.2.3412650Murderous to th' senses? That confirms it home:
4.2.3452654Which chance to find us. Oh, my lord! My lord!
4.2.3472655Enter Lucius, [Roman] Captains, and a Soothsayer To them the legions garrisoned in Gallia,
4.2.3492657After your will, have crossed the sea, attending
They are here in readiness. But what from Rome?
The senate hath stirred up the confiners
4.2.3532662And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits
Sienna's brother. When expect you them?
With the next benefit o'th' wind.
With the next benefit o'th' wind. This forwardness
4.2.3582669Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers
4.2.3592670Be mustered; bid the captains look to't. Now, sir,
4.2.3602671What have you dreamed of late of this war's purpose?
Last night, the very gods showed me a vision
4.2.3622673(I fast and prayed for their intelligence) thus:
4.2.3642675From the spongy south to this part of the west,
4.2.3652676There vanished in the sunbeams, which portends,
Success to th' Roman host. Dream often so,
4.2.3682680And never false. --
[Sees the body] Soft ho, what trunk is here,
4.2.3692681Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime
4.2.3712683Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead, rather,
Let's see the boy's face. He's alive, my Lord.
He'll then instruct us of this body. Young one,
4.2.3782691Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he
4.2.3802693Hath altered that good picture? What's thy interest
What art thou? I am nothing; or, if not,
4.2.3832697Nothing to be were better. This was my master,
Find such another master. 'Lack, good youth,
4.2.3902705Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining than
4.2.3912706Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend.
Richard du Champ. -- [Aside] If I do lie and do
They'll pardon it. -- Say you, sir? Thy name?
They'll pardon it. -- Say you, sir? Thy name? Fidele, sir.
Thou dost approve thyself the very same:
4.2.3972713Thy name well fits thy faith; thy faith, thy name.
4.2.3982714Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say
4.2.4002716No less beloved. The Roman emperor's letters,
4.2.4022718Than thine own worth prefer thee. Go with me.
I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods,
4.2.4062722With wildwood-leaves and weeds I ha' strewed his grave
4.2.4082724Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh,
So please you entertain me. Aye, good youth,
4.2.4112728And rather father thee than master thee. My friends,
[To Captains]
A grave. -- Come, arm him. --
[To Imogen]
A grave. -- Come, arm him. -- Boy, he's preferred
4.2.4172734As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes: