You are not well. Remain here in the cave;

4.2.32247We'll come to you after hunting.

We'll come to you after hunting. 2248Arviragus [To Imogen]

Brother, stay here.

4.2.42249Are we not brothers?

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,

4.2.102255But not so citizen a wanton as

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

4.2.142259Cannot amend me. Society is no comfort

4.2.152260To one not sociable. I am not very sick

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,

4.2.182263Stealing so poorly.

Stealing so poorly. I love thee. I have spoke it;

4.2.192265How much the quantity, the weight as much,

4.2.202266As I do love my father.

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

4.2.262273My father, not this youth.

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. --

4.2.322280'Tis the ninth hour o'th' morn.

'Tis the ninth hour o'th' morn. Brother, farewell.

I wish ye sport.

I wish ye sport. You, health. --

I wish ye sport. You, health. -- So please you, sir.

4.2.342284Imogen [Aside]

These are kind creatures. 2285Gods, what lies I have heard:

4.2.352286Our courtiers say all's savage but at court;

4.2.362287Experience, oh, thou disprov'st report.

4.2.372288Th'imperious seas breeds monsters; for the dish,

4.2.382289Poor tributary rivers, as sweet fish.

4.2.392290I am sick still, heart-sick; Pisanio,

4.2.402291I'll now taste of thy drug.

I'll now taste of thy drug. 2292Guiderius [To Belarius and Arviragus]

I could not stir him.

4.2.412293He said he was gentle but unfortunate,

4.2.422294Dishonestly afflicted but yet honest.

Thus did he answer me, yet said hereafter

4.2.442296I might know more.

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,

4.2.472301For you must be our housewife.

For you must be our housewife. Well or ill,

4.2.482303I am bound to you.

I am bound to you. And shalt be ever.

4.2.492305This youth, howe'er distressed, appears he hath had

4.2.502306Good ancestors.

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

4.2.532311And he her dieter.

And he her dieter. Nobly he yokes

4.2.542313A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh

4.2.552314Was that it was for not being such a smile;

4.2.562315The smile mocking the sigh that it would fly

4.2.572316From so divine a temple to commix

4.2.582317With winds that sailors rail at.

With winds that sailors rail at. I do note

4.2.592319That grief and patience rooted in them both

4.2.602320Mingle their spurs together.

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?

4.2.652326Clotten [To himself]

I cannot find those runagates; that villain

4.2.662327Hath mocked me. I am faint.

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.

4.2.692331I saw him not these many years, and yet

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;

4.2.732335Let me alone with him.

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

4.2.762340More slavish did I ne'er than answering

4.2.772341A slave without a knock.

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

4.2.802345An arm as big as thine? A heart as big?

4.2.812346Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not

4.2.822347My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art,

4.2.832348Why I should yield to thee.

Why I should yield to thee. Thou villain base,

4.2.842350Knowst me not by my clothes?

Knowst me not by my clothes? No, nor thy tailor, rascal,

4.2.852352Who is thy grandfather. He made those clothes,

4.2.862353Which, as it seems, make thee.

Which, as it seems, make thee. Thou precious varlet,

4.2.872355My tailor made them not.

My tailor made them not. Hence then, and thank

4.2.882357The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool;

4.2.892358I am loath to beat thee.

I am loath to beat thee. Thou injurious thief,

4.2.902360Hear but my name and tremble.

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,

4.2.942365'Twould move me sooner.

'Twould move me sooner. To thy further fear,

4.2.952367Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know

4.2.962368I am son to th' Queen.

I am son to th' Queen. I am sorry for't, not seeming

4.2.972370So worthy as thy birth.

So worthy as thy birth. Art not afeard?

Those that I reverence, those I fear: the wise;

4.2.992373At fools I laugh, not fear them.

At fools I laugh, not fear them. Die the death!

4.2.1002375When I have slain thee with my proper hand,

4.2.1012376I'll follow those that even now fled hence

4.2.1022377And on the gates of Luds-Town set your heads.

4.2.1032378Yield, rustic mountaineer!

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

4.2.1122386'Twas very Clotten.

'Twas very Clotten. In this place we left them.

4.2.1132388I wish my brother make good time with him

4.2.1142389You say he is so fell.

You say he is so fell. Being scarce made up,

4.2.1152391I mean to man, he had not apprehension

4.2.1162392Of roaring terrors, for defect of judgment

4.2.1172393Is oft the cause of fear.

Is oft the cause of fear. 2395But see thy brother.

This Clotten was a fool, an empty purse;

4.2.1192397There was no money in't. Not Hercules

4.2.1202398Could have knocked out his brains, for he had none;

4.2.1212399Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne

4.2.1222400My head as I do his.

My head as I do his. What hast thou done?

I am perfect what: cut off one Clotten's head,

4.2.1242403Son to the Queen after his own report,

4.2.1252404Who called me traitor, mountaineer, and swore

4.2.1262405With his own single hand he'd take us in,

4.2.1272406Displace our heads where, thanks the gods, they grow

4.2.1282407And set them on Luds-Town.

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,

4.2.1332413Play judge and executioner all himself

4.2.1342414For we do fear the law? What company

4.2.1352415Discover you abroad?

Discover you abroad? No single soul

4.2.1362417Can we set eye on, but in all safe reason

4.2.1372418He must have some attendants. Though his honor

4.2.1382419Was nothing but mutation, aye, and that

4.2.1392420From one bad thing to worse, not frenzy,

4.2.1402421Not absolute madness could so far have raved

4.2.1412422To bring him here alone -- although perhaps

4.2.1422423It may be heard at court that such as we

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

4.2.1462427He'd fetch us in -- yet is't not probable

4.2.1472428To come alone, either he so undertaking,

4.2.1482429Or they so suffering. Then on good ground we fear

4.2.1492430If we do fear this body hath a tail

4.2.1502431More perilous than the head.

More perilous than the head. Let ord'nance

4.2.1512433Come as the gods fore-say it; howsoe'er,

4.2.1522434My brother hath done well.

My brother hath done well. I had no mind

4.2.1532436To hunt this day; the boy Fidele's sickness

4.2.1542437Did make my way long forth.

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

4.2.1572441Behind our rock and let it to the sea

4.2.1582442And tell the fishes he's the Queen's son, Clotten;

4.2.1592443That's all I reck.

That's all I reck. I fear 'twill be revenged.

4.2.1602445Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't, though valor

4.2.1612446Becomes thee well enough.

Becomes thee well enough. Would I had done't,

4.2.1622448So the revenge alone pursued me. Polydore,

4.2.1632449I love thee brotherly, but envy much

4.2.1642450Thou hast robbed me of this deed. I would revenges

4.2.1652451That possible strength might meet would seek us through

4.2.1662452And put us to our answer.

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:

4.2.1692456You and Fidele play the cooks; I'll stay

4.2.1702457Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him

4.2.1712458To dinner presently.

To dinner presently. Poor, sick Fidele.

4.2.1722460I'll willingly to him. To gain his color,

4.2.1732461I'd let a parish of such Clotten's blood

4.2.1742462And praise myself for charity.

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

4.2.1772466As zephyrs blowing below the violet,

4.2.1782467Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,

4.2.1792468Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind

4.2.1802469That by the top doth take the mountain pine

4.2.1812470And make him stoop to th' vale. 'Tis wonder

4.2.1822471That an invisible instinct should frame them

4.2.1832472To royalty unlearned, honor untaught,

4.2.1842473Civility not seen from other, valor

4.2.1852474That wildly grows in them but yields a crop

4.2.1862475As if it had been sowed. Yet still it's strange

4.2.1872476What Clotten's being here to us portends

4.2.1882477Or what his death will bring us.

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

4.2.1912482For his return.

For his return. My ingenious instrument:

4.2.1922484Hark, Polydore, it sounds; but what occasion

4.2.1932485Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!

Is he at home?

Is he at home? He went hence even now.

What does he mean? 2489Since death of my dear'st mother

4.2.1962490It did not speak before. All solemn things

4.2.1972491Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?

4.2.1982492Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys

4.2.1992493Is jollity for apes and grief for boys.

4.2.2002494Is Cadwal mad?

Look, here he comes,

4.2.2032498And brings the dire occasion in his arms

4.2.2042499Of what we blame him for.

Of what we blame him for. The bird is dead

4.2.2052501That we have made so much on. I had rather

4.2.2062502Have skipped from sixteen years of age to sixty,

4.2.2072503To have turned my leaping time into a crutch

4.2.2082504Than have seen this.

Than have seen this. O sweetest, fairest lily,

4.2.2092506My brother wears thee not the one half so well

4.2.2102507As when thou grewst thyself.

As when thou grewst thyself. O melancholy,

4.2.2112509Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? Find

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,

4.2.2152513Thou diedst a most rare boy, of melancholy.

4.2.2162514How found you him?

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

4.2.2202518Reposing on a cushion.

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

4.2.2242523Answered my steps too loud.

Answered my steps too loud. Why, he but sleeps.

4.2.2252525If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed;

4.2.2262526With female fairies will his tomb be haunted,

4.2.2272527And worms will not come to thee.

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

4.2.2312532The azured harebell like thy veins; no, nor

4.2.2322533The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,

4.2.2332534Outsweetened not thy breath. The ruddock would

4.2.2342535With charitable bill (o bill, sore shaming

4.2.2352536Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie

4.2.2362537Without a monument) bring thee all this,

4.2.2372538Yea, and furred moss besides. When flowers are none

4.2.2382539To winter-ground thy corpse --

To winter-ground thy corpse -- Prithee have done,

4.2.2392541And do not play in wench-like words with that

4.2.2402542Which is so serious. Let us bury him

4.2.2412543And not protract with admiration what

4.2.2422544Is now due debt. To th' grave.

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,

4.2.2442548And let us, Polydore, though now our voices

4.2.2452549Have got the mannish crack, sing him to th' ground

4.2.2462550As once to our mother, use like note and words,

4.2.2472551Save that "Euriphile" must be "Fidele."

Save that "Euriphile" must be "Fidele." Cadwal,

4.2.2482553I cannot sing; I'll weep and word it with thee,

4.2.2492554For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse

4.2.2502555Than priests and fanes that lie.

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,

4.2.2532559And though he came our enemy, remember

4.2.2542560He was paid for that. Though mean and mighty rotting

4.2.2552561Together have one dust, yet reverence,

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,

4.2.2592565Yet bury him as a prince.

Yet bury him as a prince. Pray you, fetch him hither;

4.2.2602567Thersites' body is as good as Ajax'

4.2.2612568When neither are alive.

When neither are alive. If you'll go fetch him,

4.2.2622570We'll say our song the whilst.

We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.

Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to th'east;

4.2.2642572My father hath a reason for't.

My father hath a reason for't. 'Tis true.

Come on, then, and remove him.

Come on, then, and remove him. So, begin.

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. --

4.2.2962607You were as flowers, now withered; even so

4.2.2972608These herblets shall, which we upon you strew. --

4.2.2982609Come on, away, apart upon our knees;

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?

4.2.3052615'Ods-pittikins, can it be six mile yet?

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,

4.2.3112620For so I thought I was a cave-keeper

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,

4.2.3162625I tremble still with fear, but if there be

4.2.3172626Yet left in Heaven as small a drop of pity

4.2.3182627As a wren's eye, feared gods, a part of it.

4.2.3192628The dream's here still. Even when I wake it is

4.2.3202629Without me as within me; not imagined, felt.

4.2.3212630A headless man? The garments of Posthumus?

4.2.3222631I know the shape of's leg; this is his hand,

4.2.3232632His foot Mercurial, his Martial thigh,

4.2.3242633The brawns of Hercules, but his Jovial face --

4.2.3252634Murder in heaven? How? 'Tis gone. Pisanio,

4.2.3262635All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks

4.2.3272636And mine to boot be darted on thee! Thou

4.2.3282637Conspired with that irregulous devil Clotten,

4.2.3292638Hast here cut off my lord. To write and read

4.2.3302639Be henceforth treacherous. Damned Pisanio

4.2.3312640Hath with his forgèd letters (damned Pisanio!)

4.2.3322641From this most bravest vessel of the world

4.2.3332642Struck the main-top! O Posthumus, alas,

4.2.3342643Where is thy head? Where's that? Ay me! Where's that?

4.2.3352644Pisanio might have killed thee at the heart

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

4.2.3402649And cordial to me, have I not found it

4.2.3412650Murderous to th' senses? That confirms it home:

4.2.3422651This is Pisanio's deed, and Clotten. Oh!

4.2.3432652Give color to my pale cheek with thy blood

4.2.3442653That we the horrider may seem to those

4.2.3452654Which chance to find us. Oh, my lord! My lord!

To them the legions garrisoned in Gallia,

4.2.3492657After your will, have crossed the sea, attending

4.2.3502658You here at Milford Haven with your ships;

4.2.3512659They are here in readiness.

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

4.2.3542663That promise noble service, and they come

4.2.3552664Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,

4.2.3562665Sienna's brother.

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:

4.2.3632674I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, winged

4.2.3642675From the spongy south to this part of the west,

4.2.3652676There vanished in the sunbeams, which portends,

4.2.3662677Unless my sins abuse my divination,

4.2.3672678Success to th' Roman host.

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

4.2.3702682It was a worthy building. How, a page?

4.2.3712683Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead, rather,

4.2.3722684For Nature doth abhor to make his bed

4.2.3732685With the defunct or sleep upon the dead.

4.2.3742686Let's see the boy's face.

Let's see the boy's face. He's alive, my Lord.

He'll then instruct us of this body. Young one,

4.2.3762689Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems

4.2.3772690They crave to be demanded. Who is this

4.2.3782691Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he

4.2.3792692That, otherwise than noble Nature did,

4.2.3802693Hath altered that good picture? What's thy interest

4.2.3812694In this sad wrack? How came't? Who is't?

4.2.3822695What art thou?

What art thou? I am nothing; or, if not,

4.2.3832697Nothing to be were better. This was my master,

4.2.3842698A very valiant Briton and a good,

4.2.3852699That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas,

4.2.3862700There is no more such masters. I may wander

4.2.3872701From east to occident; cry out for service;

4.2.3882702Try many, all good; serve truly; never

4.2.3892703Find such another 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

4.2.3932708No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope

4.2.3942709They'll pardon it. -- Say you, sir?

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

4.2.3992715Thou shalt be so well mastered, but be sure

4.2.4002716No less beloved. The Roman emperor's letters,

4.2.4012717Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner

4.2.4022718Than thine own worth prefer thee. Go with me.

I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods,

4.2.4042720I'll hide my master from the flies as deep

4.2.4052721As these poor pickaxes can dig, and when

4.2.4062722With wildwood-leaves and weeds I ha' strewed his grave

4.2.4072723And on it said a century of prayers,

4.2.4082724Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh,

4.2.4092725And leaving so his service, follow you,

4.2.4102726So please you entertain me.

So please you entertain me. Aye, good youth,

4.2.4112728And rather father thee than master thee. My friends,

4.2.4122729The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us

4.2.4132730Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can

4.2.4142731And make him with our pikes and partisans

4.2.4152732A grave. --

A grave. -- Come, arm him. --

A grave. -- Come, arm him. -- Boy, he's preferred

4.2.4162733By thee to us, and he shall be interred

4.2.4172734As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes:

4.2.4182735Some falls are means the happier to arise.