Guid. Arv. Fear no more the lightning-flash. Enter Belarius with the body of Cloten. Guid. We've done our obfequies: come, lay him down. Bel. "Here's a few flow'rs, but about midnight more; "The herbs that have on them cold dew o' th' night, "Are ftrewings fitt'ft for graves.-Upon their faces"You were as flow'rs, now wither'd; even fo "Thefe herblets fhall, which we upon you ftrow. "Come on, away, apart upon our knees "The ground that gave them first, has them again : Their pleasure here is past, so is their pain. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Imogen arvaking. Imo. Yes, Sir, to Milford-haven, which is the way?I thank you -by yond bufh?. thither ? 'Ods pitikins-can it be fix mile yet? -Pray, how far I've gone all night-'faith, I'll lie down and fleep. But, foft! no bedfellow Oh gods and goddeffes ! Seeing the body. These flow'rs are like the pleafures of the world; This bloody man the care on't I hope I dream; For fure I thought I was a cave-keeper, • And cook to honeft creatures. But 'tis not fo: 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, • Which the brain makes of fumes: our very eyes • Are fometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith, I tremble still with fear; but if there be Yet left in heav'n as small a drop of pity "As a wren's eye, oh gods! a part of it! The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face- Be henceforth treach'rous ! To write and read, Hath with his forged letters. -damn'd Pifanio ! Struck the main-top! Oh Pofthumus, alas, Where is thy head? where's that? ah me, where's that? Pifanio might have kill'd thee at the heart, And left thy head on. How fhould this be, Pifanio ? my Lord!! Enter Lucius, Captains, and a Soothsayer. Cap. To them, the legions garrifon'd in Gallia, After your will, have crois'd the fea, attending You here at Milford-haven, with your thips: They are in readiness. Luc. But what from Rome ? Gap. The fenate hath ftirr'd up the confiners,, Luc. When expect you them? Cap. With the next benefit o' th' wind. Luc. This forwardness Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers Be mufter'd; bid the Captains look to't. Now, Sir, [To the Soothsayer. What have you dream'd of late, of this war's purpose? Sooth. Laft night, the very gods fhew'd me a vision. (1 faft' and pray'd for their intelligence). I faw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd Luc. Dream often fo, And never falfe! —Soft, ho, what trunk is here Capt. He's alive, my Lord. Luc. He'll then inftruct us of this body. Young one, Inform us of thy fortunes; for it feems They crave to be demanded. Who is this Thou mak'it thy bloody pillow? who was he That, otherwife than noble nature did, Hath alter'd that good picture? what's thy interest In this fad wreck ? how came it, and who is it? What art thou? Imo. I am nothing; or.if not, Nothing to be were better. This was my master, A very valiant Briton, and a good, I hat here by mountaineers lies flain: alas! There are are no more fuch masters, I may wander From east to occident, cry out for service, Try many, all good, ferve them truly, never Luc. 'Lack, good youth! Thou mov'it no lefs with thy complaining, than No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope [Afide. They'll pardon it. Say you, Sir? Luc. Thou doft approve thyself the very fame; Than thine own worth, prefer thee: go with me. As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' ftrew'd his And on it faid a century of pray'rs (Such as I can) twice o'er, I'll weep and figh; And, leaving fo his fervice, follow you, So please you entertain me. Luc. Ay, good youth, And rather father thee, than master thee.. [grave, The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us As foldiers can. Be chearful, wipe thine eyes. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII. Changes to Cymbeline's palace. Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pifanio. Cym. Again; and bring me word how 'tis with her f A fever with the absence of her fon; Madness, of which her life's in danger; heav'ns! When fearful wars point at me! her fon gone, The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow, Who needs must know of her departure, and Doft seem fo ignorant, we'll force it from thee By a fharp torture. 取 Pif. Sir, my life is your's, I fet it at your will: but for my mistress, I nothing know where fhe remains; why gone; Hold me your loyal fervant. Lord, Good my Liege, 'Befeech your High The day that she was miffing, he was here; Cym. The time is troublesome ; We'll flip you for a season, but our jealousy Lord. So please your Majefty, The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, [nefs, Cym. Now for the counfel of my fon and Queen ?I am amaz'd with matter. Lord. Good my Liege, Your preparation can affront no lefs Than what you hear of. Come more, for more you're ready; The want is, but to put thefe powers in motion, That long to move.. Cym. I thank you; let's withdraw, And meet the time, as it feeks us. We fear not : What can from Italy annoy us, but [Exeunt Cymbeline and Lords Perplex'd in all The heavens still must work; : Wherein I'm falfe, I'm honelt: not true, to be truc These present wars shall find I love my country,, |