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Guid.

Arv.

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Fear no more the lightning-flash.
Arv. Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-ftone.
Guid. Fear no flander, cenfure rash.
Thou haft finish'd joy and moan.
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must
Confign to thee, and come to duft.
Guid. No exorcifer harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Guid. Ghoft, unlaid, forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee !
Both. Quiet confummation have
Unremoved be thy grave!

Enter Belarius with the body of Cloten.

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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.

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Imo. Yes, Sir, to Milford-haven, which is the way?I thank you

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-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 dream's here ftill; ev'n when I wake, it is
Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
A headless man! -the garments of Pofthumus?·
I know the shape of's leg, this is his hand,
His foot Mercurial, his Martial thigh,

The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face-
Murther in heaven!-how !-'tis gone!-Pifanio!-
All curfes madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! thou,
'Twas thou, confpiring with that devil Cloten,
Haft here cut off my Lord.

Be henceforth treach'rous !

To write and read,
-Damn'd Pifanio

Hath with his forged letters. -damn'd Pifanio !
From this the braveft veffel of the world

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 ?
'Tis he and Cloten. Malice and lucre in them
Have laid this woe here. Oh, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!!
'The drug he gave me, which he faid was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it
Murth'rous to th' fenfes ? that confirms it home:
This is Pifanio's deed, and Cloten's. Oh !
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may feem to those
Which chance to find us. Oh, my Lord!

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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.

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Luc. But what from Rome ?

Gap. The fenate hath ftirr'd up the confiners,,
And gentlemen of Italy, moft willing fpirits,
That promile noble fervice; and they come :
Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,,
Syenna's brother.

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
From the fpungy fouth, to this part of the weft,.
There vanith in the fun-beams; which portends
(Unless my fins abufe my divination),
Succefs to th' Roman hoft.

Luc. Dream often fo,

And never falfe! —Soft, ho, what trunk is here
Without his top? the ruin fpeaks, that fometime
It was a worthy building. How ! a page?
Or dead, or fleeping on him? but dead rather:
For nature doth abhor to make his couch
With the defunct, or fleep upon the dead,
Let's fee the boy's face.

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
Find fuch another master.

Luc. 'Lack, good youth!

Thou mov'it no lefs with thy complaining, than
Thy mafter bleeding: fay his name, good friend..
Ima. Richard du Champ. If I do lye, and do

No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope [Afide. They'll pardon it. Say you, Sir?

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Luc. Thou doft approve thyself the very fame;
Thy name well fits thy faith; thy faith, thy name.
Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not fay
Thou shalt be fo well master'd, but, be fure,
No lefs belov'd. The Roman Emperor's letters,
Sent by a conful to me, fhould no fooner,

Than thine own worth, prefer thee: go with me.
Imo. I'll follow, Sir. But first, an't please the gods,,
I'll hide my mafter from the flies as deep

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..
My friends,

[grave,

The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us
Find out the prettiest dazied-plot we can,
And make him with our pikes and partisans
A grave; come, arm him*: boy, he is preferr'd
By thee to us, and he fhall be interr'd

As foldiers can. Be chearful, wipe thine eyes.
Some falls are means the happier to arife.

[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!
How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen,
The great part of my comfort, gone! my Queen
Upon a defperate bed, and in a time

When fearful wars point at me! her fon gone,
So needful for this prefent! it ftrikes me past
*ic, take him up in your arms.

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.

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;
Nor when the purposes return.

Hold me your loyal fervant.

Lord, Good my Liege,

'Befeech your High

The day that she was miffing, he was here;
I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform
All parts of his fubjection loyally. For Cloten,
There wants no diligence in feeking him,
And will no doubt be found.

Cym. The time is troublesome ;

We'll flip you for a season, but our jealousy
Do's yet depend: ·

Lord. So please your Majefty,

The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your coaft, with large supply
Of Roman gentlemen, by th' fenate fent.

[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
We grieve at chances here.- -Away.-

[Exeunt Cymbeline and Lords
Pif. I've had no letter from my matter, fince
I wrote him Imogen was flain. 'Tis ftrange;
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise
To yield me often tidings. Neither know. I
What is betide to Cloten; but remain

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,,

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