ACT IV SCENE II | Before the cave of Belarius. | |
| Enter, from the cave, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, and IMOGEN | |
BELARIUS | [ To IMOGEN ] You are not well: remain here in the cave; | |
| We'll come to you after hunting. | |
ARVIRAGUS | [ To IMOGEN ] Brother, stay here: | |
| Are we not brothers? | |
IMOGEN | So man and man should be; | |
| But clay and clay differs in dignity, |
| Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. | 5 |
GUIDERIUS | Go you to hunting; I'll abide with him. | |
IMOGEN | So sick I am not, yet I am not well; | |
| But not so citizen a wanton as | |
| To seem to die ere sick: so please you, leave me; |
| Stick to your journal course: the breach of custom | 10 |
| Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me
| |
| Cannot amend me; society is no comfort | |
| To one not sociable: I am not very sick, | |
| Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here: |
| I'll rob none but myself; and let me die, | |
| Stealing so poorly. | |
GUIDERIUS | I love thee; I have spoke it | |
| How much the quantity, the weight as much, | |
| As I do love my father. |
BELARIUS | What! how! how! | |
ARVIRAGUS | If it be sin to say so, I yoke me | |
| In my good brother's fault: I know not why | 20 |
| I love this youth; and I have heard you say, | |
| Love's reason's without reason: the bier at door, |
| And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say | |
| 'My father, not this youth.' | |
BELARIUS | [ Aside ] | |
| O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness! | |
| Cowards father cowards and base things sire base: | |
| Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace. |
| I'm not their father; yet who this should be, | |
| Doth miracle itself, loved before me. | |
| 'Tis the ninth hour o' the morn. | |
ARVIRAGUS | Brother, farewell. | 30 |
IMOGEN | I wish ye sport. |
ARVIRAGUS | You health. So please you, sir. | |
IMOGEN | [ Aside ] These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies | |
| I have heard! | |
| Our courtiers say all's savage but at court: | |
| Experience, O, thou disprovest report! | |
| The imperious seas breed monsters, for the dish |
| Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. | |
| I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio, | |
| I'll now taste of thy drug. | |
| [Swallows some. | |
GUIDERIUS | I could not stir him: | |
| He said he was gentle, but unfortunate; |
| Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. | 40 |
ARVIRAGUS | Thus did he answer me: yet said, hereafter | |
| I might know more. | |
BELARIUS | To the field, to the field! | |
| We'll leave you for this time: go in and rest. |
ARVIRAGUS | We'll not be long away. | |
BELARIUS | Pray, be not sick, | |
| For you must be our housewife. | |
IMOGEN | Well or ill, | |
| I am bound to you. |
BELARIUS | And shalt be ever. | |
| [ Exit Imogen, to the cave. | |
| This youth, how'er distress'd, appears he hath had | |
| Good ancestors. | |
ARVIRAGUS | How angel-like he sings! | |
GUIDERIUS | But his neat cookery! he cut our roots |
| In characters, | |
| And sauced our broths, as Juno had been sick | 50 |
| And he her dieter. | |
ARVIRAGUS | Nobly he yokes | |
| A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh |
| Was that it was, for not being such a smile; | |
| The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly | |
| From so divine a temple, to commix | |
| With winds that sailors rail at. | |
GUIDERIUS | I do note |
| That grief and patience, rooted in him both, | |
| Mingle their spurs together. | |
ARVIRAGUS | Grow, patience! | |
| And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine | |
| His perishing root with the increasing vine! | 60 |
BELARIUS | It is great morning. Come, away!-- | |
| Who's there? | |
| Enter CLOTEN | |
CLOTEN | I cannot find those runagates; that villain | |
| Hath mock'd me. I am faint. | |
BELARIUS | 'Those runagates!' |
| Means he not us? I partly know him: 'tis | |
| Cloten, the son o' the queen. I fear some ambush. | |
| I saw him not these many years, and yet | |
| I know 'tis he. We are held as outlaws: hence! | |
GUIDERIUS | He is but one: you and my brother search |
| What companies are near: pray you, away; | |
| Let me alone with him. | |
| [ Exeunt BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS. | |
CLOTEN | Soft! What are you | 70 |
| That fly me thus? some villain mountaineers? | |
| I have heard of such. What slave art thou? |
GUIDERIUS | A thing | |
| More slavish did I ne'er than answering | |
| A slave without a knock. | |
CLOTEN | Thou art a robber, | |
| A law-breaker, a villain: yield thee, thief. |
GUIDERIUS | To who? to thee? What art thou? Have not I | |
| An arm as big as thine? a heart as big? | |
| Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not | |
| My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art, | |
| Why I should yield to thee? |
CLOTEN | Thou villain base, | 80 |
| Know'st me not by my clothes? | |
GUIDERIUS | No, nor thy tailor, rascal, | |
| Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes, | |
| Which, as it seems, make thee. |
CLOTEN | Thou precious varlet, | |
| My tailor made them not. | |
GUIDERIUS | Hence, then, and thank | |
| The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool; | |
| I am loath to beat thee. |
CLOTEN | Thou injurious thief, | |
| Hear but my name, and tremble. | |
GUIDERIUS | What's thy name? | |
CLOTEN | Cloten, thou villain. | |
GUIDERIUS | Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name, |
| I cannot tremble at it: were it Toad, or | |
| Adder, Spider, | 90 |
| 'Twould move me sooner. | |
CLOTEN | To thy further fear, | |
| Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know |
| I am son to the queen. | |
GUIDERIUS | I am sorry for 't; not seeming | |
| So worthy as thy birth. | |
CLOTEN | Art not afeard? | |
GUIDERIUS | Those that I reverence those I fear, the wise: |
| At fools I laugh, not fear them. | |
CLOTEN | Die the death: | |
| When I have slain thee with my proper hand, | |
| I'll follow those that even now fled hence, | |
| And on the gates of Lud's town set your heads: |
| Yield, rustic mountaineer. | |
| [ Exeunt, fighting. | 100 |
| Re-enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS | |
BELARIUS | No companies abroad? | |
ARVIRAGUS | None in the world: you did mistake him, sure. | |
BELARIUS | I cannot tell: long is it since I saw him, | |
| But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour |
| Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice, | |
| And burst of speaking, were as his: I am absolute | |
| 'Twas very Cloten. | |
ARVIRAGUS | In this place we left them: | |
| I wish my brother make good time with him, |
| You say he is so fell. | |
BELARIUS | Being scarce made up, | |
| I mean, to man, he had not apprehension | 110 |
| Of roaring terrors; for the effect of judgment | |
| Is oft the cause of fear. But, see, thy brother. |
| Re-enter GUIDERIUS, with CLOTEN'S head. | |
GUIDERIUS | This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse; | |
| There was no money in't: not Hercules | |
| Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none: | |
| Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne | |
| My head as I do his. |
BELARIUS | What hast thou done? | |
GUIDERIUS | I am perfect what: cut off one Cloten's head, | |
| Son to the queen, after his own report; | |
| Who call'd me traitor, mountaineer, and swore | 120 |
| With his own single hand he'ld take us in |
| Displace our heads where--thank the gods!--they grow, | |
| And set them on Lud's town. | |
BELARIUS | We are all undone. | |
GUIDERIUS | Why, worthy father, what have we to lose, | |
| But that he swore to take, our lives? The law |
| Protects not us: then why should we be tender | |
| To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us, | |
| Play judge and executioner all himself, | |
| For we do fear the law? What company | |
| Discover you abroad? |
BELARIUS | No single soul | 130 |
| Can we set eye on; but in all safe reason | |
| He must have some attendants. Though his humour | |
| Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that | |
| From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not |
| Absolute madness could so far have raved | |
| To bring him here alone; although perhaps | |
| It may be heard at court that such as we | |
| Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time | |
| May make some stronger head; the which he hearing-- |
| As it is like him--might break out, and swear | 140 |
| He'ld fetch us in; yet is't not probable | |
| To come alone, either he so undertaking, | |
| Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear, | |
| If we do fear this body hath a tail |
| More perilous than the head. | |
ARVIRAGUS | Let ordinance | |
| Come as the gods foresay it: howsoe'er, | |
| My brother hath done well. | |
BELARIUS | I had no mind |
| To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness | |
| Did make my way long forth. | |
GUIDERIUS | With his own sword, | |
| Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en | 150 |
| His head from him: I'll throw't into the creek |
| Behind our rock; and let it to the sea, | |
| And tell the fishes he's the queen's son, Cloten: | |
| That's all I reck. | |
| [ Exit. | |
BELARIUS | I fear 'twill be revenged: | |
| Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't! though valour |
| Becomes thee well enough. | |
ARVIRAGUS | Would I had done't | |
| So the revenge alone pursued me! Polydore, | |
| I love thee brotherly, but envy much | |
| Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would revenges, |
| That possible strength might meet, would seek us through | |
| And put us to our answer. | |
BELARIUS | Well, 'tis done: | |
| We'll hunt no more to-day, nor seek for danger | |
| Where there's no profit. I prithee, to our rock; |
| You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay | |
| Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him | |
| To dinner presently. | |
ARVIRAGUS | Poor sick Fidele! | |
| I'll weringly to him: to gain his colour |
| I'ld let a parish of such Clotens' blood, | |
| And praise myself for charity. | |
| [ Exit. | |
BELARIUS | O thou goddess, | 170 |
| Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st | |
| In these two princely boys! They are as gentle |
| As zephyrs blowing below the violet, | |
| Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough, | |
| Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind, | |
| That by the top doth take the mountain pine, | |
| And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonder |
| That an invisible instinct should frame them | |
| To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught, | |
| Civility not seen from other, valour | |
| That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop | 180 |
| As if it had been sow'd. Yet still it's strange |
| What Cloten's being here to us portends, | |
| Or what his death will bring us. | |
| Re-enter GUIDERIUS. | |
GUIDERIUS | Where's my brother? | |
| I have sent Cloten's clotpoll down the stream, | |
| In embassy to his mother: his body's hostage |
| For his return. | |
| [ Solemn music. | |
BELARIUS | My ingenious instrument! | |
| Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion | |
| Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark! | |
GUIDERIUS | Is he at home? |
BELARIUS | He went hence even now. | |
GUIDERIUS | What does he mean? since death of my dear'st mother | 190 |
| It did not speak before. All solemn things | |
| Should answer solemn accidents. The matter? | |
| Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys |
| Is jollity for apes and grief for boys. | |
| Is Cadwal mad? | |
BELARIUS | Look, here he comes, | |
| And brings the dire occasion in his arms | |
| Of what we blame him for! |
| Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, with IMOGEN, as dead, bearing her in his arms. | |
ARVIRAGUS | The bird is dead | |
| That we have made so much on. I had rather | |
| Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty, | |
| To have turn'd my leaping-time into a crutch, | 200 |
| Than have seen this. |
GUIDERIUS | O sweetest, fairest lily! | |
| My brother wears thee not the one half so well | |
| As when thou grew'st thyself. | |
BELARIUS | O melancholy! | |
| Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find |
| The ooze, to show what coast thy sluggish crare | |
| Might easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing! | |
| Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I, | |
| Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy. | |
| How found you him? |
ARVIRAGUS | Stark, as you see: | |
| Thus smiling, as some fly hid tickled slumber, | 210 |
| Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at; his | |
| right cheek | |
| Reposing on a cushion. |
GUIDERIUS | Where? | |
ARVIRAGUS | O' the floor; | |
| His arms thus leagu'd: I thought he slept, and put | |
| My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness | |
| Answer'd my steps too loud. |
GUIDERIUS | Why, he but sleeps: | |
| If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed; | |
| With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, | |
| And worms will not come to thee. | |
ARVIRAGUS | With fairest flowers |
| Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, | |
| I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack | 220 |
| The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor | |
| The azured harebell, like thy veins, no, nor | |
| The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, |
| Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the ruddock would, | |
| With charitable bill,--O bill, sore-shaming | |
| Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie | |
| Without a monument!--bring thee all this; | |
| Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, |
| To winter-ground thy corse. | |
GUIDERIUS | Prithee, have done; | |
| And do not play in wench-like words with that | 230 |
| Which is so serious. Let us bury him, | |
| And not protract with admiration what |
| Is now due debt. To the grave! | |
ARVIRAGUS | Say, where shall's lay him? | |
GUIDERIUS | By good Euriphile, our mother. | |
ARVIRAGUS | Be't so: | |
| And let us, Polydore, though now our voices |
| Have got the mannish crack, sing him to the ground, | |
| As once our mother; use like note and words, | |
| Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. | |
GUIDERIUS | Cadwal, | |
| I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee; | 240 |
| For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse | |
| Than priests and fanes that lie. | |
ARVIRAGUS | We'll speak it, then. | |
BELARIUS | Great griefs, I see, medicine the less; for Cloten | |
| Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys; |
| And though he came our enemy, remember | |
| He was paid for that: though mean and | |
| mighty, rotting | |
| Together, have one dust, yet reverence,-- | |
| That angel of the world, doth make distinction |
| Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely | 250 |
| And though you took his life, as being our foe, | |
| Yet bury him as a prince. | |
GUIDERIUS | Pray You, fetch him hither. | |
| Thersites' body is as good as Ajax', |
| When neither are alive. | |
ARVIRAGUS | If you'll go fetch him, | |
| We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin. | |
| Exit BELARIUS | |
GUIDERIUS | Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east; | |
| My father hath a reason for't. |
ARVIRAGUS | 'Tis true. |
GUIDERIUS | Come on then, and remove him. | |
ARVIRAGUS | So. Begin. | |
| SONG | |
GUIDERIUS | Fear no more the heat o' the sun, | |
| Nor the furious winter's rages; |
| Thou thy worldly task hast done, | 260 |
| Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: | |
| Golden lads and girls all must, | |
| As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. | |
ARVIRAGUS | Fear no more the frown o' the great; |
| Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; | |
| Care no more to clothe and eat; | |
| To thee the reed is as the oak: | |
| The sceptre, learning, physic, must | |
| All follow this, and come to dust. |
GUIDERIUS | Fear no more the lightning flash, | 270 |
ARVIRAGUS | Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; | |
GUIDERIUS | Fear not slander, censure rash; | |
ARVIRAGUS | Thou hast finish'd joy and moan: | |
GUIDERIUS | | |
| | All lovers young, all lovers must | |
ARVIRAGUS | | Consign to thee, and come to dust. | |
GUIDERIUS | No exorciser harm thee! | |
ARVIRAGUS | Nor no witchcraft charm thee! | |
GUIDERIUS | Ghost unlaid forbear thee! |
ARVIRAGUS | Nothing ill come near thee! | |
GUIDERIUS | | | |
| | Quiet consummation have; | 280 |
ARVIRAGUS | | And renowned be thy grave! | |
| Re-enter BELARIUS, with the body of CLOTEN. | |
GUIDERIUS | We have done our obsequies: come, lay him down. |
BELARIUS | Here's a few flowers; but 'bout midnight, more: | |
| The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night | |
| Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their faces. | |
| You were as flowers, now wither'd: even so | |
| These herblets shall, which we upon you strew. |
| Come on, away: apart upon our knees. | |
| The ground that gave them first has them again: | |
| Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. | 290 |
| [ Exeunt Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. | |
IMOGEN | [ Awaking ] Yes sir, to Milford-Haven; which is the | |
| the way?-- | |
| I thank you.--By yond bush?--Pray, how far thither? |
| 'Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet?-- | |
| I have gone all night. 'Faith, I'll lie down and sleep. | |
| But, soft! no bedfellow!--O gods and goddesses! | |
| [Seeing the body of Cloten. | |
| These flowers are like the pleasures of the world; | |
| This bloody man, the care on't. I hope I dream; |
| For so I thought I was a cave-keeper, | |
| And cook to honest creatures: but 'tis not so; | |
| 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, | |
| Which the brain makes of fumes: our very eyes | |
| Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith, |
| I tremble stiff with fear: but if there be | |
| Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity | |
| As a wren's eye, fear'd gods, a part of it! | |
| The dream's here still: even when I wake, it is | |
| Without me, as within me; not imagined, felt. |
| A headless man! The garments of Posthumus! | |
| I know the shape of's leg: this is his hand; | |
| His foot Mercurial; his Martial thigh; | 310 |
| The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face -- | |
| Murder in heaven?--How!--'Tis gone. Pisanio, |
| All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, | |
| And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou, | |
| Conspired with that irregulous devil, Cloten, | |
| Hast here cut off my lord. To write and read | |
| Be henceforth treacherous! Damn'd Pisanio |
| Hath with his forged letters,--damn'd Pisanio-- | |
| From this most bravest vessel of the world | |
| Struck the main-top! O Posthumus! alas, | 320 |
| Where is thy head? where's that? Ay me! | |
| where's that? |
| Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart, | |
| And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio? | |
| 'Tis he and Cloten: malice and lucre in them | |
| Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, pregnant! | |
| The drug he gave me, which he said was precious |
| And cordial to me, have I not found it | |
| Murderous to the senses? That confirms it home: | |
| This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O! | |
| Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, | 330 |
| That we the horrider may seem to those |
| Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord! | |
| [Throws herself on the body. | |
| Enter LUCIUS, a Captain and other Officers, and a Soothsayer | |
Captain | To them the legions garrison'd in Gallia, | |
| After your will, have cross'd the sea, attending | |
| You here at Milford-Haven with your ships: | |
| They are in readiness. |
CAIUS LUCIUS | But what from Rome? | |
Captain | The senate hath stirr'd up the confiners | |
| And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits, | |
| That promise noble service: and they come | |
| Under the conduct of bold Iachimo, | 340 |
| Syenna's brother. | |
CAIUS LUCIUS | When expect you them? | |
Captain | With the next benefit o' the wind. | |
CAIUS LUCIUS | This forwardness | |
| Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers |
| Be muster'd; bid the captains look to't. Now, sir, | |
| What have you dream'd of late of this war's purpose? | |
Soothsayer | Last night the very gods show'd me a vision-- | |
| I fast and pray'd for their intelligence--thus: | |
| I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd |
| From the spongy south to this part of the west, | |
| There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends-- | 350 |
| Unless my sins abuse my divination-- | |
| Success to the Roman host. | |
CAIUS LUCIUS | Dream often so, |
| And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here | |
| Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime | |
| It was a worthy building. How! a page! | |
| Or dead, or sleeping on him? But dead rather; | |
| For nature doth abhor to make his bed |
| With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. | |
| Let's see the boy's face. | |
Captain | He's alive, my lord. | 360 |
CAIUS LUCIUS | He'll then instruct us of this body. Young one, | |
| Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems |
| They crave to be demanded. Who is this | |
| Thou makest thy bloody pillow? Or who was he | |
| That, otherwise than noble nature did, | |
| Hath alter'd that good picture? What's thy interest | |
| In this sad wreck? How came it? Who is it? |
| What art thou? | |
IMOGEN | I am nothing: or if not, | |
| Nothing to be were better. This was my master, | |
| A very valiant Briton and a good, | |
| That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas! | 370 |
| There is no more such masters: I may wander | |
| From east to occident, cry out for service, | |
| Try many, all good, serve truly, never | |
| Find such another master. | |
CAIUS LUCIUS | 'Lack, good youth! |
| Thou movest no less with thy complaining than | |
| Thy master in bleeding: say his name, good friend. | |
IMOGEN | Richard du Champ. | |
| [ Aside ] | |
| If I do lie and do | |
| No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope |
| They'll pardon it.--Say you, sir? | |
CAIUS LUCIUS | Thy name? | |
IMOGEN | Fidele, sir. | |
CAIUS LUCIUS | Thou dost approve thyself the very same: | 380 |
| Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name. |
| Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say | |
| Thou shalt be so well master'd, but, be sure, | |
| No less beloved. The Roman emperor's letters, | |
| Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner | |
| Than thine own worth prefer thee: go with me. |
IMOGEN | I'll follow, sir. But first, an't please the gods, | |
| I'll hide my master from the flies, as deep | |
| As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when | |
| With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd his grave, | |
| And on it said a century of prayers, |
| Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh; | |
| And leaving so his service, follow you, | |
| So please you entertain me. | |
CAIUS LUCIUS | Ay, good youth! | |
| And rather father thee than master thee. |
| My friends, | |
| The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us | |
| Find out the prettiest daisied 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 shall be interr'd | |
| As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes | |
| Some falls are means the happier to arise. | |
| [ Exeunt. | |