Arv.

In this place we left them;

I wish my brother made good time with him,
You say he is so fell.

Bel.

Being scarce made up,
I mean, to man, he had not apprehension
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.
Gui. 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.

Bel. What hast thou done? Gui. 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, With his own single hand he'd take us in o, Displace our heads, where (thank the gods!) they grow,

And set them on Lud's town.

Bel. We are all undone. Gui. 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?

Bel.

No single soul
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 rav'd,
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
He'd 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.

Arv.

Let ordinance howsoe'er,

Come as the gods foresay it:
My brother hath done well.
Bel.
I had no mind
To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness
Did make my way long forth.

Gui.
With his own sword,
Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en
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. 3
[Exit.

Bel.

I fear 'twill be reveng'd: 'Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done't! though valour Becomes thee well enough.

Arv.

'Would I had done't, Polydore,

So the revenge alone pursued me!

I'll willingly to him: To gain his colour,
I'd let a parish of such Clotens' blood,
And praise myself for charity.

[Erit.
Bel.
O thou goddess,
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 enchaf'd, as the rud'st wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful,
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
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.

Gui.

Re-enter GUIDERIUS.

Where's my brother? I have sent Cloten's clot-poll down the stream, In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage For his return. [Solemn musick. Bel. My ingenious instrument! Hark, Polydore, it sounds! But what occasion Hath Cadwal now to give it motion! Hark! Gui. Is he at home? Bel.

He went hence even now. Gui. What does he mean? since death of my dear'st mother

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?

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.

Arv.
With fairest flowers,
Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack
The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; not
The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the rudduck 8 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 9 thy corse.

Gui. Pr'ythee, have done And do not play in wench-like words with that Which is so serious. Let us bury him, And not protract with admiration what Is now due debt. - To the grave.

Arv.

Arv. Say, where shall's lay him' Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother. 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.

Gui. Cadwal,

I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee. We'll speak it then. Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less: for

Arv.

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,

Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princely
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him as a prince.

Gui.
Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.

Arv.

'Pray you, fetch him hither.

If you'll go fetch him,

[Erit BELARIUS.

We'll say our song the whilst.

- Brother, begin.

Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the

A slow-sailing, unwieldy vessel.

6 Stiff.

8 The red-breast.

9 Probably a corrupt reading, for, wither round thy corse.