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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.


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.

With fairest flowers,

Arv.. 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; nor 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 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.


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.


Say, where shall's lay him?

Be't so:

Gui. By good Euriphile, our mother.

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:
For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse

Than priests and fanes that lie.


We'll speak it then.

Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less: for


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;
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him as a prince.

Pray you, fetch him hither.

Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,

When neither are alive.


If you'll go fetch him,

[Exit Belarius.

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

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


My father hath a reason for't.


"Tis true.

Gui. Come on then, and remove him.




Gui. Fear no more the heat o'the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages;

Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Arv. 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 scepter, learning, physick, must All follow this, and come to dust.

Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash, Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash; Arv. Thou hast finish'd joy and moan: Both. All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee 52, and come to dust.

Gui. No exorciser harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee!
Both. Quiet consummation have;

And renowned be thy grave!

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