That we have given him cause.
Clo.
"Tis all the better:
Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it.

Cym. Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor
How it goes here. It fits us, therefore, ripely,
Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness:
The powers that he already hath in Gallia

Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves
His war for Britain.

Queen.
"Tis not sleepy business,
But must be look'd to speedily, and strongly.
Cym. Our expectation that it would be thus
Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen,
Where is our daughter? She hath not appear'd
Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender'd
The duty of the day. She looks us like

A thing more made of malice, than of duty:
We have noted it.-Call her before us, for
We have been too slight in sufferance.[Exit an Attendant.
Queen.

Royal sir,

Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir'd
Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord,
'Tis time must do. Beseech your majesty,
Forbear sharp speeches to her: she's a lady
So tender of rebuke, that words are strokes,
And strokes death to her.

How

Re-enter an Attendant.
Сут.
Where is she, sir?
Can her contempt be answer'd?
Atten.
Please you, sir,
Her chambers are all lock'd; and there's no answer
That will be given to the loud'st noise we make.

Queen. My lord, when last I went to visit her,
She pray'd me to excuse her keeping close;
Whereto constrain'd by her infirmity,
She should that duty leave unpaid to you,
Which daily she was bound to proffer: this

She wish'd me to make known, but our great court
Made me to blame in memory.

Cym. Her doors lock'd? Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I Fear prove false !

[Exit.

Queen. Son, I say, follow the king. Clo. That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, I have not seen these two days.

[Exit CLOTEN.

Queen. Go, look after.Pisanio, thou that stand'st so for Posthumus, He hath a drug of mine: I pray, his absence Proceed by swallowing that, for he believes It is a thing most precious. But for her, Where is she gone? Haply, despair hath seiz'd her; Or, wing'd with fervour of her love, she's flown To her desir'd Posthumus. Gone she is To death, or to dishonour; and my end Can make good use of either: she being down, I have the placing of the British crown. Re-enter CLOTEN.

How now, my son !

Clo.

'Tis certain, she is fled. Go in, and cheer the king: he rages; none Dare come about him.

Queen. All the better: may This night forestal him of the coming day! [Exit QUEEN. Clo. I love, and hate her, for she's fair and royal; And that she hath all courtly parts, more exquisite Than lady, ladies, woman: from every one The best she hath, and she, of all compounded, Outsells them all. I love her therefore; but, Disdaining me, and throwing favours on The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgment,

ment of my qualities. With that suit upon my back, will I ravish her: first kill him, and in her eyes; there shall she see my valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, my speech of insultment ended on his dead body,-and when my lust hath dined, (which, as I say, to vex her, I will execute in the clothes that she so praised) to the court I'll knock her back, foot her home again. She hath despised me rejoicingly, and I'll be merry in my revenge.

Re-enter PISANIO, with the Clothes.

Be those the garments?

Pis. Ay, my noble lord.

Clo. How long is't since she went to Milford-Haven? Pis. She can scarce be there yet.

Clo. Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second thing that I have commanded thee: the third is, that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my design. Be but duteous, and true preferment shall tender itself to thee. My revenge is now at Milford: would I had wings to follow it.—Come, and be true. [Exit.

Pis. Thou bidd'st me to thy loss: for true to thee
Were to prove false, which I will never be
To him that is most true.-To Milford go,
And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow,
You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool's speed
Be cross'd with slowness: labour be his meed! [Exit.
SCENE VI.-Before the Cave of BELARIUS.
Enter IMOGEN, attired like a Boy.

Imo. I see, a man's life is a tedious one:
I have 'tir'd myself, and for two nights together
Have made the ground my bed: I should be sick,
But that my resolution helps me.-Milford,
When from the mountain-top Pisanio show'd thee,
Thou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think,
Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean,

Imo. Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman, who Is bound for Italy: he embark'd at Milford; To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, I am fallen in this offence. Bel. Pr'ythee, fair youth, Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds By this rude place we live in. Well encounter'd.

I could not miss my way: will poor folks lie,
That have afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
A punishment, or trial? Yes; no wonder,

When rich ones scarce tell true: to lapse in fulness
Is sorer, than to lie for need; and falsehood
Is worse in kings, than beggars.—My dear lord!
Thou art one o' the false ones: now I think on thee,
My hunger's gone; but even before, I was
At point to sink for food.-But what is this?

[Seeing the Cave.
Here is a path to it: 'tis some savage hold:
I were best not call; I dare not call; yet famine,
Ere clean it o'erthrow nature, makes it valiant.
Plenty, and peace, breed cowards; hardness ever
Of hardiness is mother.-Ho! Who's here?
If any thing that's civil, speak; if savage,
Take, or lend.—Ho!-No answer? then, I'll enter.
Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy
But fear the sword like me, he'll scarcely look on't.
Such a foe, good heavens! [Exit into the Cave.
Enter BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS.
Bel. You, Polydore, have prov'd best woodman, and
Are master of the feast: Cadwal, and I,
Will play the cook and servant; 'tis our match:
The sweat of industry would dry, and die,

But for the end it works to. Come; our stomachs
Will make what's homely, savoury: weariness
Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth
Finds the down pillow hard.-Now, peace be here,
Poor house, that keep'st thyself!

Gui.
I am thoroughly weary.
Arv. I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite.

Ere you depart; and thanks, to stay and eat it.Boys, bid him welcome.

Gui.

Were you a woman, youth, I should woo hard, but be your groom.-In honesty, I bid for you, as I do buy. Arv.

I'll make't my comfort, He is a man: I'll love him as my brother; And such a welcome as I'd give to him After long absence, such is yours.— Most welcome. Be sprightly, for you fall 'mongst friends. Imo.

'Mongst friends! If brothers?-[Aside.] Would it had been so, that they Had been my father's sons: then, had my prize Been less; and so more equal ballasting To thee, Posthumus.

Bel.

He wrings at some distress.

| That had a court no bigger than this cave,
That did attend themselves, and had the virtue
Which their own conscience seal'd them, (laying by
That nothing gift of differing multitudes)
Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods!
I'd change my sex to be companion with them,
Since Leonatus false.

Bel.
It shall be so.
Boys, we'll go dress our hunt.-Fair youth, come in :
Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp'd,
We'll mannerly demand thee of thy story,

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

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 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
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.

Gui.

[Exit.

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. Bel. My ingenious instrument! Hark, Polydore, it sounds; but what occasion Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark! Gui. Is he at home?

O' the floor;

Arv. 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;

Gui. 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 leafy 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-guard 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.

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

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;
For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse
Than priests and fanes that lie.

Arv.

We'll speak it, then.
Bel. 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 'twixt high and low. Our foe was princely,
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him as a prince.

Gui.
Pray you, fetch him hither.
Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,
When neither is alive.

Arv.

If you'll go fetch him, We'll say our song the whilst.-Brother, begin.

[Exit BELARICS. Gui. Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east; My father hath a reason for't. Arv. 'Tis true. Gui. Come on then, and remove him. Arv.

SONG.

So.-Begin.

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 lasses 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: