The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works

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The Arden Shakespeare Complete Works Page 115

by William Shakespeare


  How found you him?

  ARVIRAGUS Stark, as you see:

  Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,

  210

  Not as death’s dart, being laugh’d at: his right cheek

  Reposing on a cushion.

  GUIDERIUS Where?

  ARVIRAGUS O’th’ 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:

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  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 azur’d harebell, like thy veins: no, nor

  The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,

  Out-sweet’ned not thy breath: the ruddock would

  With charitable bill (O bill, sore shaming

  225

  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

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  Which is so serious. Let us bury him,

  And not protract with admiration what

  Is now due debt. To th’ 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

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  Have got the mannish crack, sing him to th’ ground,

  As once to 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, med’cine the less; for Cloten

  Is quite forgot. He was a queen’s son, boys,

  And though he came our enemy, remember,

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  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,

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  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,

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  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’th’ sun,

  Nor the furious winter’s rages,

  Thou thy worldly task has 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’th’ great,

  Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke,

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  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.

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  ARVIRAGUS Nor th’all-dreaded thunder-stone.

  GUIDERIUS Fear not slander, censure rash.

  ARVIRAGUS Thou hast finish’d joy and moan.

  BOTH All lovers young, all lovers must

  Consign to thee and come to dust.

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  GUIDERIUS No exorciser harm thee!

  ARVIRAGUS Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

  GUIDERIUS Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

  ARVIRAGUS Nothing ill come near thee!

  BOTH Quiet consummation have,

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  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’th’ night

  Are strewings fitt’st for graves: upon their faces.

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  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.

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  Exeunt Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus.

  IMOGEN [awakes]

  Yes sir, to Milford-Haven, which is 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!

  295

  [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,

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  Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes

  Are sometimes like our judgements, blind. Good

  faith,

  I tremble still 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!

  305

  The dream’s here still: even when I wake it is

  Without me, as within me: not imagin’d, 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:

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  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,

  Conspir’d with that irregulous devil, Cloten,

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  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,

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  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!

  325

  The drug he gave me, which he said was precious


  And cordial to me, have I not found it

  Murd’rous to th’ senses? That confirms it home:

  This is Pisanio’s deed, and Cloten – O!

  Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,

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  That we the horrider may seem to those

  Which chance to find us. O, my lord! my lord!

  [Falls on the body.]

  Enter LUCIUS, Captains 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:

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  They are in readiness.

  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,

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  Siena’s brother.

  LUCIUS When expect you them?

  CAPTAIN With the next benefit o’th’ wind.

  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?

  345

  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

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  (Unless my sins abuse my divination)

  Success to th’ Roman host.

  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?

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  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.

  LUCIUS

  He’ll then instruct us of this body. Young one,

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  Inform us of thy fortunes, for it seems

  They crave to be demanded. Who is this

  Thou mak’st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he

  That (otherwise than noble Nature did)

  Hath alter’d that good picture? What’s thy interest

  365

  In this sad wreck? How came’t? Who is’t?

  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!

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  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.

  LUCIUS ’Lack, good youth!

  Thou mov’st no less with thy complaining than

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  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?

  LUCIUS Thy name?

  IMOGEN Fidele, sir.

  LUCIUS

  Thou dost approve thyself the very same:

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  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 belov’d. The Roman emperor’s letters

  Sent by a consul to me should not sooner

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  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

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  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.

  LUCIUS Ay, good youth;

 

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