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SCENE. Before the Cave of Belarius.
Enter IMOGEN, in Boy's Clothes.
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, Where they should be reliev'd.
Two beggars told
I could not miss my way: Will poor folks lie, [me,
Can snore upon the flint, when restive sloth
Imo. Good masters, harm me not: Before I enter'd here, I call'd; and thought
To have begg'd, or bought, what I have took: Good
I have stolen nought; nor would not, though I had found
Gold strew'd o' the floor. Here's money for my
I would have left it on the board, so soon
Money, youth? Arv. All gold and silver rather turn to dirt! As 'tis no better reckon'd, but of those
Who worship dirty gods.
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.
Being scarce made up,
I mean, to man, he had not apprehension
O thou goddess,
Thou divine nature, how thyself thou blazon'st
Not wagging his sweet head: and yet as rough,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
That an invincible instinct should frame them
That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop
Enter ARVIRAGUS, bearing IMOGEN, as dead, in his
Look, here he comes,
And brings the dire occasion in his arms,
O sweetest, fairest lily! My brother wears thee not the one half so well, As when thou grew'st thyself.
Bel. 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 Thou diedst a most rare boy of melancholy!— [I, How found you him?
Arv. Stark, as you see: Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at: his right cheek Reposing on a cushion.
O' the floor;
* A slow-sailing, unwieldy vessel.
His arms thus leagu'd: I thought, he slept; and put My clouted brogues* from off my feet, whose rudeAnswer'd my steps too loud.
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; nor The azur'd 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.
Bel. Great griefs, I see, medicine the less; for
Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys:
Together, have one dust; yet reverence
(That angel of the world), doth make distinction Of place 'tween high and low. Our foe was princeAnd though you took his life, as being our foe, [ly ; Yet bury him as a prince.
* Shoes plated with iron.
Pray you, fetch him hither.
+ The red-breast. Probably a corrupt reading for wither round thy corse. § Punished.
Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,
Gui. Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Arv. Fear no more the frown o' the great,
Care no more to clothe and eat;
Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Conisgn to thee, and come to dust.
Gui. No exorciser harm thee!
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Yes, sir, to Milford Haven;
Which is the way?
+ Seal the same contract.