My dagger in my mouth. Say, what thou art,
Why I thould yield to thee?

Clot. Thou villain base,
Know'ft me not by my clothes?

Guid. No, nor thy taylor, rascal,

Who is thy grandfather; he made thofe clothes, Which, as it feems, make thee.

Clot. Thou precious varlet! My taylor made them not.

Guid. Hence then, and thank The man that gave them thee. I'm loth to beat thee.

Clot. Thou injurious thief, Hear but my name, and tremble.

Guid. What's thy name?

Clot. Cloten, thou villain.

Thou art fome fool;

Guid. Cloten, then, double villain, be thy name, I cannot tremble at it; were it toad, adder, spider, 'Twould move me fooner.

Clot. To thy further fear,

Nay, to thy mere confufion, thou shalt know

I'm fon to th' Queen.

Guid. I'm forry for't; not seeming

So worthy as thy birth.

Clot. Art not afraid?

[wife :

Guid. Thofe that I rev'rence, thofe I fear; the

At fools I laugh, not fear them.

Clot, Die the death!.

When I have flain thee with my proper hand,

I'll follow thofe that even now fled hence,

And on the gates of Lud's town fet your heads;
Yield, ruftic mountaineer.

Bel.

[Fight, and Exeunt.

in the

Enter Belarius and Arviragus.

TO company's abroad.

Arv. None in the world; you did mistake

him, fure.

Bel.

Bel. I cannot tell: long is it fince I faw him, But time hath nothing blurr'd thofe lines of favour Which then he wore; the fnatches in his voice, And burst of speaking, were as his: I'm abfolute, 'Twas very Cloten.

Arv. In this place we left them;

I wish my brother make good time with him,
You fay he is fo fell.

Bel. Being fcarce made up,

I mean, to man, he had not apprehenfion
Of roaring terrors; for defect of judgment
Is oft the cure of fear. But fee, thy brother.

Enter Guiderius, with Cloten's Head.

Guid. 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 haft thou done?

Guid. I'm 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 fingle hand he'd take us in;

Difplace our heads, where, thanks to th' Gods, they grow,

And fet them on Lud's town.

Bel. We're all undone !

Guid. Why, worthy father, what have we to lofe, But what he fwore 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.

Discover you abroad?

Bel. No fingle foul

What company

Can we fet eye on; but, in all fafe reafon,

He

He must have some attendants. * Though his honour
Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that

From one bad thing to worfe; yet not his frenzy,
Not abfolute madnefs, could fo far have rav'd,
To bring him here alone; although, perhaps,

It

may be heard at court, that fuch as we

Cave here, haunt here, are Out-laws, and in time May make fome ftronger head: the which he hearing, (As it is like him,) might break out, and fwear, He'd fetch us in; yet is't not probable

To come alone, nor he fo undertaking,

Nor they fo fuffering; then on good ground we fear, If I do fear, this body hath a tail

More perilous than the head.

Arv. Let ordinance

Come, as the Gods forefay it; howfoe'er,
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.

Guid. With his own fword

Which he did wave against my throat, I've ta'en
His head from him: I'll throw't into the creek
Behind our rock; and let it to the fea,

And tell the fishes, he's the Queen's fon, Cloten.
That's all I reck.

Bel. I fear, 'twill be reveng'd:

[Exit.

'Would, Paladour, thou hadft not don't, though

valour

Becomes thee well enough.

Aru. 'Would I had don't,

So the revenge alone purfu'd me! Paladour,
I love thee brotherly, but envy much,

Thou'ft robb'd me of this deed; I would, revenges,
-Though his honour

Was nothing but mutation,] Mr. Theobald, as usual, not un derftanding this, turns Honour to Humour. But the text is right and means that the only Notion he had of Honour, was the Fashion, which was perpetually changing.

Warb.

That

That poffible ftrength might meet, would feek us thro',

And put us to our answer.

Bel. Well, 'tis done :

We'll hunt no more to-day, nor feek for danger Where there's no profit. Pr'ythee, to our rock, You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll ftay

'Till hafty Paladour return, and bring him. To dinner prefently.

Aru. Poor fick Fidele!

I'll willingly to him: To gain his colour, *I'd let a marifh of fuch Clotens blood, And praife myself for charity.

Bel. O thou Goddess,

[Exit.

Thou divine Nature! how thyfelf thou blazon'ft
In these two princely boys! they are as gentle,
As Zephyrs blowing below the violet,

Not wagging his fweet head; and yet as rough,
(Their royal blood enchaf'd) as the rud'ft wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him floop to th' vale-Tis wonderful,
That an invifible inftin&t fhould frame them
To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,
Civility not feen from other; valour,

That wildly grows in them; but yields a crop
As if it had been fow'd. Yet ftill it's ftrange
What Cloten's being here to us portends,,
Or what his death will bring us.

Re-enter Guiderius.

Guid. Where's my brother?

I have fent Cloten's clot-pole down the ftream,
In embally to his mother; his body's hoftage
For his return.

Bel. My ingenious inftrument!

[Solemn mufic.

Hark, Paladour! it founds: but what occafion
Hath Cadwall now to give it motion? hark!

I'd let a parish of fuch Clotens blood,] This Nonsense should be
-I'd let a marish of fuch Clotens blood. Warb.

corrected thus,

VOL. VIII.

Guid. Is he at home?

Bel. He went hence even now.

Guid. What does he mean? Since death of my
dear'ft Mother,

It did not fpeak before. All folemn things
Should anfwer folemn accidents. The matter!-
Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys,
Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys.

Is Cadwall mad?

Enter Arviragus, with Imogen dead, bearing her in

Bel.

his arms.

O OK, here he comes!

And brings the dire occafion, in his arms,

Of what we blame him for.

Aru. The bird is dead,

That we have made fo much on! I had rather
Have fkipt from fixteen years of age to fixty;
And turn'd my leaping time into a crutch,
Than have feen this.

Guid. Oh fweeteft, faireft lily!

My brother wears thee not one half fo well,
As when thou grew'ft thyself.

Bel. O melancholy!

Who ever yet could found thy bottom? find

The ooze, to fhew what coaft thy fluggish carrack Might eas lieft harbour in ?-thou bleffed thing! Jove knows, what man thou might'ft have made; but Thou dy'dit, a moft rare boy, of melancholy! [ah! How found you him?

Arv. Stark, as you fee:

The ooze, to fhew what coaft thy fluggish care

Might eas'lieft harbour in?] But as plaufible as this at first Sight may feem, all those, who know any Thing of good writing, will agree, that our Author must have wrote,

-to fhew what coaft the fuggish carrack, &c. Carrack is a flow, heavy built Veffel of Burden.

Warb.