CYMBELINE. Уильям Шекспир

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       Or they so suffering: then on good ground we feare,

       If we do feare this Body hath a taile

       More perillous then the head

       Arui. Let Ord’nance

       Come as the Gods fore-say it: howsoere,

       My Brother hath done well

       Bel. I had no minde

       To hunt this day: The Boy Fideles sickenesse

       Did make my way long forth

       Gui. With his owne Sword,

       Which he did waue against my throat, I haue tane

       His head from him: Ile throw’t into the Creeke

       Behinde our Rocke, and let it to the Sea,

       And tell the Fishes, hee’s the Queenes Sonne, Cloten,

       That’s all I reake.

       Enter.

       Bel. I feare ‘twill be reueng’d:

       Would (Polidore) thou had’st not done’t: though valour

       Becomes thee well enough

       Arui. Would I had done’t:

       So the Reuenge alone pursu’de me: Polidore

       I loue thee brotherly, but enuy much

       Thou hast robb’d me of this deed: I would Reuenges

       That possible strength might meet, wold seek vs through

       And put vs to our answer

       Bel. Well, ‘tis done:

       Wee’l hunt no more to day, nor seeke for danger

       Where there’s no profit. I prythee to our Rocke,

       You and Fidele play the Cookes: Ile stay

       Till hasty Polidore returne, and bring him

       To dinner presently

       Arui. Poore sicke Fidele.

       Ile willingly to him, to gaine his colour,

       Il’d let a parish of such Clotens blood,

       And praise my selfe for charity.

       Enter.

       Bel. Oh thou Goddesse,

       Thou diuine Nature; thou thy selfe thou blazon’st

       In these two Princely Boyes: they are as gentle

       As Zephires blowing below the Violet,

       Not wagging his sweet head; and yet, as rough

       (Their Royall blood enchaf’d) as the rud’st winde,

       That by the top doth take the Mountaine Pine,

       And make him stoope to th’ Vale. ‘Tis wonder

       That an inuisible instinct should frame them

       To Royalty vnlearn’d, Honor vntaught,

       Ciuility not seene from other: valour

       That wildely growes in them, but yeelds a crop

       As if it had beene sow’d: yet still it’s strange

       What Clotens being heere to vs portends,

       Or what his death will bring vs.

       Enter Guidereus.

       Gui. Where’s my Brother?

       I haue sent Clotens Clotpole downe the streame,

       In Embassie to his Mother; his Bodie’s hostage

       For his returne.

       Solemn Musick.

       Bel. My ingenuous Instrument,

       (Hearke Polidore) it sounds: but what occasion

       Hath Cadwal now to giue it motion? Hearke

       Gui. Is he at home?

       Bel. He went hence euen now

       Gui. What does he meane?

       Since death of my deer’st Mother

       It did not speake before. All solemne things

       Should answer solemne Accidents. The matter?

       Triumphes for nothing, and lamenting Toyes,

       Is iollity for Apes, and greefe for Boyes.

       Is Cadwall mad?

       Enter Aruiragus, with Imogen dead, bearing her in his Armes.

       Bel. Looke, heere he comes,

       And brings the dire occasion in his Armes,

       Of what we blame him for

       Arui. The Bird is dead

       That we haue made so much on. I had rather

       Haue skipt from sixteene yeares of Age, to sixty:

       To haue turn’d my leaping time into a Crutch,

       Then haue seene this

       Gui. Oh sweetest, fayrest Lilly:

       My Brother weares thee not the one halfe so well,

       As when thou grew’st thy selfe

       Bel. Oh Melancholly,

       Who euer yet could sound thy bottome? Finde

       The Ooze, to shew what Coast thy sluggish care

       Might’st easilest harbour in. Thou blessed thing,

       Ioue knowes what man thou might’st haue made: but I,

       Thou dyed’st a most rare Boy, of Melancholly.

       How found you him?

       Arui. Starke, as you see:

       Thus smiling, as some Fly had tickled slumber,

       Not as deaths dart being laugh’d at: his right Cheeke

       Reposing on a Cushion

       Gui. Where?

       Arui. O’th’ floore:

       His armes thus leagu’d, I thought he slept, and put

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