A law-breaker, a villain.

Thou art a robber,

Yield thee, thief.

Gui. To whom? 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. Say, what thou art,
Why I should yield to thee?

Clo.

Thou villain base,

Know'st me not by my clothes?

Gui.

Who is thy grandfather: he made those clothes,
Which, as it seems, make thee.

Clo.

My tailor made them not.

Gui.

No, nor thy tailor, rascal,

Thou precious varlet,

Hence then, and thank

The man that gave them thee.

Thou art some fool;

Clo.

Thou injurious thief,

What's thy name?

I am loath to beat thee.

Hear but my name, and tremble.
Gui.

Clo. Cloten, thou villain.

Gui. Cloten, thou double villian, be thy name, I cannot tremble at it: were it toad, or adder, spider, 'T would move me sooner.

Clo.

To thy farther fear, Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know

I'm son to the queen.

Gui.
So worthy as thy birth.

I am sorry for 't, not seeming

Clo.

Art not afeard?

Gui. Those that I reverence, those I fear, the wise:
At fools I laugh, not fear them.

Clo.
Die the death.
When I have slain thee with my proper hand,
I'll follow those that even now fled hence,
And on the gates of Lud's town set your heads.
Yield, rustic, mountaineer.

[Exeunt, fighting.

Enter BELARIUS and ARVIRAGUS.

Bel. No company's abroad.

Arv. None in the world. You did mistake him,
Bel. I cannot tell: long is it since I saw him,
But time hath nothing blurr'd those lines of favour
Which then he wore: the snatches in his voice,
And burst of speaking, were as his. I am absolute
'T was very Cloten.

Arv.

In this place we left them: I wish my brother make good time with him,

You say he is so fell.

Bel.
Being scarce made up,
I mean, to man, he had not apprehension
Of roaring terrors; for th' effect of judgment
Is oft the cause of fear. But see, thy brother.

Re-enter GUIDERIUS, with CLOTEN'S Head.
Gui. 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 hast thou done?

Gui. I am 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 single hand he 'd take us in,

sure.

Displace our heads, where (thank the gods!) they grow,
And set them on Lud's town.

Bel.

We are all undone.

Gui. Why, worthy father, what have we to lose,
But that he swore 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? What company
Discover you abroad?

Can we set eye on, but in all safe reason

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

From one bad thing to worse; not frenzy, not
Absolute madness, could so far have rav'd,
To bring him here alone. Although, perhaps,
It may be heard at court, that such as we

Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time
May make some stronger head; the which he hearing,
(As it is like him) might break out, and swear
He'd fetch us in, yet is 't not probable

To come alone, either he so undertaking,

Or they so suffering: then, on good ground we fear,
If we do fear this body hath a tail

More perilous than the head.

Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en
His head from him: I'll throw 't into the creek
Behind our rock; and let it to the sea,
And tell the fishes, he's the queen's son,

Cloten:

That's all I reck.

[Exit.

Bel.

I fear, 't will be reveng'd.

VI.

497

Would, Polydore, thou had 'st not done 't, though valour
Becomes thee well enough.

Arv.

'Would I had done 't,

Polydore,

So the revenge alone pursued me.

I love thee brotherly, but envy much,

Thou hast robb'd me of this deed: I would revenges,

That possible strength might meet, would seek us through,
And put us to our answer.

Bel.

Well, 't is done.

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

Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him

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. "T is 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.

[Exit.

Re-enter Guiderius.

Gui.

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.

Bel.

My ingenious instrument!

Hark, Polydore, it sounds; but what occasion
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark!

Gui. Is he at home?

Bel.

[Solemn Music.

He went hence even now.

Gui. What does he mean? since death of my dear'st mother

It did not speak before. All solemn things

Should answer solemn accidents. The matter?

Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys,

Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys.

Is Cadwal mad?

Re-enter ARVIRAGUS, bearing IMOGEN, as dead, in his Arms.

Bel.

Look! here he comes,

And brings the dire occasion in his arms,

Of what we blame him for.

Arv.
The bird is dead,
That we have made so much on. I had rather
Have skipp'd from sixteen years of age to sixty,
To have turn'd my leaping time into a crutch,
Than have seen this.

Gui.

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 might'st have made; but I,
Thou diedst a most rare boy, of melancholy.

Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,

Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at; his right cheek
Reposing on a cushion.