Guid. Why, worthy father, what have we to losfe,
But what 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?

Bel. No fingle foul

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

He must have fome attendants. (43) Though his humourTM
Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that

From one bad thing to worfe; yet not his frenzy,
Not abfolute madness, 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 swear,
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,

Was nothing but mutation, &c.] What has his Boncur to da · here, in his being changeable in this fort? in his acting as a madman, or not? I have ventur'd to fubftitute humour, against the authority of the printed copies; and the meaning feems plainly this... "Tho' he was always fickle to the laft degree, and govern'd by "bumour, not found fenfe; yet not madness itself could make him "fo hardy to attempt an enterprise of this nature alone, and un"feconded." The like mistake, of honour for humour, had taken place in a paffage of the Merry Wives of Windfor, which I corrected, from the fanction of the old Quarto impreffions.

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, Cleten.
That's all I reck.

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

[Exit.

'Would, Paladeur, thou hadst not done't! though valour Becomes thee well enough.

Art. 'Would I had done'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, That poffible ftrength might meet, would seek 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 stay

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

Av. Poor fick Fidele!

I'll willingly to him: To gain his colour,
I'd let a parish of fuch Clotens blood,

And praife 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,

[Exil

Not wagging his fweet head; and yet as rough,
(Their royal blood enchaf'd,) as the rud'it wind,
That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
And make him stoop to.th' vale.'Tis wonderful,
1 hat 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 Coren's being here to us portends,
Or what his death will bring us.

Re-enter

Re-enter Guiderius.

Guid. Where's my brother?

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

Bel. My ingenious inftrument!

[Solemn mufick..

Hark, Paladour! it founds: but what occafion.
Hath Cadwal now to give it motion ? hark!
Guid. Is he at home?

Bel. He went hence even now.

Guid. What does he mean? Since death of

[mother, dear'ft

my

It did not speak before. All folemn things
Should answer folemn accidents. The matter?
Triumphs for nothing, and lamenting toys,
Is jollity for apes, and grief for boys.

Is Cadwal mad?

Enter Arviragus, with Imogen dead, bearing her in

bis arms.

Bet. Look, here he comes!

And brings the dire occafion, in his arms,
Of what we blame him for.

Arv. The bird is dead,

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

Guid. Oh sweetest, fairest lily!

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

Bel. (44) Oh melancholy!

(44) Ob, melancholy !'

Who ever yet could found thy bottom? find

The ooze, to fhea what coaft thy fluggish care

Who

Might eas' lieft barbour in ?] But as plaufible as this at first

fight may feem, all those, who know any thing of good writing, will agree that our Author must have wrote

to fhew what coaft thy fluggish carrack Might eas' lieft barbour in ?`

Carrack

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 ah!
Thou dy'dít, a moft rare boy, of melancholy!
How found you him?

Arv. Stark, as you fee:

Thus fmiling, as fome fly had tickled flumber;
Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at: his right cheek
Repofing on a cushion.

Guid. Where?

Arv. O'th' floor:

His arms thus leagu'd; I thought, he slept; and put My clouted brogues from off my feet, whofe rudenessAnswer'd my fteps too loud.

Guid. Why, he but fleeps;

If he be gone, he'll make his grave a bed;
With female Fairies will his tomb be haunted,
And worms will not come near thee.

Arv. With faireft flow'rs,

Whilft fummer lafts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll fweeten thy fad grave. Thou shalt not lack
The flow'r that's like thy face, pale Primrofe; nor
The azur'd Hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of Eglantine; which not to flander,
Out-fweetened not thy breath. (45) The Raddock would,
With

Carrack is a flow, heavy-built veffel of burthen. This reftores the uniformity of the metaphor, compleats the fenfe, and is a word of great propriety and beauty to defign a melancholic perfon.

The word is us'd again by our Author in his Othello;

Mr. Warburton.

Faith, he to-night hath boarded a land carrack;
If it prove lawful prize, he's made for ever.

And we meet with it likewife in Beaumont and Fletcher;
But here's the wonder, tho' their weight would fink
A Spanish carrack, without other ballaft,

(45)

Carraca, Navis oneraria ingens.

Carraque, Navis ampliffima.

-The Raddock would,

With charitable bill, bring thee all this;

c.

Elder Brother,

SKINNER. RICHELETA

Yea, and furr'd mofs befides. When Acw'rs are none.

To winter-ground thy coarfe] Here, again, the metaphor

is.

With charitable bill, (oh bill, fore-shaming
Thofe rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a monument!) bring thee all this;

Yea, and furr'd mofs befides, when flow'rs are none, To winter-gown thy coarse.

Guid. Pr'ythee, have done;

And do not play in wench-like words with that
Which is fo ferious. Let us bury him,

And not protract with admiration what

Is now due debt.

-To th' grave.

Arv. Say, where fhall's lay him?

Guid. By good Euriphile, our mother.
Arv. Be't fo:

And let us, Paladour, though now our voices
Have not the mannish crack, fing him to th' ground;
As, once, our mother: ufe like note, and words,
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

Guid. Cadwal,

I cannot fing: I'll weep, and word it with thee;
For notes of forrow, out of tune, are worse
Than Priefts and Fanes that lie.

Arv. We'll speak it then.

Bel. Great griefs, I fee, med'cine the lefs. For Cloten
Is quite forgot. He was a Queen's fon, boys,
And though he came our enemy, remember,
Was paid for that: the mean and mighty, rotting
Together, have one duft; yet reverence,

(That angel of the world) doth make diftinction
Of place 'twixt high and low. Our foe was princely,
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him, as a Prince.

Guid. Pray, fetch him hither.
Therfites' body is as good as Ajax,

is Arangely mangled. What fenfe is there in winter-grounding a coarfe with mofs? A coarse might indeed be faid to be winter-grounded in good thick clay. But the epithet furr'd to mofs directs us plainly to another reading.

To winter-gown thy coarse.

i. e. Thy fummer habit fhall be a light gown of flowers, thy winter habit a good warm furr'd gown of mofs.

Mr. Warburton.

When