Bel.
You are not well: remain here in the cave,
We'll come to you, after hunting.

Arv.
Brother, stay here;
Are we not brothers?

Imo.
So man and man should be;
But clay and clay differs in dignity,
Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick.

Guid.
Go you to hunting, I'll abide with him.

Imo.
So sick, I am not, yet I am not well.
So please you, leave me,
Stick to your journal course; the breach of custom,
Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me,
Cannot amend me. Society is no comfort,
To one not sociable: I am not very sick,
Since I can reason of it. Pray you, trust me here!

Arv.
Brother, farewel.

Imo.
I wish you sport.

Arv.
You health—So please you, sir.

Imo.
These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies have I heard!
Our courtiers say, all's savage, but at court:
I am sick still, heart-sick—Pisanio,
I'll now taste of thy drug. [Drinks out of the Phial.

Guid.
I could not stir him;
He said he was gentle, but unfortunate;
Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest.

Arv.
Thus did he answer me; yet said, hereafter,
I might know more.

Bel.
To th' field, to th' field:
We'll leave you, for this time; go in, and rest.

Arv.
We'll not be long away.

Bel.
Pray be not sick,
For you must be our housewife.

Imo.
Well or ill, I am bound to you. [Exit.

Bel.
This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears t'have had
Good ancestors.

Arv.
How angel-like he sings?

Guid.
Yet do I note,
That grief and patience rooted in him both,
Mingle their spurs together.

Bel.
It is great morning, come away: who's there? Enter Cloten.

Clot.
I cannot find those runagates, that villain
Hath mock't me. [Exit.

Bel.
Those runagates!
Means he not us? I partly know him; 'tis
Cloten, the son o'th' queen; I fear some ambush—

Guid.
He is but one? you and my brother search
What companies are near: pray you away,
Let me alone with him. [Exeunt Bel. and Arv. Re-enter Cloten.

Clot.
Soft, what are you,
That fly me thus? Some villain-mountaineers—
I've heard of such. Thou art a robber,
A law-breaker, a villain; yield thee, thief.

Guid.
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?

Clot.
Thou villain base,
Know'st me not, by my cloaths?

Guid.
No, nor thy taylor, who made those cloaths,
Which, as it seems, make thee.

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

Guid.
What's thy name?

Clot.
Cloten, thou villain.

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

Clot.
To thy further fear,
Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know
I am son to th' queen.

Guid.
I am sorry for't; not seeming
So worthy as thy birth.

Clot.
Art not afraid?

Guid.
Those that I reverence, those I fear, the wise;
At fools I laugh, not fear them.

Clot.
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, rustick mountaineer. [Fight, and Exeunt. Enter Bellarius and Arviragus.

Bel.
No company's abroad.

Arv.
None in the world; you did mistake, him, sure.

Bel.
No, 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
'Twas very Cloten.

Arv.
In this place we left them.

Bel.
But see thy brother. Enter Guiderius.

Guid.
This Cloten was a fool. Not Hercules
Could have knock'd out his brains, for he had none.

Bel.
What hast thou done?

Guid.
Cut off one Cloten's head,
Son to the queen, after his own report.

Bel.
We are all undone.

Guid.
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 no law. What company
Discover you abroad?

Bel.
No single soul
Can we set eye on; but in all safe reason
He must have some attendants.
It is not probable he'd come alone.
I had no mind
To hunt this day: the boy Fidele's sickness
Did make my way long forth.

Guid.
With his own sword,
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 care. [Exit.

Bel.
I fear it will be reveng'd:
Would Paladour, thou had'st not don't: though valour
Becomes thee well enough.

Arv.
Would I had don't.

Bel.
Well, 'tis done:
We'll hunt no more, to-day, nor seek for danger
Where there's no profit. I pry'thee to our rock,
You and Fidele play the cooks: I'll stay
Till hasty Paladour return, and bring him
To dinner presently.

Arv.
Poor sick Fidele! to gain his colour
I'd let a river of such Cloten's blood,
And praise myself for charity. [Exit.

Bel.
O thou goddess,* ^note
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 th' vale. 'Tis wonderful,
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 'tis strange
What Cloten's being here to us portends,
Or what his death will bring us. Enter Guiderius.

Guid.
Where's my brother?
I have sent Cloten's clot-pole down the stream,
In embassy to his mother; his body's hostage
For his return. [Solemn Music.

Bel.
My ingenious instrument,
Hark, Paladour, it sounds: but what occasion
Hath Cadwall 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 my dear mother,
It did not speak before. All solemn things
Should answer solemn accidents. Enter Arviragus.

Bel.
Look, here he comes:
And brings the dire occasion in his looks,
Of what we blame him for.

Arv.
The bird is dead
That we have made so much on. I had rather
Have skipt from sixteen years of age to sixty,
Than have seen this.

Guid.
Oh, sweetest, fairest lily!
And art thou gone, my poor Fidele.

Bel.
What is he dead! how found you him?

Arv.
Stark—smiling as some fly had tickled slumber,* ^note
Not as death's dart, being laugh'd at: his right cheek
Reposing on a cushion.

Guid.
Where?

Arv.
O'th' floor.
I thought he slept, and put
My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness,
Answer'd my steps too loud.† ^note

Bel.
Great griefs, I see, medicine the less. For Cloten
Is quite forgot. He was a queen's son, boys,
And tho' he came our enemy, remember
He paid for that: our foe was princely;
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him as a prince. Go, bring your lily. [Exeunt Guid. and Arv.
Oh! melancholy!
Who ever yet could sound the bottom? find
The ooze, to shew what coast thy sluggish carrack
Might easiest harbour in? Thou blessed thing,
Jove knows what man thou might'st have made, but Oh!
Thou dy'dst, a most rare boy of melancholy. Enter Guiderius and Arviragus, with the Bodies.
Come, let us lay these bodies each by each,
And strew 'em o'er with flow'rs; and on the morrow,
Shall the earth receive 'em.

Arv.
Sweet Fidele!
Fear no more th' heat o' th' sun.
  Nor the furious winter's blast;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
  And the dream of life is past. Guid.
Monarchs, sages, peasants must
Follow thee, and come to dust. [Exeunt with the Bodies.

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