Might eas'liest harbour in?—thou blessed thing!
Jove knows, what man thou might'st have made; but I
Thou dy'dst, a most rare boy, of melancholy!
How found you him?

Arv.
Stark, as you see,
Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber
Not as Death's dart, being laugh'd at; his right cheek
Reposing 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, whose rudeness
Answer'd my steps too loud.

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

Arv.
With fairest flow'rs,
Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack
The flow'r that's like thy face, pale Primrose; nor
The azur'd Hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of Eglantine, which not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath. ^{2 note}

Yea, and surr'd moss besides, when flow'rs are none,
To winterground thy coarse.—

Guid.
Pr'ythee, have done;
And do not play in wench-like words with that
Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt.—To th' grave.

Arv.
Say, where shall 's lay him?

Guid.
By good Euriphile, our mother.

Arv.
Be't so:
And let us, Paladour, though now our voices
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to th' ground,
As, once, our mother; use like note, and words,
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.

Guid.
Cadwal,
I cannot sing; I'll weep, and word it with thee;
For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse
Than Priests and Fanes that lye.

Arv.
We'll speak it then.

Bel.
Great griefs, I see, med'cine the less. For Cloten
Is quite forgot. He was a Queen's son, boys,
And though he came our enemy, remember,
^{3 note}

Guid.
Pray, fetch him hither.

Thersites' body is as good as Ajax,
When neither are alive.

Arv.
If you'll go fetch him,
We'll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.

Guid.
Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to th' East;
My father hath a reason for 't.

Arv.
'Tis true.

Guid.
Come on then, and remove him.

Arv.
So, begin.
SONG. Guid.
Fear no more the beat o'th' Sun,
  Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
  Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages.
Both golden lads and girls all must
As chimney sweepers, come to dust. Arv.
^{5 note}Fear no more the frown o'th' Great,
  Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to cloath and eat;
  To thee the reed is as the oak;
Both the scepter, learning, physick, must
All follows this, and come to dust. Guid.
Fear no more the lightning-flash Arv.
  Nor th' all dreaded thunder-stone. Guid.
^{6 note}
Fear not slander, censure rash. Arv.
  Thou hast finish'd joy and moan. Both.
All lovers young, all lovers must
^{7 note}

Guid.
No exorciser harm thee! Arv.
  Nor no witchcraft charm thee! Guid.
Ghost, unlaid, forbear thee! Arv.
Nothing ill come near thee? Both.
Quiet consummation have,
And renowned by thy Grave!^{8 note}

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