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

Arv.
Brother, stay here: [To Imogen.
Are we not brothers?—

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

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

Imo.
So sick I am not, yet I am not well;
But not so citizen a wanton, as
To seem to die, ere sick: so please you, leave me;
Stick to your journal course; the breach of custom
Is breach of all. I'm ill, but your being by me
Cannot amend me. Society is no comfort
To one not sociable: I'm not very sick,
Since I can reason of it. Pray you trust me here,
I'll rob none but myself; and let me die,
Stealing so poorly.

Guid.
I love thee: I have spoke it;
How much the quantity, the weight as much,
As I do love my father.

Bel.
What? how? how?

Arv.
If it be sin to say so, Sir, I yoke me
In my good brother's fault: I know not why
I love this youth, and I have heard you say,
Love reasons without reason. The bier at door,
And a demand who is't shall die, I'd say,
My father, not this youth.

Bel.
O noble strain!

O worthiness of nature, breed of greatness!
Cowards father cowards, and base things sire the base:
Nature hath meal and bran; contempt and grace.
I'm not their father; yet who this should be,
Doth miracle itself, lov'd before me!—
'Tis the ninth hour o' th' morn.

Arv.
Brother, farewel.

Imo.
I wish ye sport.

Arv.
You health—so please you, Sir.

Imo.
These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I've heard!
Our courtiers say, all's savage, but at court:
Experience, oh, how thou disprov'st report,—
Th' imperious seas breed monsters; for the dish,
Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish;
I am sick still, heart-sick—Pisanio,
I'll now taste of thy drug. [Drinks out of the viol.

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 Imogen, to the Cave.

Bel.
And shall be ever.
This youth, howe'er distress'd, appears to have had
Good ancestors.

Arv.
How angel-like he sings!

Guid.
But his neat cookery!

Arv.
He cut our roots in characters;
And sauc'd our broth, as Juno had been sick,
And he her dieter.

Arv.
Nobly he yokes
A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh
Was that it was, for not being such a smile:
The smile mocking the sigh, that it would fly
From so divine a temple, to commix
With winds that sailors rail at.

Guid.
I do note,
That grief and patience, rooted in him both,
^{2 note}Mingle their spurs together.

Arv.
Grow, Patience!
And let the stinking Elder, Grief, untwine
His perishing root, with the encreasing vine!

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

Clot.
I cannot find those runagates: that villain
Hath mock'd me.—I am faint.

Bel.
Those runagates!
Means he not us? I partly know him; 'tis
Cloten, the son o' th' Queen; I fear some ambush—
I saw him not these many years, and yet
I know, 'tis he: we're held as Out-laws; hence.

Guid.
He is but one; you and my brother search
What companies are near: pray you, away:
Let me alone with him. [Exeunt Belarius and Arviragus.

Clot.
Soft! what are you,
That fly me thus? some villain-mountaineer.—
I've heard of such. What slave art thou?

Guid.
A thing
More slavish did I ne'er, than answering
A slave without a knock.

Clot.
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 tailor, rascal,
Who is thy grandfather; he made those cloaths,
Which, as it seems, make thee.

Clot.
Thou precious varlet!
My tailor made them not.

Guid.
Hence then, and thank
The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool;
I'm loth to beat 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 meer confusion, thou shalt know
I'm son to th' Queen.

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

Clot.
Art not afraid?

&plquo;Guid.
&plquo;Those that I rev'rence, those I fear; the wife:&prquo;
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. SCENE IV. Enter Belarius and Arviragus.

Bel.
No company's abroad.

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

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'm absolute,
'Twas 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 defect of judgment
(a) ^noteIs oft the cure of fear. But see, thy brother. Enter Guiderius, with Cloten's Head.

Guid.
This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse,
There was no mony 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?

Guid.
I'm 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;
Displace our heads, where, thanks to th' Gods, they grow,
And set them on Lud's town.

Bel.
We're all undone!

Guid.
Why, worthy father, what have we to lose,
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 single soul
Can we set eye on; but, in all safe reason,
He must have some attendants. ^{3 note}
Though his honour
Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that
From one bad thing to worse; yet not his 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, haunt here, are Out-laws, 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, nor he so undertaking,
Nor they so suffering; 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 foresay it; howsoe'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 sword,

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 sea,
And tell the fishes, he's the Queen's son, Cloten.
^{4 note}That's all I reck. [Exit.

Bel.
I fear, 'twill be reveng'd:
'Would, Paladour, thou hadst not done't! though valour
Becomes thee well enough.

Arv.
'Would I had done't,
So the revenge alone pursu'd me! Paladour,
I love thee brotherly, but envy much,
Thou'st robb'd me of this deed; I would, revenges,
That possible strength might meet, would seek us thro',
And put us to our answer.

Bel.
Well, 'tis done:
We'll hunt no more to day, nor seek for danger
Where there's no profit. Pr'ythee, 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!
I'll willingly to him: To gain his colour,
^{5 note}

Bel.
O thou Goddess,
Thou divine Nature! how thyself thou blazon'st
&plquo;In these two princely boys! they are as gentle,
&plquo;As Zephyrs blowing below the violet,

&plquo;Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,
&plquo;(Their royal blood enchaf'd,) as the rud'st wind,
&plquo;That by the top doth take the mountain pine,
&plquo;And make him stoop to th' vale—'Tis wonderful,
&plquo;^{6 note}That an invisible instinct should frame them
&plquo;To royalty unlearn'd, honour untaught,
&plquo;Civility not seen from other; valour,
&plquo;That wildly grows in them; but yields a crop
&plquo;As if it had been sow'd.&prquo; Yet still it's strange
What Cloten's being here to us portends,
Or what his death will bring us. Re-enter Guiderius.

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

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'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 Cadwall mad? SCENE V. Enter Arviragus, with Imogen dead, bearing her in his arms.

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

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

&plquo;Guid.
&plquo;Oh sweetest, fairest lilly!
&plquo;My brother wears thee not one half so well,
&plquo;As when thou grew'st thyself.&prquo;

&plquo;Bel.
&plquo;^{7 note}

&plquo;Arv.
&plquo;Stark, as you see:
&plquo;Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber!
&plquo;Not as Death's dart being laugh'd at: his right cheek
&plquo;Reposing on a cushion.&prquo;

&plquo;Guid.
&plquo;Where?&prquo;

&plquo;Arv.
&plquo;O'th' floor:
&plquo;His arms thus leagu'd; I thought, he slept; and put
&plquo;My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness
&plquo;Answer'd my steps too loud.&prquo;

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

&wlquo;Arv.
&wlquo;With fairest flow'rs,
&wlquo;'Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
&wlquo;I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack
&wlquo;The flow'r that's like thy face, pale Primrose; nor
&wlquo;The azur'd Hare-bell, like thy veins, no, nor
&wlquo;The leaf of Eglantine; which not to slander,
&wlquo;Out-sweeten'd not thy breath. ^{8 note}

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.
Cadwall,
I cannot sing: I'll weep, and word it with thee;
&wlquo;For notes of sorrow, out of tune, are worse
&wlquo;Than Priests and Fanes that lie.&wrquo;

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,
(a) ^noteHe has paid for that: the mean and mighty, rotting
Together, have one dust; yet Reverence,
(That angel of the world,) doth make distinction
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.
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, Cadwall, 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.

&plquo;Guid.
&plquo;^{9 note}Fear no more the heat o'th' Sun,
  &plquo;Nor the furious winter's rages;
&plquo;Thou thy worldly task hast done,
  &plquo;Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages.&prquo;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney sweepers, come to dust.

&plquo;Arv.
&plquo;Fear no more the frown o'th' Great,
  &plquo;Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
&plquo;Care no more to cloath and eat;
  &plquo;To thee the reed is as the oak:&prquo;
The scepter, learning, physick, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

&plquo;Guid.
&plquo;Fear no more the lightning-flash.&prquo;

Arv.
  Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-stone.

&plquo;Guid.
&plquo;Fear no slander, censure rash.&prquo;

&plquo;Arv.
  &plquo;Thou hast finish'd joy and moan.&prquo;

Both.
All lovers young, all lovers must
  Consign to thee, and come to dust.

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 be thy Grave! Enter Belarius, with the body of Cloten.

Guid.
We've done our obsequies: come, lay him down.

&wlquo;Bel.
&wlquo;Here's a few flow'rs, but about midnight more;

&wlquo;The herbs, that have on them cold dew o'th' night,
&wlquo;Are strewings fitt'st for Graves.—Upon their faces—
&wlquo;You were as flow'rs, now wither'd; even so
&wlquo;These herbelets shall, which we upon you strow.
&wlquo;Come on, away, apart upon our knees—
&wlquo;The ground, that gave them first, has them again:
&wlquo;Their pleasure here is past, so is their pain.&wrquo; [Exeunt. Imogen, awaking.

&plquo;Imo.
&plquo;Yes, Sir, to Milford-Haven, which is the way?—
&plquo;I thank you—by yond bush?—pray, how far thither?—
&plquo;'Ods pittikins—can it be six mile yet?—
&plquo;I've gone all night—'faith, I'll lye down and sleep.
&plquo;But, soft! no bedfellow—Oh Gods, and Goddesses! [Seeing the body.
&plquo;These flow'rs are like the pleasures of the world;
&plquo;This bloody man the care on't—I hope, I dream;
&plquo;For, sure, I thought I was a cave-keeper,
&plquo;And cook to honest creatures. But 'tis not so:
&plquo;'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing,
&plquo;Which the brain makes of fumes: Our very eyes
&plquo;Are sometimes like our judgments, blind. Good faith,
&plquo;I tremble still with fear; but if there be
&plquo;Yet left in heav'n as small a drop of pity
&plquo;As a wren's eye, oh Gods! a part of it!
&plquo;The dream's here still; ev'n when I wake, it is
&plquo;Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.&prquo;
A headless man!—the garments of Posthumus?
I know the shape of's leg, this is his hand,
His foot mercurial, his martial thigh,
The brawns of Hercules: but his jovial face—
Murther in heaven?—how!—'tis gone!—Pisanio!—
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! thou,

'Twas thou, conspiring with that devil Cloten,
Hast here cut off my lord. To write, and read,
Be henceforth treach'rous!—Damn'd Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters—damn'd Pisanio!—
From this the bravest vessel of the world
Struck the main-top! oh Posthumus, alas,
Where is thy head? where's That? ah me, where's That?
Pisanio might have kill'd thee at the heart,
And left thy head on. How should this be, Pisanio?—
'Tis he and Cloten. Malice and lucre in them
Have laid this woe here. Oh, 'tis pregnant, pregnant!
The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it
Murth'rous to th' senses? that confirms it home:
This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's. Oh!
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may seem to those
Which chance to find us. Oh, my lord! my lord! SCENE VII. Enter Lucius, Captains, and a Soothsayer.

Cap.
To them, the legions garrison'd in Gallia,
After your will, have cross'd the sea, attending
You here at Milford-Haven, with your Ships:
They are in readiness.

Luc.
But what from Rome?

Cap.
The Senate hath stirr'd up the Confiners,
And Gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits,
That promise noble service: and they come
Under the conduct of bold Iachimo,
Syenna's Brother.

Luc.
When expect you them?

Cap.
With the next benefit o'th' wind.

Luc.
This forwardness

Makes our hopes fair. Command, our present numbers
Be muster'd; bid the Captains look to't. Now, Sir,
What have you dream'd, of late, of this war's purpose?

Sooth.
^{9 note}

Luc.
Dream often so,
And never false!—Soft, ho, what Trunk is here
Without his top? the ruin speaks, that sometime
It was a worthy building. How! a page!—
Or dead, or sleeping on him? but dead, rather:
For Nature doth abhor to make his couch
With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.
Let's see the boy's face.

Cap.
He's alive, my lord.

Luc.
He'll then instruct us of this body. Young one,
Inform us of thy fortunes, for, it seems,
They crave to be demanded: who is this,
Thou mak'st thy bloody pillow? ^{1 note}

who was he,
That, otherwise than noble Nature did,
Hath alter'd that good picture? what's thy interest

In this sad wreck? how came it, and who is it?
What art thou?

Imo.
I am nothing; or if not,
Nothing to be, were better. This was my master,
A very valiant Briton, and a good,
That here by mountaineers lyes slain: alas!
There are no more such masters: I may wander
From East to Occident, cry out for service,
Try many, all good, serve them truly, never
Find such another master.

Luc.
'Lack, good youth!
Thou mov'st no less with thy complaining, than
Thy master in bleeding: say his name, good friend.

Imo.
Richard du Champ. If I do lye, and do
No harm by it, though the Gods hear, I hope, [Aside.
They'll pardon it. Say you, Sir?

Luc.
Thy name?

Imo.
Fidele, Sir.

Luc.
Thou dost approve thy self the very same;
Thy name well fits thy faith; thy faith, thy name.

Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say
Thou shalt be so well master'd, but, be sure,
No less belov'd. The Roman Emperor's letters,
Sent by a Consul to me, should no sooner,
Than thine own worth, prefer thee: go with me.

Imo.
I'll follow, Sir. But first, an't please the Gods,
I'll hide my master from the flies as deep
As these door ^note pickaxes can dig: and when
With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha' strew'd his Grave,
And on it said a century of pray'rs,
(Such as I can,) twice o'er, I'll weep and sigh;
And, leaving so his service, follow you,
So please you entertain me.

Luc.
Ay, good youth,
And rather father thee, than master thee.
My friends,
The boy hath taught us manly duties: let us
Find out the prettiest dazied-plot we can,
And make him with our pikes and partizans
A Grave; come, arm him: boy, he is preferr'd
By thee to us, and he shall be interr'd
As soldiers can. Be chearful, wipe thine eyes:
Some Falls are means the happier to arise. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII. Changes to Cymbeline's Palace. Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pisanio.

Cym.
Again; and bring me word, how 'tis with her!
A fever with the absence of her son;
Madness, of which her life's in danger; heav'ns!
How deeply you at once do touch me. Imogen,

The great part of my comfort, gone! my Queen
Upon a desperate bed, and in a time
When fearful wars point at me! her son gone,
So needful for this present! it strikes me, past
The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow,
Who needs must know of her departure, and
Dost seem so ignorant, we'll force it from thee
By a sharp torture.

Pis.
Sir, my life is yours,
I set it at your will: but, for my mistress,
I nothing know where she remains; why, gone;
Nor when she purposes Return. 'Beseech your Highness,
Hold me your loyal servant.

Lord.
Good my liege,
The day that she was missing, he was here;
I dare be bound he's true, and shall perform
All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten,
There wants no diligence in seeking him,
And will no doubt be found.

Cym.
The time is troublesome;
We'll slip you for a season, but our jealousy
Do's yet depend.

Lord.
So please your Majesty,
The Roman Legions, all from Gallia drawn,
Are landed on your coast, with large supply
Of Roman Gentlemen, by th' Senate sent.

Cym.
Now for the counsel of my Son and Queen!—
I am amaz'd with matter.

Lord.
Good my liege,
Your preparation can affront no less
Than what you hear of. Come more, for more you're ready;
The want is, but to put these Powers in motion,
That long to move.

Cym.
I thank you; let's withdraw,
And meet the time, as it seeks us. We fear not

What can from Italy annoy us, but
We grieve at chances here.—Away.— [Exeunt.

Pis.
(a) ^noteI heard no letter from my master, since
I wrote him, Imogen was slain. 'Tis strange;
Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise
To yield me often tidings. Neither know I,
What is betide to Cloten; but remain
Perplext in all. The heavens still must work;
Wherein I'm false, I'm honest: not true, to be true.
These present wars shall find, I love my Country,
Ev'n to the note o' th' King, or I fall in them;
All other doubts, by time let them be clear'd;
Fortune brings in some boats, that are not steer'd. [Exit. SCENE IX. Changes to the Forest. Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus.

Guid.
The noise is round about us.

Bel.
Let us from it.

Arv.
What pleasure, Sir, find we in life, to lock it
From action and adventure?

Guid.
Nay, what hope
Have we in hiding us? this way the Romans
Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us
For barb'rous and unnatural Revolts
During their use, and slay us after.

Bel.
Sons,
We'll higher to the mountains, there secure us.
To the King's Party there's no going; newness
Of Cloten's death (we being not known, nor muster'd
Among the bands) may drive us ^{2 note}to a Render

Where we have liv'd: and so extort from us
That which we've done, whose answer would be death
Drawn on with torture.

Guid.
This is, Sir, a doubt
(In such a time) nothing becoming you,
Nor satisfying us.

Arv.
It is not likely,
That when they hear the Roman horses neigh,
Behold their quarter'd fires, ^{3 note}

Bel.
Oh, I am known
Of many in the army; many years,
Though Cloten then but young, (you see,) not wore him
From my remembrance. And, besides, the King
Hath not deserv'd my service, nor your loves,
Who find in my exile the want of breeding;
The certainty of this hard life, aye hopeless
To have the courtesie your cradle promis'd;
But to be still hot summer's tanlings, and
The shrinking slaves of winter.

Guid.
Than be so,
Better to cease to be. Pray, Sir, to th' army;
I and my brother are not known; your self
So out of thought, and thereto so o'er-grown,

Cannot be question'd.

Arv.
By this Sun that shines,
I'll thither; what thing is it, that I never
Did see man die, scarce ever look'd on blood,
But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison?
Never bestrid a horse save one, that had
A rider like myself who ne'er wore rowel,
Nor iron on his heel? I am asham'd
To look upon the holy Sun, to have
The benefit of his best beams, remaining
So long a poor unknown.

Guid.
By heav'ns, I'll go;
If you will bless me, Sir, and give me leave,
I'll take the better care; but if you will not,
The hazard therefore due fall on me, by
The hands of Romans!

Arv.
So say I, Amen.

Bel.
No reason I (since of your lives you set
So slight a valuation) should reserve
My crack'd one to more care. Have with you, boys;
If in your country wars you chance to die,
That is my bed too, lads; and there I'll lye.
Lead, lead; the time seems long: their blood thinks scorn
'Till it flie out, and shew them Princes born. [Exeunt.

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