Where is thy head? Where’s that? Ay me, where’s

that?

Pisanio might have killed 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. O, ‘tis pregnant, pregnant!

The drug he gave me, which he said was precious

And cordial to me, have I not found it

Murd’rous to th’ senses? That confirms it home.

This is Pisanio’s deed, and Cloten-O,

Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,

That we the horrider may seem to those

Which chance to find usl

⌈She smears her face with blood⌉

O my lord, my lord!

⌈She faints.⌉

Enter Lucius, Roman Captains, and a Soothsayer

A ROMAN CAPTAIN (to Lucius)

To them the legions garrisoned in Gallia

After your will have crossed the sea, attending

You here at Milford Haven with your ships.

They are hence in readiness.

LUCIUS

But what from Rome?

A ROMAN CAPTAIN

The senate hath stirred up the confiners

And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits

That promise noble service, and they come

Under the conduct of bold Giacomo,

Siena’s brother.

LUCIUS

When expect you them?

A ROMAN CAPTAIN

With the next benefit o’th’ wind.

LUCIUS

This forwardness

Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers

Be mustered; bid the captains look to’t.

⌈Exit one or more⌉

(To Soothsayer) Now, sir,

What have you dreamed of late of this war’s purpose?

SOOTHSAYER

Last night the very gods showed me a vision—

I fast, and prayed for their intelligence-thus:

I saw Jove’s bird, the Roman eagle, winged

From the spongy south to this part of the west,

There vanished in the sunbeams; which portends,

Unless my sins abuse my divination,

Success to th’ Roman host.

LUCIUS

Dream often so,

And never false.

He sees Cloten’s body

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 bed

With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.

Let’s see the boy’s face.

A ROMAN CAPTAIN

He’s alive, my lord.

LUCIUS

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? Or who was he

That, otherwise than noble nature did,

Hath altered that good picture? What’s thy interest

In this sad wreck? How came’t? Who is’t?

What art thou?

INNOGEN

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 lies slain. Alas,

There is no more such masters. I may wander

From east to occident, cry out for service,

Try many, all good; serve truly, never

Find such another master.

LUCIUS

’Lack, good youth,

Thou mov’st no less with thy complaining than

Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend.

INNOGEN

Richard du Champ. (Aside) If I do lie and do

No harm by it, though the gods hear I hope

They’ll pardon it. (Aloud) Say you, sir?

LUCIUS

Thy name?

INNOGEN

Fidele, sir.

LUCIUS

Thou dost approve thyself 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 mastered, but be sure,

No less beloved. The Roman Emperor’s letters

Sent by a consul to me should not sooner

Than thine own worth prefer thee. Go with me.

INNOGEN

I’ll follow, sir. But first, an’t please the gods,

I’ll hide my master from the flies as deep

As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when

With wild-wood leaves and weeds I ha’ strewed his

grave

And on it said a century of prayers,

Such as I can, twice o’er I’ll weep and sigh,

And leaving so his service, follow you,

So please you entertain me.

LUCIUS 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 daisied plot we can,

And make him with our pikes and partisans

A grave. Come, arm him. Boy, he is preferred

By thee to us, and he shall be interred

As soldiers can. Be cheerful. Wipe thine eyes.

Some falls are means the happier to arise.

Exeunt with Cloten’s body

4.3 Enter Cymbeline, Lords, and Pisanio

CYMBELINE

Again, and bring me word how ’tis with her.

Exit one or more

A fever with the absence of her son,

A madness of which her life’s in danger-heavens,

How deeply you at once do touch me! Innogen,

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