Arviragus

Belarius
Now for our mountain sport: up to yond hill,
Your legs are young; I’ll tread these flats. Consider,
When you above perceive me like a crow,
That it is place which lessens and sets off,
And you may then revolve what tales I have told you
Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war.
This service is not service,
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Guiderius
I love thee; I have spoke it;
How much the quantity, the weight as much,
As I do love my father.
Belarius
What? How? How?
Arviragus
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,
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Arviragus
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.
Guiderius
I do note
That grief and patience,
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Arviragus
And let us, Polydore, though now our voices
Have got the mannish crack, sing him to th’ ground,
As once to our mother; use like note and words,
Save that Euriphile must be Fidele.
Guiderius
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 lie.
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Guiderius
Fear no more the heat o’ th’ sun,
Nor the furious winter’s rages,
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages.
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
Arviragus
Fear no more the frown o’ th’ great,
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Guiderius
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.
Arviragus
With fairest flowers
Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,
I’ll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack
The flower that’s like thy face,
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Guiderius, as Polydor
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.

Prithee, have done,
And do not play in wench-like words with that
Which is so serious.

Arviragus, as Cadwal
With fairest flowers,
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Guiderius, as Polydor
Let us bury him
And not protract with admiration what
Is now due debt. To th’ grave.
Arviragus, as Cadwal
Say, where shall ‘s lay him?
Guiderius, as Polydor
By good Euriphile, our mother.
Arviragus, as Cadwal
Be ‘t so.
And let us, Polydor,
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