Page 540 - Shakespeare - Vol. 4

ARVIRAGUS

With fairest flowers
Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele,
I’ll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack [220]

The flower that’s like thy face, pale primrose, nor
The azur’d harebell, like thy veins: no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweet’ned not thy breath: the ruddock would
With charitable bill (O bill, sore shaming [225]

Those rich-left heirs, that let their fathers lie
Without a monument!) bring thee all this;
Yea, and furr’d moss besides. When flowers are none,

To winter-ground thy corse −

GUIDERIUS

Prithee, have done,
And do not play in wench-like words with that [230]
Which is so serious. Let us bury him,
And not protract with admiration what

Is now due debt. To th’ grave!

ARVIRAGUS

Say, where shall’s lay him?

GUIDERIUS
By good Euriphile, our mother.

ARVIRAGUS
Be’t so:
And let us, Polydore, though now our voices [235]

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; [240]

For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse