BELARIUS.
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
He was paid for that. Though mean and mighty rotting
Together have one dust, yet reverence,
That angel of the world, doth make distinction
Of place ’tween high and low. Our foe was princely;
And though you took his life, as being our foe,
Yet bury him as a prince.
GUIDERIUS.
Pray you fetch him hither.
Thersites’ body is as good as Ajax’,
When neither are alive.
ARVIRAGUS.
If you’ll go fetch him,
We’ll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin.
[Exit Belarius.]
GUIDERIUS.
Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to th’ East;
My father hath a reason for’t.
ARVIRAGUS.
’Tis true.
GUIDERIUS.
Come on, then, and remove him.
ARVIRAGUS.
So. Begin.
SONG
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.