IMO. THE DREAM'S HERE STILL EVEN WHEN I WAKE. IT IS

WITHOUT ME, AS WITHIN ME; NOT IMAGIN'D. FELT
MAN: THE GARMENTS OF POSTHUMUS

A HEADLESS

Act IV. Sc 2.

London Published by FC&J Pavington, and Partners Feb 1823.

Without me, as within me; not imagin'd, felt.
A headless man!-The garments of Posthúmus!
I know the shape of his leg: this is his hand;
His foot mercurial: his Martial thigh;

The brawns of Hercules: but his Jovial face 9.
Murder in heaven? - How? - 'Tis gone. - Pisanio.
All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks,
And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou,
Conspir'd with that irregulous devil', Cloten,
Hast here cut off my lord. - To write, and read,
Be henceforth treacherous! - Damn'd Pisanio
Hath with his forged letters, damn'd Pisanio-
From this most bravest vessel of the world

Struck the main-top!2-O, 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 this head on. - How should this be? Pisanio? 'Tis he, and Cloten: malice and lucre in them

Have laid this woe here. O, 'tis pregnant, preg

nant! 3

The drug he gave me, which, he said, was precious
And cordial to me, have I not found it

Murd'rous to the senses? That confirms it home:
This is Pisanio's deed, and Cloten's: O!-
Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood,
That we the horrider may seem to those
Which chance to find us: O, my lord, my lord!

9

his Jovial face-] Jovial face signifies in this place, such a face as belongs to Jove. It is frequently used in the same sense by other old dramatick writers.

■ — that irregulous devil,] Irregulous (if there be such a word) must mean lawless, licentious, out of rule, jura negans sibi nata. 9 the main-top!] i. e. the top of the mainmast.

3

clusion.

-'tis pregnant, pregnant!] i. e. 'tis a ready, apposite con

Enter LUCIUS, a Captain, and other Officers, 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 here 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,

Sienna's brother. 4

Luc.

When expect you them? Cap. With the next benefit o'the 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. Last night the very gods show'd me a vision : (I fast, and pray'd, for their intelligence,) Thus:I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd From the spungy south to this part of the west, There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends, (Unless my sins abuse my divination,)

Success to the Roman host.

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 bed

+ Sienna's brother.] i. e. (as I suppose Shakspeare to have meant) brother to the prince of Sienna; but, unluckily, Sienna was a republick. STEEvens.

With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead.—
Let's see the boy's face.

Cap.

He is 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? Or 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?

What art thou?

Imo.

Who is it?

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 are 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.

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 lie, and do
No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope
They'll pardon it. [Aside.] Say you, sir?

Luc.

Imo.

Thy name?

Fidele.+

Luc. 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 master'd; but, be sure,
No less belov'd. The Roman emperor's letters,
Sent by a consul to me, should not 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

+"Fidele, sir." MALONE.