ele could not accompany them because she was unwell.
Sorrow, no doubt, for her husband's cruel usage, as well as the fatigue
of wandering in the forest, was the cause of her illness.

They then bid her farewell, and went to their hunt, praising all the way
the noble parts and graceful demeanour of the youth Fidele.

Imogen was no sooner left alone than she recollected the cordial Pisanio
had given her, and drank it off, and presently fell into a sound and
death-like sleep.

When Bellarius and her brothers returned from hunting, Polydore went
first into the cave, and supposing her asleep, pulled off his heavy
shoes, that he might tread softly and not awake her; so did true
gentleness spring up in the minds of these princely foresters; but he
soon discovered that she could not be awakened by any noise, and
concluded her to be dead, and Polydore lamented over her with dear and
brotherly regret, as if they had never from their infancy been parted.

Bellarius also proposed to carry her out into the forest, and there
celebrate her funeral with songs and solemn dirges, as was then the
custom.

Imogen's two brothers then carried her to a shady covert, and there
laying her gently on the grass, they sang repose to her departed spirit,
and covering her over with leaves and flowers, Polydore said, "While
summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, I will daily strew thy grave. The
pale primrose, that flower most like thy face; the blue-bell, like thy
clear veins; and the leaf of eglantine, which is not sweeter than was
thy breath; all these will I strew over thee. Yea, and the furred moss
in winter, when there are no flowers to cover thy sweet corse."

When they had finished her funeral obsequies they departed very
sorrowful.

Imogen had not been long left alone, when, the effect of the sleepy drug
going off, she awaked, and easily shaking off the slight covering of
leaves and flowers they had thrown over her, she arose, and imagining
she had been dreaming, she said, "I thought I was a cave-keeper, and
cook to honest creatures; how came I here covered with flowers?" Not
being able to find her way back to the cave, and seeing nothing of her
new companions, she concluded it was certainly all a dream; and once
more Imogen set out on her weary pilgrimage, hoping at last she should
find her way to Milford-Haven, and thence get a passage in some ship
bound for Italy; for all her thoughts were still with her husband
Posthumus, whom she