Rejoic'd deliverance more. Bless'd pray you be Imo. No, my lord; I have got two worlds by 't. O, my gentle brothers! But I am truest speaker: you call'd me brother, When you were so indeed. Cym. Arv. Ay, my good lord. Gui. Did you e'er meet? And at first meeting lov'd; Continu'd so, until we thought he dï'd. Cor. By the Queen's dram she swallow'd. Cym. O, rare instinct ! When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridg ment Hath to it circumstantial branches, which Distinction should be rich in. Where? how liv'd you? And when came you to serve our Roman captive? How parted with your brothers? how first met them? Why fled you from the Court, and whither? These, And your three motives to the battle, with I know not how much more, should be demanded, And all the other by-dependencies, From chance to chance; but nor the time, nor place, Will serve our long inter'gatories. See, Posthumus anchors upon Imogen ; And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye And smoke the temple with our sacrifices. Thou art my brother: so we'll hold thee ever. [TO BELARIUS. Imo. You are my father, too; and did relieve me, To see this gracious season. Cym. All o'erjoy'd, Save these in bonds: let them be joyful too, For they shall taste our comfort. Imo. I will yet do you service. Luc. My good master, Happy be you! Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, He would have well becom❜d this place, and grac'd The thankings of a king. Post. I am, sir, The soldier that did company these three In poor beseeming: 'twas a fitment for The purpose I then follow'd. -That I was he, Iach. I am down again; [ Kneeling. But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, you, Which I so often owe; but your ring first, And here the bracelet of the truest Princess Post. Kneel not to me: The power that I have on you is to spare you; Сут. Nobly doom'd. We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law: Pardon 's the word to all. Arv. You holp us, sir, As you did mean indeed to be our brother ; Joy'd are we, that you are. Post. Your servant, Princes. Rome, Good my lord of Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought, Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd, Appear'd to me, with other spritely shews. Of mine own kindred: when I wak'd, I found Luc. Sooth. Here, my good lord. Philarmonus! [Coming forward. Read, and declare the meaning. Sooth. [Reads.] "Whenas a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by, a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar shall be lopp'd branches, which being dead many years shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow, then shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty." Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp; The fit and apt construction of thy name, The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, [To CYMBELINE. Which we call mollis aer; and mollis aer [To POSTHUMUS. Is thy most constant wife; who, even now, Answering the letter of the oracle, Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about Cym. This hath some seeming. Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, Personates thee; and thy lopp'd branches point Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stol'n, For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd, To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue Promises Britain peace and plenty. Cym. Well, My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius, To pay our wonted tribute, from the which We were dissuaded by our wicked Queen ; Whom Heavens, in justice, both on her and hers, Have laid most heavy hand. Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke Cym. Laud we the gods; And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils From our bless'd altars. Publish we this peace To all our subjects. Set we forward. Let |