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Rejoic'd deliverance more. — Bless'd pray you be
That after this strange starting from your orbs,
You may reign in them now. — O Imogen!
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.

Imo. No, my lord;

I have got two worlds by 't. — O, my gentle brothers!
Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter,
But I am truest speaker: you call'd me brother,
When I was but your sister; I you brothers,
When you were so indeed.

Cym. Did you e'er meet?

Arv. Ay, my good lord.

Gui. And at first meeting lov'd;

Continu'd so, until we thought he di'd.

Cor. By the Queen's dram she swallow'd.

Cym. O, rare instinct!

When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridg-
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
Distinction should be rich in. ■— Where? how liv'd

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

Will serve our long inter'gatories. See,
Posthumus anchor's upon Imogen;
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
On him, her brothers, me, her master, hitting
Each object with a joy: the counterchange
Is severally in all. Let 's quit this ground,

And smoke the temple with our sacrifices. —
Thou art my brother: so we'll hold thee ever.

[To Belahius.

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. My good master,

I will yet do you service.

Luc. 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,
Speak, Iachimo: I had you down, and might
Have made you finish.

Iach. I am down again;

But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,
As then your force did. Take that life, beseech

Which I so often owe; but your ring first,
And here the bracelet of the truest Princess
That ever swore her faith.

Post. Kneel not to me:

The power that I have on you is to spare you;
The malice towards you, to forgive you. Live,
And deal with others better.

Cym. 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. —- 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'cl, I found
This label on my bosom; whose containing
Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
Make no collection of it: let him shew
His skill in the construction.

Luc. Philarmonus!

Sooth. Here, my good lord. [Coming forward.

Luc. Read, and declare the meaning.

Sooth. [Reads.] "Whenas a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking find, and he 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,

Being Leo-natus, doth import so much.

The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,

[To Cymbeline. Which we call mollis aer; and mollis aer We term it mulier: which mulier, I divine,

[To Posthumus. Is thy most constant wife; who, even now,

Answering the letter of the oracle,

Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'cl about

With this most tender air.

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'cl, whose issue Promises Britain peace and plenty.

Cym. Well,

My peace we will begin. — And, Caius Lucius,
Although the victor, we submit to Caesar,
And to the Roman empire; promising
To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
WTe 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
The harmony of this peace. The vision,
Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke
Of yet this scarce cold battle, at this instant
Is full accomplish'd; for the Roman eagle,
From South to West on wing soaring aloft,
Lessen'd herself, and in the beams o' th' sun
So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle,
Th' imperial Caesar, should again unite
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
Which shines here in the West.

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
A Roman and a British ensign wave

Friendly together; so through Lud's town march,

And in the temple of great Jupiter

Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts. -—

Set on there.— Never was a war did cease,

Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.


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