Is severally in all.

Let's quit this ground,

And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.—

[To Belarius] Thou art my brother; so we 'll hold thee

ever.

Imogen. You are my father too, and did relieve me, To see this gracious season.

Cymbeline.

All o'erjoy'd,

Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too,

For they shall taste our comfort.

Imogen.

I will yet
Lucius.

do you service.

My good master,

Happy be you!

Cymbeline. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, He would have well becom'd this place, and grac'd The thankings of a king.

The soldier that did company these three

In poor beseeming; 't was 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.

Iachimo. [Kneeling] I am down again;
But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee,

As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you,
Which I so often owe; but your ring first,

And here the bracelet of the truest princess
That ever swore her faith.

Posthumus.

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.

Cymbeline.

We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;

Pardon 's the word to all.

Arviragus.

Nobly doom'd!

You holp us, sir,

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410

420

As you did mean indeed to be our brother;

Joy'd are we that you are.

Posthumus. Your servant, princes. Good my lord of
Rome,

Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought
Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd,

Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows

Of mine own kindred. When I wak'd, 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 show
His skill in the construction.

Lucius.

Philarmonus!

430

Soothsayer. Here, my good lord. Lucius. Read, and declare the meaning. Soothsayer. [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 lopped 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.

44I

[To Cymbeline] The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
Which we call 'mollis aer;' and 'mollis aer'
We term it 'mulier:' which 'mulier' I divine
Is this most constant wife; who, even now,
Answering the letter of the oracle,

Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about
With this most tender air.

Cymbeline.

This hath some seeming.

Soothsayer. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, Personates thee; and thy lopp'd branches point

450

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.

Cymbeline.

Well,

My peace we will begin.-And, Caius Lucius,
Although the victor, we submit to Cæsar
And to the Roman empire, promising

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.

Soothsayer. 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' the sun
So vanish'd: which foreshow'd our princely eagle,
The imperial Cæsar, should again unite
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
Which shines here in the west.

Cymbeline.

Laud we the gods;

And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils

From our blest 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,

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470

480

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

NOTES.