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His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
Which shines here in the west.
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:
Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.-
Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.
Aar. Hark, Tamora, the empress of my soul, Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee,This is the day of doom for Bassianus;