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If these be they, I know not how to wish
Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapped
Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
This is he;
Who hath upon him still that natural stamp.
O, what am I
A mother to the birth of three?
Rejoiced deliverance more.-Blessed may you be,
No, my lord;
Arv. Ay, my good lord.
Did you e'er meet?
And at first meeting loved;
Continued so, until we thought he died.
I know not how much more, should be demanded;
From chance to chance; but nor the time, nor place,
Posthumus anchors upon Imogen;
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
[TO BELARIUS. Imo. You are my father too; and did relieve me, To see this gracious season.
Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too,
I will yet do you service.
My good master,
Happy be you!
Cym. The forlorn soldier that so nobly fought, He would have well becomed this place, and graced The thankings of a king.
I am, sir,
The soldier that did company these three
In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for
The purpose I then followed.-That I was he,
Iach. 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.
Kneel not to me;
The power that I have on you, is to spare you;
We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
Pardon's the word to all.
You holp us, sir,
As you did mean indeed to be our brother;
Joyed are we, that you are.
Post. Your servant, princes.-Good my lord of Rome, Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought, Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back,
Appeared to me, with other spritely shows
Of mine own kindred: when I waked, I found
This label on my bosom; whose containing
Sooth. Here, my good lord.
Read and declare the meaning. Sooth. [Reads.) When as 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,
Which we call mollis aer; and mollis aer
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipped about
This hath some seeming.
Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, Personates thee; and thy lopped branches point Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stolen, For many years thought dead, are now revived, To the majestic cedar joined; whose issue Promises Britain peace and plenty.
Whom Heavens, in justice, (both on her and hers,)
Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune
Is full accomplished. For the Roman eagle,
His favor with the radiant Cymbeline,
Laud we the gods;
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 washed, with such a peace.