Imatges de pÓgina

If these be they, I know not how to wish
A pair of worthier sons.

Be pleased a while.—
This gentleman, whom I call Polydore,
Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius.
This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus,

Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapped
In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand
Of his queen mother, which, for more probation,
I can with ease produce.
Guiderius had


Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
It was a mark of wonder.


This is he;

Who hath upon him still that natural stamp.
It was wise nature's end, in the donation,
To be his evidence now.


O, what am I

Ne'er mother

A mother to the birth of three?

Rejoiced deliverance more.-Blessed may you be,
That after this strange starting from your orbs,
You may reign in them now!-0 Imogen,
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.

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 called me brother,
When I was but your sister; I you brothers,
When you were so indeed.


Arv. Ay, my good lord.

Did you e'er meet?

And at first meeting loved;

Continued so, until we thought he died.
Cor. By the queen's dram she swallowed.
O rare instinct!
When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgement
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which
Distinction should be rich in.-Where? how lived 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 intergatories. See,

Posthumus anchors 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 BELARIUS. Imo. You are my father too; and did relieve me, To see this gracious season.


All o'erjoyed,

Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too,
For they shall taste our comfort.


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,
Speak, Tachimo; 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 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;
The malice towards you, to forgive you. Live,
And deal with others better.


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

Pardon's the word to all.


Nobly doomed.

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
Is so from sense in hardness, that I can
Make no collection of it; let him show
His skill in the construction.


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,
Being Leo-natus, doth import so much.
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 clipped about
With this most tender air.


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.


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.

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 this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant

Is full accomplished. For the Roman eagle,
From south to west on wing soaring aloft,
Lessened herself, and in the beams o'the sun
So vanished; which foreshowed our princely eagle,
The imperial Cæsar, should again unite

His favor 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 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,

Ere bloody hands were washed, with such a peace.



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