And let it be confiscate all, so soon

As I've receiv'd it.

Cym. Nurfing of my Sons?

Bel. I am too blunt, and fawcy; here's Ere I arife, I will prefer my Sons,

my knee ::

Then spare not the old Father. Mighty Sir,
These two young Gentlemen, that call me Father,
And think they are my Sons, are none of mine;
They are the iffue of your loins, my liege,
And blood of your begetting.

Cym. How? my iffue?

Bel. So fure as you, your Father's: I, old Morgan,
Am that Belarius whom you fometime banish'd;
Your pleasure was my near offence, my punishment
It felf, and all my treafon: That I fuffer'd,
Was all the harm I did. These gentle Princes,
(For fuch and fo they are,) these twenty years
Have I train'd up; fuch arts they have, as I
Could put into them. Sir, my breeding was,
As your Grace knows. Their nurfe Euriphile,
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children
Upon my Banifhment: I mov'd her to't;
Having receiv'd the punishment before,

For That which I did then. Beaten for loyalty,
Excited me to treason. Their dear lofs,
The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd
Unto my end of ftealing them. But, Sir,
Here are your Sons again; and I must lofe
Two of the sweet'ft companions in the world.
The benediction of these covering heav'ns
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
To in-lay heav'n with stars.

Cym. Thou weep'ft, and fpeak'ft:

The fervice, that you three have done, is more
Unlike, than this thou tell'ft. I loft my Children
If these be they, I know not how to wish

A pair of worthier Sons.

Bel. Be pleas'd a while

This Gentleman, whom I call Paladour,

Moft worthy Prince, as yours, is true Guiderius:
This Gentleman, my Cadwall, Arviragus,

Your

Your younger princely Son; he, Sir, was lapt
In a moft curious mantle, wrought by th' hand
Of his Queen-mother, which, for more probation,
I can with ease produce.

Cym. Guiderius had

Upon his neck a mole, a fanguine ftar;
It was a mark of wonder.

Bel. This is he;

Who hath upon him ftill that natʼral stamp :
It was wife Nature's end, in the donation,
To be his evidence now.

Cym. Oh, what am I

A Mother to the birth of three! ne'er Mother
Rejoic'd deliverance more; bleft may you be,
That, after this strange starting from your Orbs,
You may reign in them now! oh Imogen,
Thou'aft loft by this a Kingdom.

Imo. No, my Lord:

I've got two worlds by't. Oh, my gentle Brothers,
Have we thus met? oh, never say hereafter,

But I am trueft fpeaker. You call'd me Brother,
When I was but your Sifter: I, you Brothers;
When ye were fo, indeed.

Cym. Did you e'er meet?

Arv. Ay, my good Lord.

Guid. And at first meeting lov'd;

Continu'd fo, until we thought he died.

Cor. By the Queen's dram fhe swallow'd.
Cym. O rare instinct!

When fhall I hear all through? this fierce abridgment
Hath to it circumftantial branches, which

Diftinction fhould be rich in.-Where? how liv'd you? And when came you to ferve our Roman Captive? How parted with your Brothers? how firft met them? (58) Why fled you from the Court? and whither? — These,

And

(58) Why fled you from the Court, and whether thefe ?] By a ftrange Negligence, in all the Editions, this Paffage is ftark Nonfenfe. One Part of the Miftake made is in the Word, whether; and another, is, in the falfe Pointing. It must be rectified thus;

Why fled you from the Court? and whither? Thefe, &c. The King is asking his Daughter, how She has liv'd fince her Elope

ment

And your three motives to the battel, with

I know not how much more, fhould be demanded

And all the other Bye-dependances

ノ

From chance to chance: but not the time, nor place, Will ferve long interrogatories. See,

Pofthumus anchors upon Imogen;

And fhe, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
On him, her Brothers, me, her master; hitting
Each object with a joy. The counter-change
Is fev'rally in all. Let's quit this ground,
And fmoak the Temple with our Sacrifices.

Thou art my Brother; fo we'll hold thee ever. [To Bel.
Imo. You are my Father too, and did relieve me,
To fee this gracious season !

Cym. All o'er-joy'd,

Save thefe in bonds: let them be joyful too,

For they fhall tafte our comfort.

Imo. My good master,

I will yet do you service.

Luc. Happy be you!

Cym. The forlorn Soldier, that fo nobly fought, He would have well becom'd this place, and grac'd

The thankings of a King.

Poft. 'Tis I am, Sir,

The Soldier, that did company these three,

In poor Befeeming: 'twas a fitment for

The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he,
Speak, Tachimo, I had you down, and might
Have made your finish.

Iach. I am down again:

But now my heavy conscience finks my knee, [Kneels.
As then your force did. Take that life, befeech you,
Which I so often owe: but, your Ring first;

And here the bracelet of the trueft Princess,
That ever swore her faith.

Poft. Kneel not to me:

ment from the Court; when She enter'd herself in Lucius's Service; how the met with her Brothers, or parted from them; why She fled from the Court, and to what Place: And having enumerated fo many Particulars, he ftops fhort, and cries, "All these Circumftances, and the Motives of "Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus to the Battle, together with a "Number more of Occurrences by the Bye, I want to be refolv'd in."

The

The power, that I have on you, is to spare you:
The malice tow'rds you, to forgive you. Live,
And deal with others better !

Cym. Nobly doom'd:

We'll learn our freeness of a fon-in-law;
Pardon's the word to all.

Arv. You help'd us, Sir,

As you did mean, indeed, to be our brother;
Joy'd are we, that you are.

Poft. Your fervant, Princes. Good my lord of Rome, Call forth your Soothsayer: as I lept, methought, Great Jupiter upon his cagle back'd,

Appear'd to me, with other sprightly fhews
Of mine own kindred. When I wak'd, I found
This label on my bofom; whose containing
Is fo from fenfe in hardness, that I can
Make no collection of it. Let him fhew
His skill in the conftruction.

Luc. Philarmonus,

Sooth. Here, my good Lord.

Luc. Read, and declare the meaning. [Reads.]

WHEN as a lion's whelp shall, to bimself unknown. without feeking find, and be embrac'd by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar fhall be lopt. branches, which, being dead many years, fhall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then fball Pofthumus end his miferies, Britaine be fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty.

Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
The fit and apt conftruction of thy name,
Being Leonatus, doth import fo much:
The piece of tender air, thy virtuous Daughter,

[To Cymb.

Which we call Mollis Aer; and Mollis Aer
We term it Mulier : which Mulier, I divine,

Is this moft conftant wife; who, even now,
Answering the letter of the Oracle,

Unknown to you, unfought, were clipt about
With this most tender air.

Cym. This hath fome Seeming.

Sooth.

Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, Perfonates thee; and thy lopt branches point Thy two Sons forth: who, by Belarius ftoll'n, For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd, To the majestick cedar join'd; whofe Iffue Promifes Britaine peace and plenty.

Cym. My peace we will begin, and, Caius Lucius, Although the victor, we submit to Cæfar, And to the Roman Empire; promifing, To pay our wonted tribute, from the which We were diffuaded by our wicked Queen;

On whom heav'n's justice (both on her, and hers) Hath laid moft heavy hand.

Sooth. The fingers of the Powers above do tune The harmony of this peace: the vifion, Which I made known to Lucius ere the ftroke Of this yet fcarce-cold battel, at this instant Is full accomplish'd. For the Roman eagle, From South to Weft on wing foaring aloft, Leffen'd her felf, and in the beams o'th' Sun So vanish'd; which fore-fhew'd our princely Eagle, Th' imperial Cæfar, fhould again unite His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, Which fhines here in the Weft.

Cym. Laud we the Gods!

And let the crooked fmoaks climb to their Noftrils From our bleft altars! publish we this Peace

To all our Subjects. Set we forward let

A Roman and a British Enfign wave

Friendly together; fo through Lud's town march:
And in the Temple of great Jupiter

Our Peace we'll ratifie. Seal it with feafts.
Set on, there: Never was a War did cease,

Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with fuch a Peace.
[Exeunt omnes.

"

The End of the Sixth Volume.