If these be they, I know not how to wish Bel. Be pleas'd a while.— This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, Most worthy prince, as yours, is true, Guiderius: Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd Cym. Guiderius had Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star; Bel. This is he; Who hath upon him still that natural stamp: Cym. O, what am I A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother Imo. No, my lord; I have got two worlds by't.-O, my gentle brother, But I am truest speaker: you call'd me brother, When you were so indeed. Cym. Did you e'er meet? Arv. Ay, my good lord. Gui. And at first meeting lov'd; Continued so, until we thought he died. Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd. When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridge ment Hath to it circumstantial branches, which Distinction should be rich in.-Where? how liv'd you? And when came you to serve our Roman captive? I know not how much more, should be demanded; From chance to chance; but nor the time, nor place, 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. Cym. All o'erjoy'd, Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too, For they shall taste our confort. Imo. My good master, I will yet do you service. Luc. Happy be you! Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, He would have well becom❜d this place, and grac'd The thankings of a king. Post. I am, sir, The soldier, that did company these three In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for The purpose I then follow'd:-That I was he, Have made you finish. Jach. I am down again : [Kneeling. But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, And 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, Post. Kneel not to me; The power, that I have on you, is to spare you; Cym. Nobly doom'd: We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law ; Pardon's the word to all. As Arv. You holp us, sir, you did mean indeed to be our brother; Joy'd are we, that you are. Post. Your servant, princes.-Good my lord of Rome, Call forth your soothsayer: As I slept, methought, Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows Luc. Philarmonus, Sooth. Here, my good lord. Luc. 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; [To Cymbeline. Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about Cym. This hath some meaning. Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stolen, For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd, To the majestic cedar join'd; whose issue Promises Britain peace and plenty. Cym. Well, My peace we will begin :-And, Caius Lucius, Whom heavens, in justice, (both on her, and hers,) 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-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. Cym. Laud we the gods; And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils A Roman and a British ensign wave Friendly together: so through Lud's town march; Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.- [Exeunt. 1 |