The purpose I then follow'd;-That I was he, Iach. I am down again: [Kneeling. 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. 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. Arv. You holp us, sir, As you did mean indeed to be our brother; Post. Your servant, princes.-Good my lord of Call forth your soothsayer: As I slept, methought, Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows" 6 Luc. Sooth. Here, my good lord. Luc. Philarmonus, Read, and declare the meaning. -spritely shows-] Are groups of sprites, ghostly ap pearances. ↑ Make no collection of it;] A collection is a corollary, a consequence deduced from premises. 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; Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about Cym. This hath some seeming. Cym. 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 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: 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, [Exeunt. This play has many just sentiments, some natural dialogues, and some pleasing scenes, but they are obtained at the expence of much incongruity. To remark the folly of the fiction, the absurdity of the conduct, the confusion of the names, and manners of different times, and the impossibility of the events in any system of life, were to waste criticism upon unresisting imbecility, upon faults too evident for detection, and too gross for aggravation. JOHNSON. See page 95, note 7. A SONG, SUNG BY GUIDERIUS AND ARVIRAGUS OVER FIDELE, SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD. BY MR. WILLIAM COLLINS. To fair Fidele's grassy tomb, Soft maids and village hinds shall bring No wailing ghost shall dare appear And melting virgins own their love. No wither'd witch shall here be seen, The red-breast oft at evening hours When howling winds, and beating rain, Each lonely scene shall thee restore; And mourn'd till pity's self be dead. |