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Guid. Let me end his story: 'Twas I, that slew him.

Cym. Marry, the gods forefend!

I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
Pluck a hard sentence: 'pr'yjhee, valiant youth,
Deny't again.

Guid. I have spoke it, and I did it.
Cym. He was a prince.

Guid. A most uncivil one: the wrongs he did me Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me With language that would make me spurn the sea, If it could so roar to me; I cut off's head; And am right glad, he is not standing here To tell this tale of mine.

Cym. I am sorry for thee:

By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must Endure our law.—Bind the offender,

And take him from our presence. [guards advance. Bel. Stay, sir king:

This man is better than the man he slew,

As well descended as thyself; and hath

More of thee merited, than a band of Clotens

Had ever scar for.-Let his arms alone;

They were not born for bondage.
Cym. Why, old soldier,

[To the GUARDS.

Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for,
By tasting of our wrath? How of descent

As good as we?

Bel. I am too blunt, and saucy: Here's my knee : Mighty sir,

These two young gentlemen, that call me father,
And think they are my sons, are none of mine;
They are the issue of your loins, my liege,
And blood of your begetting.

Posthumus, Imogen, and Pisanio, come forward,
Cym, How! my issue?

Bel. So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan, Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd: Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd,

Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes
(For such, and so they are,) these twenty years
Have I train'd up: those arts they have, as I
Could put into them.—But, gracious sir,
Here are your sons again; and I must lose
Two of the sweet'st companions in the world:-
The benediction of these covering heavens
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
To inlay heaven with stars.

Cym. Thou weep'st, and speak'st.—

I lost my children;

If these be they, I know not how to wish
A pair of worthier sons.—Guiderius had
Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
It was a mark of wonder.

Bel. 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.

Cym. Bless'd may you be,

That, after this strange starting from your


You may reign in them now!—Oh, Imogen,
Thou hast lost by this a kingdom.

Imog. No, my lord;

I have got two worlds by't.—Oh, my gentle brothers,
Have we thus met? Oh, never say hereafter,

But I am truest speaker: you call'd me brother,
When I was but your sister; I you brothers,

When you were so indeed.

Cym. Did you e'er meet?—

Arv. Ay, my good lord.

Guid. And at first meeting lov'd.

Cym. Oh, rare instinct!

When shall I hear all through ?—How liv'd 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?
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.—All o'erjoy'd,

Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too,

For they shall taste our comfort.—

[guards take off their Chains.

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,
Speak, Iachimo; 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.-

But, your ring first;

And here the bracelet of the truest princess,
That ever swore her faith:—

Now take that life, 'beseech you,

Which I so often owe.

Post. 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.

Cym. Nobly doom'd:

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

Pardon's the word to all.—Laud we the gods;

And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils

From our bless'd altars!—Set we forward: Let
A Roman and a British ensign wave

Friendly together: so through Lud's town march :
Set on there :—Never was a war did cease,

Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace. [Exeunt omnes.—Drums and Trumpets.


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