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And fhe, like harmlefs lightning, throws her eye
On him, her brothers, me, her mafter; 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 facrifices.

Thou art my brother, fo we'll hold thee ever. [To Bellarius.
Imo. You are my father too, and did relieve me,
To fee this gracious season.

Cym. All o'er-joy'd,

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

Imo. My good master,

I will yet do you service.

Luc. Happy be you!

Cym. The forlorn foldier that fo nobly fought, He would have well becom'd this place, and grae'd The thinkings of a King.

Poft. 'Tis I am, Sir,

The foldier that did company these three
In poor befeeming: 'twas a fitment for
The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he,
Speak, Iachimo, I had you down, and might
Haye made your finish.

Iach. I am down again:


But now my heavy confcience finks my knee,
As then your force did. Take that life, 'befeech you,
Which I fo often owe: but your ring first,

And here your bracelet of the trueft Princefs
That ever fwore her faith.

Poft. Kneel not to me:

The power that I have on you, is to fpare 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.

Aru. You help'd'us, Sir,


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


Poft. Your fervant, Princes. *

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

Poft. Your fervant, Princes.

Good my Lord of Rome,

Call forth your Soothsayer: as I flept, methought
Great Jupiter upon his Eagle back'd
Appear'd to me with other fprightly fhews
Of mine own kindred.. When I wak'd, I found
This label on my bofom; whofe 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.


When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without fecking I find, and be embrac'd by a piece of tender air; and when from a ftately cedar shall be lopt branches, which being dead many years, Shall after revive, be jointed to the old ftock, and freshly grow, then Shall Posthumus and his miferies, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty.

Thou, Leonatms, art the lion's whelp;

The fit and apt conftruction of thy name

Being Leonatus, doth import so much:

The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, [To Cymbeline,
Which we call Mollis Aer, and Mollis Aer
We term it Mulier: which Mulier I divine

Is this most conftant wife, who even now
Anfwering the letter of the oracle,
Unknown to you, unfought, were clipt about
With this most tendet air.

Cym. This hath fome feeming.

Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
Perfonates thee, and thy lopt branches point
Thy two fons forth: who by Bellarius ftol'n,
For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd,
To the majeftick cedar join'd; whose issue
Promifes Britain peace and plenty.

Gym. By peace we will begin: &c

On whom heav'n's juftice (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 scarce-cold battel, at this instant
Is full accomplish'd. For the Roman eagle
From fouth to weft on wing foaring aloft
Leffen'd herself, and in the beams o'th' fun
So vanifh'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 west.


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 fubjects. 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 wafh'd, with fuch a peace.

[Exeunt omnes.

The End of the EIGHTH VOLUME.


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