On him, her brothers, me, her master; hitting Сут. All o'erjoy'd, Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too, For they shall taste our comfort. Imo. I will yet do you service. Luc. My good master, 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. The soldier that did company these three Iach. I am down again: [Kneeling. But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, 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. We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law; Pardon's the word to all. As Aro. Nobly doom'd: 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. 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; The fit and apt construction of thy name, Being Leo-natus, doth import so much: L The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, Cym. This hath some seeming. Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, Cym. To pay our wonted tribute, from the which 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 fore-show'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 From our bless'd altars! Publish we this peace To all our subjects. Set we forward: Let A Roman and a British ensign wave Friendly together: so through Lud's town march: Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.- Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace. [Exeunt. |