How parted with your brothers? how first met them? I know not how much more, should be demanded; From chance to chance: but nor the time, nor place, Posthumus anchors upon Imogen ; And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye [To BEL] Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever. Cym. All o'erjoy'd, Save these in bonds: let them be joyful too, For they shall taste our comfort. Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, He would have well become this place, and grac'd The thankings of a king. The soldier that did company these three In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for The purpose I then follow'd.-That I was he, Iach. [Kneeling.] I am down again : But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, As then your force did. Take that life, Which I so often owe: but your ring first; beseech you And here the bracelet of the truest princess, 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. Arv. You holp us, Sir, As you did mean indeed to be our brother; Post. Your servant, princes.-Good my lord of Rame, Luc. Sooth. Here, my good lord. Philarmonus, Read, and declare the meaning. Sooth. [Reads.] "Whenas 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 fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty." Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp; The fit and apt construction of thy name, [To CYM.] The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, We term it mulier: which mulier, I divine, Is this most constant wife; [To POST.] who, even now, Answering the letter of the oracle, Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about With this most tender air. This hath some seeming. Cym. Cym. Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point Well, Whom heavens, in justice, both on her and hers, Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, Cym. Laud we the gods; And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils 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. |