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For that which I did then: Beaten for loyalty
Be pleas'd a-whileThis gentleman, whom I call Polydore, Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius: This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arvirágus, Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp'd In a most curious mantle, wrought by the hand Of his queen mother, which, for more probation, I can with ease produce.
Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;
To be his evidence now.
O, what am I
A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother Rejoic'd deliverance more:-Bless'd may you be,
That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
No, my lord; I have got two worlds by't.-O my gentle brothers, Have we thus met? O 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.
Did you e'er meet?
Cym. Arv. Ay, my good lord. Gui. And at first meeting lov'd; Continued so, until we thought he died. Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd.
O rare instinct! When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridge
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which Distinction should be rich in.-Where? how liv'd
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? These, And your three motives to the battle, with
I know not how much more, should be demanded; And all the other by-dependancies,
From chance to chance; but nor the time, nor
Will serve our long intergatories. See,
And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
On him, her brothers, me, her master; hitting
yet do you service.
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.
I am, sir,
The soldier that did company these three
I am down again:
[Kneeling. But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, As then your force did. Take that life, 'beseech
Which I so often owe: but, your ring first;
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.
We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
Pardon's the word to all.
You holp us, sir,
Post. Your servant, princes.-Good my lord of
Call forth your soothsayer: As I slept, methought,
Sooth. Here, my good lord. Luc. 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:
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 constant wife; who, even now, Answering the letter of the oracle, Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about With this most tender air.
Cym. This hath some seeming. Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point Thy two sons forth: who, by Belarius stolen, For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd, To the majestick cedar join'd; whose issue Promises Britain peace and plenty.
To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
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