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Cym. All o'er-joy'd,
Save thefe in bonds: let them be joyful too,
Imo. My good maler,
Cym. The forlorn foldier, that so nobly fought, He would have well become this place, and grac'd The thankings of a King.
Poft. 'Tis I am, Sir, D
The foldier, that did company these three,
In poor Befeeming: 'twas a fitment for
Iach. I am down again :
But now my heavy confcience finks my knee. [Kneels. And then your force did. Take that life, 'befeech you, Which I fo often owe: but, your ring firft;
And here the bracelet of the trueft Princess,
That ever fwore her faith.
Poft. Knecl not to me:
The power, that I have on you, is to fpare you:
Cym. Nobly doom'd:
We'll learn our freeness of a fon-in-law;
Pardon's the word to all.
Arv. You help'd us, Sir,
you did mean, indeed, to be our brother; Joy'd are we, that
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
. Is fo from fenfe in hardness, that I can
Make no collection of it. Let him fhew
Sooth. Here, my good lord.
Luc. Read, and declare the meaning.
WHEN as a lion's whelp fhall, to himself unknown, without feeking find, and be embrac'd by a piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar fhall be lopt branches, which, being dead many years, fhall after revive, be jointed to the old flock, and freshly grow; then shall Pofthumus end his miferies, Britaine be fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty.
Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;
The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
Unknown to you, unfought, were clipt about
Cym. This has fome feeming.
Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, Perfonates thee; and thy lopt branches point Thy two fons forth: who, by Belarius stoll'n, For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd, To the majeflic cedar join'd; whofe Iffue Promifes Britaine peace and plenty.
Cym. My peace we will begin, and, Caius Lucius, Although the vi&or, we fubmit no Cæfar, And to the Roman Empire; promifing, To pay our wonted tribute, from the which We were diffuaded by our wicked Queen ;
On whom heav'n's juftice (both on her, and hers)
Sooth. The fingers of the Powers above do tune
Cym. Laud we the Gods!
And let the crooked Smokes climb to their Noftrils From our bleft altars! publifh 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:
Our Peace we'll ratify. Seal it with feafts.
Ere bloody hands were wafh'd, with fuch a Peace.
The End of the Eighth Volume.