The thankings 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, Tachimo, I had you down, and might
Have made your finish.

Iach. I am down again :

But now my heavy conscience 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. 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.

As

Arvu. You help'd us, Sir,

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

Poft. Your fervant, Princes. Good my lord of Rome,
Call forth your Soothfayer. 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.

WH

[Reads.]

HEN 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 fiately cedar fhall be opt branches, which, being dead many years, shall after revive,

be

be jointed to the old stock, 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 fit and apt conftruction of thy name,
Being Leonatus, doth import fo much:
The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
[To Cymb.

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 moft tender air.

Cym. This has fome seeming.

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

Cym. My peace we will begin, and, Caius Lucius,
Although the victor, we fubmit to 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 justice (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 stroke
Of this yet fcarce-cold battle, at this inftant
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 vanish'd; which fore-fhew'd our princely eagle,
Th' imperial Cafar, fhould again unite
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
Which fhines here in the west.

VOL. VII.

Cym.

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 Subjects. 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 wash'd, with fuch a Peace.

[Exeunt omnes.

TROILUS