This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus, 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. CYMBELINE Guiderius had Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star;It was a mark of wonder. BELARIUS This is he;Who hath upon him still that natural stamp:
It was wise nature's end in the donation, To be his evidence now. CYMBELINE O, what, am IA mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother Rejoiced deliverance more. Blest pray you be, That, after this strange starting from your orbs, may reign in them now! O Imogen, Thou hast lost by this a kingdom. IMOGEN 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 ye were so indeed. CYMBELINE Did you e'er meet? ARVIRAGUS Ay, my good lord. GUIDERIUS And at first meeting loved;Continued so, until we thought he died. CORNELIUS By the queen's dram she swallow'd. CYMBELINE O rare instinct!
When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgement Hath to it circumstantial branches, which Distinction should be rich in. Where? how lived You?
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-dependencies, From chance to chance: but nor the time nor place Will serve our long inter'gatories. See, Posthumus anchors upon Imogen, And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye On him, her brother, me, her master, hitting Each object with a joy: the counterchange Is severally in all. Let's quit this ground, And smoke the temple with our sacrifices.
To BELARIUS
Thou art my brother; so we'll hold thee ever. IMOGEN You are my father too, and did relieve me, To see this gracious season. CYMBELINE All o'erjoy'd, Save these in bonds: let them be joyful too, For they shall taste our comfort. IMOGEN My good master, I will yet do you service. CAIUS LUCIUS Happy be you! CYMBELINE The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, He would have well becomed this place, and graced The thankings of a king. POSTHUMUS LEONATUS I am, sir, The soldier that did company these three In poor beseeming; 'twas a fitment for The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he, Speak, Iachimo: I had you down and might Have made you finish. IACHIMO [Kneeling] I am down again:
But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you, Which I so often owe: but your ring first;And here the bracelet of the truest princess That ever swore her faith. POSTHUMUS LEONATUS 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. CYMBELINE Nobly doom'd!
We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;
Pardon's the word to all. ARVIRAGUS You holp us, sir, As you did mean indeed to be our brother;Joy'd are we that you are. POSTHUMUS LEONATUS Your servant, princes. Good my lord of Rome, Call forth your soothsayer: as I slept, methought Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back'd, Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows Of mine own kindred: when I waked, I found This label on my bosom; whose containing Is so from sense in hardness, that I can Make no collection of it: let him show His skill in the construction. CAIUS LUCIUS Philarmonus! Soothsayer Here, my good lord. CAIUS LUCIUS Read, and declare the meaning. Soothsayer [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 Leonatus, doth import so much.
To CYMBELINE
The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, 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. CYMBELINE This hath some seeming. Soothsayer The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point Thy two sons forth; who, by Belarius stol'n, For many years thought dead, are now revived, To the majestic cedar join'd, whose issue Promises Britain peace and plenty. CYMBELINE Well My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius, Although the victor, we submit to Caesar, And to the Roman empire; promising To pay our wonted tribute, from the which We were dissuaded by our wicked queen;Whom heavens, in justice, both on her and hers, Have laid most heavy hand. Soothsayer 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 foreshow'd our princely eagle, The imperial Caesar, should again unite His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, Which shines here in the west. CYMBELINE Laud we the gods;And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils From our blest 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:
And in the temple of great Jupiter Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.
Set on there! Never was a war did cease, Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace.