(For fuch and so they are) these twenty years
Have I train'd up; fuch arts they have, as I
Could put into them. Sir, my breeding was,
As your Grace knows. Their nurse Euriphile,
Whom for the theft I wedded, stole thefe children
Upon my banishment. I mov'd her to't;
Having receiv'd the punishment before,
For that which I did then. Beaten for loyalty,
Excited me to treafon. Their dear lofs,
The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shap'd
Unto my end of stealing them. But, Sir,
Here are your fons again; and I must lose
Two of the fweet'ft companions in the world.
The benediction of thefe covering heav'ns
Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy
To in-lay heav'n with stars.

Cym. Thou weep'ft, and speak'ft.

The fervice that you three have done, is more Unlike than this thou tell'ft. I loft my childrenIf these be they, I know not how to wish

A pair of worthier fons.

Bel. Be pleas'd a while

This Gentleman, whom I call Paladour,

Moft worthy Prince, as your's, is true Guiderius.
This Gentleman, my Cadwall, Arviragus,
Your younger princely fon; he, Sir, was lapt
In a most curious mantle, wrought by th' hand
Of his Queen-mother, which, for more probation,
I can with ease produce.

Cym. Guiderius had

Upon his neck a mole, a fanguine star;

It was a mark of wonder.

Bel. This is he;

Who hath upon him ftill that natʼral stamp.
It was wife nature's end, in the donation,
To be his evidence now.

Cym. Oh, what am I?

A mother to the birth of three! ne'er mother Rejoic'd deliverance more; blefs'd may you be, That, after this strange starting from your orbs, You may reign in them now! Oh Imogen, Thou'ft loft by this a kingdom.

Imo. No, my Lord:

I've got two worlds by't. Oh, my gentle brothers,
Have we thus met? oh, never fay hereafter,
But I am trueft speaker. You call'd me brother,
When I was but your fifter; I, you brothers,
When ye were fo indeed.

Cym, Did you e'er meet?
Arv. Ay, my good Lord.

Guid. And at firft meeting lov'd;
Continued fo, until we thought he dy'd.

Cor. By the Queen's dram fhe fwallow'd.
Cym. O rare instinct !

When fhall I hear all through? this fierce abridgment.
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which

Diftinction fhould be rich in.-Where? how liv'd you?
And when came you to ferve our Roman captive?
How parted with your brothers? how first met them?
Why fled
yon from the court? and whither ?-Thefe,
And your three motives to the battle, with

I know not how much more, fhould be demanded ;
And all the other by-dependences

From chance to chance: but not the time, nor place,
Will ferve long interrogatories. See,
Pofthumus anchors upon Imogen ;

And fhe, like harmless lightning throws her eye
On him, her brothers, me, her mafter; hitting
Each object with a joy. The counter change
Is fev'rally in all. Let's quit this ground,
And smoke the temple with our facrifices.
Thou art my brother; fo we'll hold thee ever.

[To Belarius.

Imo. You are my father too, and did relieve me, To fee this gracicus season !

Cym. All o'erjoy'd,

Save these in bonds: let them be joyful too,

For they fhall tafte our comfort.

Imo. My good mafter,

I will yet do you fervice.

Luc. Happy be you!

Cym. The forlorn foldier, that so nobly fought, He would have well become this place, and grac'd The thankings of a King.

Poft.

Poft. 'Tis I am, Sir,

The foldier that did company thefe three,
In poor befeeming: 'twas a fitment for

The purpose I then follow'd. That I was he,
Speak, Iachimo, I had you down, and might
Have made your finish.

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. 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 freenefs of a fon-in-law;

Pardon's the word to all.

As

Arv. You help'd us, Sir,

you did mean indeed to be our brother;

Joy'd are we that you are.

Poft. Your fervant, princes t.

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; whose containing

Is fo from fenfe in hardness, that I can

Make no collection of it. Let him fhew
His fkill in the conftruction,

Luc. Philarmonus,

South. Here, my good Lord.

Luc. Read, and declare the meaning..

Reads.

Cym

When as a lion's whelp sball, to bimself unknown, without freking 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, fall after rivive, be jointed to the old flock, and freshly grow; then stall Puftbumus end his miferies, Britain be fortunate, and flourish in peace and plenty.

Thou, Leonatus, art the lion's whelp;

The fit and apt construction of thy name,

Cym. My peace we will begin; and, Caius Lucius, Although the victor, we submit to Cæfar,

And to the Roman empire; promifing
To pay our wonted tribute, from the which
We
We were diffuaded by our wicked Queen ;
On whom heav'n's justice (both on her and her's)
Hath laid moft heavy hand.

Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune
The harmony of this peace: the vision

Which I made known to Lucius ere the ftroke
Of this yet fearce-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 vanifh'd; which fore-fhew'd our princely eagle,
Th' Imperial Cæfar, fhould again unite
His favour with the radiant Cymbeline,
Which fhines here in the weft.

Cym. Laud we the gods!

And let the crooked fmoaks climb to their noftrils
From our blefs'd altars! publish 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;
And in the temple of great Jupiter

Our peace we'll ratify. Seal it with feafts.
Set on, there: never was a war did ceafe,

Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with fuch a peace.

Being Leonatus, doth import fo much.

[Exuent omnes. TROILUS

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 moft conftant wife; who, even now,
Answering the letter of the oracle,

Unknown to you, unfought, were clipt about - With this moft tender air.

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 ftoln,
For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd,
To the majestic cedar join'd; whofe iffue
Promifes Britain peace and plenty..
Cym. My peace will begin,

SCENE, Troy ; and the Grecian camp before it.

†This story was originally written by Lollius an old Lombard author, and fince by Chaucer. It is alfo found in an old English ftory-book of the three deftructions of Troy; from which many of the circumftances in this play are borrowed, they being to be found no where else.

Before this play, printed in 1609, is a bookfeller's preface, fhewing that first impreffion to have been before the play had been acted; and that it was published without Shakespear's knowledge, from a copy that had fallen into the bookfeller's hands. Mr Dryden thinks this one of the firft of our author's plays; but, on the contrary, it may be judged from the forementioned preface, that it was one of his laft; and the great number of obfervations, both moral and politic, (with which this piece is crouded more than any other of his,) feems to confirm my opinion..

PROLOGUE.