And the, 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

A

And fmoak the temple with our facrifices.netnow to vầy
Thou art my brother, fo we'll hold thee ever. [To Bellarius,
Imo. You are my father too, and did relieve me,
To fee this gracious season.

Cym. All o'er-joy'd,

Save these in bonds: let them be

For they fhall tafte our comfort.

Imo. My good master,

I will yet do you service.
Luc. Happy be you!

joyful too,

J

Cym. The forlorn foldier that fo nobly fought, He would have well becom❜d this place, and grac'd 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, Iachimo, I had you down, and might
Have made your finish.

Tach. I am down again :

H

But now my heavy confcience finks my knee,
aadKneels,
As then your force did. Take that life, 'befeech you,
Which I so often owe: but your ring first, og b
And here your bracelet of the trueft Princess is
That ever fwore her faith,

Poft. Kneel not to me:

T

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-laws

As you did mean indeed to be our brother a

Joy'd are we, that you are.

Poft. Your fervant, Princes.

Cym. By 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 juftices (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

Poft Your fervant, Princes.

Good my Lord of Rome,

Call forth your Soob ayer: as I flept, methought
Great Jupiter upon his eagle back'd

Appear'd to me,

Of mine own kidhen I wak'd I found
for ghtly fhews
This label on my bofom whole 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.

[Reads.]

.

When as a lion's whelp fall, to himself unknown, without feeking find, and be embrac'd by a piece of tender air; and when from a flately cedar fhall be lopt branches, which being dead many years, hall after revive, be jointed to the old frock, and freshly grow, then fball Pofthumus end bis miferies, Britain 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:

A

1 W

The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, [T 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
Anfwering the letter of the oracle,

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

Cym. This ha h fome feeming.

Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
Perfonates thee; and thy lopt branches point
Thy two fons forth: who by Bellarius ftol'n,
For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd,
To the majeftick cedar join'd; whofe iffue
Promifes Britain peace and plenty
Cym. By peace we will begin: r.

T

ཞེས་

Which I made known to Lucius ere the ftroke
Of this yet fcarce-cold battel, at this inftant
Is full accomplish'd. For the Roman eagle
From fouth to weft on wing foaring aloft
Leffen'd her felf, and in the beams o' th' fun
So vanish'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 bleft 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 ratifie, Seal it with feafts.
Set on there: Never was a war did ceafe,
Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with fuch a peace.

[Exeunt omnes,

The End of the EIGHTH VOLUME.