It was wise nature's end in the donation, Cym, O, what am I A mother to the birth of three? Ne'er mother Imo. No, my lord ; I have got two worlds by't -O my gentle brother, Cym. Did you e'er meet? Aro. Ay, my good lord. Gui. And at first meeting lov'd; Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd. When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgment Distinction should be rich in.-Where? how liv'd you ? I know not how much more, should be demanded; From chance to chance; but nor the time, nor place, Posthúmus anchors upon Imogen; See, And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye Thou art my brother; So we'll hold thee ever. [To BEL. [4] Fierce--is vehement, rapid. JOHNSON. [5] Which ought to be rendered distinct by a liberal amplitude of narrative. STEEVENS. [6] That is, though strangely expressed, the motives of you three for engaging in the battle. So, in Romeo and Juliet, "both our remedies" means, the remedy for us both. M. MASON. To see this gracious season. Cym. All o'er-joy'd, Save these in bonds; let them be joyful too, Imo. My good master, I will yet do you service. Luc. Happy be you! Cym. The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, He would have well becom❜d this place, and grac'd The thankings of a king. Post. 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, Iach. I am down again : But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, [Kneeling. As then your force did. Take that life, 'beseech you, And here the bracelet of the truest princess, Post. Kneel not to me; The power that I have on you, is to spare you; Cym. Nobly doom'd : We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law ; Pardon's the word to all. As Arv. You holp us, sir, you did mean indeed to be our brother Joy'd are we, that you are. Post. Your servant, princes.-Good my lord of Rome, Call forth your soothsayer: As I slept, methought, Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back, Appear'd to me, with other spritely shows Of mine own kindred: when I wak'd, I found This label on my bosom; whose containing [7] A collection is a corollary, a consequence deduced from the premises, Whose containing, means, the contents of which. VOL. IX. STEEVENS. 1 2 Sooth. Here, my good lord. Luc. Read, and declare the meaning. Sooth. [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, The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, [To Cyм. Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp'd about Cym. This hath some seeming. Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, Personates thee: and thy lopp'd branches point Thy two sons forth: who, by Belarius stolen, For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd, To the majestic cedar join'd; whose issue Promises Britain peace and plenty.. Cym. Well, My peace we will begin :--and, Caius Lucius, To pay our wonted tribute, from the which Whom heavens, in justice, (both on her, and hers,) Have laid most 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 stroke Of this yet scarce-cold battle, at this instant : His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, Which shines here in the west. Cym. Laud we the gods; And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils Friendly together: so through Lud's town march. Our peace we'll ratify; seal it with feasts.- Ere bloody hands were wash'd, with such a peace. [Exeunt. [See page 172, note 7.] A SONG, Sung by GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS, over FIDELE, supposed to be dead. BY MR. WILLIAM COLLINS. To fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids, and village hinds, shall bring And rifle all the breathing spring. No wailing ghost shall dare appear To vex with shrieks this quiet grove; But shepherd lads assemble here, And melting virgins own their love. No wither'd witch shall here be seen, The red-breast oft at evening hours With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers, The tender thought on thee shall dwell. Each lonely scene shall thee restore; ACT V |