Cymbeline by William Shakespeare (me reader .TXT) 📖

/> 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.

LUCIUS.
Happy be you!

CYMBELINE.
The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought,
He would have well becom'd this place, and grac'd
The thankings of a king.

POSTHUMUS.
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.
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.
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 wak'd, 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.

LUCIUS.
Philarmonus!

SOOTHSAYER.
Here, my good lord.

LUCIUS.
Read, and declare the meaning.

SOOTHSAYER.

[Reads.]

"Whenas a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without
seeking find, and be embrac'd by a piece of tender air; and
when from a stately cedar shall be lopp'd 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 leo-natus, 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 stolen,
For many years thought dead, are now reviv'd,
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 yet this 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 bless'd 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.

[The End.]
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Publication Date: 05-22-2008

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