SCENE V. Cymbeline's tent. Cymbeline  Shakespeare homepage  |  Cymbeline  | Act 5, Scene 5 

 Previous scene  SCENE V. Cymbeline's tent. 

 Enter CYMBELINE, BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, ARVIRAGUS, PISANIO, Lords, Officers, and Attendants  CYMBELINE  Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made 

 Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart 

 That the poor soldier that so richly fought, 

 Whose rags shamed gilded arms, whose naked breast 

 Stepp'd before larges of proof, cannot be found: 

 He shall be happy that can find him, if 

 Our grace can make him so. 

 BELARIUS  I never saw 

 Such noble fury in so poor a thing; 

 Such precious deeds in one that promises nought 

 But beggary and poor looks. 

 CYMBELINE  No tidings of him? 

 PISANIO  He hath been search'd among the dead and living, 

 But no trace of him. 

 CYMBELINE  To my grief, I am 

 The heir of his reward; 



 To BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, and ARVIRAGUS  which I will add 

 To you, the liver, heart and brain of Britain, 

 By whom I grant she lives. 'Tis now the time 

 To ask of whence you are. Report it. 

 BELARIUS  Sir, 

 In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen: 

 Further to boast were neither true nor modest, 

 Unless I add, we are honest. 

 CYMBELINE  Bow your knees. 

 Arise my knights o' the battle: I create you 

 Companions to our person and will fit you 

 With dignities becoming your estates. 



 Enter CORNELIUS and Ladies  There's business in these faces. Why so sadly 

 Greet you our victory? you look like Romans, 

 And not o' the court of Britain. 

 CORNELIUS  Hail, great king! 

 To sour your happiness, I must report 

 The queen is dead. 

 CYMBELINE  Who worse than a physician 

 Would this report become? But I consider, 

 By medicine life may be prolong'd, yet death 

 Will seize the doctor too. How ended she? 

 CORNELIUS  With horror, madly dying, like her life, 

 Which, being cruel to the world, concluded 

 Most cruel to herself. What she confess'd 

 I will report, so please you: these her women 

 Can trip me, if I err; who with wet cheeks 

 Were present when she finish'd. 

 CYMBELINE  Prithee, say. 

 CORNELIUS  First, she confess'd she never loved you, only 

 Affected greatness got by you, not you: 

 Married your royalty, was wife to your place; 

 Abhorr'd your person. 

 CYMBELINE  She alone knew this; 

 And, but she spoke it dying, I would not 

 Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. 

 CORNELIUS  Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love 

 With such integrity, she did confess 

 Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life, 

 But that her flight prevented it, she had 

 Ta'en off by poison. 

 CYMBELINE  O most delicate fiend! 

 Who is 't can read a woman? Is there more? 

 CORNELIUS  More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had 

 For you a mortal mineral; which, being took, 

 Should by the minute feed on life and lingering 

 By inches waste you: in which time she purposed, 

 By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to 

 O'ercome you with her show, and in time, 

 When she had fitted you with her craft, to work 

 Her son into the adoption of the crown: 

 But, failing of her end by his strange absence, 

 Grew shameless-desperate; open'd, in despite 

 Of heaven and men, her purposes; repented 

 The evils she hatch'd were not effected; so 

 Despairing died. 

 CYMBELINE  Heard you all this, her women? 

 First Lady  We did, so please your highness. 

 CYMBELINE  Mine eyes 

 Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; 

 Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart, 

 That thought her like her seeming; it had 

 been vicious 

 To have mistrusted her: yet, O my daughter! 

 That it was folly in me, thou mayst say, 

 And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all! 



 Enter LUCIUS, IACHIMO, the Soothsayer, and other  Roman Prisoners, guarded; POSTHUMUS LEONATUS behind, and IMOGEN  Thou comest not, Caius, now for tribute that 

 The Britons have razed out, though with the loss 

 Of many a bold one; whose kinsmen have made suit 

 That their good souls may be appeased with slaughter 

 Of you their captives, which ourself have granted: 

 So think of your estate. 

 CAIUS LUCIUS  Consider, sir, the chance of war: the day 

 Was yours by accident; had it gone with us, 

 We should not, when the blood was cool, 

 have threaten'd 

 Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods 

 Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives 

 May be call'd ransom, let it come: sufficeth 

 A Roman with a Roman's heart can suffer: 

 Augustus lives to think on't: and so much 

 For my peculiar care. This one thing only 

 I will entreat; my boy, a Briton born, 

 Let him be ransom'd: never master had 

 A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, 

 So tender over his occasions, true, 

 So feat, so nurse-like: let his virtue join 

 With my request, which I make bold your highness 

 Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm, 

 Though he have served a Roman: save him, sir, 

 And spare no blood beside. 

 CYMBELINE  I have surely seen him: 

 His favour is familiar to me. Boy, 

 Thou hast look'd thyself into my grace, 

 And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore, 

 To say 'live, boy:' ne'er thank thy master; live: 

 And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt, 

 Fitting my bounty and thy state, I'll give it; 

 Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner, 

 The noblest ta'en. 

 IMOGEN  I humbly thank your highness. 

 CAIUS LUCIUS  I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad; 

 And yet I know thou wilt. 

 IMOGEN  No, no: alack, 

 There's other work in hand: I see a thing 

 Bitter to me as death: your life, good master, 

 Must shuffle for itself. 

 CAIUS LUCIUS  The boy disdains me, 

 He leaves me, scorns me: briefly die their joys 

 That place them on the truth of girls and boys. 

 Why stands he so perplex'd? 

 CYMBELINE  What wouldst thou, boy? 

 I love thee more and more: think more and more 

 What's best to ask. Know'st him thou look'st on? speak, 

 Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend? 

 IMOGEN  He is a Roman; no more kin to me 

 Than I to your highness; who, being born your vassal, 

 Am something nearer. 

 CYMBELINE  Wherefore eyest him so? 

 IMOGEN  I'll tell you, sir, in private, if you please 

 To give me hearing. 

 CYMBELINE  Ay, with all my heart, 

 And lend my best attention. What's thy name? 

 IMOGEN  Fidele, sir. 

 CYMBELINE  Thou'rt my good youth, my page; 

 I'll be thy master: walk with me; speak freely. 



 CYMBELINE and IMOGEN converse apart  BELARIUS  Is not this boy revived from death? 

 ARVIRAGUS  One sand another 

 Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad 

 Who died, and was Fidele. What think you? 

 GUIDERIUS  The same dead thing alive. 

 BELARIUS  Peace, peace! see further; he eyes us not; forbear; 

 Creatures may be alike: were 't he, I am sure 

 He would have spoke to us. 

 GUIDERIUS  But we saw him dead. 

 BELARIUS  Be silent; let's see further. 

 PISANIO  [Aside]	It is my mistress: 

 Since she is living, let the time run on 

 To good or bad. 



 CYMBELINE and IMOGEN come forward  CYMBELINE  Come, stand thou by our side; 

 Make thy demand aloud. 



 To IACHIMO  Sir, step you forth; 

 Give answer to this boy, and do it freely; 

 Or, by our greatness and the grace of it, 

 Which is our honour, bitter torture shall 

 Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him. 

 IMOGEN  My boon is, that this gentleman may render 

 Of whom he had this ring. 

 POSTHUMUS LEONATUS  [Aside]                 What's that to him? 

 CYMBELINE  That diamond upon your finger, say 

 How came it yours? 

 IACHIMO  Thou'lt torture me to leave unspoken that 

 Which, to be spoke, would torture thee. 

 CYMBELINE  How! me? 

 IACHIMO  I am glad to be constrain'd to utter that 

 Which torments me to conceal. By villany 

 I got this ring: 'twas Leonatus' jewel; 

 Whom thou didst banish; and--which more may 

 grieve thee, 

 As it doth me--a nobler sir ne'er lived 

 'Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord? 

 CYMBELINE  All that belongs to this. 

 IACHIMO  That paragon, thy daughter,-- 

 For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits 

 Quail to remember--Give me leave; I faint. 

 CYMBELINE  My daughter! what of her? Renew thy strength: 

 I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will 

 Than die ere I hear more: strive, man, and speak. 

 IACHIMO  Upon a time,--unhappy was the clock 

 That struck the hour!--it was in Rome,--accursed 

 The mansion where!--'twas at a feast,--O, would 

 Our viands had been poison'd, or at least 

 Those which I heaved to head!--the good Posthumus-- 

 What should I say? he was too good to be 

 Where ill men were; and was the best of all 

 Amongst the rarest of good ones,--sitting sadly, 

 Hearing us praise our loves of Italy 

 For beauty that made barren the swell'd boast 

 Of him that best could speak, for feature, laming 

 The shrine of Venus, or straight-pight Minerva. 

 Postures beyond brief nature, for condition, 

 A shop of all the qualities that man 

 Loves woman for, besides that hook of wiving, 

 Fairness which strikes the eye-- 

 CYMBELINE  I stand on fire: 

 Come to the matter. 

 IACHIMO  All too soon I shall, 

 Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus, 

 Most like a noble lord in love and one 

 That had a royal lover, took his hint; 

 And, not dispraising whom we praised,--therein 

 He was as calm as virtue--he began 

 His mistress' picture; which by his tongue 

 being made, 

 And then a mind put in't, either our brags 

 Were crack'd of kitchen-trolls, or his description 

 Proved us unspeaking sots. 

 CYMBELINE  Nay, nay, to the purpose. 

 IACHIMO  Your daughter's chastity--there it begins. 

 He spake of her, as Dian had hot dreams, 

 And she alone were cold: whereat I, wretch, 

 Made scruple of his praise; and wager'd with him 

 Pieces of gold 'gainst this which then he wore 

 Upon his honour'd finger, to attain 

 In suit the place of's bed and win this ring 

 By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight, 

 No lesser of her honour confident 

 Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; 

 And would so, had it been a carbuncle 

 Of Phoebus' wheel, and might so safely, had it 

 Been all the worth of's car. Away to Britain 

 Post I in this design: well may you, sir, 

 Remember me at court; where I was taught 

 Of your chaste daughter the wide difference 

 'Twixt amorous and villanous. Being thus quench'd 

 Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain 

 'Gan in your duller Britain operate 

 Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent: 

 And, to be brief, my practise so prevail'd, 

 That I return'd with simular proof enough 

 To make the noble Leonatus mad, 

 By wounding his belief in her renown 

 With tokens thus, and thus; averting notes 

 Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet,-- 

 O cunning, how I got it!--nay, some marks 

 Of secret on her person, that he could not 

 But think her bond of chastity quite crack'd, 

 I having ta'en the forfeit. Whereupon-- 

 Methinks, I see him now-- 

 POSTHUMUS LEONATUS  [Advancing]             Ay, so thou dost, 

 Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool, 

 Egregious murderer, thief, any thing 

 That's due to all the villains past, in being, 

 To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison, 

 Some upright justicer! Thou, king, send out 

 For torturers ingenious: it is I 

 That all the abhorred things o' the earth amend 

 By being worse than they. I am Posthumus, 

 That kill'd thy daughter:--villain-like, I lie-- 

 That caused a lesser villain than myself, 

 A sacrilegious thief, to do't: the temple 

 Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself. 

 Spit, and throw stone s, cast mire upon me, set 

 The dogs o' the street to bay me: every villain 

 Be call'd Posthumus Leonitus; and 

 Be villany less than 'twas! O Imogen! 

 My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen, 

 Imogen, Imogen! 

 IMOGEN  Peace, my lord; hear, hear-- 

 POSTHUMUS LEONATUS  Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page, 

 There lie thy part. 



 Striking her: she falls  PISANIO  O, gentlemen, help! 

 Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus! 

 You ne'er kill'd Imogen til now. Help, help! 

 Mine honour'd lady! 

 CYMBELINE  Does the world go round? 

 POSTHUMUS LEONATUS  How come these staggers on me? 

 PISANIO  Wake, my mistress! 

 CYMBELINE  If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me 

 To death with mortal joy. 

 PISANIO  How fares thy mistress? 

 IMOGEN  O, get thee from my sight; 

 Thou gavest me poison: dangerous fellow, hence! 

 Breathe not where princes are. 

 CYMBELINE  The tune of Imogen! 

 PISANIO  Lady, 

 The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if 

 That box I gave you was not thought by me 

 A precious thing: I had it from the queen. 

 CYMBELINE  New matter still? 

 IMOGEN  It poison'd me. 

 CORNELIUS  O gods! 

 I left out one thing which the queen confess'd. 

 Which must approve thee honest: 'If Pisanio 

 Have,' said she, 'given his mistress that confection 

 Which I gave him for cordial, she is served 

 As I would serve a rat.' 

 CYMBELINE  What's this, Comelius? 

 CORNELIUS  The queen, sir, very oft importuned me 

 To temper poisons for her, still pretending 

 The satisfaction of her knowledge only 

 In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs, 

 Of no esteem: I, dreading that her purpose 

 Was of more danger, did compound for her 

 A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease 

 The present power of life, but in short time 

 All offices of nature should again 

 Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it? 

 IMOGEN  Most like I did, for I was dead. 

 BELARIUS  My boys, 

 There was our error. 

 GUIDERIUS  This is, sure, Fidele. 

 IMOGEN  Why did you throw your wedded lady from you? 

 Think that you are upon a rock; and now 

 Throw me again. 



 Embracing him  POSTHUMUS LEONATUS  Hang there like a fruit, my soul, 

 Till the tree die! 

 CYMBELINE  How now, my flesh, my child! 

 What, makest thou me a dullard in this act? 

 Wilt thou not speak to me? 

 IMOGEN  [Kneeling]               Your blessing, sir. 

 BELARIUS  [To GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS]  Though you did love 

 this youth, I blame ye not: 

 You had a motive for't. 

 CYMBELINE  My tears that fall 

 Prove holy water on thee! Imogen, 

 Thy mother's dead. 

 IMOGEN  I am sorry for't, my lord. 

 CYMBELINE  O, she was nought; and long of her it was 

 That we meet here so strangely: but her son 

 Is gone, we know not how nor where. 

 PISANIO  My lord, 

 Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten, 

 Upon my lady's missing, came to me 

 With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and swore, 

 If I discover'd not which way she was gone, 

 It was my instant death. By accident, 

 had a feigned letter of my master's 

 Then in my pocket; which directed him 

 To seek her on the mountains near to Milford; 

 Where, in a frenzy, in my master's garments, 

 Which he enforced from me, away he posts 

 With unchaste purpose and with oath to violate 

 My lady's honour: what became of him 

 I further know not. 

 GUIDERIUS  Let me end the story: 

 I slew him there. 

 CYMBELINE  Marry, the gods forfend! 

 I would not thy good deeds should from my lips 

 Pluck a bard sentence: prithee, valiant youth, 

 Deny't again. 

 GUIDERIUS  I have spoke it, and I did it. 

 CYMBELINE  He was a prince. 

 GUIDERIUS  A most incivil one: the wrongs he did me 

 Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me 

 With language that would make me spurn the sea, 

 If it could so roar to me: I cut off's head; 

 And am right glad he is not standing here 

 To tell this tale of mine. 

 CYMBELINE  I am sorry for thee: 

 By thine own tongue thou art condemn'd, and must 

 Endure our law: thou'rt dead. 

 IMOGEN  That headless man 

 I thought had been my lord. 

 CYMBELINE  Bind the offender, 

 And take him from our presence. 

 BELARIUS  Stay, sir king: 

 This man is better than the man he slew, 

 As well descended as thyself; and hath 

 More of thee merited than a band of Clotens 

 Had ever scar for. 



 To the Guard  Let his arms alone; 

 They were not born for bondage. 

 CYMBELINE  Why, old soldier, 

 Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for, 

 By tasting of our wrath? How of descent 

 As good as we? 

 ARVIRAGUS  In that he spake too far. 

 CYMBELINE  And thou shalt die for't. 

 BELARIUS  We will die all three: 

 But I will prove that two on's are as good 

 As I have given out him. My sons, I must, 

 For mine own part, unfold a dangerous speech, 

 Though, haply, well for you. 

 ARVIRAGUS  Your danger's ours. 

 GUIDERIUS  And our good his. 

 BELARIUS  Have at it then, by leave. 

 Thou hadst, great king, a subject who 

 Was call'd Belarius. 

 CYMBELINE  What of him? he is 

 A banish'd traitor. 

 BELARIUS  He it is that hath 

 Assumed this age; indeed a banish'd man; 

 I know not how a traitor. 

 CYMBELINE  Take him hence: 

 The whole world shall not save him. 

 BELARIUS  Not too hot: 

 First pay me for the nursing of thy sons; 

 And let it be confiscate all, so soon 

 As I have received it. 

 CYMBELINE  Nursing of my sons! 

 BELARIUS  I am too blunt and saucy: here's my knee: 

 Ere I arise, I will prefer my sons; 

 Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir, 

 These two young gentlemen, that call me father 

 And think they are my sons, are none of mine; 

 They are the issue of your loins, my liege, 

 And blood of your begetting. 

 CYMBELINE  How! my issue! 

 BELARIUS  So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan, 

 Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish'd: 

 Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment 

 Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer'd 

 Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes-- 

 For such and so they are--these twenty years 

 Have I train'd up: those arts they have as I 

 Could put into them; my breeding was, sir, as 

 Your highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile, 

 Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children 

 Upon my banishment: I moved her to't, 

 Having received the punishment before, 

 For that which I did then: beaten for loyalty 

 Excited me to treason: their dear loss, 

 The more of you 'twas felt, the more it shaped 

 Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir, 

 Here are your sons again; and I must lose 

 Two of the sweet'st companions in the world. 

 The benediction of these covering heavens 

 Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy 

 To inlay heaven with stars. 

 CYMBELINE  Thou weep'st, and speak'st. 

 The service that you three have done is more 

 Unlike than this thou tell'st. I lost my children: 

 If these be they, I know not how to wish 

 A pair of worthier sons. 

 BELARIUS  Be pleased awhile. 

 This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, 

 Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius: 

 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 I 

 A 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. 



 Exeunt 