The malice towards you, to forgive you: Live
And deal with others better.

Сут.

Nobly doom'd:

We'll learn our freeness of a son-in-law;

Pardon's the word to all.

Arv.

You holp us, sir,

As 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'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.

Luc.

Sooth. Here, my good lord.
Luc.

Philarmonus, -

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 Leo-natus, doth import so much :
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 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.

Сут.

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 majestick cedar join'd; whose issue

Promises Britain peace and plenty.

Cym.

Well,

My peace we will begin *:-And, Caius Lucius,

Although the victor, we submit to Cæsar,

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.

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
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 fore-show'd our princely eagle,
The imperial Cæsar, should again unite
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 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.

[Exeunt.

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

Each opening swect, of earliest bloom,

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,
No goblins lead their nightly crew:
The female fays shall haunt the green,
And dress thy grave with pearly dew.

The red-breast oft at evening hours
Shall kindly lend his little aid,
With hoary moss, and gather'd flowers,
To deck the ground where thou art laid.

When howling winds, and beating rain,

In tempests shake the sylvan cell;

Or midst the chace on every plain,

The tender thought on thee shall dwell,

Each lonely scene shall thee restore;
For thee the tear be duly shed:
Belov'd, till life could charm no more;
And mourn'd till pity's self be dead,

ΑΝΝΟΤΑTIONS

UPON

CYMBELINE.

1

You do not meet a man, but frowns: our bloods No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers;

Still seem, as does the king's.] The thought is this: we are not now (as we were wont) influenced by the weather, but by the king's looks. We no more obey the heavens [the sky] than our courtiers obey the heavens [God]. By which it appears that the reading -our bloods, is wrong. For though the blood may be affected with the weather, yet that affection is discovered not by change of colour, but by change of countenance. And it is the outward not the inward change that is here talked of, as appears from the word seem.

We should read therefore:

our brows

No more obey the heavens, &c.

which is evident from the precedent words:

You do not meet a man but frowns.

And from the following:

"Altho' they wear their faces to the bent