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    Act 5, Scene V

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    Chapter 27
    Previous Chapter
    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
    Chapter 27
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