« ПретходнаНастави »
For that which I did then : Beaten for loyalty
Thou weep'st, and speak'st.
Be pleas'd a-while This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius: This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arvirágus, Your
younger princely son; he, sir, was lappd
This is he;
O, what am I
That, after this strange starting from your orbs,
No, my lord;
And at first meeting lov'd; Continued so, until we thought he died.
Cor. By the queen's dram she swallow'd.
O rare instinct! When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridge
Hath to it circumstantial branches, which Distinction should be rich in.-Where? how liv'd
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-dependancies, From chance to chance; but nor the time, nor
place, Will serve our long intergatories. See, Posthumus anchors upon Imogen; And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye
On him, her brothers, me, her master; hitting
My good master,
Happy be you!
I am, sir,
I am down again:
[Kneeling But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, As then your force did. Take that life, ’beseech
Kneel not to me;
that I have on you, is to spare you;
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
Read, and declare the meaning. Sooth. [Reads.] When as a lion's whelp shall, to himself unknown, without seeking, find, and be embruced 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 poiut 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