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 pow’r 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.