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Soothsayer reads. Wben as a lion's whelp fall, to bimself unknown, with. out seeking find, and be embrac'd by a piece of tender air ; and when from a stately cedar Mall be lopt branches, which, being dead many years, fall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then fall Pofbumus end bis 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; (To Poft.] who, even now, Answering the letter of the oracle, Unknown to you, unsought, were clip'd about With this most tender air.
Cym. This hath some seeming.
Sooth. The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline,
pay our wonted tribute, from the which
On whom heaven's justice, (both on her, and hers)
Sooth. The fingers of the powers above do tune
Cym. Laud we the gods ;
Sung by Guiderius and Arviragus over Fidele, supposed
to be dead.
Soft maids, and village binds shall bring
To vex with sprieks this quiet grove :
No goblins lead their nightly crew :
And dress tby grave with pearly dew,
The red-breast oft at ev’ning hours
Shall kindly lend bis litýle aid,
In tempefts fake the sylvan cell ;
For thee the tear be duly shed:
And mourn'd, 'till pity's self be dead.