University of Virginia Library

SCENE XII.

Drums and Trumpets. Enter Cymbeline, Bellarius, &c.
Cymb.
A Briton, art thou?

Bell.
Yes, so please my liege;
A Cambro-Briton, and my name Bellarius—
Unworthy further note.

Cymb.
Whoe'er thou art,
Henceforth, my friend and brother, share my power
And bosom confidence.

Bell.
You far o'er rate
My scantiness of merit.

Cymb.
No—thy works
Proclaim thy worth aloud—and I have found
Thy friendship in the rescue which thou brought'st me
From the strong gripe of Rome. A friend as thou art,
Is the best gift of Heaven, a second self!—
Receive me, then—I fly into thine arms
From bosom'd treasons, which I fondly cherish'd
In the curs'd venture of a second bed.
[Embrace.
Did ye not say, that my victorious son,
My Leonatus was at hand?

1st Lord.
We did.
Even now, we all beheld, when, in the instant
That conquest was assured, he vanish'd.

Cymb.
Yes—I knew, I knew,
It was some god—'twas Victory, herself,
That took his glorious likeness—I beheld him
As lightning from the east—he shot upon them—
I saw their firmest phalanx shake, throughout,
And wither at his presence.

Bell.
Some few hours
Before the battle, he became my guest.
I held him, first, for somewhat more than mortal;
And, as he spoke, I felt, I know not what
Of force and fond emotion, stir me inward,
And knit my soul to his.

Cymb.
Prepare we, then,
One hundred of the noblest Roman captives
To be, with grateful incense, offer'd up
On the triumphant altar of Andate—
So shall her force our future arms await;
And, with like favour, guard the British state.

[Exeunt.