When once he was mature for man,
In Britain where was he
That could stand up his parallel;
In eye of Imogen, that best
Could deem his dignity?
With marriage wherefore was he mock'd,
To be exiled, and thrown
From Leonati seat, and cast
his dearest one,
Why did you suffer Iachimo,
Slight thing of Italy,
To taint his nobler heart and brain
With needless jealosy;
to become the geck and scorn
O' th' other's villany?
For this from stiller seats we came,
Our parents and us twain,
That striking in our country's cause
bravely and were slain,
Our fealty and Tenantius' right
With honour to maintain.
Like hardiment Posthumus hath
To Cymbeline perform'd:
Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods,
Why hast thou
The graces for his merits due,
Being all to dolours turn'd?
Thy crystal window ope; look out;
No longer exercise
Upon a valiant race thy harsh
And potent injuries.
Since, Jupiter, our son is good,
Take off his miseries.
Peep through thy marble mansion; help;
Or we poor ghosts will cry
To the shining synod of the rest
| Help, Jupiter; or we appeal,
| And from thy justice fly.
Second Brother, Second Brother
Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle: he throws a thunderbolt. The Apparitions
fall on their knees
No more, you petty spirits of region low,
Offend our hearing; hush! How dare you ghosts
Accuse the thunderer,
whose bolt, you know,
Sky-planted batters all rebelling coasts?
Poor shadows of Elysium, hence, and
Upon your never-withering banks of flowers:
Be not with mortal accidents opprest;
No care of yours it
is; you know 'tis ours.
Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift,
The more delay'd, delighted. Be content;
low-laid son our godhead will uplift:
His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent.
Our Jovial star reign'd at
his birth, and in
Our temple was he married. Rise, and fade.
He shall be lord of lady Imogen,
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