injured.

And now a great battle commenced between the two armies, and the
Britons would have been defeated, and Cymbeline himself killed, but
for the extraordinary valour of Posthumus, and Bellarius, and the two
sons of Cymbeline. They rescued the king, and saved his life, and so
entirely turned the fortune of the day, that the Britons gained the
victory.

When the battle was over, Posthumus, who had not found the death
he sought for, surrendered himself up to one of the officers of
Cymbeline, willing to suffer the death which was to be his punishment
if he returned from banishment.

Imogen and the master she served were taken prisoners, and brought
before Cymbeline, as was also her old enemy Iachimo, who was an
officer in the Roman army; and when these prisoners were before the
king, Posthumus was brought in to receive his sentence of death; and
at this strange juncture of time, Bellarius with Polidore and Cadwal
were also brought before Cymbeline, to receive the rewards due to the
great services they had by their valour done for the king. Pisanio,
being one of the king's attendants, was likewise present.

Therefore there were now standing in the king's presence (but with
very different hopes and fears) Posthumus, and Imogen, with her new
master the Roman general; the faithful servant Pisanio, and the false
friend Iachimo; and likewise the two lost sons of Cymbeline, with
Bellarius who had stolen them away.

The Roman general was the first who spoke; the rest stood silent
before the king, though there was many a beating heart amongst them.

Imogen saw Posthumus and knew him, though he was in the disguise of
a peasant; but he did not know her in her male attire: and she knew
Iachimo, and she saw a ring on his finger which she perceived to be
her own, but she did not know him as yet to have been the author of
all her troubles: and she stood before her own father a prisoner of
war.

Pisanio knew Imogen, for it was he who had dressed her in the garb of
a boy. "It is my mistress," thought he; "since she is living, let the
time run on to good or bad." Bellarius knew her too, and softly said
to Cadwal, "Is not this boy revived from death?" "One sand," replied
Cadwal, "does not more resemble another than that sweet rosy lad is
like the dead Fidele." "The same dead thing alive," said Polidore.
"Peace, peace," said Bellarius; "if it were he, I am sure he would
have spoken to us." "But we saw him dead," again whispered