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Sooth. The fingers of the Powres aboue, do tune The harmony of this Peace: the Vision Which I made knowne to Lucius ere the stroke Of yet this scarse-cold-Battaile, at this instant Is full accomplish'd. For the Romaine Eagle From South to West, on wing soaring aloft Lessen'd her selfe, and in the Beames o'th' Sun So vanish'd; which fore-shew'd our Princely Eagle Th' Imperiall Caesar, should againe vnite His Fauour, with the Radiant Cymbeline, Which shines heere in the West