This play, throughout, is written in the very spirit of its author.
And in telling this homely and simple, though agreeable, country
tale,
“Our sweetest Shakspeare, fancy's child,
“Warbles his native wood-notes wild.”
This was necessary to observe in mere justice to the play; as
the meanness of the fable, and the extravagant conduct of it, had
misled some of great name into a wrong judgment of its merit;
which, as far as it regards sentiment and character, is scarce inferior
to any in the whole collection.
Warburton.
At Stationers' Hall, May 22, 1594, Edward White entered
“A booke entitled A Wynter Nyght's Pastime.”
Steevens.
The story of this play is taken from The Pleasant History of
Dorastus and Fawnia, written by Robert Greene.
Johnson.
In this novel, the King of Sicilia, whom Shakspeare names
Leontes, is called Egistus.Polixenes K. of Bohemia, is called PandostoMamillius P. of Sicilia, is called Garinter.Florizel P. of Bohemia, is called Dorastus.Camillo, is called Franion.Old Shepherd, is called Porrus.Hermione, is called Bellaria.Perdita, is called Faunia.Mopsa, is called Mopsa.
The parts of Antigonus, Paulina, and Autolycus, are of the
poet's own invention; but many circumstances of the novel are
omitted in the play.
Steevens.
Dr. Warburton, by “some of great name,” means Dryden
and Pope. See the Essay at the end of the second Part of The
Conquest of Granada: “Witness the lameness of their plots;
[the plots of Shakspeare and Fletcher;] many of which, especially
those which they wrote first, (for even that age refined itself
in some measure,) were made up of some ridiculous incoherent
story, which in one play many times took up the business of an
age. I suppose I need not name, Pericles, Prince of Tyre, [and
here, by-the-by, Dryden expressly names Pericles as our author's
production,] nor the historical plays of Shakspeare; besides
many of the rest, as The Winter's Tale, Love's Labour's Lost,
Measure for Measure, which were either grounded on impossibilities,
or at least so meanly written, that the comedy neither
caused your mirth, nor the serious part your concernment.” Mr.
-- 233 --
Pope, in the Preface to the edition of our author's plays, pronounced
the same ill-considered judgment on the play before us:
“I should conjecture (says he,) of some of the others, particularly
Love's Labour's Lost, The Winter's Tale, Comedy of
Errors, and Titus Andronicus, that only some characters, single
scenes, or perhaps a few particular passages, were of his hand.”
None of our author's plays has been more censured for the
breach of dramatick rules than The Winter's Tale. In confirmation
of what Mr. Steevens has remarked in another place—
“that Shakspeare was not ignorant of these rules, but disregarded
them,”—it may be observed, that the laws of the drama
are clearly laid down by a writer once universally read and admired,
Sir Philip Sidney, who, in his Defence of Poesy, 1595,
has pointed out the very improprieties into which our author has
fallen in this play. After mentioning the defects of the tragedy
of Gorboduc, he adds: “But if it be so in Gorboducke, how
much more in all the rest, where you shall have Asia of the one
side, and Affricke of the other, and so manie other under kingdomes,
that the player when he comes in, must ever begin with
telling where he is, or else the tale will not be conceived.—Now
of time they are much more liberal. For ordinarie it is, that
two young princes fall in love, after many traverses she is got
with childe, delivered of a faire boy: he is lost, groweth a man,
falleth in love, and is readie to get another childe, and all this in
two houres space: which how absurd it is in sence, even sence
may imagine.”
The Winter's Tale is sneered at by B. Jonson, in the Induction
to Bartholomew Fair, 1614: “If there be never a servant-monster
in the fair, who can help it, nor a nest of antiques?
[i. e. anticks]. He is loth to make nature afraid in his plays,
like those that beget Tales, Tempests, and such like drolleries.”
By the nest of antiques, the twelve satyrs who are introduced at
the sheep-shearing festival, are alluded to.—In his conversation
with Mr. Drummond of Hawthornden, in 1619, he has another
stroke at his beloved friend: “He [Jonson] said, that Shakspeare
wanted art, and sometimes sense; for in one of his plays he
brought in a number of men, saying they had suffered shipwreck
in Bohemia, where is no sea near by 100 miles.” Drummond's
Works, fol. 225, edit. 1711.
When this remark was made by Ben Jonson, The Winter's
Tale was not printed. These words, therefore, are a sufficient
answer to Sir T. Hanmer's supposition that Bohemia was an error
of the press for Bythinia.
This play, I imagine, was written in the year 1611. See An
Attempt to ascertain the Order of Shakspeare's Plays. vol. ii.
Malone.
Sir Thomas Hanmer gave himself much needless concern that
Shakspeare should consider Bohemia as a maritime country. He
-- 234 --
would have us read Bythinia: but our author implicitly copied
the novel before him. Dr. Grey, indeed, was apt to believe that
Dorastus and Faunia might rather be borrowed from the play;
but I have met with a copy of it, which was printed in 1588.—
Cervantes ridicules these geographical mistakes, when he makes
the princess Micomicona land at Ossuna.—Corporal Trim's king
of Bohemia “delighted in navigation, and had never a sea-port
in his dominions;” and my Lord Herbert tells us, that De
Luines, the prime minister of France, when he was embassador
there, demanded, whether Bohemia was an inland country, or
lay “upon the sea?”—There is a similar mistake in The Two
Gentlemen of Verona, relative to that city and Milan.
Farmer.
The Winter's Tale may be ranked among the historic plays of
Shakspeare, though not one of his numerous criticks and commentators
have discovered the drift of it. It was certainly intended
(in compliment to Queen Elizabeth,) as an indirect apology
for her mother, Anne Boleyn. The address of the poet appears
no where to more advantage. The subject was too delicate
to be exhibited on the stage without a veil; and it was too
recent, and touched the Queen too nearly, for the bard to have
ventured so home an allusion on any other ground than compliment.
The unreasonable jealousy of Leontes, and his violent conduct
in consequence, form a true portrait of Henry the Eighth,
who generally made the law the engine of his boisterous passions.
Not only the general plan of the story is most applicable, but several
passages are so marked, that they touch the real history
nearer than the fable. Hermione on her trial says:
“&lblank; for honour,
“'Tis a derivative from me to mine,
“And only that I stand for.”
This seems to be taken from the very letter of Anne Boleyn to
the King before her execution, where she pleads for the infant
Princess his daughter. Mamillius, the young Prince, an unnecessary
character, dies in his infancy; but it confirms the allusion,
as Queen Anne, before Elizabeth, bore a still-born son. But the
most striking passage, and which had nothing to do in the tragedy,
but as it pictured Elizabeth, is, where Paulina, describing
the new-born Princess, and her likeness to her father, says:
“She has the very trick of his frown.” There is one sentence
indeed so applicable, both to Elizabeth and her father, that I
should suspect the poet inserted it after her death. Paulina,
speaking of the child, tells the King:
“&lblank; 'Tis yours;
“And might we lay the old proverb to your charge,
“So like you tis the worse.”—
The Winter's tale was therefore in reality a second part of
Henry the Eighth.
Walpole.
I confess I am very sceptical as to these supposed allusions by
-- 235 --
Shakspeare to the history of his own time. If the plots of his
plays had been of his own invention, he might possibly have framed
them with a view of that kind; but this was unquestionably not the
case with the play before us; and if any one had intended a
courtly defence of Queen Elizabeth's mother, it must have been
Greene, and not Shakspeare. Garinter, the Manilius of our
poet, dies under the same circumstances, in the novel; nor is it,
as Mr. Walpole seemed to suppose, an unnecessary incident,
because it fulfils the declaration of the oracle, ‘that if the child
which was lost could not be found, the king would die without
an heir.’ To say that a child resembles her father is surely not so
uncommon a remark as to make it evident that it had reference
to a particular individual; nor is there any thing very courtly or
complimentary in Paulina's angry allusion to the old proverb.
Boswell.
-- 236 --
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
Leontes, King of Sicilia:
Mamillius, his Son.
Camillo, Sicilian Lord.
Antigonus, Sicilian Lord.
Cleomenes, Sicilian Lord.
Dion, Sicilian Lord.
Another Sicilian Lord.Rogero, a Sicilian Gentleman [Lord 2].
An Attendant on the young Prince Mamillius [Attendant 1]Officers of a Court of Judicature [Officer].Polixenes, King of Bohemia:
Florizel, his Son.
Archidamus, a Bohemian Lord.
A Mariner.Gaoler.An old Shepherd, reputed Father of Perdita:Clown, his Son.Servant to the old Shepherd.Autolycus, a Rogue.
Time, as Chorus.Hermione, Queen to Leontes.
Perdita, Daughter to Leontes and Hermione.
Paulina, Wife to Antigonus.
Emilia, a Lady, Attending the Queen.
Two other Ladies [Lady 1], [Lady 2], Attending the Queen.Mopsa, Shepherdess.
Dorcas, Shepherdess.
Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Satyrs for a Dance;
Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Guards, &c.[Lord], [Gentleman], [Gentleman 1], [Gentleman 3]SCENE, sometimes in Sicilia, sometimes in Bohemia.
-- 237 --
WINTER'S TALE.
ACT I.SCENE I.Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes' Palace.
Enter Camillo and Archidamus.
Arch.
If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia,
on the like occasion whereon my services are
now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great difference
betwixt our Bohemia, and your Sicilia.
Cam.
I think, this coming summer, the king of
Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which
he justly owes him.
Arch.
Wherein our entertainment shall shame
us1note, we will be justified in our loves: for, indeed,—
Cam.
'Beseech you,—
Arch.
Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my
knowledge: we cannot with such magnificence—
in so rare—I know not what to say.—We will
give you sleepy drinks; that your senses, unintelligent
of our insufficience, may, though they cannot
praise us, as little accuse us.
Cam.
You pay a great deal too dear, for what's
given freely.
Arch.
Believe me, I speak as my understanding
instructs me, and as mine honesty puts it to utterance.
Cam.
Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to
Bohemia. They were trained together in their
-- 238 --
childhoods; and there rooted betwixt them then
such an affection, which cannot choose but branch
now. Since their more mature dignities, and royal
necessities, made separation o' their society, their
encounters, though not personal, have been royally
attornied2note, with interchange of gifts, letters, loving
embassies; that they have seemed to be together,
though absent; shook hands, as over a vast; and
embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed
winds3note
. The heavens continue their loves!
Arch.
I think, there is not in the world either
malice, or matter, to alter it. You have an unspeakable
comfort of your young prince Mamillius;
it is a gentleman of the greatest promise, that ever
came into my note.
Cam.
I very well agree with you in the hopes of
him: It is a gallant child; one that, indeed, physicks
the subject4note
, makes old hearts fresh: they,
-- 239 --
that went on crutches ere he was born, desire yet
their life, to see him a man.
Arch.
Would they else be content to die?
Cam.
Yes; if there were no other excuse why
they should desire to live.
Arch.
If the king had no son, they would desire
to live on crutches till he had one.
[Exeunt.SCENE II.The Same. A Room of State in the Palace.Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamillius, Camillo, and Attendants.
Pol.
Nine changes of the wat'ry star have been
The shepherd's note, since we have left our throne
Without a burden: time as long again
Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks;
And yet we should, for perpetuity,
Go hence in debt: And therefore, like a cipher,
Yet standing in rich place, I multiply,
With one we-thank-you, many thousands more
That go before it.
Leon.
Stay your thanks awhile;
And pay them when you part.
Pol.
Sir, that's to-morrow.
I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance,
Or breed upon our absence: That may blow
No sneaping winds5note
at home, to make us say,
-- 240 --
This is put forth too truly6note! Besides, I have stay'd
To tire your royalty.
Leon.
We are tougher, brother,
Than you can put us to't.
Pol.
No longer stay.
Leon.
One seven-night longer.
Pol.
Very sooth, to-morrow.
Leon.
We'll part the time between's then: and in that
I'll no gain-saying.
Pol.
Press me not, 'beseech you, so;
There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the world,
So soon as yours, could win me: so it should now,
Were there necessity in your request, although
'Twere needful I denied it. My affairs
Do even drag me homeward: which to hinder,
Were, in your love, a whip to me; my stay,
To you a charge, and trouble: to save both,
Farewell, our brother.
Leon.
Tongue-tied, our queen? speak you.
Her.
I had thought, sir, to have held my peace, until
You had drawn oaths from him, not to stay. You, sir,
Charge him too coldly: Tell him, you are sure,
-- 241 --
All in Bohemia's well: this satisfaction7note
The by-gone day proclaim'd; say this to him,
He's beat from his best ward.
Leon.
Well said, Hermione.
Her.
To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong:
But let him say so then, and let him go;
But let him swear so, and he shall not stay,
We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.—
Yet of your royal presence [To Polixenes.] I'll adventure
The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia
You take my lord, I'll give him my commission8note
, Leontes,
I love thee not a jar o' the clock2note
behind
What lady she her lord.—You'll stay?
Pol.
No, madam.
Her.
Nay, but you will?
Pol.
I may not, verily.
Her.
Verily!
You put me off with limber vows: But I,
Though you would seek to unsphere the stars with oaths,
Should yet say, Sir, no going. Verily,
You shall not go; a lady's verily is
-- 243 --
As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet?
Force me to keep you as a prisoner,
Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees,
When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?
My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread verily,
One of them you shall be.
Pol.
Your guest then, madam:
To be your prisoner, should import offending;
Which is for me less easy to commit,
Than you to punish.
Her.
Not your gaoler then,
But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you
Of my lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys;
You were pretty lordings3note
then.
Pol.
We were, fair queen,
Two lads, that thought there was no more behind,
But such a day to-morrow as to-day,
And to be boy eternal.
Her.
Was not my lord the verier wag o' the two?
Pol.
We were as twinn'd lambs, that did frisk i' the sun,
And bleat the one at the other: what we chang'd,
Was innocence for innocence; we knew not
The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd4note
-- 244 --
That any did: Had we pursued that life,
And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd
With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven
Boldly, Not guilty; the imposition clear'd,
Hereditary ours5note
.
Her.
By this we gather,
You have tripp'd since.
Pol.
O my most sacred lady,
Temptations have since then been born to us: for
In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl;
Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes
Of my young play-fellow.
Her.
Grace to boot!
Of this make no conclusion; lest you say6note
,
-- 245 --
Your queen and I are devils: Yet, go on;
The offences we have made you do, we'll answer;
If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us
You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not
With any but with us.
Leon.
Is he won yet?
Her.
He'll stay, my lord.
Leon.
At my request, he would not.
Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st
To better purpose.
Her.
Never?
Leon.
Never, but once.
Her.
What? have I twice said well? when was't before?
I pr'ythee, tell me: Cram us with praise, and make us
As fat as tame things: One good deed, dying tongueless,
Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon that.
Our praises are our wages: You may ride us,
With one soft kiss, a thousand furlongs, ere
With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal7note
;—
-- 246 --
My last good was, to entreat his stay:
What was my first? it has an elder sister,
Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace!
But once before I spoke to the purpose: When?
Nay, let me have't; I long.
Leon.
Why, that was when
Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death,
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand,
And clap thyself my love8note
Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice:
The one for ever earn'd a royal husband;
The other, for some while a friend.
[Giving her hand to Polixenes.
Leon.
Too hot, too hot:
[Aside.
To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods.
I have tremor cordis on me:—my heart dances;
But not for joy,—not joy.—This entertainment
May a free face put on; derive a liberty
From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom1note
,
And well become the agent: it may, I grant:
But to be paddling palms, and pinching fingers,
As now they are; and making practis'd smiles,
As in a looking-glass;—and then to sigh, as 'twere
The mort o' the deer2note
; O, that is entertainment
My bosom likes not, nor my brows.—Mamillius,
Art thou my boy?
, as wind, as waters; false
As dice are to be wish'd, by one that fixes
No bourn1note
'twixt his and mine; yet were it true
To say this boy were like me.—Come, sir page,
Look on me with your welkin eye2note: Sweet villain!
Most dear'st! my collop3note
!—Can thy dam?—may't be?
Affection! thy intention stabs the center4note
,
Communicat'st with dreams;—(How can this be?)—
With what's unreal thou coactive art,
And fellow'st nothing: Then, 'tis very credent6note
,
Thou may'st co-join with something; and thou dost;
(And that beyond commission; and I find it,)
And that to the infection of my brains,
And hardening of my brows.
-- 252 --
Pol.
What means Sicilia?
Her.
He something seems unsettled.
Pol.
How, my lord?
What cheer? how is't with you, best brother7note?
Her.
You look,
As if you held a brow of much distraction:
Are you mov'd, my lord8note
?
Leon.
No, in good earnest.—
How sometimes nature will betray its folly,
Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime
To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines
Of my boy's face, methoughts, I did recoil
Twenty-three years; and saw myself unbreech'd,
In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled,
Lest it should bite9note
its master, and so prove,
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous1note
.
How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,
This squash2note, this gentleman:—Mine honest friend,
Will you take eggs for money3note
Are you so fond of your young prince, as we
Do seem to be of ours?
Pol.
If at home, sir,
He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter:
Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy;
My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all:
He makes a July's day short as December;
And, with his varying childness, cures in me
Thoughts that would thick my blood.
Leon.
So stands this squire
Offic'd with me: We two will walk, my lord,
And leave you to your graver steps.—Hermione,
How thou lov'st us, show in our brother's welcome;
Let what is dear in Sicily, be cheap:
-- 255 --
Next to thyself, and my young rover, he's
Apparent5note to my heart.
Her.
If you would seek us,
We are yours i' the garden: Shall's attend you there?
Leon.
To your own bents dispose you: you'll be found,
Be you beneath the sky:—I am angling now,
Though you perceive me not how I give line.
Go to, go to!
[Aside. Observing Polixenes and Hermione.
How she holds up the neb6note, the bill to him!
And arms her with the boldness of a wife
To her allowing husband7note! Gone already;
Inch-thick, knee-deep; o'er head and ears a fork'd one8note
.—
[Exeunt Polixenes, Hermione, and Attendants.
Go, play, boy, play;—thy mother plays, and I
Play too; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue
Will hiss me to my grave; contempt and clamour
Will be my knell.—Go, play, boy, play;—There have been,
Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now;
-- 256 --
And many a man there is, even at this present9note
,
Now, while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm,
That little thinks she has been sluic'd in his absence,
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour1note, by
Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay, there's comfort in't,
Whiles other men have gates; and those gates open'd,
As mine, against their will: Should all despair,
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
Would hang themselves. Physick for't there is none;
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike
Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think it,
From east, west, north, and south: Be it concluded,
No barricado for a belly; know it;
It will let in and out the enemy,
With bag and baggage: many a thousand of us
Have the disease, and feel't not.—How now, boy?
When I shall gust it last8note
.—How came't, Camillo,
That he did stay?
Cam.
At the good queen's entreaty.
Leon.
At the queen's, be't: good, should be pertinent;
But so it is, it is not. Was this taken
By any understanding pate but thine?
For thy conceit is soaking9note, will draw in
More than the common blocks:—Not noted, is't,
But of the finer natures? by some severals,
Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes1note
,
-- 259 --
Perchance, are to this business purblind: say.
Cam.
Business, my lord? I think, most understand
Bohemia stays here longer.
Leon.
Ha?
Cam.
Stays here longer.
Leon.
Ay, but why?
Cam.
To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties
Of our most gracious mistress.
Leon.
Satisfy
The entreaties of your mistress?—satisfy?—
Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,
With all the nearest things to my heart, as well
My chamber-councils: wherein, priest-like, thou
Hast cleans'd my bosom; I from thee departed
Thy penitent reform'd: but we have been
Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd
In that which seems so.
Cam.
Be it forbid, my lord!
-- 260 --
Leon.
To bide upon't;—Thou art not honest: or,
If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward;
Which hoxes honesty behind2note
, restraining
From course requir'd: Or else thou must be counted
A servant, grafted in my serious trust,
And therein negligent; or else a fool,
That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn,
And tak'st it all for jest.
Cam.
My gracious lord,
I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful;
In every one of these no man is free,
But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
Amongst the infinite doings of the world,
Sometime puts forth: In your affairs, my lord,
If ever I were wilful-negligent,
It was my folly; if industriously
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,
Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful
To do a thing, where I the issue doubted,
Whereof the execution did cry out
Against the non-performance3note
, 'twas a fear
-- 261 --
Which oft affects the wisest: these, my lord,
Are such allow'd infirmities, that honesty
Is never free of. But, 'beseech your grace,
Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass
By its own visage: if I then deny it,
'Tis none of mine.
Leon.
Have not you seen, Camillo,
(But that's past doubt: you have; or your eye-glass
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn;) or heard,
(For, to a vision so apparent, rumour
Cannot be mute,) or thought, (for cogitation
Resides not in that man, that does not think4note
,)
-- 262 --
My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess,
(Or else be impudently negative,
To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then say,
My wife's a hobbyhorse5note; deserves a name
As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to
Before her troth-plight: say it, and justify it.
Cam.
I would not be a stander-by, to hear
My sovereign mistress clouded so, without
My present vengeance taken: 'Shrew my heart,
You never spoke what did become you less
Than this; which to reiterate, were sin
As deep as that, though true6note
.
-- 263 --
Leon.
Is whispering nothing?
Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses7note?
Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career
Of laughter with a sigh? (a note infallible
Of breaking honesty:) horsing foot on foot?
Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift?
Hours, minutes? noon, midníght? and all eyes blind
With the pin and web8note, but theirs, theirs9note only,
That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing?
Why, then the world, and all that is in't, is nothing;
The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing;
My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings,
If this be nothing.
Cam.
Good my lord, be cur'd
Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes;
For 'tis most dangerous.
Leon.
Say, it be; 'tis true.
Cam.
No, no, my lord.
Leon.
It is; you lie, you lie:
I say, thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee;
Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave;
Or else a hovering temporizer, that
Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil
Inclining to them both: Were my wife's liver
Infected as her life, she would not live
The running of one glass1note.
, hanging
About his neck, Bohemia: Who—if I
Had servants true about me: that bare eyes
To see alike mine honour as their profits,
Their own particular thrifts,—they would do that
Which should undo more doing3note: Ay, and thou,
His cup-bearer,—whom I from meaner form
Have bench'd, and rear'd to worship; who may'st see
Plainly, as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven,
How I am galled,—might'st bespice a cup4note
Cam.
Sir, my lord,
I could do this; and that with no rash potion,
But with a ling'ring dram, that should not work
Maliciously like poison6note
: But I cannot
Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress,
So sovereignly being honourable.
I have lov'd thee7note
To appoint myself in this vexation? sully
The purity and whiteness of my sheets,
Which to preserve, is sleep; which being spotted,
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps9note
?
Give scandal to the blood o' the prince my son,
Who, I do think is mine, and love as mine;
Without ripe moving to't? Would I do this?
Could man so blench1note
?
Cam.
I must believe you, sir;
I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't:
Provided, that when he's remov'd, your highness
Will take again your queen, as yours at first;
Even for your son's sake; and, thereby, for sealing
The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms
Known and allied to yours.
Leon.
Thou dost advise me,
Even so as I mine own course have set down:
I'll give no blemish to her honour, none.
Cam.
My lord,
Go then; and with a countenance as clear
As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia,
And with your queen: I am his cupbearer;
If from me he have wholsome beverage,
Account me not your servant.
Leon.
This is all:
Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart;
Do't not, thou split'st thine own.
-- 268 --
Cam.
I'll do't, my lord.
Leon.
I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me. [Exit.
Cam.
O miserable lady!—But, for me,
What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner
Of good Polixenes: and my ground to do't
Is the obedience to a master; one,
Who, in rebellion with himself, will have
All that are his, so too.—To do this deed,
Promotion follows: If I could find example2note
Of thousands, that had struck anointed kings,
And flourish'd after, I'd not do't: but since
Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one,
Let villainy itself forswear't. I must
Forsake the court: to do't, or no, is certain
To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now!
Here comes Bohemia. Enter Polixenes.
Pol.
This is strange! methinks,
My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?—
Good-day, Camillo.
Cam.
Hail, most royal sir!
Pol.
What is the news i' the court?
Cam.
None rare, my lord.
-- 269 --
Pol.
The king hath on him such a countenance,
As he had lost some province, and a region,
Lov'd as he loves himself: even now I met him
With customary compliment; when he,
Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me3note
; and
So leaves me, to consider what is breeding,
That changes thus his manners.
Cam.
I dare not know, my lord.
Pol.
How! dare not? do not. Do you know, and dare not
Be intelligent to me4note
? 'Tis thereabouts;
For, to yourself, what you do know, you must;
And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo,
Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror,
Which shows me mine chang'd too: for I must be
A party in this alteration, finding
Myself thus alter'd with it.
Cam.
There is a sickness
Which puts some of us in distemper; but
I cannot name the disease; and it is caught
Of you that yet are well.
Pol.
How! caught of me?
Make me not sighted like the basilisk:
I have look'd on thousands, who have sped the better
By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo,—
As you are certainly a gentleman thereto;
-- 270 --
Clerk-like, experienc'd, which no less adorns
Our gentry, than our parents' noble names,
In whose success we are gentle5note
,—I beseech you,
If you know aught which does behove my knowledge
Thereof to be inform'd, imprison it not
In ignorant concealment.
Cam.
I may not answer.
Pol.
A sickness caught of me, and yet I well!
I must be answer'd.—Dost thou hear, Camillo,
I cónjure thee, by all the parts of man,
Which honour does acknowledge,—whereof the least
Is not this suit of mine,—that thou declare
What incidency thou dost guess of harm
Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near;
Which way to be prevented, if to be;
If not, how best to bear it.
Cam.
Sir, I'll tell you;
Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him
That I think honourable: Therefore, mark my counsel;
Which must be even as swiftly follow'd, as
I mean to utter it; or both yourself and me
Cry, lost, and so good-night.
Cam.
He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,
As he had seen't, or been an instrument
To vice you to't7note
,—that you have touch'd his queen
Forbiddenly.
Pol.
O, then my best blood turn
To an infected jelly; and my name
Be yok'd with his, that did betray the best8note
!
Turn then my freshest reputation to
A savour, that may strike the dullest nostril
Where I arrive; and my approach be shunn'd,
-- 272 --
Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection
That e'er was heard, or read!
Cam.
Swear his thought over
By each particular star in heaven9note
, and
By all their influences, you may as well
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon1note
,
As or, by oath, remove, or counsel, shake,
The fabrick of his folly; whose foundation
Is pil'd upon his faith2note
, and will continue
The standing of his body.
Pol.
How should this grow?
Cam.
I know not: but, I am sure, 'tis safer to
-- 273 --
Avoid what's grown, than question how 'tis born.
If therefore you dare trust my honesty,—
That lies enclosed in this trunk, which you
Shall bear along impawn'd,—away to-night.
Your followers I will whisper to the business;
And will, by twos, and threes, at several posterns,
Clear them o' the city: For myself, I'll put
My fortunes to your service, which are here
By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain;
For, by the honour of my parents, I
Have utter'd truth: which if you seek to prove,
I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer
Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, thereon
His execution sworn.
Pol.
I do believe thee:
I saw his heart in his face3note
. Give me thy hand;
Be pilot to me, and thy places shall
Still neighbour mine4note
: My ships are ready, and
My people did expect my hence departure
Two days ago.—This jealousy
Is for a precious creature: as she's rare,
Must it be great; and, as his person's mighty,
Must it be violent; and as he does conceive
He is dishonour'd by a man which ever
Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must
In that be made more bitter. Fear o'ershades me:
Good expedition be my friend, and comfort
-- 274 --
The gracious queen, part of his theme, but nothing
Of his ill-ta'en suspicion5note
! Come, Camillo;
I will respect thee as a father, if
Thou bear'st my life off hence: Let us avoid.
-- 275 --
Cam.
It is in mine authority, to command
The keys of all the posterns: Please your highness
To take the urgent hour: come, sir, away. [Exeunt.ACT II.SCENE I.The Same.Enter Hermione, Mamillius, and Ladies.
Her.
Take the boy to you: he so troubles me,
'Tis past enduring.
1 Lady.
Come, my gracious lord.
Shall I be your play-fellow?
Mam.
No, I'll none of you.
1 Lady.
Why, my sweet lord?
Mam.
You'll kiss me hard; and speak to me as if
I were a baby still.—I love you better.
Mam.
Not for because
Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say,
Become some women best; so that there be not
Too much hair there, but in a semi-circle,
Or half-moon made with a pen.
Mam.
I learn'd it out of women's faces.—Pray now
What colour are your eye-brows?
-- 276 --
1 Lady.
Blue, my lord.
Mam.
Nay, that's a mock: I have seen a lady's nose
That has been blue, but not her eye-brows.
2 Lady.
Hark ye:
The queen, your mother, rounds apace: we shall
Present our services to a fine new prince,
One of these days; and then you'd wanton with us,
If we would have you.
1 Lady.
She is spread of late
Into a goodly bulk: Good time encounter her!
Her.
What wisdom stirs amongst you? Come, sir, now
I am for you again: Pray you, sit by us,
And tell's a tale.
Her.
Let's have that, good sir9note.
Come on, sit down:—Come on, and do your best
To fright me with your sprites: you're powerful at it.
Mam.
There was a man,—
Her.
Nay, come, sit down; then on.
-- 277 --
Mam.
Dwelt by a church-yard;—I will tell it softly;
Yon crickets shall not hear it.
Her.
Come on then,
And give't me in mine ear. Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, and Others.
Leon.
Was he met there? his train? Camillo with him?
1 Lord.
Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never
Saw I men scour so on their way: I ey'd them
Even to their ships.
Leon.
How bless'd am I1note
In my just censure! in my true opinion2note
!—
Alack, for lesser knowledge3note!—How accurs'd,
In being so blest!—There may be in the cup
A spider steep'd4note
, and one may drink; depart,
And yet partake no venom; for his knowledge
Is not infected: but if one present
The abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known
-- 278 --
How he hath drank, he cracks his gorge, his sides,
With violent hefts5note
:—I have drank, and seen the spider.
Camillo was his help in this, his pander:—
There is a plot against my life, my crown;
All's true that is mistrusted:—that false villain,
Whom I employ'd, was pre-employ'd by him:
He has discover'd my design, and I
Remain a pinch'd thing6note
; yea, a very trick
-- 279 --
For them to play at will:—How came the posterns
So easily open?
1 Lord.
By his great authority;
Which often hath no less prevail'd than so,
On your command.
Leon.
I know't too well.—
Give me the boy; I am glad, you did not nurse him:
Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you
Have too much blood in him.
Her.
What is this? sport?
Leon.
Bear the boy hence, he shall not come about her;
Away with him:—and let her sport herself
With that she's big with; for 'tis Polixenes
Has made thee swell thus.
Her.
But I'd say, he had not,
And, I'll be sworn, you would believe my saying,
Howe'er you lean to the nayward.
Leon.
You, my lords,
Look on her, mark her well; be but about
To say, she is a goodly lady, and
The justice of your hearts will thereto add,
'Tis pity she's not honest, honourable:
Praise her but for this her without-door form,
(Which, on my faith, deserves high speech,) and straight
The shrug, the hum, or ha; these petty brands,
That calumny doth use:—O, I am out,
That mercy does; for calumny will sear
Virtue itself7note
:—these shrugs, these hums, and ha's,
-- 280 --
When you have said, she's goodly, come between,
Ere you can say she's honest: But be it known,
From him that has most cause to grieve it should be,
She's an adultress.
Her.
Should a villain say so,
The most replenish'd villain in the world,
He were as much more villain: you, my lord,
Do but mistake8note
.
Leon.
You have mistook, my lady,
Polixenes for Leontes: O thou thing,
Which I'll not call a creature of thy place,
Lest barbarism, making me the precedent,
Should a like language use to all degrees,
And mannerly distinguishment leave out
Betwixt the prince and beggar!—I have said,
She's an adultress; I have said with whom:
More, she's a traitor; and Camillo is
A federary with her9note
; and one that knows
What she should shame to know herself,
But with her most vile principal1note
, that she's
-- 281 --
A bed-swerver, even as bad as those
That vulgars give bold'st titles2note; ay, and privy
To this their late escape.
Her.
No, by my life,
Privy to none of this: How will this grieve you,
When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that
You thus have publish'd me? Gentle my lord,
You scarce can right me throughly then, to say
You did mistake.
Leon.
No, no; if I mistake
In those foundations which I build upon,
The centre3note
is not big enough to bear
A school-boy's top.—Away with her to prison:
He, who shall speak for her, is afar off guilty,
But that he speaks4note
.
-- 282 --
Her.
There's some ill planet reigns:
I must be patient, till the heavens look
With an aspéct more favourable5note
.—Good my lords,
I am not prone to weeping, as our sex
Commonly are; the want of which vain dew,
Perchance, shall dry your pities: but I have
That honourable grief lodg'd here6note
: 'Beseech you all, my lords,
With thoughts so qualified as your charities
Shall best instruct you, measure me;—and so
The king's will be perform'd!
Leon.
Shall I be heard? [To the Guards.
Her.
Who is't, that goes with me?—'Beseech your highness,
My women may be with me; for, you see,
My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools;
There is no cause: when you shall know, your mistress
Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears,
As I come out: this action, I now go on8note
,
-- 283 --
Is for my better grace.—Adieu, my lord:
I never wish'd to see you sorry; now,
I trust, I shall.—My women, come; you have leave.
Leon.
Go, do our bidding; hence. [Exeunt Queen and Ladies.
1 Lord.
'Beseech your highness, call the queen again.
Ant.
Be certain what you do, sir; lest your justice
Prove violence; in the which three great ones suffer,
Yourself, your queen, your son.
1 Lord.
For her, my lord,—
I dare my life lay down, and will do't, sir,
Please you to accept it, that the queen is spotless
I' the eyes of heaven, and to you; I mean,
In this which you accuse her.
Ant.
If it prove
She's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where
I lodge my wife9note
; I'll go in couples with her;
-- 284 --
Then when I feel, and see her, no further trust her1note
;
For every inch of woman in the world,
Ay, every dram of woman's flesh, is false,
If she be.
Leon.
Hold your peaces.
1 Lord.
Good my lord,—
Ant.
It is for you we speak, not for ourselves:
You are abus'd, and by some putter-on2note
,
That will be damn'd for't; 'would I knew the villain,
I would land-damn him3note
: Be she honour-flaw'd,—
-- 285 --
I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven;
The second, and the third, nine, and some five4note
;
-- 286 --
If this prove true, they'll pay for't: by mine honour,
I'll geld them all; fourteen they shall not see,
To bring false generations: they are co-heirs;
And I had rather glib myself, than they
Should not produce fair issue5note
.
-- 287 --
Leon.
Cease; no more.
You smell this business with a sense as cold
As is a dead man's nose: but I do see't, and feel't6note,
As you feel doing thus; and see withal
The instruments that feel7note
.
-- 288 --
Ant.
If it be so,
We need no grave to bury honesty;
There's not a grain of it, the face to sweeten
Of the whole dungy earth8note
.
Leon.
What! lack I credit?
1 Lord.
I had rather you did lack, than I, my lord,
Upon this ground: and more it would content me
To have her honour true, than your suspicion;
Be blam'd for't how you might.
Leon.
Why, what need we
Commune with you of this? but rather follow
Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative
Calls not your counsels; but our natural goodness
Imparts this: which,—if you (or stupified,
Or seeming so in skill,) cannot, or will not,
Relish a truth9note
, like us; inform yourselves,
We need no more of your advice: the matter,
The loss, the gain, the ordering on't, is all
Properly ours.
Ant.
And I wish, my liege,
You had only in your silent judgment tried it,
Without more overture.
Leon.
How could that be?
-- 289 --
Either thou art most ignorant by age,
Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight,
Added to their familiarity,
(Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture,
That lack'd sight only, nought for approbation,
But only seeing1note
, all other circumstances
Made up to the deed,) doth push on this proceeding:
Yet, for a greater confirmation,
(For, in an act of this importance, 'twere
Most piteous to be wild,) I have despatch'd in post,
To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple,
Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know
Of stuff'd sufficiency2note
: Now, from the oracle
They will bring all; whose spiritual counsel had,
Shall stop, or spur me. Have I done well?
1 Lord.
Well done, my lord.
Leon.
Though I am satisfied, and need no more
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle
Give rest to the minds of others; such as he,
Whose ignorant credulity will not
Come up to the truth: So have we thought it good,
From our free person she should be confin'd;
Lest that the treachery of the two3note, fled hence,
-- 290 --
Be left her to perform. Come, follow us;
We are to speak in publick: for this business
Will raise us all.
Ant. [Aside.]
To laughter, as I take it,
If the good truth were known. [Exeunt.SCENE II.The Same. The outer Room of a Prison.Enter Paulina and Attendants.
Paul.
The keeper of the prison,—call to him;
[Exit an Attendant.
Let him have knowledge who I am.—Good lady!
No court in Europe is too good for thee,
What dost thou then in prison?—Now, good sir,
Re-enter Attendant, with the Keeper.
You know me, do you not?
Keep.
For a worthy lady,
And one whom much I honour.
Paul.
Pray you then,
Conduct me to the queen.
Keep.
I may not, madam; to the contrary
I have express commandment.
Paul.
Here's ado,
To lock up honesty and honour from
The access of gentle visitors!—Is it lawful,
Pray you, to see her women? any of them?
Emilia?
Keep.
So please you, madam, to put
Apart these your attendants, I shall bring
Emilia forth.
Paul.
I pray now, call her.
Withdraw yourselves. [Exeunt Attend.
Keep.
And, madam,
-- 291 --
I must be present at your conference.
Paul.
Well, be it so, pr'ythee.
[Exit Keeper.
Here's such ado to make no stain a stain,
As passes colouring.
Re-enter Keeper, with Emilia.
Dear gentlewoman, how fares our gracious lady?
Emil.
As well as one so great, and so forlorn,
May hold together: On her frights, and griefs,
(Which never tender lady hath borne greater,)
She is, something before her time, deliver'd.
Paul.
A boy?
Emil.
A daughter; and a goodly babe,
Lusty, and like to live: the queen receives
Much comfort in't: says, My poor prisoner,
I am innocent as you.
Paul.
I dare be sworn:—
These dangerous unsafe lunes o' the king4note
! beshrew them!
He must be told on't, and he shall: the office
Becomes a woman best; I'll take't upon me:
If I prove honey-mouth'd, let my tongue blister;
-- 292 --
And never to my red-look'd anger be
The trumpet any more:—Pray you, Emilia,
Commend my best obedience to the queen;
If she dares trust me with her little babe,
I'll show't the king, and undertake to be
Her advocate to th' loudest: We do not know
How he may soften at the sight o' the child;
The silence often of pure innocence
Persuades, when speaking fails.
Emil.
Most worthy madam,
Your honour, and your goodness, is so evident,
That your free undertaking cannot miss
A thriving issue; there is no lady living
So meet for this great errand: Please your ladyship
To visit the next room, I'll presently
Acquaint the queen of your most noble offer;
Who, but to-day, hammer'd of this design;
But durst not tempt a minister of honour,
Lest she should be denied.
Paul.
Tell her, Emilia,
I'll use that tongue I have: if wit flow from it,
As boldness from my bosom, let it not be doubted
I shall do good.
Emil.
Now be you blest for it!
I'll to the queen: Please you, come something nearer.
Keep.
Madam, if't please the queen to send the babe,
I know not what I shall incur, to pass it,
Having no warrant.
Paul.
You need not fear it, sir:
The child was prisoner to the womb; and is,
By law and process of great nature, thence
Free'd and enfranchis'd: not a party to
The anger of the king; nor guilty of,
If any be, the trespass of the queen.
Keep.
I do believe it.
-- 293 --
Paul.
Do not you fear: upon
Mine honour, I will stand 'twixt you and danger. [Exeunt.SCENE III.The Same. A Room in the Palace.Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords, and other Attendants.
Leon.
Nor night, nor day, no rest: It is but weakness
To bear the matter thus; mere weakness, if
The cause were not in being;—part o' the cause,
She, the adultress;—for the harlot king
Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank
And level of my brain4note
, plot-proof: but she
I can hook to me: Say, that she were gone,
Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest
Might come to me again.—Who's there?
1 Atten.
My lord? [Advancing.
Leon.
How does the boy?
1 Atten.
He took good rest to-night;
'Tis hop'd, his sickness is discharg'd.
Leon.
To see,
His nobleness!
Conceiving the dishonour of his mother,
He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply;
-- 294 --
Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself;
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,
And downright languish'd.—Leave me solely5note:—go,
See how he fares. [Exit Attend.]—Fye, fye! no thought of him;—
The very thought of my revenges that way
Recoil upon me: in himself too mighty;
And in his parties, his alliance6note
,—Let him be,
Until a time may serve: for present vengeance,
Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes
Laugh at me; make their pastime at my sorrow:
They should not laugh, if I could reach them; nor
Shall she, within my power.
Enter Paulina, with a Child.
1 Lord.
You must not enter.
Paul.
Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me:
Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,
Than the queen's life? a gracious innocent soul;
More free, than he is jealous.
Ant.
That's enough.
1 Atten.
Madam, he hath not slept to-night; commanded
None should come at him.
Paul.
Not so hot, good sir;
-- 295 --
I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you,—
That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh
At each his needless heavings,—such as you
Nourish the cause of his awaking: I
Do come with words as med'cinal as true;
Honest, as either; to purge him of that humour,
That presses him from sleep.
Leon.
What noise there, ho?
Paul.
No noise, my lord; but needful conference,
About some gossips for your highness.
Leon.
How?—
Away with that audacious lady: Antigonus,
I charg'd thee, that she should not come about me;
I knew, she would.
Ant.
I told her so, my lord,
On your displeasure's peril, and on mine,
She should not visit you.
Leon.
What, canst not rule her?
Paul.
From all dishonesty, he can: in this,
(Unless he take the course that you have done,
Commit me, for committing honour,) trust it,
He shall not rule me.
Ant.
Lo you now; you hear!
When she will take the rein, I let her run;
But she'll not stumble.
Paul.
Good my liege, I come,—
And, I beseech you, hear me, who professes7note
Myself your loyal servant, your physician,
Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dare
Less appear so, in comforting your evils8note
,
Than such as most seem yours:—I say, I come
From your good queen.
-- 296 --
Leon.
Good queen!
Paul.
Good queen, my lord, good queen: I say, good queen;
And would by combat make her good, so were I
A man, the worst about you9note
.
Leon.
Force her hence.
Paul.
Let him, that makes but trifles of his eyes,
First hand me: on mine own accord, I'll off;
But, first, I'll do my errand.—The good queen,
For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter;
Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing. [Laying down the Child.
! Hence with her, out o' door:
A most intelligencing bawd!
-- 297 --
Paul.
Not so:
I am as ignorant in that, as you
In so entitling me: and no less honest
Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant,
As this world goes, to pass for honest.
Leon.
Traitors!
Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard:—
Thou, dotard, [To Antigonus.] thou art woman-tir'd2note
, unroosted
-- 298 --
By thy dame Partlet here,—take up the bastard;
Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone3note
.
Paul.
For ever
Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou
Tak'st up the princess, by that forced baseness4note
Which he has put upon't!
Leon.
He dreads his wife.
Paul.
So, I would, you did; then, 'twere past all doubt,
You'd call your children yours.
Leon.
A nest of traitors!
Ant.
I am none, by this good light.
Paul.
Nor I; nor any,
-- 299 --
But one, that's here; and that's himself: for he
The sacred honour of himself, his queen's,
His hopeful son's, his babe's5note, betrays to slander,
Whose sting is sharper than the sword's6note
; and will not
(For, as the case now stands, it is a curse
He cannot be compell'd to't,) once remove
The root of his opinion, which is rotten,
As ever oak, or stone, was sound.
Leon.
A callat,
Of boundless tongue; who late hath beat her husband,
And now baits me!—This brat is none of mine;
It is the issue of Polixenes:
Hence with it; and, together with the dam,
Commit them to the fire.
Paul.
It is yours;
And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge,
So like you, 'tis the worse.—Behold, my lords,
Although the print be little, the whole matter
And copy of the father: eye, nose, lip,
The trick of his frown, his forehead; nay, the valley,
The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek; his smiles7note;
The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger:—
And, thou, good goddess nature, which hast made it
So like to him that got it, if thou hast
-- 300 --
The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours
No yellow in't8note
; lest she suspect, as he does,
Her children not her husband's9note
, thou art worthy to be hang'd,
That wilt not stay her tongue.
Ant.
Hang all the husbands,
That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself
Hardly one subject.
Leon.
Once more, take her hence.
Paul.
A most unworthy and unnatural lord
Can do no more.
Leon.
I'll have thee burn'd.
-- 301 --
Paul.
I care not:
It is an heretick, that makes the fire,
Not she, which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant;
But this most cruel usage of your queen
(Not able to produce more accusation
Than your own weak hing'd fancy,) something savours
Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you,
Yea, scandalous to the world.
Leon.
On your allegiance,
Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyrant,
Where were her life? she durst not call me so,
If she did know me one. Away with her.
Paul.
I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone.
Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours: Jove send her
A better guiding spirit!—What need these hands?—
You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies,
Will never do him good, not one of you.
So, so:—Farewell; we are gone. [Exit.
Leon.
Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.—
My child? away with't!—even thou, that hast
A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence,
And see it instantly consum'd with fire;
Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight:
Within this hour bring me word 'tis done,
(And by good testimony,) or I'll seize thy life,
With what thou else call'st thine: If thou refuse,
And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so;
The bastard brains with these my proper hands
Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire;
For thou sett'st on thy wife.
Ant.
I did not, sir:
These lords, my noble fellows, if they please,
Can clear me in't.
1 Lord.
We can; my royal liege,
-- 302 --
He is not guilty of her coming hither.
Leon.
You are liars all.
1 Lord.
'Beseech your highness, give us better credit:
We have always truly serv'd you; and beseech
So to esteem of us: And on our knees we beg,
(As recompense of our dear services,
Past, and to come,) that you do change this purpose;
Which, being so horrible, so bloody, must
Lead on to some foul issue: We all kneel.
Leon.
I am a feather for each wind that blows:—
Shall I live on, to see this bastard kneel
And call me father? Better burn it now,
Than curse it then. But, be it; let it live:
It shall not neither.—You, sir, come you hither;
[To Antigonus.
You, that have been so tenderly officious
With lady Margery, your midwife, there,
To save this bastard's life:—for 'tis a bastard,
So sure as this beard's grey2note,—what will you adventure
To save this brat's life?
Ant.
Any thing, my lord,
That my ability may undergo,
And nobleness impose: at least, thus much;
I'll pawn the little blood which I have left,
To save the innocent: any thing possible.
Leon.
It shall be possible: Swear by this sword3note
,
Thou wilt perform my bidding.
-- 303 --
Ant.
I will, my lord.
Leon.
Mark, and perform it; (seest thou?) for the fail
Of any point in't shall not only be
Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu'd wife;
Whom, for this time, we pardon. We enjoin thee,
As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry
This female bastard hence; and that thou bear it
To some remote and desert place, quite out
Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it,
Without more mercy, to its own protection,
And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee,—
On thy soul's peril, and thy body's torture,—
That thou commend it strangely to some place4note
,
Where chance may nurse, or end it: Take it up.
Ant.
I swear to do this, though a present death
Had been more merciful.—Come on, poor babe:
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens,
To be thy nurses! Wolves, and bears, they say,
Casting their savageness aside, have done
Like offices of pity.—Sir, be prosperous
In more than this deed doth require! and blessing5note,
-- 304 --
Against this cruelty, fight on thy side,
Poor thing, condemn'd to loss6note
!
[Exit with the Child.
Leon.
No, I'll not rear
Another's issue.
1 Atten.
Please your highness, posts,
From those you sent to the oracle, are come
An hour since: Cleomenes and Dion,
Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed,
Hasting to the court.
1 Lord.
So please you, sir, their speed
Hath been beyond account.
Leon.
Twenty-three days
They have been absent: 'Tis good speed7note
; foretels,
The great Apollo suddenly will have
The truth of this appear. Prepare you lords;
Summon a session, that we may arraign
Our most disloyal lady: for, as she hath
Been publickly accus'd, so shall she have
A just and open trial. While she lives,
My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me:
And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt.
-- 305 --
ACT III.SCENE I.The Same. A Street in some Town.Enter Cleomenes and Dion8note.
Cleo.
The climate's delicate; the air most sweet;
Fertile the isle9note
; the temple much surpassing
The common praise it bears.
Dion.
I shall report,
For most it caught me1note, the celestial habits,
(Methinks, I so should term them,) and the reverence
Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!
How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly
It was i' the offering!
Cleo.
But, of all, the burst
And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle,
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpriz'd my sense,
That I was nothing.
Dion.
If the event o' the journey
Prove as successful to the queen,—O, be't so!—
-- 306 --
As it hath been to us, rare, pleasant, speedy,
The time is worth the use on't2note
.
Cleo.
Great Apollo,
Turn all to the best! These proclamations,
So forcing faults upon Hermione,
I little like.
Dion.
The violent carriage of it
Will clear, or end, the business: When the oracle,
(Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up,)
Shall the contents discover, something rare,
Even then will rush to knowledge.—Go,—fresh horses;—
And gracious be the issue! [Exeunt.SCENE II.The Same. A Court of Justice.Leontes, Lords, and Officers, appear properly seated.
Leon.
This sessions (to our great grief, we pronounce,)
Even pushes 'gainst our heart3note
: The party tried,
The daughter of a king; our wife; and one
Of us too much belov'd.—Let us be clear'd
-- 307 --
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly
Proceed in justice: which shall have due course,
Even to the guilt, or the purgation4note
.—
Produce the prisoner.
Offi.
It is his highness' pleasure, that the queen
Appear in person here in court.—Silence! Hermione is brought in guarded; Paulina and Ladies attending.
Leon.
Read the indictment.
Offi.
Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes,
king of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned
of high treason, in committing adultery with Polixenes,
king of Bohemia; and conspiring with
Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign lord
the king, thy royal husband: the pretence5note whereof
being by circumstances partly laid open, thou, Hermione,
contrary to the faith and allegiance of a true
subject, didst counsel and aid them, for their better
safety, to fly away by night.
Her.
Since what I am to say, must be but that
Which contradicts my accusation; and
The testimony on my part, no other
But what comes from myself; it shall scarce boot me
To say, Not guilty: mine integrity6note
,
-- 308 --
Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it,
Be so receiv'd. But thus,—If powers divine
Behold our human actions, (as they do,)
I doubt not then, but innocence shall make
False accusation blush, and tyranny
Tremble at patience7note
.—You, my lord, best know,
(Who least8note will seem to do so,) my past life
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,
As I am now unhappy; which9note is more
Than history can pattern, though devis'd,
And play'd, to take spectators: For behold me,—
A fellow of the royal bed, which owe
A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter,
The mother to a hopeful prince,—here standing,
To prate and talk for life, and honour, 'fore
Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it1note
As I weigh grief, which I would spare2note: for honour,
'Tis a derivative from me to mine3note,
-- 309 --
And only that I stand for. I appeal
To your own conscience4note
, sir, before Polixenes
Came to your court, how I was in your grace,
How merited to be so; since he came,
With what encounter so uncurrent I
Have strain'd, to appear thus5note
: if one jot beyond
-- 310 --
The bound of honour; or, in act, or will,
That way inclining; harden'd be the hearts
-- 311 --
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
Cry, Fye upon my grave!
Leon.
I ne'er heard yet,
That any of these bolder vices wanted
Less impudence to gainsay what they did,
Than to perform it first6note
.
Her.
That's true enough;
Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me.
Leon.
You will not own it.
Her.
More than mistress of,
Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,
(With whom I am accus'd,) I do confess,
I lov'd him, as in honour he requir'd7note
;
-- 312 --
With such a kind of love, as might become
A lady like me; with a love, even such,
So, and no other, as yourself commanded:
Which not to have done, I think, had been in me
Both disobedience and ingratitude,
To you, and toward your friend; whose love had spoke,
Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely,
That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy,
I know not how it tastes; though it be dish'd
For me to try how: all I know of it,
Is, that Camillo was an honest man;
And, why he left your court, the gods themselves,
Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.
Leon.
You knew of his departure, as you know
What you have underta'en to do in his absence.
Her.
Sir,
You speak a language that I understand not:
My life stands in the level of your dreams8note
,
Which I'll lay down.
Leon.
Your actions are my dreams;
You had a bastard by Polixenes,
And I but dream'd it:—As you were past all shame,
(Those of your fact are so,) so past all truth9note
:
-- 313 --
Which to deny, concerns more than avails1note: for as
Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,
No father owning it, (which is, indeed,
More criminal in thee, than it,) so thou
Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage,
Look for no less than death.
Her.
Sir, spare your threats;
The bug, which you would fright me with, I seek.
To me can life be no commodity:
The crown and comfort of my life2note
, your favour,
I do give lost; for I do feel it gone,
But know not how it went: My second joy,
And first-fruits of my body, from his presence,
I am barr'd, like one infectious: My third comfort,
Starr'd most unluckily3note
, is from my breast
-- 314 --
The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth,
Haled out to murder: Myself on every post
Proclaim'd a strumpet; With immodest hatred,
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs
To women of all fashion:—Lastly, hurried
Here to this place, i' the open air, before
I have got strength of limit4note
. Now, my liege,
Tell me what blessings I have here alive,
That I should fear to die? Therefore, proceed.
But yet hear this; mistake me not;—No! life,
I prize it not a straw:—but for mine honour,
(Which I would free,) if I shall be condemn'd
Upon surmises; all proofs sleeping else,
But what your jealousies awake; I tell you,
'Tis rigour, and not law5note
.—Your honours all,
I do refer me to the oracle;
Apollo be my judge.
1 Lord.
This your request
Is altogether just: therefore, bring forth,
And in Apollo's name, his oracle. [Exeunt certain Officers.
-- 315 --
Her.
The emperor of Russia was my father:
O, that he were alive, and here beholding
His daughter's trial! that he did but see
The flatness of my misery6note
; yet with eyes
Of pity, not revenge! Re-enter Officers, with Cleomenes and Dion.
Offi.
You here shall swear upon this sword of justice,
That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have
Been both at Delphos; and from thence have brought
This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd
Of great Apollo's priest; and that, since then,
You have not dar'd to break the holy seal,
Nor read the secrets in't.
, Polixenes
blameless, Camillo a true subject, Leontes a jealous
tyrant, his innocent babe truly begotten; and the
king shall live without an heir, if that, which is lost,
be not found.
Lords.
Now blessed be the great Apollo!
Her.
Praised!
Leon.
Hast thou read truth?
-- 316 --
Offi.
Ay, my lord; even so
As it is here set down.
Leon.
There is no truth at all i' the oracle:
The sessions shall proceed; this is mere falsehood. Enter a Servant, hastily.
Serv.
My lord the king, the king!
Leon.
What is the business?
Serv.
O sir, I shall be hated to report it:
The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear
Of the queen's speed8note, is gone.
Leon.
How! gone?
Serv.
Is dead.
Leon.
Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves
Do strike at my injustice. [Hermione faints.] How now there?
Paul.
This news is mortal to the queen:—Look down,
And see what death is doing.
Leon.
Take her hence:
Her heart is but o'ercharg'd; she will recover.—
I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion:—
'Beseech you, tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life.—Apollo, pardon
[Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, with Herm.
My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle!—
I'll reconcile me to Polixenes;
New woo my queen; recall the good Camillo;
Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;
For, being transported by my jealousies
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose
Camillo for the minister, to poison
My friend Polixenes: which had been done,
-- 317 --
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
My swift command9note
, though I with death, and with
Reward, did threaten and encourage him,
Not doing it, and being done: he, most humane,
And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest
Unclasp'd my practice; quit his fortunes here,
Which you knew great; and to the hazard
Of all incertainties himself commended1note
,
No richer than his honour:—How he glisters
Thorough my rust! and how his piety
Does my deeds make the blacker2note!
-- 318 --
Re-enter Paulina.
Paul.
Woe the while!
O, cut my lace; lest my heart, cracking it,
Break too!
1 Lord.
What fit is this, good lady?
Paul.
What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?
What wheels? racks? fires? What flaying? boiling,
In leads, or oils? what old, or newer torture
Must I receive; whose every word deserves
To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny
Together working with thy jealousies,—
Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle
For girls of nine!—O, think, what they have done,
And then run mad, indeed; stark mad! for all
Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.
That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing;
That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant,
And damnable ungrateful3note
: nor was't much,
-- 319 --
Thou would'st have poison'd good Camillo's honour4note,
To have him kill a king; poor trespasses,
More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon
The casting forth to crows thy baby daughter,
To be or none, or little; though a devil
Would have shed water out of fire, ere don't5note
:
Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death
Of the young prince; whose honourable thoughts
(Thoughts high for one so tender,) cleft the heart
That could conceive, a gross and foolish sire
Blemish'd his gracious dam: this is not, no,
Laid to thy answer: But the last,—O, lords,
When I have said, cry, woe!—the queen, the queen,
The sweetest, dearest, creature's dead; and vengeance for't
Not dropp'd down yet.
1 Lord.
The higher powers forbid!
Paul.
I say, she's dead; I'll swear't: if word, nor oath,
Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring
Tincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye,
-- 320 --
Heat outwardly, or breath within, I'll serve you
As I would do the gods.—But, O thou tyrant!
Do not repent these things; for they are heavier
Than all thy woes can stir: therefore betake thee
To nothing but despair. A thousand knees
Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting,
Upon a barren mountain, and still winter
In storm perpetual, could not move the gods
To look that way thou wert.
Leon.
Go on, go on:
Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv'd
All tongues to talk their bitterest.
1 Lord.
Say no more;
Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault
I' the boldness of your speech.
Paul.
I am sorry for't6note;
All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,
I do repent: Alas, I have show'd too much
The rashness of a woman: he is touch'd
To the noble heart.—What's gone, and what's past help,
Should be past grief7note
: Do not receive affliction
At my petition, I beseech you; rather
Let me be punish'd, that have minded you
Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege,
Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman:
The love I bore your queen,—lo, fool again!—
I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children;
I'll not remember you of my own lord,
Who is lost too: Take your patience to you,
And I'll say nothing.
-- 321 --
Leon.
Thou didst speak but well,
When most the truth; which I receive much better
Than to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me
To the dead bodies of my queen, and son:
One grave shall be for both; upon them shall
The causes of their death appear, unto
Our shame perpetual: Once a day I'll visit
The chapel where they lie; and tears, shed there,
Shall be my recreation: So long as
Nature will bear up with this exercise,
So long I daily vow to use it. Come,
And lead me to these sorrows. [Exeunt.SCENE III.Bohemia. A Desert Country near the Sea.Enter Antigonus, with the Child; and a Mariner.
, our ship hath touch'd upon
The deserts of Bohemia?
Mar.
Ay, my lord; and fear
We have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly,
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,
The heavens with that we have in hand are angry,
And frown upon us.
Ant.
Their sacred wills be done!—Go, get aboard;
Look to thy bark; I'll not be long, before
I call upon thee.
Mar.
Make your best haste; and go not
Too far i' the land: 'tis like to be loud weather;
-- 322 --
Besides, this place is famous for the creatures
Of prey, that keep upon't.
Ant.
Go thou away:
I'll follow instantly.
Mar.
I am glad at heart
To be so rid o' the business. [Exit.
Ant.
Come, poor babe:—
I have heard, (but not believ'd,) the spirits of the dead
May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother
Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream
So like a waking. To me comes a creature,
Sometimes her head on one side, some another;
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,
So fill'd, and so becoming: in pure white robes,
Like very sanctity, she did approach
My cabin where I lay: thrice bow'd before me;
And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes
Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon
Did this break from her: Good Antigonus,
Since fate, against thy better disposition, Hath made thy person for the thrower-out Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,— Places remote enough are in Bohemia, There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe Is counted lost for ever, Perdita I pr'ythee, call't: for this ungentle business, Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see Thy wife Paulina more:—and so, with shrieks,
She melted into air. Affrighted much,
I did in time collect myself; and thought
This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys:
Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously,
I will be squar'd by this. I do believe,
Hermione hath suffer'd death; and that
Apollo would, this being indeed the issue
Of king Polixenes, it should here be laid,
-- 323 --
Either for life, or death, upon the earth
Of its right father.—Blossom, speed thee well!
[Laying down the Child.
There lie; and there thy character9note: there these;
[Laying down a Bundle.
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,
And still rest thine.—The storm begins:—Poor wretch,
That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd
To loss, and what may follow!—Weep I cannot,
But my heart bleeds: and most accurs'd am I,
To be by oath enjoin'd to this.—Farewell!
The day frowns more and more; thou art like to have
A lullaby too rough1note: I never saw
The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour2note?—
Well may I get aboard!—This is the chace;
I am gone for ever.
[Exit, pursued by a Bear.Enter an old Shepherd.
Shep.
I would, there were no age between ten
and three and twenty; or that youth would sleep
out the rest: for there is nothing in the between
but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry,
stealing, fighting.—Hark you now!—Would
any but these boiled brains of nineteen, and two-and-twenty,
hunt this weather? They have scared
-- 324 --
away two of my best sheep; which, I fear, the wolf
will sooner find, than the master: if any where I
have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browzing of ivy3note.
Good luck, an't be thy will! what have we here?
[Taking up the Child.] Mercy on's, a barne; a
very pretty barne4note
! A boy, or a child5note, I wonder?
A pretty one; a very pretty one: Sure some scape:
though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman
in the scape. This has been some
stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work:
they were warmer that got this, than the
poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity: yet I'll
tarry till my son come; he hollad but even now.
Whoa, ho hoa!
Enter Clown.
Clo.
Hilloa, loa!
Shep.
What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing
to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither.
What ailest thou, man?
Clo.
I have seen two such sights, by sea, and by
land;—but I am not to say, it is a sea, for it is now
the sky; betwixt the firmament and it, you cannot
thrust a bodkin's point.
Shep.
Why, boy, how is it?
-- 325 --
Clo.
I would, you did but see how it chafes,
how it rages, how it takes up the shore! but that's
not to the point: O, the most piteous cry of the
poor souls! sometimes to see 'em, and not to see
'em: now the ship boring the moon with her main-mast6note;
and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as
you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for
the land service.—To see how the bear tore out his
shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help, and
said, his name was Antigonus, a nobleman:—But
to make an end of the ship:—to see how the sea
flap-dragoned it7note:—but, first, how the poor souls
roared, and the sea mocked them;—and how the
poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked
him, both roaring louder than the sea, or weather.
Shep.
Name of mercy, when was this, boy?
Clo.
Now, now; I have not winked since I saw
these sights: the men are not yet cold under water,
nor the bear half dined on the gentleman; he's at it
now.
Shep.
Would I had been by, to have helped the
old man8note
!
-- 326 --
Clo.
I would you had been by the ship side, to
have helped her; there your charity would have
lacked footing.
[Aside.
Shep.
Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look
thee here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou met'st
with things dying, I with things new born. Here's
a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth9note for a
squire's child! Look thee here; take up, take up,
boy; open't. So, let's see; It was told me, I should
be rich by the fairies: this is some changeling1note
youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold!
all gold!
Shep.
This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so:
up with it, keep it close; home, home, the next
way3note. We are lucky, boy; and to be so still, requires
nothing but secrecy.—Let my sheep go:—
Come, good boy, the next way home.
Clo.
Go you the next way with your findings;
I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman,
and how much he hath eaten: they are never curst,
but when they are hungry4note: if there be any of him
left, I'll bury it.
Shep.
That's a good deed: If thou may'st discern
by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch
me to the sight of him.
Clo.
Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him
i' the ground.
Shep.
'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do good
deeds on't.
[Exeunt.ACT IV.Enter Time, as Chorus.
Time.
I,—that please some, try all; both joy, and terror,
Of good and bad; that make, and unfold error5note
,—
-- 328 --
Now take upon me, in the name of Time,
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime,
To me, or my swift passage, that I slide
O'er sixteen years6note
; since it is in my power
To o'erthrow law8note, and in one self-born hour
To plant and o'erwhelm custom: Let me pass
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was,
Or what is now received: I witness to
The times that brought them in; so shall I do
To the freshest things now reigning; and make stale
The glistering of this present, as my tale
-- 330 --
Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,
I turn my glass; and give my scene such growing,
As you had slept between. Leontes leaving
The effects of his fond jealousies; so grieving,
That he shuts up himself; imagine me,
Gentle spectators, that I now may be
In fair Bohemia9note
; and remember well,
I mentioned a son o' the king's, which Florizel
I now name to you; and with speed so pace
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wond'ring: What of her ensues,
I list not prophesy; but let Time's news
Be known, when 'tis brought forth:—a shepherd's daughter.
And what to her adheres, which follows after,
Is the argument of time1note: Of this allow2note.
If ever you have spent time worse ere now;
If never yet, that Time himself doth say,
He wishes earnestly, you never may. [Exit.
-- 331 --
SCENE I.The Same. A Room in the Palace of Polixenes.
Enter Polixenes and Camillo.
Pol.
I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate:
'tis a sickness, denying thee any thing;
a death, to grant this.
, since I saw my country:
though I have, for the most part, been aired abroad,
I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent
king, my master, hath sent for me: to whose
feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween
to think so; which is another spur to my departure.
Pol.
As thou lovest me, Camilllo, wipe not out
the rest of thy services, by leaving me now: the
need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made;
better not to have had thee, than thus to want
thee: thou, having made me businesses, which none,
without thee, can sufficiently manage, must either
stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee
the very services thou hast done: which if I have
not enough considered, (as too much I cannot,) to
be more thankful to thee, shall be my study; and
my profit therein, the heaping friendships4note
. Of
-- 332 --
that fatal country Sicilia, pr'ythee speak no more:
whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance
of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and
reconciled king, my brother; whose loss of his
most precious queen, and children, are even now
to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou
the prince Florizel my son? Kings are no less unhappy,
their issue not being gracious, than they are
in losing them, when they have approved their
virtues.
Cam.
Sir, it is three days, since I saw the prince:
What his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown:
but I have, missingly, noted5note, he is of late
much retired from court; and is less frequent to
his princely exercises, than formerly he hath appeared.
Pol.
I have considered so much, Camillo; and
with some care; so far, that I have eyes under my
service, which look upon his removedness: from
whom I have this intelligence; That he is seldom
from the house of a most homely shepherd; a man,
they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the
imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an
unspeakable estate.
Cam.
I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath
a daughter of most rare note: the report of her is
extended more, than can be thought to begin from
such a cottage.
-- 333 --
Pol.
That's likewise part of my intelligence.
But, I fear the angle6note
that plucks our son thither.
Thou shalt accompany us to the place: where we
will, not appearing what we are, have some question7notewith the shepherd; from whose simplicity, I
think it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's
resort thither. Pr'ythee, be my present partner
in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of
Sicilia.
Cam.
I willingly obey your command.
Pol.
My best Camillo!—We must disguise ourselves.
[Exeunt.SCENE II.The Same. A Road near the Shepherd's Cottage.
,—
With heigh! with, hey!* note the thrush and the jay:—
Are summer songs for me and my aunts5note
,
While we lie tumbling in the hay.
I have served prince Florizel, and, in my time, wore
three-pile6note
; but now I am out of service:
-- 336 --
But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?
The pale moon shines by night:
And when I wander here and there,
I then do most go right.
If tinkers may have leave to live,
And bear the sow-skin budget;
Then my account I well may give,
And in the stocks avouch it.
; when the kite builds, look
to lesser linen. My father named me, Autolycus8note
;
-- 337 --
who, being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was
likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles: With
die, and drab, I purchased this caparison9note; and my
revenue is the silly cheat1note
: Gallows, and knock,
are too powerful on the highway2note: beating, and
-- 338 --
hanging, are terrors to me; for the life to come, I
sleep out the thought of it.—A prize! a prize!
;
every tod yields—pound and odd shilling: fifteen
hundred shorn,—What comes the wool to?
-- 339 --
Aut.
If the springe hold, the cock's mine.
[Aside.
Clo.
I cannot do't without counters4note.—Let me
see; what I am to buy for our sheep-shearing
feast5note? Three pound of sugar; five pound of currants;rice—What will this sister of mine do
with rice? But my father hath made her mistress
of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me
four-and-twenty nosegays for the shearers: three-man
song-men all6note
, and very good ones; but they
are most of them means and bases7note
: but one Puritan
amongst them, and he sings psalms to hornpipes.
I must have saffron, to colour the warden
pies8note
; mace,—dates,—none; that's out of my note:
-- 340 --
nutmegs, seven; a race, or two, of ginger; but that
I may beg;—four pound of prunes, and as many ofraisins o' the sun.
O, help me, help me! pluck but off these
rags; and then, death, death!
Clo.
Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more
rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off.
Aut.
O, sir, the loathsomeness of them offends
me more than the stripes I have received; which
are mighty ones, and millions.
Clo.
Alas, poor man! a million of beating may
come to a great matter.
Aut.
I am robbed, sir, and beaten; my money
and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable
things put upon me.
Clo.
What, by a horse-man, or a foot-man?
Aut.
A foot-man, sweet sir, a foot-man.
Clo.
Indeed, he should be a foot-man, by the
garments he hath left with thee; if this be a horse-man's
coat, it hath seen very hot service. Lend me
thy hand, I'll help thee: come, lend me thy hand.
[Helping him up.
-- 341 --
Aut.
O! good sir, tenderly, oh!
Clo.
Alas, poor soul.
Aut.
O, good sir, softly, good sir: I fear, sir, my
shoulder-blade is out.
Clo.
How now? canst stand?
Aut.
Softly, dear sir; [Picks his pocket.] good
sir, softly: you ha' done me a charitable office.
Clo.
Dost lack any money? I have a little money
for thee.
Aut.
No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir:
I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile
hence, unto whom I was going; I shall there have
money, or any thing I want: Offer me no money,
I pray you; that kills my heart1note.
Clo.
What manner of fellow was he that robbed
you?
Aut.
A fellow, sir, that I have known to go
about with trol-my-dames2note
[unresolved image link]
: I knew him once a
-- 342 --
servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for
which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly
whipped out of the court.
Clo.
His vices, you would say; there's no virtue
whipped out of the court: they cherish it, to make
it stay there; and yet it will no more but abide3note
.
Aut.
Vices I would say, sir. I know this man
well: he hath been since an ape-bearer; then a
process-server, a bailiff; then he compassed a motion
of the prodigal son4note, and married a tinker's
wife within a mile where my land and living lies;
and, having flown over many knavish professions, he
settled only in rogue: some call him Autolycus.
Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue,
that put me into this apparel.
Clo.
Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia;
if you had but looked big, and spit at him, he'd
have run.
Aut.
I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter:
-- 343 --
I am false of heart that way; and that he knew, I
warrant him.
Clo.
How do you now?
Aut.
Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can
stand, and walk: I will even take my leave of you,
and pace softly towards my kinsman's.
Clo.
Shall I bring thee on the way?
Aut.
No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.
Clo.
Then fare thee well; I must go buy spices
for our sheep-shearing.
Aut.
Prosper you, sweet sir!—[Exit Clown.]Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your
spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too:
If I make not this cheat bring out another, and the
shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled, and my
name put in the book of virtue6note!
Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way7note,
And merrily hent the stile-a8note
:
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a. [Exit.
-- 344 --
SCENE III.The Same. A Shepherd's Cottage.Enter Florizel and Perdita.
Flo.
These your unusual weeds to each part of you
Do give a life: no shepherdess; but Flora,
Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing
Is as a meeting of the petty gods,
And you the queen on't.
Per.
Sir, my gracious lord,
To chide at your extremes9note
, it not becomes me;
O, pardon, that I name them: your high self,
The gracious mark o' the land1note
, you have obscur'd
With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid,
Most goddess-like prank'd up2note
: But that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it3note with a custom, I should blush
-- 345 --
To see you so attired; sworn, I think,
To show myself a glass4note
.
-- 346 --
Flo.
I bless the time,
When my good falcon made her flight across
Thy father's ground5note
.
Per.
Now Jove afford you cause!
To me, the difference forges dread6note
; your greatness
Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble
To think, your father, by some accident,
Should pass this way, as you did: O, the fates!
How would he look, to see his work, so noble,
Vilely bound up7note
? What would he say? Or how
-- 347 --
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
The sternness of his presence?
Flo.
Apprehend
Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love8note
, have taken
The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter
Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune
A ram, and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god,
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
As I seem now: Their transformations
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer;
Nor in a way9note
so chaste: since my desires
Run not before mine honour; nor my lusts
Burn hotter than my faith.
Per.
O but, sir1note,
Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power o' the king:
One of these two must be necessities,
Which then will speak; that you must change this purpose,
Or I my life.
Flo.
Thou dearest Perdita,
-- 348 --
With these forc'd thoughts2note, I pr'ythee, darken not
The mirth o' the feast: Or I'll be thine, my fair,
Or not my father's: for I cannot be
Mine own, nor any thing to any, if
I be not thine: to this I am most constant,
Though destiny say, no. Be merry, gentle;
Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing
That you behold the while. Your guests are coming:
Lift up your countenance: as it were the day
Of celebration of that nuptial, which
We two have sworn shall come.
Per.
O lady fortune.
Stand you auspicious! Enter Shepherd, with Polixenes and Camillo,
disguised; Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, and Others.
Flo.
See, your guests approach:
Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth.
Shep.
Fye, daughter! when my old wife liv'd, upon
This day, she was both pantler, butler, cook;
Both dame and servant: welcom'd all; serv'd all:
Would sing her song, and dance her turn: now here,
At upper end o' the table, now, i' the middle;
On his shoulder, and his: her face o' fire
With labour; and the thing, she took to quench it,
She would to each one sip: You are retir'd,
As if you were a feasted one, and not
The hostess of the meeting: Pray you, bid
These unknown friends to us welcome: for it is
A way to make us better friends, more known.
-- 349 --
Come, quench your blushes; and present yourself
That which you are, mistress o' the feast3note: Come on,
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
As your good flock shall prosper.
Per.
Welcome, sir!
[To Pol.
It is my father's will, I should take on me
The hostess-ship o' the day:—You're welcome, sir!
[To Camillo.
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas.—Reverend sirs,
For you there's rosemary, and rue; these keep
Seeming, and savour, all the winter long:
Grace, and remembrance, be to you both4note
,
And welcome to our shearing!
Pol.
Shepherdess,
(A fair one are you,) well you fit our ages
With flowers of winter.
Per.
Sir, the year growing ancient,—
-- 350 --
Not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
Of trembling winter,—the fairest flowers o' the season
Are our carnations, and streak'd gillyflowers,
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustick garden's barren; and I care not
To get slips of them.
Pol.
Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Do you neglect them?
,
There is an art, which, in their piedness, shares
With great creating nature6note
.
Pol.
Say, there be;
Yet nature is made better by no mean,
But nature makes that mean: so, o'er that art,
Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry
A gentler scion to the wildest stock;
And make conceive a bark of baser kind
By bud of nobler race; This is an art
Which does mend nature,—change it rather: but
The art itself is nature.
Per.
So it is.
Pol.
Then make your garden rich in gillyflowers7note
,
And do not call them bastards.
-- 351 --
Per.
I'll not put
The dibble8note in earth to set one slip of them:
No more than, were I painted, I would wish
-- 352 --
This youth should say, 'twere well; and only therefore
Desire to breed by me.—Here's flowers for you;
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram;
The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun,
And with him rises9note
weeping; these are flowers
Of middle summer, and, I think, they are given
To men of middle age: You are very welcome.
Cam.
I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
And only live by gazing.
Per.
Out, alas!
You'd be so lean, that blasts of January
Would blow you through and through.—Now, my fairest friend,
I would, I had some flowers o' the spring, that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours;
That wear upon your virgin branches yet
Your maidenheads growing:—O Proserpina,
For the flowers now, that, frighted, thou let'st fall
From Dis's waggon1note
! daffodils,
-- 353 --
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes2note
,
-- 354 --
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold3note
Bright Phœbus in his strength, a malady
Most incident to maids; bold oxlips4note
, and
-- 355 --
The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack,
To make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend,
To strew him o'er and o'er.
Flo.
What? like a corse?
Per.
No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on;
Not like a corse: or if,—not to be buried,
But quick, and in mine arms5note
. Come, take your flowers:
Methinks, I play as I have seen them do
In Whitsun' pastorals: sure, this robe of mine
Does change my disposition.
Flo.
What you do,
Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
I'd have you do it ever: when you sing,
I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms;
Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,
To sing them too: When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, still so,
And own no other function: Each your doing6note,
So singular in each particular,
Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds,
That all your acts are queens.
Per.
O Doricles,
-- 356 --
Your praises are too large: but that your youth,
And the true blood, which peeps fairly through it7note
,
Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd;
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,
You woo'd me the false way.
Flo.
I think, you have
As little skill to fear8note
, as I have purpose
To put you to't.—But, come; our dance, I pray:
Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair,
That never mean to part.
Pol.
This is the prettiest low-born lass, that ever
Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does, or seems,
But smacks of something greater than herself;
Too noble for this place.
Cam.
He tells her something,
That makes her blood look out1note
: Good sooth, she is
The queen of curds and cream.
Clo.
Come on, strike up.
Dor.
Mopsa must be your mistress: marry, garlick,
To mend her kissing with.—
Mop.
Now, in good time!
Clo.
Not a word, a word; we stand2note
upon our manners.—
Come, strike up. [Musick.
-- 358 --
Here a dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses.
Pol.
Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this,
Which dances with your daughter?
Shep.
They call him Doricles; and boasts himself3note
To have a worthy feeding4note
: but I have it
Upon his own report, and I believe it;
He looks like sooth5note
: He says, he loves my daughter;
I think so too: for never gaz'd the moon
Upon the water, as he'll stand, and read,
As 'twere, my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain,
I think, there is not half a kiss to choose,
Who loves another best6note.
Pol.
She dances featly.
Shep.
So she does any thing; though I report it,
-- 359 --
That should be silent: if young Doricles
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
Which he not dreams of.
Enter a Servant.
Serv.
O master, if you did but hear the pedler at
the door, you would never dance again after a tabor
and pipe; no, the bagpipe could not move you:
he sings several tunes faster than you'll tell money;
he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all
men's ears grew to his tunes.
Clo.
He could never come better: he shall come
in: I love a ballad but even too well; if it be doleful
matter, merrily set down7note, or a very pleasant
thing indeed, and sung lamentably.
Serv.
He hath songs, for man, or woman, of all
sizes; no milliner can so fit his customers with
gloves8note: he has the prettiest love-songs for maids;
so without bawdry, which is strange; with such delicate
burdens of dildos9note
and thump her; and where some stretch'd-mouth'd
rascal would, as it were, mean mischief, and break
a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to
answer, Whoop, do me no harm, good man; puts
him off, slights him, with Whoop, do me no harm,
good man2note
.
Pol.
This is a brave fellow.
Clo.
Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable-conceited
fellow. Has he any unbraided wares3note
?
-- 361 --
Serv.
He hath ribands of all the colours i' the
rainbow; points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia
can learnedly handle4note, though they come to
him by the gross; inkles, caddisses5note
, cambricks,
lawns: why, he sings them over, 'as they were gods
or goddesses; you would think, a smock were a she-angel;
he so chants to the sleeve-hand, and the
work about the square on't6note
.
-- 362 --
Clo.
Pr'ythee, bring him in; and let him approach
singing.
Per.
Forewarn him, that he use no scurrilous
words in his tunes.
Clo.
You have of these pedlers, that have more
in 'em than you'd think, sister.
Per.
Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
Enter Autolycus, singing.
Lawn, as white as driven snow;
Cyprus, black as e'er was crow;
-- 363 --
Gloves, as sweet as damask roses;
Masks for faces, and for noses;
Bugle bracelet, necklace-amber7note
,
Perfume for a lady's chamber:
Golden quoifs, and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears;
Pins and poking-sticks of steel8note
,
What maids lack from head to heel:
-- 364 --
Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry:
Come, buy, &c.
Clo.
If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou
should'st take no money of me; but being enthrall'd
as I am, it will also be the bondage of certain ribands
and gloves.
Mop.
I was promised them against the feast;
but they come not too late now.
Dor.
He hath promised you more than that, or
there be liars.
Mop.
He hath paid you all he promised you:
may be, he has paid you more; which will shame
you to give him again.
Clo.
Is there no manners left among maids?
will they wear their plackets, where they should
bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when
you are going to bed, or kiln-hole9note
, to whistle off
these secrets; but you must be tittle-tattling before
-- 365 --
all our guests? 'Tis well they are whispering: Clamour
your tongues1note
, and not a word more.
Mop.
I have done. Come, you promised me a
tawdry lace2note
Have I not told thee, how I was cozened
by the way, and lost all my money?
-- 367 --
Aut.
And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad;
therefore it behoves men to be wary.
Clo.
Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing
here.
Aut.
I hope so, sir; for I have about me many
parcels of charge.
Clo.
What hast here? ballads?
Mop.
Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad
in print, a'-life4note
; for then we are sure they are
true.
Aut.
Here's one to a very doleful tune, How a
usurer's wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags
at a burden; and how she longed to eat
adders' heads, and toads carbonadoed.
Mop.
Is it true, think you?
Aut.
Very true; and but a month old.
Dor.
Bless me from marrying a usurer!
Aut.
Here's the midwife's name to't, one mistress
-- 368 --
Taleporter; and five or six honest wives' that
were present: Why should I carry lies abroad?
Mop.
'Pray you now, buy it.
Clo.
Come on, lay it by: And let's first see more
ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.
, that appeared
upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore
of April, forty thousand fathom above water, and
sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids:
-- 369 --
it was thought, she was a woman, and was turned
into a cold fish, for she would not exchange flesh7note
with one that loved her: The ballad is very pitiful,
and as true.
Dor.
Is it true too, think you?
Aut.
Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses,
more than my pack will hold.
Clo.
Lay it by too: Another.
Aut.
This is a merry ballad; but a very pretty
one.
Mop.
Let's have some merry ones.
Aut.
Why, this is a passing merry one; and goes
to the tune of, Two maids wooing a man: there's
scarce a maid westward, but she sings it; 'tis in request,
I can tell you.
Mop.
We can both sing it; if thou'lt bear a part,
thou shalt hear; 'tis in three parts.
Dor.
We had the tune on't a month ago.
Aut.
I can bear my part; you must know, 'tis
my occupation: have at it with you.
SONG.A.
Get you hence, for I must go;
Where, it fits not you to know.
D.
Whither?
M.
O, whither?
D.
Whither?
M.
It becomes thy oath full well,
Thou to me thy secrets tell:
D.
Me too, let me go thither. M.
Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill:
D.
If to either, thou dost ill.
A.
Neither.
D.
What, neither?
A.
Neither.
D.
Thou hast sworn my love to be;
M.
Thou hast sworn it more to me:
Then, whither go'st? say, whither?
-- 370 --
Clo.
We'll have this song out anon by ourselves;
My father and the gentlemen are in sad8note
talk, and
we'll not trouble them: Come, bring away thy pack
after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both:—Pedler,
let's have the first choice.—Follow me, girls.
Aut.
And you shall pay well for 'em.
[Aside.
Will you buy any tape,
Or lace for your cape,
My dainty duck, my dear-a?
Any silk, any thread,
Any toys for your head,
Of the new'st, and fin'st, fin'st wear-a?
Come to the pedler;
Money's a medler,
That doth utter all men's ware-a9note
. [Exeunt Clown, Autolycus, Dorcas, and Mopsa.
Enter a Servant.
Serv.
Master, there is three carters, three shepherds,
three neat-herds, three swine-herds1note, that
themselves saltiers3note: and they have a dance which
-- 373 --
the wenches say is a gallimaufry4note of gambols, because
they are not in't; but they themselves are
o' the mind, (if it be not too rough for some, that
know little but bowling5note
,) it will please plentifully.
Shep.
Away! we'll none on't; here has been too
much homely foolery already:—I know, sir, we
weary you.
Pol.
You weary those that refresh us: Pray, let's
see these four threes of herdsmen.
Serv.
One three of them, by their own report,
sir, hath danced before the king; and not the worst
of the three, but jumps twelve foot and a half by
the squire6note.
Shep.
Leave your prating; since these good
men are pleased, let them come in; but quickly
now.
Serv.
Why, they stay at door, sir.
[Exit.Re-enter Servant, with Twelve Rusticks habited like
Satyrs. They dance, and then exeunt.
Pol.
O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter7note
.—
-- 374 --
Is it not too far gone?—'Tis time to part them.—
He's simple, and tells much. [Aside.]—How now, fair shepherd?
Your heart is full of something, that does take
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young,
And handed love, as you do, I was wont
To load my she with knacks: I would have ransack'd
The pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it
To her acceptance; you have let him go,
And nothing marted with him: If your lass
Interpretation should abuse; and call this,
Your lack of love, or bounty; you were straited8note
For a reply, at least, if you make a care
Of happy holding her.
Flo.
Old sir, I know
She prizes not such trifles as these are:
The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and lock'd
Up in my heart; which I have given already,
But not deliver'd.—O, hear me breathe my life
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem9note,
Hath sometime lov'd: I take thy hand; this hand,
As soft as dove's down, and as white as it;
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow1note
, that's bolted
By the northern blasts twice o'er.
-- 375 --
Pol.
What follows this?—
How prettily the young swain seems to wash
The hand, was fair before!—I have put you out:—
But, to your protestation; let me hear
What you profess.
Flo.
Do, and be witness to't.
Pol.
And this my neighbour too?
Flo.
And he, and more
Than he, and men; the earth, the heavens, and all;
That,—were I crown'd the most imperial monarch,
Thereof most worthy; were I the fairest youth
That ever made eye swerve; had force, and knowledge,
More than was ever man's,—I would not prize them,
Without her love: for her, employ them all;
Commend them, and condemn them, to her service,
Or to their own perdition.
Pol.
Fairly offer'd.
Cam.
This shows a sound affection.
Shep.
But, my daughter,
Say you the like to him?
Per.
I cannot speak
So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.
Shep.
Take hands, a bargain;—
And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't:
-- 376 --
I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his.
Flo.
O, that must be
I' the virtue of your daughter: one being dead,
I shall have more than you can dream of yet;
Enough then for your wonder: But, come on,
Contract us 'fore these witnesses.
Shep.
Come, your hand;—
And, daughter, yours.
Pol.
Soft, swain, awhile, 'beseech you;
Have you a father?
Flo.
I have: But what of him?
Pol.
Knows he of this?
Flo.
He neither does, nor shall.
Pol.
Methinks, a father
Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest
That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more;
Is not your father grown incapable
Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid
With age, and altering rheums2note
? Can he speak? hear?
Know man from man? dispute his own estate3note
?
Lies he not bed-rid? and again, does nothing,
But what he did being childish?
-- 377 --
Flo.
No, good sir;
He has his health, and ampler strength, indeed,
Than most have of his age.
Pol.
By my white beard,
You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
Something unfilial: Reason, my son
Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason,
The father, (all whose joy is nothing else
But fair posterity,) should hold some counsel
In such a business.
Flo.
I yield all this;
But, for some other reasons, my grave sir,
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
My father of this business.
Pol.
Let him know't.
Flo.
He shall not.
Pol.
Pr'ythee, let him.
Flo.
No, he must not.
Shep.
Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve
At knowing of thy choice.
Flo.
Come, come he must not:—
Mark our contráct.
Pol.
Mark your divorce, young sir,
[Discovering himself.
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
To be acknowledg'd: Thou a scepter's heir,
That thus affect'st a sheep-hook!—Thou old traitor,
I am sorry, that, by hanging thee, I can but
Shorten thy life one week.—And thou, fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft; who, of force4note, must know
The royal fool thou cop'st with;—
Shep.
O, my heart!
-- 378 --
Pol.
I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, and made
More homely than thy state.—For thee, fond boy,—
If I may ever know, thou dost but sigh,
That thou no more shalt never see this knack, (as never5note
I mean thou shalt,) we'll bar thee from succession;
Not hold thee of our blood, no not our kin,
Far than6note
Deucalion off:—Mark thou my words;
Follow us to the court.—Thou churl, for this time,
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it.—And you, enchantment,—
Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too,
That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
Unworthy thee,—if ever, henceforth, thou
These rural latches to his entrance open,
Or hoop his body7note more with thy embraces,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee,
As thou art tender to't. [Exit.
Per.
Even here undone!
I was not much afeard8note: for once, or twice,
-- 379 --
I was about to speak; and tell him plainly,
The selfsame sun, that shines upon his court,
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
Looks on alike9note
.—Will't please you, sir, be gone?
[To Florizel.
I told you, what would come of this: 'Beseech you,
Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,—
-- 380 --
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further,
But milk my ewes, and weep.
Cam.
Why, how now, father?
Speak, ere thou diest.
Shep.
I cannot speak, nor think,
Nor dare to know that which I know.—O, sir,
[To Florizel.
You have undone a man of fourscore three1note,
That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,
To die upon the bed my father died,
To lie close by his honest bones: but now
Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me
Where no priest shovels-in dust2note
.—O cursed wretch!
[To Perdita.
That knew'st this was the prince, and would'st adventure
To mingle faith with him.—Undone! undone!
If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd
To die when I desire3note
. [Exit.
Flo.
Why look you so upon me4note?
I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd,
But nothing alter'd: What I was, I am:
-- 381 --
More straining on, for plucking back; not following
My leash unwillingly.
Cam.
Gracious my lord,
You know your father's temper5note: at this time
He will allow no speech,—which, I do guess,
You do not purpose to him;—and as hardly
Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear:
Then, till the fury of his highness settle,
Come not before him.
Flo.
I not purpose it.
I think, Camillo.
Cam.
Even he, my lord.
Per.
How often have I told you, 'twould be thus?
How often said, my dignity would last
But till 'twere known?
Flo.
It cannot fail, but by
The violation of my faith; And then
Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together,
And mar the seeds within6note
!—Lift up thy looks7note:—
From my succession wipe me, father! I
Am heir to my affection.
: if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness,
Do bid it welcome.
Cam.
This is desperate, sir.
Flo.
So call it: but it does fulfil my vow:
-- 382 --
I needs must think it honesty. Camillo,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
Be thereat glean'd; for all the sun sees, or
The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
To this my fair belov'd: Therefore, I pray you,
As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend,
When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, I mean not
To see him any more,) cast your good counsels
Upon his passion; Let myself and fortune,
Tug for the time to come. This you may know,
And so deliver,—I am put to sea
With her, whom here9note I cannot hold on shore;
And, most opportune to our need1note
, I have
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd
For this design. What course I mean to hold,
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concern me the reporting.
Cam.
O, my lord,
I would your spirit were easier for advice,
Or stronger for your need.
Flo.
Hark, Perdita.—
[Takes her aside.
I'll hear you by and by. [To Camillo.
Cam.
He's irremovable,
Resolv'd for flight: Now were I happy, if
His going I could frame to serve my turn;
Save him from danger, do him love and honour;
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia,
And that unhappy king, my master, whom
I so much thirst to see.
Flo.
Now, good Camillo,
-- 383 --
I am so fraught with curious business, that
I leave out ceremony.
[Going.
Cam.
Sir, I think,
You have heard of my poor services, i' the love
That I have borne your father?
Flo.
Very nobly
Have you deserv'd: it is my father's musick,
To speak your deeds; not little of his care
To have them recompens'd as thought on.
Cam.
Well, my lord,
If you may please to think I love the king;
And, through him, what is nearest to him, which is
Your gracious self; embrace but my direction,
(If your more ponderous and settled project
May suffer alteration,) on mine honour
I'll point you where you shall have such receiving
As shall become your highness; where you may
Enjoy your mistress; (from the whom, I see,
There's no disjunction to be made, but by,
As heavens forefend! your ruin:) marry her;
And (with my best endeavours, in your absence,)
Your discontenting father strive to qualify,
And bring him up to liking2note
.
Flo.
How, Camillo,
May this, almost a miracle, be done?
That I may call thee something more than man,
And, after that, trust to thee.
Cam.
Have you thought on
A place, whereto you'll go?
-- 384 --
Flo.
Not any yet:
But as the unthought-on accident is guilty
To what we wildly do3note
; so we profess
Ourselves to be the slaves of chance4note, and flies
Of every wind that blows.
Cam.
Then list to me:
This follows,—if you will not change your purpose,
But undergo this flight;—Make for Sicilia;
And there present yourself, and your fair princess,
(For so, I see, she must be,) 'fore Leontes;
She shall be habited, as it becomes
The partner of your bed. Methinks, I see
Leontes, opening his free arms, and weeping
His welcomes forth: asks thee, the son5note
, forgiveness,
As 'twere i' the father's person: kisses the hands
Of your fresh princess: o'er and o'er divides him
'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the one
He chides to hell, and bids the other grow,
Faster than thought, or time.
Flo.
Worthy Camillo,
What colour for my visitation shall I
Hold up before him?
-- 385 --
Cam.
Sent by the king your father
To greet him, and to give him comforts. Sir,
The manner of your bearing towards him, with
What you, as from your father, shall deliver,
Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down:
The which shall point you forth at every sitting,
What you must say6note
; that he shall not perceive,
But that you have your father's bosom there,
And speak his very heart.
Flo.
I am bound to you:
There is some sap in this7note
.
Cam.
A course more promising
Than a wild dedication of yourselves
To unpath'd waters, undream'd shores; most certain,
To miseries enough: no hope to help you;
But, as you shake off one, to take another8note
:
Nothing so certain as your anchors; who
Do their best office, if they can but stay you
Where you'll be loth to be: Besides, you know,
Prosperity's the very bond of love;
-- 386 --
Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together
Affliction alters.
Per.
One of these is true:
I think, affliction may subdue the cheek,
But not take in the mind9note
.
Cam.
Yea, say you so?
There shall not, at your father's house, these seven years,
Be born another such.
Flo.
My good Camillo,
She is as forward of her breeding, as
She is i' the rear our birth.
Cam.
I cannot say, 'tis pity
She lacks instructions; for she seems a mistress
To most that teach.
Per.
Your pardon, sir, for this;
I'll blush you thanks1note
.
Flo.
My prettiest Perdita.—
But, O, the thorns we stand upon!—Camillo,—
Preserver of my father, now of me;
The medicine of our house!—how shall we do?
We are not furnish'd like Bohemia's son;
Nor shall appear in Sicilia—
Cam.
My lord,
Fear none of this: I think, you know, my fortunes
-- 387 --
Do all lie there: it shall be so my care
To have you royally appointed, as if
The scene you play, were mine. For instance, sir,
That you may know you shall not want,—one word.
[They talk aside.Enter Autolycus.
Aut.
Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust,
his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman! I have
sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not
a riband, glass, pomander2note
, brooch, table-book,
ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tye, bracelet, horn-ring,
to keep my pack from fasting: they throng
who should buy first; as if my trinkets had been
hallowed3note, and brought a benediction to the buyer:
by which means, I saw whose purse was best in
picture; and, what I saw, to my good use, I remembered.
My clown (who wants but something
to be a reasonable man,) grew so in love with the
-- 388 --
wenches' song, that he would not stir his pettitoes,
till he had both tune and words; which so drew
the rest of the herd to me, that all their other senses
stuck in ears5note: you might have pinched a placket6note
,
it was senseless; 'twas nothing, to geld a codpiece
of a purse; I would have filed keys off, that hung
in chains: no hearing, no feeling, but my sir's
song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that, in
this time of lethargy, I picked and cut most of their
festival purses: and had not the old man come in
with a whoobub against his daughter and the king's
son, and scared my choughs from the chaff, I had
not left a purse alive in the whole army.
[Camillo, Florizel, and Perdita, come forward.
Cam.
Nay, but my letters by this means being there
So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.
Flo.
And those that you'll procure from king Leontes,—
Cam.
Shall satisfy your father.
Per.
Happy be you!
All, that you speak, shows fair.
Cam.
Who have we here?—
[Seeing Autolycus.
-- 389 --
We'll make an instrument of this; omit
Nothing, may give us aid.
Aut.
If they have overheard me now,—why
hanging.
[Aside.
Cam.
How now, good fellow? Why shakest thou
so? Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to
thee.
Aut.
I am a poor fellow, sir.
Cam.
Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal
that from thee: Yet, for the outside of thy poverty,
we must make an exchange: therefore, discase thee
instantly, (thou must think, there's necessity in't,)
and change garments with this gentleman: Though
the pennyworth, on his side, be the worst, yet hold
thee, there's some boot7note.
Aut.
I am a poor fellow, sir:—I know ye well
enough.
[Aside.
Cam.
Nay, pr'ythee, dispatch: the gentleman is
half flayed already8note
.
Aut.
Are you in earnest, sir?—I smell the trick
of it.—
[Aside.
Flo.
Dispatch, I pr'ythee.
Aut.
Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot
with conscience take it.
Cam.
Unbuckle, unbuckle.—
[Flo. and Autol. exchange garments.
Fortunate mistress,—let my prophecy
Come home to you!—you must retire yourself
-- 390 --
Into some covert: take your sweetheart's hat,
And pluck it o'er thy brows; muffle your face;
Dismantle you; and as you can, disliken
The truth of your own seeming; that you may,
(For I do fear eyes over you9note,) to shipboard
Get undescried.
Per.
I see, the play so lies,
That I must bear a part.
Cam.
No remedy.—
Have you done there?
Flo.
Should I now meet my father,
He would not call me son.
Cam.
Nay, you shall have no hat:—
Come, lady, come.—Farewell, my friend.
Aut.
Adieu, sir.
Flo.
O Perdita, what have we twain forgot1note?
Pray you, a word. [They converse apart.
Cam.
What I do next, shall be, to tell the king
[Aside.
Of this escape, and whither they are bound;
Wherein, my hope is, I shall so prevail,
To force him after: in whose company
I shall review Sicilia; for whose sight
I have a woman's longing.
Flo.
Fortune speed us!—
Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.
Cam.
The swifter speed, the better. [Exeunt Florizel, Perdita, and Camillo.
Aut.
I understand the business, I hear it: To
have an open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand,
is necessary for a cut-purse; a good nose is requisite
-- 391 --
also, to smell out work for the other senses. I see,
this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive.
What an exchange had this been, without boot?
what a boot is here, with this exchange? Sure, the
gods do this year connive at us, and we may do any
thing extempore. The prince himself is about a
piece of iniquity; stealing away from his father,
with his clog at his heels: If I thought it were
a piece of honesty to acquaint the king withal, I
would not do't2note
: I hold it the more knavery to
conceal it: and therein am I constant to my profession.
Enter Clown and Shepherd.
Aside, aside;—here is more matter for a hot brain:
Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, hanging,
yields a careful man work.
Clo.
See, see; what a man you are now! there
-- 392 --
is no other way, but to tell the king she's a changeling,
and none of your flesh and blood.
Shep.
Nay, but hear me.
Clo.
Nay, but hear me.
Shep.
Go to then.
Clo.
She being none of your flesh and blood,
your flesh and blood has not offended the king;
and, so, your flesh and blood is not to be punished
by him. Show those things you found about her;
those secret things, all but what she has with her:
This being done, let the law go whistle; I warrant
you.
Shep.
I will tell the king all, every word, yea,
and his son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest
man neither to his father, nor to me, to go
about to make me the king's brother-in-law.
Clo.
Indeed, brother-in-law was the furthest off
you could have been to him; and then your blood
had been the dearer, by I know how much an
ounce3note.
Aut.
Very wisely; puppies!
[Aside.
Shep.
Well; let us to the king; there is that in
this fardel, will make him scratch his beard.
Aut.
I know not what impediment this complaint
may be to the flight of my master.
Clo.
'Pray heartily he be at palace.
Aut.
Though I am not naturally honest, I am so
sometimes by chance:—Let me pocket up my pedler's
excrement4note
.—[Takes off his false beard.] How
now, rusticks, whither are you bound?
-- 393 --
Shep.
To the palace, an it like your worship.
Aut.
Your affairs there? what? with whom?
the condition of that fardel, the place of your
dwelling, your names, your ages, of what having5note,
breeding, and any thing that is fitting to be known,
discover.
Clo.
We are but plain fellows, sir.
Aut.
A lie; you are rough and hairy: Let me
have no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen, and
they often give us soldiers the lie: but we pay them
for it with stamped coin, not stabbing steel; therefore
they do not give us the lie6note.
Clo.
Your worship had like to have given us
one, if you had not taken yourself with the manner7note.
Shep.
Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir?
Aut.
Whether it like me, or no, I am a courtier.
See'st thou not the air of the court, in these enfoldings?
hath not my gait in it, the measure of the
court8note? receives not thy nose court-odour from
me? reflect I not on thy baseness, court-contempt?
from
thee thy business, I am therefore no courtier? I am
courtier, cap-a-pè; and one that will either push
on, or pluck back thy business there: whereupon
I command thee to open thy affair.
None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock, nor
hen2note.
Aut.
How bless'd are we, that are not simple men!
Yet nature might have made me as these are,
Therefore I'll not disdain.
Clo.
This cannot be but a great courtier.
Shep.
His garments are rich, but he wears them
not handsomely.
Clo.
He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical;
a great man, I'll warrant; I know, by the
picking on's teeth3note
.
Aut.
The fardel there? what's i' the fardel?
Wherefore that box?
Shep.
Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel,
and box, which none must know but the king; and
which he shall know within this hour, if I may come
to the speech of him.
Aut.
Age, thou hast lost thy labour.
Shep.
Why, sir?
Aut.
The king is not at the palace; he is gone
-- 396 --
aboard a new ship to purge melancholy, and air
himself: For, if thou be'st capable of things serious,
thou must know, the king is full of grief.
Shep.
So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should
have married a shepherd's daughter.
Aut.
If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him
fly; the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall
feel, will break the back of man, the heart of monster.
Clo.
Think you so, sir?
Aut.
Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make
heavy, and vengeance bitter; but those that are
germane to him, though removed fifty times, shall
all come under the hangman: which though it be
great pity, yet it is necessary. An old sheep-whistling
rogue, a ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter
come into grace! Some say, he shall be stoned;
but that death is too soft for him, say I: Draw our
throne into a sheep-cote! all deaths are too few, the
sharpest too easy.
Clo.
Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear,
an't like you, sir?
Aut.
He has a son, who shall be flayed alive,
then, 'nointed over with honey4note, set on the head of
a wasp's nest; then stand, till he be three quarters
and a dram dead: then recovered again with
aqua-vitæ, or some other hot-infusion: then, raw as
he is, and in the hottest day prognostication proclaims5note
,
-- 397 --
shall he be set against a brick-wall, the
sun looking with a southward eye upon him; where
he is to behold him, with flies blown to death.
But what talk we of these traitorly rascals, whose
miseries are to be smiled at, their offences being so
capital? Tell me, (for you seem to be honest plain
men,) what you have to the king: being something
gently considered6note
, I'll bring you where he is
aboard, tender your persons to his presence, whisper
him in your behalfs; and, if it be in man, besides
the king to effect your suits, here is man shall do it.
Clo.
He seems to be of great authority: close
with him, give him gold; and though authority be
a stubborn bear, yet he is oft led by the nose with
gold: show the inside of your purse to the outside
of his hand, and no more ado: Remember stoned,
and flayed alive.
Shep.
An't please you, sir, to undertake the business
for us, here is that gold I have: I'll make it
as much more; and leave this young man in pawn,
till I bring it you.
Aut.
After I have done what I promised?
Shep.
Ay, sir.
Aut.
Well, give me the moiety:—Are you a
party in this business?
-- 398 --
Clo.
In some sort, sir: but though my case be a
pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it.
Aut.
O, that's the case of the shepherd's son:—
Hang him, he'll be made an example.
Clo.
Comfort, good comfort: we must to the
king, and show our strange sights: he must know,
'tis none of your daughter nor my sister; we are
gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old
man does, when the business is performed; and remain,
as he says, your pawn, till it be brought you.
Aut.
I will trust you. Walk before toward the
sea-side; go on the right hand; I will but look upon
the hedge, and follow you.
Clo.
We are blessed in this man, as I may say,
even blessed.
Shep.
Let's before, as he bids us: he was provided
to do us good.
[Exeunt Shepherd and Clown.
Aut.
If I had a mind to be honest, I see, fortune
would not suffer me; she drops booties in my
mouth. I am courted now with a double occasion;
gold, and a means to do the prince my master
good; which, who knows how that may turn back
to my advancement? I will bring these two moles,
these blind ones, aboard him: if he think it fit to
shore them again, and that the complaint they have
to the king concerns him nothing, let him call me,
rogue, for being so far officious; for I am proof
against that title, and what shame else belongs
to't: To him will I present them, there may be
matter in it.
[Exit.
-- 399 --
ACT V.SCENE I.Sicilia. A Room in the Palace of Leontes.
Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina, and Others.
Cleo.
Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd
A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make,
Which you have not redeem'd; indeed, paid down
More penitence, than done trespass: At the last,
Do, as the heavens have done; forget your evil;
With them, forgive yourself.
Leon.
Whilst I remember
Her, and her virtues, I cannot forget
My blemishes in them; and so still think of
The wrong I did myself: which was so much,
That heirless it hath made my kingdom; and
Destroy'd the sweet'st companion, that e'er man
Bred his hopes out of.
:
If, one by one, you wedded all the world,
Or, from the all that are, took something good8note,
To make a perfect woman; she, you kill'd,
Would be unparallel'd.
Leon.
I think so. Kill'd!
She I kill'd? I did so: but thou strik'st me
-- 400 --
Sorely, to say I did; it is as bitter
Upon thy tongue, as in my thought: Now, good now,
Say so but seldom.
Cleo.
Not at all, good lady:
You might have spoken a thousand things that would
Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd
Your kindness better.
Paul.
You are one of those,
Would have him wed again.
Dion.
If you would not so,
You pity not the state, nor the remembrance
Of his most sovereign dame; consider little,
What dangers, by his highness' fail of issue,
May drop upon his kingdom, and devour
Incertain lookers-on. What were more holy,
Than to rejoice, the former queen is well9note
?
What holier, than,—for royalty's repair,
For present comfort and for future good,—
To bless the bed of majesty again
With a sweet fellow to't?
Paul.
There is none worthy,
Respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods
Will have fulfill'd their secret purposes:
For has not the divine Apollo said,
-- 401 --
Is't not the tenour of his oracle,
That king Leontes shall not have an heir,
Till his lost child be found? which, that it shall,
Is all as monstrous to our human reason,
As my Antigonus to break his grave,
And come again to me; who, on my life,
Did perish with the infant. 'Tis your counsel,
My lord should to the heavens be contrary,
Oppose against their wills.—Care not for issue;
[To Leontes.
The crown will find an heir: Great Alexander
Left his to the worthiest; so his successor
Was like to be the best.
Leon.
Good Paulina,—
Who hast the memory of Hermione,
I know, in honour,—O, that ever I
Had squar'd me to thy counsel!—then, even now,
I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes;
Have taken treasure from her lips,—
Paul.
And left them
More rich, for what they yielded.
Leon.
Thou speak'st truth.
No more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse,
And better us'd, would make her sainted spirit
Again possess her corpse; and, on this stage
(Where we offenders now appear), soul-vex'd,
Begin, And why to me1note
,
And all eyes else dead coals!—fear thou no wife,
I'll have no wife, Paulina.
Paul.
Will you swear
Never to marry, but by my free leave?
Leon.
Never, Paulina; so be bless'd my spirit!
Paul.
Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath.
Cleo.
You tempt him over-much.
Paul.
Unless another,
As like Hermione as is her picture,
Affront his eye6note
.
Cleo.
Good madam,—
Paul.
I have done7note.
Yet, if my lord will marry,—if you will, sir,
No remedy, but you will; give me the office
To choose you a queen: she shall not be so young
As was your former; but she shall be such,
-- 404 --
As, walk'd your first queen's ghost, it should take joy
To see her in your arms.
Leon.
My true Paulina,
We shall not marry, till thou bidd'st us.
Paul.
That
Shall be, when your first queen's again in breath;
Never till then. Enter a Gentleman.
Gent.
One that gives out himself prince Florizel,
Son of Polixenes, with his princess, (she
The fairest I have yet beheld,) desires access
To your high presence.
Leon.
What with him? he comes not
Like to his father's greatness: his approach,
So out of circumstance, and sudden, tells us,
'Tis not a visitation fram'd, but forc'd
By need, and accident. What train?
Gent.
But few,
And those but mean.
Leon.
His princess, say you, with him?
Gent.
Ay; the most peerless piece of earth, I think,
That e'er the sun shone bright on.
Paul.
O Hermione,
As every present time doth boast itself
Above a better, gone; so must thy grave
Give way to what's seen now8note
. Sir, you yourself
Have said and writ so9note
, (but your writing now
-- 405 --
Is colder than the theme1note,) She had not been,
Nor was not to be equall'd;—thus your verse
Flow'd with her beauty once; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd,
To say, you have seen a better.
Gent.
Pardon, madam:
The one I have almost forgot; (your pardon,)
The other, when she has obtain'd your eye,
Will have your tongue too. This is a creature2note,
Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal
Of all professors else; make proselytes
Of who she but bid follow.
Paul.
How? not women?
Gent.
Women will love her, that she is a woman
More worth than any man; men, that she is
The rarest of all women.
Leon.
Go, Cleomenes;
Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends,
Bring them to our embracement.—Still 'tis strange,
[Exeunt Cleomenes, Lords, and Gentleman.
He thus should steal upon us.
Paul.
Had our Prince,
(Jewel of children,) seen this hour, he had pair'd
Well with this lord; there was not full a month
Between their births.
He dies to me again, when talk'd of: sure,
When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches
Will bring me to consider that, which may
Unfurnish me of reason.—They are come.—
Re-enter Cleomenes, with Florizel, Perdita, and Attendants.
Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince;
For she did print your royal father off,
Conceiving you: Were I but twenty-one,
Your father's image is so hit in you,
His very air, that I should call you brother,
As I did him; and speak of something, wildly
By us perform'd before. Most dearly welcome!
And you fair princess, goddess!—O, alas!
I lost a couple, that 'twixt heaven and earth
Might thus have stood, begetting wonder, as
You, gracious couple, do! and then I lost
(All mine own folly,) the society,
Amity too, of your brave father; whom,
Though bearing misery, I desire my life
Once more to look on him4note
.
-- 407 --
Flo.
By his command
Have I here touch'd Sicilia: and from him
Give you all greetings, that a king, at friend5note
,
Can send his brother: and, but infirmity
(Which waits upon worn times,) hath something seiz'd
His wish'd ability, he had himself
The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his
Measur'd, to look upon you; whom he loves
(He bade me say so,) more than all the scepters,
And those that bear them, living.
Leon.
O, my brother,
(Good gentleman!) the wrongs I have done thee, stir
Afresh within me; and these thy offices,
So rarely kind, are as interpreters
Of my behind-hand slackness!—Welcome hither,
As is the spring to the earth. And hath he too
Expos'd this paragon to the fearful usage
(At least, ungentle,) of the dreadful Neptune,
To greet a man, not worth her pains; much less
The adventure of her person?
Flo.
Good my lord,
She came from Libya.
Leon.
Where the warlike Smalus,
That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd, and lov'd?
-- 408 --
Flo.
Most royal sir, from thence; from him, whose daughter
His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her6note
: thence
(A prosperous south-wind friendly,) we have cross'd,
To execute the charge my father gave me,
For visiting your highness: My best train
I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd;
Who for Bohemia bend, to signify
Not only my success in Libya, sir,
But my arrival, and my wife's, in safety
Here, where we are.
Purge all infection from our air, whilst you
Do climate here! You have a holy father,
A graceful gentleman8note; against whose person,
So sacred as it is, I have done sin:
-- 409 --
For which the heavens, taking angry note,
Have left me issueless; and your father's bless'd,
(As he from heaven merits it,) with you,
Worthy his goodness. What might I have been,
Might I a son and daughter now have look'd on,
Such goodly things as you?
Enter a Lord.
Lord.
Most noble sir,
That, which I shall report, will bear no credit,
Were not the proof so nigh. Please you, great sir,
Bohemia greets you from himself, by me:
Desires you to attach his son; who has
(His dignity and duty both cast off,)
Fled from his father, from his hopes, and with
A shepherd's daughter.
Leon.
Where's Bohemia? speak.
Lord.
Here in the city; I now came from him:
I speak amazedly; and it becomes
My marvel, and my message. To your court
Whiles he was hast'ning (in the chase, it seems,
Of this fair couple,) meets he on the way
The father of this seeming lady, and
Her brother, having both their country quitted
With this young prince.
Flo.
Camillo has betray'd me;
Whose honour, and whose honesty, till now,
Endur'd all weathers.
Lord.
Lay't so, to his charge;
He's with the king your father.
Leon.
Who? Camillo?
Lord.
Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now
Has these poor men in question9note. Never saw I
Wretches so quake: they kneel, they kiss the earth;
-- 410 --
Forswear themselves as often as they speak:
Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them
With divers deaths in death.
Per.
O, my poor father!—
The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have
Our contract celebrated.
Leon.
You are married?
Flo.
We are not, sir, nor are we like to be;
The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first:—
The odds for high and low's alike1note.
Leon.
My lord,
Is this the daughter of a king?
Flo.
She is,
When once she is my wife.
Leon.
That once, I see, by your good father's speed,
Will come on very slowly. I am sorry,
Most sorry, you have broken from his liking,
Where you were tied in duty: and as sorry,
Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty2note
,
That you might well enjoy her.
Flo.
Dear, look up:
Though fortune, visible an enemy,
Should chase us, with my father; power no jot
Hath she, to change our loves.—'Beseech you, sir,
Remember since you ow'd no more to time3note
-- 411 --
Than I do now: with thought of such affections,
Step forth mine advocate; at your request,
My father will grant precious things, as trifles.
Leon.
Would he do so, I'd beg your precious mistress,
Which he counts but a trifle.
Paul.
Sir, my liege,
Your eye hath too much youth in't: not a month
'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes
Than what you look on now.
Leon.
I thought of her,
Even in these looks I made.—But your petition
[To Florizel.
Is yet unanswer'd: I will to your father;
Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires,
I am a friend to them, and you: upon which errand
I now go toward him; therefore, follow me,
And mark what way I make: Come, good my lord. [Exeunt.SCENE II.The Same. Before the Palace.Enter Autolycus and a Gentleman.
Aut.
'Beseech you, sir, were you present at this
relation?
1 Gent.
I was by at the opening of the fardel,
heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how he
found it: whereupon, after a little amazedness, we
were all commanded out of the chamber; only this,
methought I heard the shepherd say, he found the
child.
Aut.
I would most gladly know the issue of it.
1 Gent.
I make a broken delivery of the business;—
But the changes I perceived in the king,
-- 412 --
and Camillo, were very notes of admiration: they
seemed almost, with staring on one another, to tear
the cases of their eyes; there was speech in their
dumbness, language in their very gesture; they
looked, as they had heard of a world ransomed, or
one destroyed: A notable passion of wonder appeared
in them: but the wisest beholder, that knew
no more but seeing, could not say, if the importance
were joy, or sorrow4note: but in the extremity of
the one, it must needs be.
Enter another Gentleman.
Here comes a gentleman, that, happily, knows more:
The news, Rogero?
2 Gent.
Nothing but bonfires: The oracle is
fulfilled; the king's daughter is found: such a deal
of wonder is broken out within this hour, that ballad-makers
cannot be able to express it.
Enter a third Gentleman.
Here comes the lady Paulina's steward; he can
deliver you more.—How goes it now, sir? this news,
which is called true, is so like an old tale, that the
verity of it is in strong suspicion: Has the king
found his heir?
3 Gent.
Most true; if ever truth were pregnant
by circumstance: that, which you hear, you'll swear
you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The
mantle of queen Hermione:—her jewel about the
neck of it:—the letters of Antigonus, found with it,
which they know to be his character:—the majesty
of the creature, in resemblance of the mother;
—the affection of nobleness5note
, which nature shows
-- 413 --
above her breeding,—and many other evidences,
proclaim her, with all certainty, to be the king's
daughter. Did you see the meeting of the two
kings?
2 Gent.
No.
3 Gent.
Then have you lost a sight, which was
to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you
have beheld one joy crown another; so, and in such
manner6note, that, it seemed, sorrow wept to take leave
of them; for their joy waded in tears. There was
casting up of eyes, holding up of hands; with
countenance of such distraction, that they were to
be known by garment, not by favour7note
. Our king,
being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his
found daughter; as if that joy were now become a
loss, cries, O, thy mother, thy mother! then asks
Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-law;
then again worries he his daughter, with
clipping her8note
; now he thanks the old shepherd,
which stands by, like a weather-bitten9note
conduit of
-- 414 --
many king's reigns. I never heard of such another
encounter, which lames report to follow it, and undoes
description to do it1note
.
2 Gent.
What, pray you, became of Antigonus,
that carried hence the child?
3 Gent.
Like an old tale still; which will have
matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep, and not
an ear open: He was torn to pieces with a bear:
this avouches the shepherd's son; who has not only
his innocence (which seems much,) to justify him,
but a handkerchief, and rings, of his, that Paulina
knows.
1 Gent.
What became of his bark, and his followers?
3 Gent.
Wrecked, the same instant of their
-- 415 --
master's death; and in the view of the shepherd:
so that all the instruments, which aided to expose
the child, were even then lost, when it was found.
But, O, the noble combat, that, 'twixt joy and sorrow,
was fought in Paulina! She had one eye declined
for the loss of her husband; another elevated
that the oracle was fulfilled: She lifted the princess
from the earth; and so locks her in embracing, as
if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no
more be in danger of losing.
1 Gent.
The dignity of this act was worth the
audience of kings and princes; for by such was it
acted.
3 Gent.
One of the prettiest touches of all, and
that which angled for mine eyes (caught the water,
though not the fish,) was, when at the relation of
the queen's death, with the manner how she came
to it, (bravely confessed, and lamented by the king,)
how attentiveness wounded his daughter: till, from
one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an
alas! I would fain say, bleed tears; for, I am sure,
my heart wept blood. Who was most marble there2note
,
changed colour; some swooned, all sorrowed: if all
-- 416 --
the world could have seen it, the woe had been
universal.
1 Gent.
Are they returned to the court?
3 Gent.
No: the princess hearing of her mother's
statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina,—
a piece many years in doing, and now newly performed
by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano3note
;
-- 417 --
who, had he himself eternity, and could put breath
into his work, would beguile nature of her custom4note,
so perfectly he is her ape: he so near to Hermione
hath done Hermione, that, they say, one would
speak to her, and stand in hope of answer: thither
with all greediness of affection, are they gone; and
there they intend to sup.
1 Gent.
I thought, she had some great matter
there in hand; for she hath privately, twice or thrice
a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited
that removed house. Shall we thither, and with
our company piece the rejoicing?
1 Gent.
Who would be thence, that has the
benefit of access5note? every wink of an eye, some new
grace will be born: our absence makes us unthrifty
to our knowledge. Let's along.
[Exeunt Gentlemen.
Aut.
Now, had I not the dash of my former life
in me, would preferment drop on my head. I
brought the old man and his son aboard the prince;
told him, I heard them talk of a fardel, and I
know not what: but he at that time, over-fond of
the shepherd's daughter, (so he then took her to
be,) who began to be much sea-sick, and himself
little better, extremity of weather continuing, this
-- 418 --
mystery remained undiscovered. But 'tis all one
to me: for had I been the finder-out of this secret,
it would not have relished among my other discredits.
Enter Shepherd and Clown.
Here come those I have done good to against my
will, and already appearing in the blossoms of their
fortune.
Shep.
Come, boy; I am past more children;
but thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen
born.
Clo.
You are well met, sir: You denied to fight
with me this other day, because I was no gentleman
born: See you these clothes? say, you see
them not, and think me still no gentleman born:
you were best say, these robes are not gentlemen
born. Give me the lie; do; and try whether I am
not now a gentleman born.
Aut.
I know, you are now, sir, a gentleman
born.
Clo.
Ay, and have been so any time these four
hours.
Shep.
And so have I, boy.
Clo.
So you have:—but I was a gentleman born
before my father: for the king's son took me by
the hand, and called me, brother; and then the
two kings called my father, brother; and then the
prince, my brother, and the princess, my sister,
called my father, father; and so we wept: and
there was the first gentleman-like tears that ever
we shed.
Shep.
We may live, son, to shed many more.
Clo.
Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so
preposterous estate as we are.
Aut.
I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me
all the faults I have committed to your worship,
-- 419 --
and to give me your good report to the prince my
master.
Shep.
'Pr'ythee, son, do; for we must be gentle,
now we are gentlemen.
Clo.
Thou wilt amend thy life?
Aut.
Ay, an it like your good worship.
Clo.
Give me thy hand: I will swear to the
prince, thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in
Bohemia.
Shep.
You may say it, but not swear it.
Clo.
Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let
boors and franklins say it6note, I'll swear it.
Shep.
How if it be false, son?
Clo.
If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman
may swear it, in the behalf of his friend:—And I'll
swear to the prince, thou art a tall fellow of thy
hands, and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know,
thou art no tall fellow of thy hands7note
, and that thou
-- 420 --
wilt be drunk; but I'll swear it: and I would, thou
would'st be a tall fellow of thy hands.
Aut.
I will prove so, sir, to my power.
Clo.
Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow: If I
do not wonder, how thou darest venture to be
drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not.—Hark!
the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going
to see the queen's picture. Come, follow us: we'll
be thy good masters8note
.
[Exeunt.SCENE III.The Same. A Room in Paulina's House.
Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Perdita, Camillo, Paulina, Lords, and Attendants.
Leon.
O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort
That I have had of thee!
Paul.
What, sovereign sir,
I did not well, I meant well: All my services,
-- 421 --
You have paid home: but that you have vouchsaf'd
With your crown'd brother, and these your contracted
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,
It is a surplus of your grace, which never
My life may last to answer.
Leon.
O Paulina,
We honour you with trouble: But we came
To see the statue of our queen: your gallery
Have we pass'd through, not without much content
In many singularities; but we saw not
That which my daughter came to look upon,
The statue of her mother.
Paul.
As she liv'd peerless,
So her dead likeness, I do well believe,
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon,
Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it
Lonely, apart9note
: But here it is: prepare
To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever
Still sleep mock'd death: behold; and say, 'tis well.
[Paulina undraws a curtain, and discovers a statue.
I like your silence, it the more shows off
-- 422 --
Your wonder: But yet speak;—first, you, my liege.
Comes it not something near?
Leon.
Her natural posture!—
Chide me, dear stone; that I may say, indeed,
Thou art Hermione: or, rather, thou art she,
In thy not chiding; for she was as tender,
As infancy, and grace.—But yet, Paulina,
Hermione was not so much wrinkled; nothing
So aged, as this seems.
Pol.
O, not by much.
Paul.
So much the more our carver's excellence;
Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her
As she liv'd now.
Leon.
As now she might have done,
So much to my good comfort, as it is
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,
Even with such life of majesty, (warm life,
As now it coldly stands,) when first I woo'd her!
I am asham'd: Does not the stone rebuke me,
For being more stone than it?—O, royal piece,
There's magick in thy majesty; which has
My evils conjur'd to remembrance; and
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
Standing like stone with thee!
Per.
And give me leave;
And do not say, 'tis superstition, that
I kneel, and then implore her blessing.—Lady,
Dear queen, that ended when I but began,
Give me that hand of yours, to kiss.
Paul.
O, patience1note;
The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's
Not dry.
Cam.
My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on;
Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,
-- 423 --
So many summers, dry: scarce any joy
Did ever so long live; no sorrow,
But kill'd itself much sooner.
Pol.
Dear my brother,
Let him, that was the cause of this, have power
To take off so much grief from you, as he
Will piece up in himself.
Paul.
Indeed, my lord,
If I had thought, the sight of my poor image
Would thus have wrought2note
you, (for the stone is mine,)
I'll not have show'd it3note
.
Leon.
Do not draw the curtain.
Paul.
No longer shall you gaze on't; lest your fancy
May think anon, it moves.
Leon.
Let be, let be.
-- 424 --
Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already4note
—
What was he, that did make it?—See, my lord,
Would you not deem, it breath'd? and that those veins
Did verily bear blood?
Pol.
Masterly done:
The very life seems warm upon her lip.
Paul.
I'll draw the curtain;
My lord's almost so far transported, that
He'll think anon, it lives.
-- 425 --
Leon.
O sweet Paulina,
Make me to think so twenty years together;
No settled senses of the world can match
The pleasure of that madness. Let 't alone.
Paul.
I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you: but
I could afflict you further.
Leon.
Do, Paulina;
For this affliction has a taste as sweet
As any cordial comfort.—Still, methinks,
There is an air comes from her: What fine chizzel
Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,
For I will kiss her.
Paul.
Good my lord, forbear:
The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;
You'll mar it, if you kiss it; stain your own
With oily painting: Shall I draw the curtain?
Leon.
No, not these twenty years.
Per.
So long could I
Stand by, a looker on.
Paul.
Either forbear,
Quit presently the chapel; or resolve you
For more amazement: If you can behold it,
I'll make the statue move indeed; descend,
And take you by the hand: but then you'll think,
(Which I protest against,) I am assisted
By wicked powers.
Leon.
What you can make her do,
I am content to look on: what to speak,
I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy
To make her speak, as move.
Paul.
It is requir'd,
You do awake your faith: Then, all stand still;
Or those7note, that think it is unlawful business
I am about, let them depart.
-- 426 --
Leon.
Proceed;
No foot shall stir.
Paul.
Musick; awake her: strike.—
[Musick.
'Tis time; descend; be stone no more: approach;
Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come;
I'll fill your grave up: stir; nay, come away;
Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him
Dear life redeems you.—You perceive, she stirs:
[Hermione comes down from the pedestal.
Start not: her actions shall be holy, as,
You hear, my spell is lawful: do not shun her,
Until you see her die again; for then
You kill her double: Nay, present your hand:
When she was young, you woo'd her; now, in age,
Is she become the suitor.
Leon.
O, she's warm!
[Embracing her.
If this be magick, let it be an art
Lawful as eating.
Pol.
She embraces him.
Cam.
She hangs about his neck;
If she pertain to life, let her speak too.
Pol.
Ay, and make't manifest where she has liv'd,
Or, how stol'n from the dead?
Paul.
That she is living,
Were it but told you, should be hooted at
Like an old tale; but it appears, she lives,
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.—
Please you to interpose, fair madam; kneel,
And pray your mother's blessing.—Turn, good lady;
Our Perdita is found. [Presenting Perdita, who kneels to Hermione.
And from your sacred vials pour your graces9note
Upon my daughter's head!—Tell me, mine own,
Where hast thou been preserv'd? where liv'd? how found
Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear, that I,—
Knowing by Paulina, that the oracle
Gave hope thou wast in being,—have preserv'd
Myself, to see the issue.
Paul.
There's time enough for that;
Lest they desire, upon this push to trouble
Your joys with like relation.—Go together,
You precious winners all1note; your exultation
Partake to every one2note
. I, an old turtle,
Will wing me to some wither'd bough; and there
My mate, that's never to be found again,
Lament till I am lost3note
.
-- 428 --
Leon.
O peace, Paulina;
Thou should'st a husband take by my consent,
As I by thine, a wife: this is a match,
And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine;
But how, is to be question'd: for I saw her,
As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many
A prayer upon her grave: I'll not seek far
(For him, I partly know his mind,) to find thee
An honourable husband:—Come, Camillo,
And take her by the hand: whose worth, and honesty4note,
It richly noted; and here justified
By us, a pair of kings.—Let's from this place.—
What?—Look upon my brother:—both your pardons,
That e'er I put between your holy looks
My ill suspicion.—This your son-in-law,
And son unto the king, (whom heavens directing,)
Is troth-plight to your daughter5note
.—Good Paulina,
-- 429 --
Lead us from hence; where we may leisurely
Each one demand, and answer to his part
Perform'd in this wide gap of time, since first
We were dissever'd: Hastily lead away.
