Leo.
This sessions, to our great grief, we pronounce
Ev'n pushes 'gainst our heart. The party try'd,
The daughter of a king, our wife, and one
Of us too much belov'd; let us be clear'd
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly
Proceed in justice, which shall have due course,

Even to the guilt, or the purgation.
Produce the prisoner.

Offic.
It is his highness' pleasure, that the queen
Appear in person here in court. Silence!

Leo.
Read the indictment.

Offic.

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 Bithynia, and conspiring with Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign lord the king, thy royal husband; the pretence 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
Testimony on my part, no other
But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me
To say, Not guilty. But thus, if powers divine
Behold our human actions, as they do,
I doubt not then, but innocence shall make
False accusations blush, and tyranny
Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know,
Who least will seem to do so, my past life
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,
As I am now unhappy; which is more
Than history can pattern, tho' 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 for life and honour, 'fore
Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it
As I weigh grief, which I would spare: for honour,
'Tis a derivative from me to mine,
And only that I stand for. I appeal
To your own conscience, 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 t'appear thus; if one jot beyond
The bounds of honour, or in act or will
That way inclining, hardned be the hearts
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
Cry fie upon my grave.

Leo.
I ne'er heard yet
That any of those bolder vices wanted
Less impudence to gain-say what they did,
Than to perform it first.

Her.
That's true enough,
Tho' 'tis a saying, Sir, not due to me.

Leo.
You will not own it.

Her.
More than mistress of
What 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'd;
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 towards your friends; 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; all I know of it,
Is, that Camillo was an honest man;
And why he left your court, the gods themselves,
* ^noteWotting no more than I, are ignorant.

Leo.
You knew of his departure, as you know
What you have underta'en to do in's absence.

Her.
Sir,
You speak a language that I understand not;
My life stands in the level of your dreams,
Which I'll lay down.

Leo.
Thy actions are my dreams.
But thou shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage
Look for no less than death.

Her.
Sir, spare your threats;
The bug-bear you would fright me with, I seek:
To me can life be no commodity:
The crown and comfort of my life, your favour,
I do give lost, for I do feel it gone,
But, know not how it went. My second joy,
The first-fruits of affection, from his presence
I'm barr'd like one infectious. My third comfort,
Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast
(The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth)
Hal'd out to murder; myself on every post
Proclaim'd a strumpet. Lastly, hurried
Here to this place, i'th' open air, before
I have got strength of limbs. And 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 law. Your honours all,
I do refer me to the Oracle:
Apollo be my judge.* ^note. Enter Dion and Cleomines.

Lord.
This your request
Is altogether just; therefore bring forth,
And in Apollo's name, his oracle.

Her.
The Emperor of Russia was my father,
Oh that he were alive, and here beholding
His daughter's trial; that he did but see
The flatness of my misery; yet with eyes
Of pity, not revenge!

Officer.
You here shall swear upon the sword of justice,
That you, Cleomines 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.

Cleo. Dion.
All this we swear.

Leo.
Break up the seals, and read.

Offic.

Hermione is chaste, 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!

Leo.
Hast thou read the truth?

Offic.
Ay, my lord, even so as it is here set down.

Leo.
There is no truth at all i'th' oracle;
The session shall proceed; this is mere falshood. Enter Servant.

Ser.
My lord the king, the king.

Leo.
What is the business?

Ser.
O Sir,
The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear
* ^noteOf the queen's speed, is dead.

Leo.
How! dead?
Apollo's angry, and the heav'ns themselves
Do strike at my injustice. How now there? [Her. faints.

Pau.
This news is mortal to the queen: look down,
And see what death is doing.

Leo.
Take her hence;
Her heart is but o'er-charg'd; she will recover. [Exeunt Paulina and Ladies with Hermione.
I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion:
'Beseech you tenderly apply to her,

Some remedies for life. Apollo, pardon
My great prophaneness '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,
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
My swift command. O how he glisters,
Through my dark rust! and how his piety
Does my deeds make the blacker! Enter Paulina.

Pau.
Woe the whiles:
Cut, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,
Break too* ^note.

Lord.
What fit is this, good lady?

Pau.
What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?
What wheels? racks? fires?
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,
O think what they have done,
And then run mad, indeed. O lords,
When I have said, cry woe, the queen, the queen,
The gracious, innocent queen is dead; and vengeance
Not dropt down yet.

Lord.
The higher powers forbid.

Pau.
I say she's dead: I'll swear't: if word or oath
Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring
† ^noteTincture or lustre in her lip, her eye,
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* ^note.

Leo.
Go on, go on:
Thou canst not speak too much, I have deserv'd
All tongues to talk their bitterest.

Lord.
Say no more:
Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault,
I'th' boldness of your speech.

Pau.
I am sorry for't.
All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,
I do repent: alas, I've shew'd too much
The rashness of a woman; he is touch'd
To th' noble heart. What's gone, and what's past help,
Should be past grief. 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 you your patience to you,
And I'll say nothing† ^note.

Leo.
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 my sorrows. [Exeunt. Changes to Bithynia. A desart country; the sea at a little distance. Enter Antigonus with a Child, and a Mariner.

Ant.
Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd upon
The desarts of Bithynia?

Mar.
Ay, my lord, and fear
We've landed in ill time: the skies look grimly,
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,
The heav'ns with that we have in hand are angry,
And frown upon's.

Ant.
Their sacred wills be done; get thee 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'th' land; 'tis like to be loud weather:
Besides, this place is famous for the creatures
Of prey that keep upon't.

Ant.
Go thou away,
I'll follow instantly.

Mar.
I'm glad at heart,
To be so rid o'th' business. [Exit.

Ant.
Come, poor babe;
I have heard, but not believ'd, the spirits o'th' 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 Bithynia,
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,
* ^noteShe 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,
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 character: there these,
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty one,
And still rest thine. [Thunder.] 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 accurst am I:
To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewel.
The day frowns more and more; thou art like to have
A lullaby too rough: I never saw

The heav'ns so dim by day. [Horns sound.] A savage clamour!
We'll may I get aboard! this is the chace—
I am gone for ever* ^note. [Exit. Enter an old Shepherd.

Shep.

I would there were no age between fourteen and four-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—[Horns again.] hark you, now— would any but these boil'd brains of nineteen, and two-and-twenty, hunt this weather? They have scar'd 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, brouzing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will! what have we here? [Taking up the child† ^note.] Mercy on't, a bearne! a very pretty bearne! a boy or a child, I wonder! a pretty one; a very pretty one; sure some 'scape: tho' 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 hollow'd but even now. Whoa, ho-hoa!

Clo.

Hilloa, loa!

Shep.

What, art so near? if thoul't see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail'st thou, man?

Clo.

I have seen two such sights, by sea and land; but I am not to say it is a sea, for it is now the sky; between the firmament and it, you cannot thrust a bodkin's point.

Shep.

Why boy, how is it?

Clo.

I would you did but see how it chases, how it rages, how it takes up the shore; but that's not to the point; oh 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-mast, and anon swallow'd with yest and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then the land-service, to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone, how he cry'd 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-dragon'd it. But first, how the poor souls roar'd, and the sea mock'd them. And how the poor gentleman roar'd, and the bear mock'd him; both roaring louder than the sea, or weather* ^note.

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 help'd the old man.—But look thee here, boy. Now bless thy self; thou meet'st with things dying, I with things new born. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth 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 changeling; open't; what's within, boy?

Clo.

You're a made old man; if the sins of your 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 way. 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 hungry: if there be any of him left, I'll bury it* ^note.

Shep.

That's a good deed. If thou may'st discern by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to th' sight of him.

Clo.

Marry will I, and you shall help to put him i'th' ground.

Shep.

'Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do good deeds on't† ^note.