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 pretence whereof being by circumstances partly laid open,
thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of
-- 101 --
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 my self; it shall scarce boot me
To say, Not guilty: mine integrity,
Being counted falshood, 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 Patience.—You, my lord, best know,
Who least will seem to do so, my past life
Hath been as continent, as chast, 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 and talk 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 uncurrant 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.
-- 102 --
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 your self commanded:
Which not to have done, I think, had been in me
Both disobedience and ingratitude
To you, and towards 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, tho' 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.
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.
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 truth;
Which to deny, concerns more than avails: for as
Thy brat hath been cast out, like to it self,
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:
-- 103 --
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 my body, 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; my self on every post
Proclaim'd a strumpet; with immodest hatred
The child-bed privilege deny'd, which 'longs
To women of all fashion: lastly, hurried(14) note
Here to this place, i'th' open air, before
I have got strength of limit. 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.
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 tryal; that he did but see
-- 104 --
The flatness of my misery; yet with eyes
Of Pity, not Revenge!
Offi.
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.
Offi.
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 truth?
Offi.
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 meer falshood.
Enter Servant.
Serv.
My lord the King, the King,—
Leo.
What is the business?
Ser.
O Sir, I shall be hated to report it.
The Prince your son, with meer conceit and fear
Of the Queen's Speed, is gone.
Leo.
How gone?
Ser.
Is dead.
Leo.
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
-- 105 --
Some remedies for life. Apollo, pardon
My great Prophaneness 'gainst thine Oracle!
I'll reconcile me to Polixenes,
New woo my Queen, recal 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; tho' 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 certain hazard
Of all incertainties himself commended,
No richer than his honour: how he glisters
Through my dark Rust! and how his Piety
Does my deeds make the blacker!
Enter Paulina.
Pau.
Woe the while!
O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,
Break too.—
Lord.
What fit is this, good lady?
Pau.
What studied torments, Tyrant, hast for me?
What wheels? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling? burning
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 spices of it.
That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing;(15) note
-- 106 --
That did but shew thee of a Soul inconstant,
And damnable ingrateful: nor was't much,
Thou would'st have poison'd good Camillo's honour,
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; tho' a devil
Would have shed water out of fire, ere don't:
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 dropt down yet.
Lord.
The higher Powers forbid!
Pau.
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,
Heat outwardly, or breath within, I'll serve you
As I would do the Gods. But, O thou tyrant!(16) note
Do not repent these things; for they are heavier
-- 107 --
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.
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.
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 Chappel where they lye, 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.
-- 108 --
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
