Hermione.
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.

2 Lady.
And why so, my Lord?

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 semicircle,
Or a half-moon made with a pen.)

2 Lady.
Who taught you this?

Mam.
I learn'd it out of women's faces: pray now,
What colour be your eye-brows?

1 Lady.
Blue, my Lord.

Mam.
Nay, that's a mock: I've seen a lady's nose
That has been blue, but not her eye-brows.

1 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'll wanton with us,
If we would have you.

2 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.

Mam.
Merry, or sad, shall't be?

Her.
As merry as you will.

Mam.
A sad tale's best for winter.
I have one of sprights and goblins.

Her.
Let's have that, good Sir.
Come on, sit down. Come on, and do your best
To fright me with your sprights: you're powerful at it.

Mam.
There was a man—

Her.
Nay, come sit down; then on.

Mam.
Dwelt by a church-yard;—I will tell it softly:
Yond crickets shall not hear it.

Her.
Come on then, and give't me in mine ear. SCENE II. Enter Leontes, Antigonus, and Lords.

Leo.
Was he met there? his train? Camillo with him?

Lord.
Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never
Saw I men scowr so on their way: I ey'd them
Even to their ships.

Leo.
How blest am I
In my just censure! in my true opinion!
Alack, for lesser knowledge^{1 note}—how accurs'd
In being so blest! There may be in the cup
A spider steep'd, and one may drink; depart,
And yet partake no venom; for his knowledge
Is not infected: but if one present
Th' abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known

How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides
With violent hefts—I have drunk, 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 hath discover'd my design, and I^{2 note}

Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick
For them to play at will: how came the posterns
So easily open?

Lord.
By his great authority,
Which often hath no less prevail'd than so
On your command.

Leo.
I know too well.—
Give me the boy; [To Herm.] I'm 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?

Leo.
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 it is 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 th' nayward.

Leo.
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: oh, I am out,—
That mercy do's; for calumny will sear
Virtue itself.—These shrugs, these hums, and ha's,
When you have said she's goodly, come between,
Ere you can say she's honest: but be't 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 mistake.

Leo.
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 her; and one that knows
What she should shame to know herself,
But with her most vile Principal, that she's
A bed-swerver, even as bad as those
That vulgars give bold'st titles; 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.

Leo.
No, if I mistake^{3 note}

In these foundations which I build upon,
The center is not big enough to bear
A school-boy's top. Away with her to prison:
He, who shall speak for her, is far off guilty,^{4 note}

Her.
There's some ill planet reigns;
I must be patient, 'till the heavens look
(With an aspect more favourable. 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 here, which burns
Worse than tears drown: '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!—

Leo.
Shall I be heard?—

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, [To her Ladies.
There is no cause; when you shall know, your mistress
Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears,
As I come out; this action,^{5 note} I now go on,
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've leave.

Leo.
Go, do our bidding; hence. [Exit Queen, guarded; and Ladies.

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.

Lord.
For her, my Lord,
I dare my life lay down, and will do't, Sir,
Please you t'accept it, that the Queen is spotless
I'th' 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 stable where^{6 note}

I lodge my wife, I'll go in couples with her;
Than when I feel, and see, no further trust her:
For every inch of woman in the world,
Ay every dram of woman's flesh is false,
If she be.

Leo.
Hold your peaces.

Lord.
Good my Lord,—

Ant.
It is for you we speak, not for ourselves:
You are abus'd, and by some putter on,
That will be damn'd for't; 'would I knew the villain,
I would land-dam* ^note him: be she honour-flaw'd,
I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven;

The second, and the third, nine, and* ^note some five;
If this prove true, they'll pay for't. By mine honour,
I'll geld 'em 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 issue.6Q0069

Leo.
Cease; no more:
You smell this business with a sense as cold
As is a dead man's nose; I see't and feel't,
As you feel doing thus; and see withal
The instruments that feel. [sinking his brows.6Q0070

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 earth.

Leo.
What? lack I credit?

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.

Leo.
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 truth like us; inform yourselves,
We need no more of your advice; the matter,
The loss, the gain, the ord'ring on't, is all
Properly ours.

Ant.
And I wish, my Liege,
You had only in your silent judgment try'd it,
Without more overture.

Leo.
How could that be?
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,^{7 note}

But only seeing; all other circumstances
Made up to th' deed) do push on this proceeding;
Yet for a greater confirmation,
For, in an act of this importance, 'twere
Most piteous to be wild, I have dispatch'd in post,
To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple,
Cleomines and Dion, whom you know
Of stuff'd sufficiency:^{8 note} Now, from the oracle
They will bring all: whose spiritual counsel had,
Shall stop, or spur me. Have I done well?

Lord.
Well done, my Lord.

Leo.
Tho' I am satisfy'd, and need no more
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle
Give rest to th' minds of others; such as he,
Whose ignorant credulity will not
Come up to th' truth. So have we thought it good
From our free person, she should be confin'd:
Lest that the treachery of the two,^{9 note} fled hence,
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 III. Changes to a Prison. Enter Paulina, and Gentlemen.

Paul.
The keeper of the prison,—call to him: [Exit Gentleman.
Let him have knowledge who I am. Good lady,
No court in Europe is too good for thee;
What dost thou then in prison? Re-enter Gentleman, with the Goaler.
Now, good Sir,
You know me, do you not?

Goal.
For a worthy lady,
And one whom much I honour.

Paul.
Pray you then,
Conduct me to the Queen.

Goal.
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?

Goal.
So please you, Madam,
To put a-part these your attendants, I
Shall bring Emilia forth.

Paul.
I pray you now, call her:
Withdraw yourselves. [Exeunt Gent.

Goal.
And, Madam, I must be
Present at your conference.

Paul.
Well; be it so, pr'ythee. [Exit Goaler.
Here's such ado to make no stain a stain,
As passes colouring. Enter 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'm innocent as you.

Paul.
I dare be sworn:
These dangerous, unsafe lunes i'th' King!^{1 note} 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;
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 shew't the King, and undertake to be
Her advocate to th' loud'st. We do not know,
How he may soften at the sight o'th' 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 deny'd.

Paul.
Tell her, Emilia,
I'll use that tongue I have; if wit flow from't,
As boldness from my bosom, let't not be doubted
I shall do good.

Emil.
Now be you blest for it!
I'll to the Queen: please you, come something nearer.

Goal.
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.

Goal.
I do believe it.

Paul.
Do not you fear; upon mine honour, I
Will stand 'twixt you and danger. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Changes to the Palace. Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords and other attendants.

Leo.
Nor night, nor day, no rest;—it is but weakness
To bear the matter thus; meer weakness, if
The cause were not in being—part o'th' cause,
She, the adultress—for the Harlot-King
Is quite beyond mine arm; out of the blank^{2 note}

And level of my brain; 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? Enter an Attendant.

Atten.
My Lord.

Leo.
How do's the boy?

Atten.
He took good rest to night; 'tis hop'd,
His sickness is discharg'd.

Leo.
To see his nobleness!
Conceiving the dishonour of his mother,
He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply;
Fasten'd, and fix'd the shame on't in himself;
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,
And down-right languish'd. Leave me solely; go, [Exit Attendant.
See how he fares.—Fy, fy, no thought of him;—
The very thought of my revenges that way
Recoil upon me; in himself too mighty,
And in his parties, his alliance—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. SCENE V. Enter Paulina, with a Child.

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.

Atten. [within]
Madam, he hath not slept to night: commanded,
None should come at him.

Paul.
Not so hot, good Sir;
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 medicinal, as true;
Honest, as either; to purge him of that humour,
That presses him from sleep.

Leo.
What noise there, ho?

Paul.
No noise, my Lord, but needful conference,
About some gossips for your Highness.

Leo.
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.

Leo.
What? can'st 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 profess
Myself your loyal servant, your physician,
Your most obedient counsellor: yet that dares
Less appear so, in comforting your evils,
Than such as most seems yours. I say, I come
From your good Queen.

Leo.
Good Queen?

Paul.
Good Queen, my Lord,

Good Queen, I say, good Queen;
And would by combat make her good, so were I^{3 note}

Leo.
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.

Leo.
Out!
A mankind witch!^{4 note} hence with her, out o' door:
A most intelligencing bawd!

Paul.
Not so;
I am as ignorant in that, as you
In so intit'ling me; and no less honest
Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant,
As this world goes, to pass for honest.

Leo.
Traitors!
Will you not push her out? give her the bastard. [To Antigonus.

Thou dotard, thou art woman-tyr'd; unroosted
By thy dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard,
Take't up, I say; give't to thy croan.

Paul.
For ever
Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou
Take'st up the Princess, by that forced baseness^{5 note}

Which he has put upon't!

Leo.
He dreads his wife.

Paul.
So, I would, you did: then 'twere past all doubt,
You'd call your children yours.

Leo.
A nest of traytors!

Ant.
I am none, by this good light.

Paul.
Nor I; nor any
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's, betrays to slander,
Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; 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.

Leo.
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 th' old proverb to your charge,
So like you, 'tis the worse. Behold, my Lords,
Altho' the print be little, the whole matter
And copy of the father; eye, nose, lip,
The trick of's frown, his forehead, nay, the valley,

The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek, his smiles,
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
The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours
No yellow in't^{6 note}; lest she suspect, as he does,
Her children not her husband's.

Leo.
A gross hag!
And, lozel, 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.

Leo.
Once more, take her hence.

Paul.
A most unworthy and unnatural Lord
Can do no more.

Leo.
I'll ha' thee burnt.

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.

Leo.
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: farewel, we are gone. [Exit.

SCENE VI.

Leo.
Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.
My child? away with't. Even thou, 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 it is 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.

Lord.
We can. My royal Liege,
He is not guilty of her coming hither:

Leo.
You're liars all.

Lord.
'Beseech your Highness, give us better credit.
We've always truly serv'd you, and beseech you
So to esteem of us: and on our knees we beg,
(As recompence 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— [they kneel.

Leo.
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, 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 grey) 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.

Leo.
It shall be possible; swear by this sword,
Thou wilt perform my bidding.

Ant.
I will, my Lord.

Leo.
Mark and perform it; seest thou? for the sail
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 liege-man 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 place,^{7 note}
Where chance may nurse, or end it. Take it up.

Ant.
I swear to do this: tho' 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 does require; and blessing,
Against this cruelty, fight on thy side!
—Poor thing condemn'd to loss.— [Exit, with the Child.

Leo.
No; I'll not rear
Another's issue.

Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
Please your Highness, posts,
From those you sent to th' oracle, are come
An hour since. Cleomines and Dion,
Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed,
Hasting to th' court.

Lord.
So please you, Sir, their speed
Hath been beyond account.

Leo.
Twenty-three days
They have been absent: this good speed 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 publicly 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 severally.

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