Time.
This is Bo—no, Bithynia—to whose shores,
O'errun with lions, bears, and dreadful boars,
Fate and foul winds have driven the ship that bears
Leontes' heiress, who, to suit his airs
Has been cast out—not quite the proper way,
To get a daughter off one's hands, you'll say.

SONG,—Time.—Air, “Stride la vampa”—(Trovatore.)
Deeds of this stamp are
  Of all excuse bereft;
Packed in a hamper,
  Children too oft are left,
Tied to one's knocker,
  Left in the streets alone,
Without a frock or
  Rag of their own.
But when such deeds we see
  Committed by a king,
You'll all agree with me,
  'Tisn't quite—not quite the thing. Exit, R. (storm gets louder. Enter Antigonus, L., with the Baby (crying.)

Anti.
Hush, then, pretty darling, don't it cry,
Be a good baby then and go bye-bye;
Here's weather, it has soaked me through and through, (Child cries.
Oh, hold your noise you little nuisance, do,

At last it's quiet. Now let me reflect
Where am I? on this coast have I been wrecked,
The salt sea waves my ship dashed all to shattery,
Battered it so it seemed both salt and battery;
Of all the crew which manned that craft so fine,
Not one's preserved—though all are in the brine;
Alone, exhausted, weary, here did I land. (rain.)
Ugh! even I can't say that I'm on dry land!
This spot will do, whose land soe'er it is,
Leontes cares not so it isn't his.
Oh, cruel king! the child you ought to cherish,
To leave a burden on a foreign parish!
Who can look on this face so calm, so mild,
And not feel— (Child cries.)
Wide awake, oh drat the child!
I'd rock it off, could I find aught to sit upon. (Child cries.
Hah! she objects; it seems that rock we split upon;
Was it a beauty, then a precious pet one. (Child cries.
Who'd be a nurse, especially such a wet one? (sits down on ground and rocks child to sleep.

SONG,—Antigonus.—(To its own air.)
Hush a baby bunting,
It's mammy's been affronting
Its daddy, and a storm there's been
At home, as bad as baby's in.
So hush a baby bunting,
Its nurse has come a hunting
A spot where wild beasts roar and grin,
To leave the pretty baby in.
Asleep by jingo, now I'll leave her slap,
Before she wakes again; I've brought her pap,
And farinaceous food, yes, that's all right,
And here's her milk and water for the night,
And clean things for to-morrow, there, bye bye,
Be a good baby, now, and don't she cry. (going.)
Stay, here's her purse, if wild beasts should— (roar outside.)
Halloa!
Talk of the—

Enter Bear, R.
Oh! a Bear—help! murder, oh! (bear follows him round stage, roaring. (Music.—Antigonus runs off; Bear springs out after him, R., roaring outside—thunder, rain, &c. very loud.

Enter Blocus, L., a handkerchief tied over his hat, umbrella up, &c., a shepherd's crook in his hand.

SONG,—Blocus.—Air, “Little Bo Peep.”
When Little Bo Peep had lost her sheep,
  She cried 'cause she couldn't find 'em;
I'll just let 'em alone—for they're not my own,
  I'm but paid by the day to mind 'em.
Could I manage by hook, or still better by crook,
  In the temper I'm in to find 'em,
Just let me alone—I'd soon get them home—
  They should think 'twas Old Nick behind 'em.
Bother the sheep! I shan't have them to pay for,
It's their own fault, what did they run away for?
Scared by the storm they fled, such capers cuttin',
Each with its own particular leg of mutton.
The rams drew in their horns, and altogether,
Seemed, like the ewes, quite frightened by the weather.
Why should I care? Here from the search I'll cease,
Go home and smoke my shepherd's pipe in peace. (Child cries.
That bleating! Hah! a lamb that's somewhere hid, (sees Child.
No, not a lamb, but a poor little kid.
Eh! what's this? money! I was right of course,
'Tis a dear little lamb with this mint sauce.
What care I for lost sheep? With pockets full,
I'll make no cry about a little wool,
Mid sumptuous feasts my late mishaps I'll mock,
And in my feather bed forget my flock. Exit with Baby and bundle, L. (Music.—Scene changes to clouds.

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