Her.
Take the boy to you: he so troubles me,
'Tis past enduring.

1st Lady.
Come, my gracious lord,
Shall I be your play-fellow?

Mam.
No, I'll none of you;
I love you better.

2nd Lady.
And why so, my good lord?

Mam.
Not for because
Your brows are blacker; yet black brows, they say,
Become some women best.

2nd Lady.
Who taught you this?

Mam.
I learn'd it out of women's faces. Pray now
What colour are your eye-brows?

1st 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.

2nd Lady.
Hark ye:
We shall present our services to a fine new prince,
One of these days; and then you'd play with us,
If we would have you.

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.
As sad tale's best for winter:^{1 note}
I have one of sprites and goblins.

Her.
Let's have that, sir.
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.

Mam.
Dwelt by a grave-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 Attendants.

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

1st 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 I
In my just censure!^{2 note} in my true opinion!—
Alack, for lesser knowledge!^{3 note}—How accurs'd,
In being so blest!—
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 thing;^{4 note} yea, a very trick
For them to play at will.—How came the posterns
So easily open?

1st 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. [Exeunt Second Lord, with Mamillius.
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; for calumny will sear
Virtue itself:^{5 note} 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 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 mistake.

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^{6 note} with her; 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 centre^{7 note} is not big enough to bear
A schoolboy's top.—Away with her to prison:
He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty,^{8 note}
But that he speaks.

Her.
There's some ill planet reigns;
I must be patient, till the heavens look
With an aspéct more favourable:^{9 note}
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!

Leon.
Shall I be heard? [To the attendants.

Her.
Who is't that goes with me?—'beseech your highness,
My women may be with me, for you know
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.
This action 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 have leave.

Leon.
Go, do our bidding; hence! [Exeunt Queen and Ladies.

2nd 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.

2nd 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.

Leon.
Hold your peaces.

Ant.
It is for you we speak, not for ourselves:
You are abus'd, and by some putter-on^{10 note}
That will be damn'd for't. Be she honour-flaw'd.—
I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven;
The second, and the third, nine, and some five:^{11 note}
If this prove true, they'll pay for't;
By mine honour, fourteen they shall not see,
To bring false generations.

Leon.
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.

Ant.
If it be so,
We need no grave to bury honesty;
There's not a grain of it.

Leon.
What! lack I credit?

Ant.
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.
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),
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 Delphi, to Apollo's temple,
Cleomenes and Dion, whom you know
Of stuff'd sufficiency.^{12 note} Now, from the oracle
They will bring all; whose spiritual counsel had,
Shall stop, or spur me. Have I done well?

2nd 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 two,^{13 note} fled hence,
Be left her to perform. Come, follow us. [Exeunt.

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