Scene I.
—BITHYNIA. A DESERT COUNTRY NEAR THE SEA.
Enter Antigonus, with the Child; and a Mariner.
Ant.
Thou art perfect,1 note
then; our ship hath touch'd upon
The deserts of Bithynia?
Mar.
Ay, my lord; and fear
We have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly,
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,
The heavens with that we have in hand are angry,
And frown upon us.
Ant.
Their sacred wills be done!—Go, get 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'the 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 am glad at heart
To be so rid o' the business.
[Exit.
Ant.
Come, poor babe:—
I have heard (but not believ'd) the spirits of the dead
May walk again. If such thing be, thy mother
-- 61 --
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 o'er-running;—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 wend, 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,
She melted into air. Dreams are toys;
Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously,
I will be squar'd by this. I do believe
Hermione hath suffered 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.2 note There these,
[Laying down a bundle.
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,
And still rest thine.—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 accurs'd am I,
To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell!
-- 62 --
The day frowns more and more; thou art like to have
A lullaby too rough. I never saw
The heavens so dim by day.
[Hunting horns heard without.
A savage clamour?—3 note
Well may I get aboard!—This is the chace;
I am gone for ever.
[Exit pursued by a bear.(A)8Q0242
Enter an old Shepherd.
Shep.
I would there were no age between ten and three
and twenty; or that youth would sleep out the rest; for
there is nothing in the between but wronging the ancientry,
stealing, fighting. [Horns heard again.] Hark you, now!—
Would any but these boil'd brains of nineteen and two and
twenty, hunt this weather? They have scared 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.
browzing on ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will! what have we
here? [Taking up the child.] Mercy on's, a barne; a
very pretty barne!4 note A boy, or a child,5 note I wonder? A
pretty one—a very pretty one. I'll take it up for pity; yet
I'll tarry till my son come; he holla'd but even now.
Whoa, ho, hoa!
Enter Clown.
Clown.
Hilloa, loa!
Shep.
What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk
on when thou art dead and buried, come hither. What ail'st
thou, man?
Clown.
I have seen two such sights, by sea, and by land.
O, 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 mainmast, and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as
-- 63 --
you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land
service—To see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone;
how he cried 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'd6 note it:—but, first, how the poor
souls roar'd, and the sea mock'd them;—and how the poor
gentleman roar'd, and how the bear mocked him, both roaring
louder than the sea or weather.
Shep.
'Name of mercy, when was this, boy?
Clown.
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 nobleman!
But look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou met'st
with things dying, I with things new born. Here's a sight
for thee: look thee, a bearing-cloth7 note for a king's child!(B)8Q0243
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:8 note—open't. What's within, boy?
Clown.
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.9 note We
are lucky, boy; and to be so still, requires nothing but
secrecy. Let my sheep go. Come, good boy, the next
way home.
Clown.
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. If there be any of him left, I'll bury it.
Shep.
That's a good deed: 'Tis a lucky day, boy; and
we'll do good deeds on't.
[Exeunt.
-- 64 --
A CLASSICAL ALLEGORY, REPRESENTING THE COURSE OF TIME.
LUNA IN HER CAR, ACCOMPANIED BY THE STARS (PERSONIFIED), SINKING BEFORE
THE APPROACH OF PHŒBUS. CRONOS, AS TIME, SURMOUNTING THE GLOBE,
DESCRIBES THE EVENTS OF THE SIXTEEN YEARS SUPPOSED TO HAVE ELAPSED.
ASCENT OF PHŒBUS IN THE CHARIOT OF THE SUN.
Time.
I, that please some, try all; both joy and terror,
Of good and bad; that make and unfold error,—
Now take upon me, in the name of Time,
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime
To me, or my swift passage, that I slide
O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried
Of that wide gap,10 note since it is in my power
To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour
To plant and o'erwhelm custom: Let me pass
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was,
Or what is now received: I witness to
The times that brought them in; so shall I do
To the freshest things now reigning; and make stale
The glistering of this present, as my tale
Now seems to it. The king, Leontes, leaving
The effects of his fond jealousies; so grieving,
That he shuts up himself; imagine me,11 note
Gentle spectators, that I now may be
In fair Bithynia, and remember well,
-- 65 --
I mention'd a son o' the king's, which Florizel
I now name to you; and with speed so pace
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wond'ring: What of her ensues,
I list not prophecy; but let Time's news
Be known, when 'tis brought forth:—a shepherd's daughter,
And what to her adheres, which follows after,
Is the argument12 note of time: Of this allow,13 note
If ever you have spent time worse ere now;
If never yet, that Time himself doth say,
He wishes earnestly, you never may.
[Exit.
Scene II.
—A ROOM IN THE PALACE OF POLIXENES.
Polixenes, Camillo, and Harper, with Attendants discovered.
Cam.
It is sixteen years, since I saw my country: though
I have, for the most part, been aired abroad, I desire to lay
my bones there. Besides, the penitent king, my master,
hath sent for me: to whose feeling sorrows I might be some
allay, or I o'erween14 note to think so; which is another spur to
my departure.
Pol.
I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate:
'tis a sickness, denying thee any thing; a death, to grant
this. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of
thy services by leaving me now. Of that fatal country
Sicilia, pr'ythee speak no more. Say to me, when saw'st
thou the prince Florizel, my son?
Cam.
Sir, it is three days, since I saw the prince: What
his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown: but I have,
missingly noted,15 note he is of late much retired from court;
-- 66 --
and is less frequent to his princely exercises, than formerly
he hath appeared.
Pol.
I have consider'd so much, Camillo, and with some
care; so far, that I have eyes under my service, which look
upon his removedness: from whom I have this intelligence:
That he is seldom from the house of a most homely
shepherd; a man, they say, that from very nothing, and
beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an
unspeakable estate.
Cam.
I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a
daughter of most rare note; the report of her is extended
more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage.
Pol.
That's likewise part of my intelligence. Thou
shalt accompany us to the place: where we will, not appearing
what we are, have some question16 note with the shepherd;
from whose simplicity, I think it not uneasy to get the cause
of my son's resort thither. Pr'ythee, be my present partner
in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.
Cam.
I willingly obey your command.
Pol.
My best Camillo!—We must disguise ourselves.
[Exeunt.
Scene III.
—A ROAD NEAR THE SHEPHERD'S FARM.
Enter Autolycus, a rogue,17 note
singing.
When daffodils begin to peer,—
With, heigh! the doxy over the dale,—
Why, then comes in the sweet o'the year;
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
I have serv'd prince Florizel, and, in my time wore fine
garments; but now I am out of service:
-- 67 --
But shall I go mourn for that, my dear!
The pale moon shines by night:
And when I wander here and there,
I then do most go right.
My father named me, Autolycus; who, being, as I am,
litter'd under Mercury,18 note was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered
trifles: With die, and drab, I purchased this
caparison,19 note and my revenue is the silly cheat.20 note—A prize!
a prize!
Enter Clown.
Clown.
Let me see:—Every 'leven wether tods; every
tod21 note yields—fifteen hundred shorn,—What comes the
wool to?
Aut.
If the springe hold, the cock's mine.
[Aside.
Clown.
Let me see; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing
feast? Three pound of sugar; five pound of
currants; rice—What will this sister of mine do with
rice? But my father hath made her mistress of the feast,
and she lays it on. Mace,—dates,—none; that's out of
my note: nutmegs, seven; a race, or two of ginger;—but
that I may beg;—four pound of prunes, and as many of
raisins o'the sun.
Aut.
O that ever I was born!
[Groveling on the ground.
Clown.
I' the name of me,—22 note
Aut.
O, help me, help me! pluck but off these rags;
and then death, death!
-- 68 --
Clown.
Alack, poor soul; thou hast need of more rags
to lay on thee, rather than have these off.
Aut.
I am robb'd, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel
ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon me.
Clown.
Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee: come, lend me
thy hand.
[Helping him up.
Aut.
O! good sir, tenderly; oh!
Clown.
Alas, poor soul.
Aut.
O, good sir, softly, good sir: I fear, sir, my shoulder-blade
is out.
Clown.
How now? canst stand?
Aut.
Softly, dear sir; [picks his pocket.] Good sir,
softly; you ha' done me a charitable office.
Clown.
Dost lack any money? I have a little money for
thee.
Aut.
No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir; I
have a kinsman not past three-quarters of a mile hence,
unto whom I was going; I shall there have money, or any
thing I want: Offer me no money, I pray you; that kills
my heart.
Clown.
What manner of fellow was he that robb'd you?
Aut.
A fellow, sir, that I knew once a servant of the
prince; I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it
was, but he was certainly whipp'd out of the court.
Clown.
His vices, you would say; there's no virtue
whipp'd out of the court.
Aut.
Vices I would say, sir. I know this man well; he
hath been since a process-server, then he married a tinker's
wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and,
having flown over many knavish professions, he settled
only in rogue: some call him Autolycus.
Clown.
Out upon him! Prig, for my life, prig:23 note
he
haunts festivals, games, and merry meetings.
Aut.
Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that
put me into this apparel.
-- 69 --
Clown.
Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bithynia; if
you had but look'd big, and spit at him, he'd have run.
Aut.
I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: I am
false of heart that way; and that he knew, I warrant him.
Clown.
How do you now?
Aut.
Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand,
and walk: I will even take my leave of you, and pace
softly towards my kinsman's.
Clown.
Shall I bring thee on the way?
Aut.
No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.
Clown.
Then fare thee well; I must go buy spices for
our sheep-shearing.
Aut.
Prosper you, sweet sir!—[Exit Clown.] Your
purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be
with you at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this
cheat bring out another, and the shearers prove sheep, let
me be enroll'd, and my name put in the book of virtue!
Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile-a:24 note
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a.
[Exit.
Scene IV.
—A PASTORAL SCENE IN BITHYNIA, WITH A DISTANT VIEW OF THE CITY OF NICÆA, ON THE LAKE ASCANIA;
Together with the chain of lofty Mountains, known as the Mysian Olympus.
Florizel and Perdita discovered.
Flo.
These your unusual weeds to each part of you
Do give a life: no shepherdess; but Flora,
Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing
Is as a meeting of the petty gods,
And you the queen on't.
-- 70 --
Per.
Sure, my gracious lord,
To chide at your extremes,25 note it not becomes me;
O, pardon, that I name them: your high self,
The gracious mark o' the land,26 note you have obscur'd
With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid,
Most goddess-like prank'd up.27 note
Flo.
I bless the time,
When my good falcon made her flight across
Thy father's ground.
Per.
Now Jove afford you cause!
Even now I tremble
To think, your father, by some accident,
Should pass this way, as you did. O, the fates!
How would he look, to see his work, so noble,
Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
The sternness of his presence?
Flo.
Apprehend
Nothing but jollity.
Per.
O but, dear sir,
Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power o'the king;
One of these two must be necessities,
Which then will speak; that you must change this purpose,
Or I my life.
Flo.
Thou dearest Perdita,
With these forc'd thoughts,28 note I pr'ythee, darken not
The mirth o'the feast: Or I'll be thine, my fair,
Or not my father's; for I cannot be
Mine own, nor any thing to any, if
I be not thine: to this I am most constant,
Though destiny say no.
[Rural music heard without.
Your guests are coming:
-- 71 --
Lift up your countenance; as it were the day
Of celebration of that nuptial, which
We two have sworn shall come.
Per.
O lady fortune,
Stand you auspicious!
Flo.
See, your guests approach;
Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth.
Enter Shepherd, with Polixenes and Camillo, disguised;
Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, and others.
Shep.
Fye, daughter! when my old wife liv'd, upon
This day, she was both pantler, butler, cook;
Both dame and servant: welcom'd all; serv'd all:
Would sing her song, and dance her turn. You are retir'd,
As if you were a feasted one, and not
The hostess of the meeting: Pray you, bid
These unknown friends to us welcome; for it is
A way to make us better friends, more known.
Come, quench your blushes; and present yourself
That which you are, mistress o'the feast: Come on,
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
As your good flock shall prosper.
Per.
Welcome, sir!
[To Polixenes.
It is my father's will I should take on me
The hostess-ship o'the day.—You're welcome, sir;
[To Camillo.
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas.—Reverend sirs,
For you there's rosemary, and rue; these keep
Seeming and savour all the winter long:
Grace and remembrance be to you both;29 note
-- 72 --
Sirs, welcome to our shearing!
Pol.
Shepherdess
(A fair one are you), well you fit our ages
With flowers of winter.
Cam.
I should leave grazing were I of your flock,
And only live by gazing.
Per.
Out, alas!
You'd be so lean, that blasts of January
Would blow you through and through.—Now, my fairest friend,
[To Florizel.
I would I had some flowers o'the spring that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours;
Daffodils that come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,30 note
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phœbus in his strength; bold oxlips, and
The crown-imperial; O, these I lack,
To make you garlands of: and, my sweet friend,
To strew him o'er and o'er.
Flo.
What? like a corse?
Per.
No, not like a corse: or if,—not to be buried,
But quick, and in mine arms.
Pol.
This is the prettiest low-born-lass that ever
Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does, or says,
But smacks of something greater than herself;
Too noble for this place.
Cam.
He tells her something
That wakes her blood—look on't:31 note Good sooth, she is
The queen of curds and cream.
Flo.
But, come; our dance, I pray:
Your hand, my Perdita: so turtles pair,
That never mean to part.
Per.
I'll swear for 'em.
Clown.
Come on, strike up.
-- 73 --
Dor.
Mopsa must be your mistress.
Mop.
Now, in good time!
Clown.
Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.—32 note
Come, strike up.
[Music.
HERE A DANCE OF SHEPHERDS AND SHEPHERDESSES.(C)8Q0244
Pol.
Pray, good shepherd, what
Fair swain is this which dances with your daughter?
Shep.
They call him Doricles; and he boasts himself
To have a worthy feeding.33 note
He says he loves my daughter; and, to be plain
I think there is not half a kiss to choose,
Who loves the other best: if young Doricles
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
Which he not dreams of.
Enter a Servant.
Ser.
O master, if you did but hear the pedlar here without,
you would never dance again after a tabor and pipe;
he sings several tunes faster than you'll tell money.
Clown.
He could never come better: I love a ballad but
even too well.
Ser.
He hath songs, for man, or woman, of all sizes. He
sings them over 'as they were gods or goddesses.
Clown.
Pr'ythee bring him here, and let him approach,
singing.
Enter Autolycus, as a Pedlar,(D)8Q0245 singing, surrounded by a crowd of Shepherds and Shepherdesses.
Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry;
Come, buy, &c.
Clown.
If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou should'st
take no money of me; but being enthrall'd as I am, it will
also be the bondage of certain fillets and gloves.
-- 74 --
Mop.
I was promised them against the feast; but they
come not too late now.
Dor.
He hath promised you more than that, or there be
liars.
Mop.
He hath paid you all he promised you: may be,
he has paid you more.
Clown.
Is there no manners left among maids? Charm
your tongues, and not a word more.
Mop.
I have done.
Clown.
Have I not told thee, how I was cozen'd by the
way, and lost all my money?
Aut.
And, indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore
it behoves men to be wary.
Clown.
Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here.
Aut.
I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of
charge.
Clown.
What hast here? ballads?
Mop.
Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad.
Aut.
Here's one, to a very doleful tune, How a usurer's
wife long'd to eat adders' heads, and toads carbonado'd.
Mop.
Is it true, think you?
Aut.
Very true; and but a month old.
Why should I carry lies abroad?
Mop.
'Pray you now, buy it.
Clown.
Come on, lay it by: And let's first see more
ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.
Aut.
Here's another ballad, Of a fish, that appear'd upon
the coast, forty thousand fathom above water, and sung
this ballad against the hard hearts of maids: it was thought,
she was a woman, and was turn'd into a fish.34 note The ballad
is very pitiful, and as true.
Dor.
Is it true, too, think you?
Aut.
Witnesses, more than my pack will hold.
Clown.
Lay it by too: Another.
Aut.
This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.
Mop.
Let's have some merry ones.
-- 75 --
Aut.
Why, this is a passing merry one; and goes to the
tune of, Two maids wooing a man.
Mop.
We can both sing it, if thou'lt bear a part; 'tis
in three parts.
Dor.
We had the tune on't a month ago.
Aut.
Have at it with you.
SONG.
A.
Get you hence, for I must go;
Where, it fits not you to know.
D.
Whither?
M.
O, whither?
D.
Whither?
M.
It becomes thy oath full well,
Thou to me thy secrets tell:
D.
Me too, let me go thither.
M.
Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill:
D.
If to either thou dost ill.
A.
Neither.
D.
What, neither?
A.
Neither.
D.
Thou hast sworn my love to be;
Thou hast sworn it more to me:
Then, whither go'st? say, whither?
Clown.
We'll have this song out anon by ourselves: My
father and the gentlemen are in sad35 note talk, and we'll not
trouble them: Come, bring away thy pack after me.
Wenches, I'll buy for you both:—Pedlar, let's have the
first choice.—Follow me, girls.
Aut.
And you shall pay well for 'em.
[Aside.
Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry;
Come, buy, &c.
[Exeunt Clown, Autolycus, Dorcas, Mopsa, and others.
Enter a Servant.
Ser.
Master, there is three goatherds, three shepherds,
three neatherds, three swineherds, that have made themselves
all men of hair;36 note they call themselves Satyrs; and
-- 76 --
they have a dance which they themselves are o' the
mind, will please plentifully.
Shep.
Away! we'll none on't; here has been too much
homely foolery already:—I know, sir, we weary you.
Pol.
You weary those that refresh us: Pray, let's see
these four threes of herdsmen.
Ser.
One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath
danced before the king; and not the worst of the three, but
jumps twelve foot and a half by the square.37 note
Shep.
Leave your prating; since these good men are
pleased, let them approach; but quickly now.
Ser.
Why, they stay without, sir.
[Exit.
[Re-enter Servant, with twelve rustics habited like Satyrs; accompanied by a crowd of
peasantry, who dance wildly and indulge in all the extravagant merriment of a Dionysia,(E)8Q0246 and then exeunt.
Pol.
O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter.—
How now, fair shepherd?
Your heart is full of something, that does take
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young,
And handed love, as you do, I was wont
To load my she with knacks: I would have ransack'd
The pedlar's silken treasury, and have pour'd it
To her acceptance; you have let him go,
And nothing marted with him.
Flo.
Old sir, I know
She prizes not such trifles as these are:
The gifts, she looks from me, are pack'd and lock'd
Up in my heart; which I have given already,
But not deliver'd.—O, hear me breathe my life
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem,
Hath sometime lov'd: I take thy hand; this hand,
As soft as dove's down, and as white as it;
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow,
That's bolted38 note by the northern blasts twice o'er.
-- 77 --
Pol.
How prettily the young swain seems to wash
The hand was fair before!—I have put you out:—
But, to your protestation; let me hear
What you profess.
Flo.
Do, and be witness to't.
Pol.
And this my neighbour too?
Flo.
And he, and more
Than he, and men; the earth, the heavens, and all:
That,—were I crown'd the most imperial monarch,
Thereof most worthy; were I the fairest youth
That ever made eye swerve; had sense and knowledge,
More than was ever man's,—I would not prize them,
Without her love: for her, employ them all;
Commend them, and condemn them, to her service,
Or to their own perdition.
Shep.
But, my daughter,
Say you the like to him?
Per.
I cannot speak
So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.
Shep.
Take hands, a bargain;—
And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't:
I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his.
Flo.
O, that must be
I'the virtue of your daughter: one being dead,
I shall have more than you can dream of yet;
Enough then for your wonder.
Shep.
Come, your hand;—
And, daughter, yours.
Pol.
Soft, swain, a-while, 'beseech you;
Have you a father?
Flo.
I have: But what of him?
Pol.
Knows he of this?
Flo.
He neither does, nor shall.
Pol.
Methinks a father
Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest
That best becomes the table. Reason, my son,
Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason,
The father (all whose joy is nothing else
-- 78 --
But fair posterity), should hold some counsel
In such a business.
Flo.
I yield all this;
But, for some other reasons, my grave sir,
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
My father of this business.
Pol.
Let him know't.
Flo.
He shall not.
Pol.
Pr'ythee, let him.
Flo.
No, he must not.
Shep.
Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve
At knowing of thy choice.
Flo.
Come, come he must not:—
Mark our contràct.
Pol.
Mark your divorce, young sir,
[Discovering himself.
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
To be acknowledged: Thou a scepter's heir,
That thus affect'st a sheep-hook!—Thou old traitor,
I am sorry that, by hanging thee, I can but
Shorten thy life one week.—For thee, fond boy,—
If I may ever know, thou dost but sigh,
That thou no more shalt see this knack, (as never
I mean thou shalt,) we'll bar thee from succession;
Not hold thee of our blood. Mark thou my words;
Follow us to the court.—And you, enchantment,—
If ever, henceforth, thou
These rural latches to his entrance open,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee,
As thou art tender to't.
[Exit.
Per.
Even here undone!
I was not much afeard; for once, or twice,
I was about to speak; and tell him plainly,
The selfsame sun that shines upon his court,
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
Looks on alike.—Wilt please you, sir, be gone?
[To Florizel.
I told you what would come of this: 'Beseech you,
Of your own state take care: this dream of mine,—
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further,
But milk my ewes, and weep.
-- 79 --
Shep.
I cannot speak, nor think,
Nor dare to know that which I know.—O, sir,
[To Florizel.
You have undone a man of fourscore three,
That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,
To die upon the bed my father died,
To lie close by his honest bones:—O cursed wretch!
[To Perdita.
That knew'st this was the prince, and would'st adventure
To mingle faith with him.—Undone! undone!
If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd
To die when I desire.
[Exit.
Flo.
Why look you so upon me?
I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd,
But nothing alter'd: What I was, I am:
Lift up thy looks:—39 note
From my succession wipe me, father! I
Am heir to my affection.
Cam.
Be advis'd.
Flo.
I am; and by my fancy:40 note if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness,
Do bid it welcome.
Cam.
This is desperate, sir.
Flo.
So call it: but it does fulfil my vow;
I needs must think it honesty. Camillo,
Not for Bithynia, nor the pomp that may
Be thereat glean'd; for all the sun sees, or
The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
To this my fair belov'd; therefore, I pray you,
As you have e'er been my father's honour'd friend,
When he shall miss me, cast your good counsels
Upon his passion. I am put to sea
With her, whom here I cannot hold on shore;
And, most opportune to our need, I have
-- 80 --
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd
For this design. What course I mean to hold,
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concern me the reporting.
Cam.
O, my lord,
I would your spirit were easier for advice,
Or stronger for your need.
Flo.
Hark, Perdita.
[Takes her aside.
I'll hear you by and by.
[To Camillo.
Cam.
He's irremovable,
Resolv'd for flight. Now were I happy, if
His going I could frame to serve my turn;
Save him from danger, do him love and honour;
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia,
And that unhappy king, my master, whom
I so much thirst to see.
Flo.
Now, good Camillo,
I am so fraught with curious business, that
I leave out ceremony.
[Going.
Cam.
Have you thought on
A place whereto you'll go?
Flo.
Not any yet.
Cam.
Then list to me.
This follows,—if you will not change your purpose,
But undergo this flight;—Make for Sicilia,
And there present yourself, and your fair princess,
(For so, I see, she must be,) 'fore the king;
Methinks, I see
Leontes, opening his free arms, and weeping
His welcomes forth; asks thee, the son, forgiveness,
As 'twere i' the father's person: kisses the hands
Of your fresh princess.
Flo.
Worthy Camillo,
What colour for my visitation shall I
Hold up before him?
Cam.
Sent by the king your father
To greet him, and to give him comforts. Sir,
The manner of your bearing towards him, with
What you, as from your father, shall deliver,
Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down.
Flo.
I am bound to you: There is some sap in this.
-- 81 --
But, O, the thorns we stand upon!—Camillo,
Preserver of my father, now of me;
How shall we do?
We are not furnish'd like Bithynia's son;
Nor shall appear't in Sicily.—
Cam.
My lord,
Fear none of this: I think you know, my fortunes
Do all lie there. It shall be so my care
To have you royally appointed, as if
The scene you play were true. For instance, sir,
That you may know you shall not want,—one word.
[They talk aside.
Enter Autolycus, as a Courtier.
Aut.
Ha! ha! what a fool honesty is; and trust, his
sworn brother, a very simple gentleman. I have sold all my
trumpery. My clown grew so in love with a new song,
that he would not stir till he had both tune and words;
which so drew the rest of the herd to me, that all their other
senses stuck in their ears: no hearing, no feeling, but my
sir's song, and admiring the nothing of it. So that, in this
time of lethargy, I pick'd and cut most of their festival
purses; and had not the old man come in with a hubbub
against his daughter and the king's son, and scared my
choughs from the chaff, I had not left a purse alive in the
whole army.
[Camillo, Florizel, and Perdita come forward.
Cam.
Nay, but my letters by this means being there
So soon as you arrive, shall clear that doubt.
Flo.
And those that you'll procure from King Leontes—
Cam.
Shall satisfy your father.
Per.
Happy be you!
All, that you speak, shows fair.
Cam.
Who have we here?
[Seeing Autolycus.
We'll make an instrument of this; omit
Nothing may give us aid.
Aut.
If they have overheard me, now,—why hanging.
[Aside.
-- 82 --
Cam.
How now, good fellow? Why shakest thou so?
Fear not, man; here's no harm intended to thee.
Aut.
I am a poor fellow, sir.
Cam.
Why, be so still; here's nobody will steal that from
thee. Yet for the outside of thy poverty, we must make an
exchange; therefore discase thee instantly (thou must think
there's necessity in't), and change garments with this gentleman:
Though the pennyworth, on his side, be the worst,
yet hold thee, there's some boot.41 note
Aut.
I am a poor fellow, sir. I know ye well
enough.
[Aside.
Flo.
Despatch, I pr'ythee.
Aut.
Indeed, I have had earnest; but I cannot with conscience
take it.
Cam.
Unbuckle, unbuckle.
[Florizel and Autolycus exchange cloaks.
Fortunate mistress, take your sweetheart's cap,
And pluck it o'er your brows; muffle your face;
And as you can, disliken
The truth of your own seeming; that you may
To shipboard get undescried.
Per.
I see, the play so lies,
That I must bear a part.
Cam.
No remedy.
Come, lady, come.—Farewell, my friend.
Aut.
Adieu, sir.
Flo.
Fortune speed us!
Thus we set on, Camillo, to the sea-side.
Cam.
The swifter speed, the better.
[Exeunt Florizel, Perdita, and Camillo.
Aut.
I understand the business, I hear it. To have an
open ear, a quick eye, and a nimble hand, is necessary for a
rogue; a good nose is requisite also, to smell out work for
the other senses. I see, this is the time that the unjust man
doth thrive. What an exchange had this been, without
boot?—what a boot is here, with this exchange? Sure, the
-- 83 --
gods do this year connive at us, and we may do anything
extempore. The prince himself is about a piece of iniquity;
stealing away from his father, with his clog at his heels: If
I thought it were not a piece of honesty to acquaint the
king withal, I would do't. I hold it the more knavery to
conceal it; and therein am I constant to my profession.
Enter Clown and Shepherd.
Aside, aside;—here is more matter for a hot brain. Every
lane's end yields a careful man work.
Clown.
See, see; what a man you are now! there is no
other way, but to tell the king she's a changeling, and none
of your flesh and blood.
Shep.
Nay, but hear me.
Clown.
Nay, but hear me.
Shep.
Go to, then.
Clown.
She being none of your flesh and blood, your flesh
and blood has not offended the king; and, so, your flesh and
blood is not to be punish'd by him. Show those things you
found with her. This being done, let the law go whistle; I
warrant you.
Shep.
I will tell the king all, every word; yea, and his
son's pranks, too; who, I may say, is no honest man neither
to his father, nor to me, to go about to make me the king's
brother-in-law.
Clown.
Indeed, brother-in-law was the furthest off you
could have been to him; and then your blood had been the
dearer, by I know not how much an ounce.
Aut.
Very wisely; puppies!
[Aside.
Shep.
Well, let us to the king; there is that in this fardel42 note
will make him scratch his beard.
Aut.
How now, rustics? whither are you bound?
Shep.
To the palace, an't like your worship.
Aut.
Your affairs there? what? with whom? the condition
of that fardel, the place of your dwelling, your names,
your ages, of what having,43 note breeding, and any thing that is
fitting to be known, discover.
-- 84 --
Shep.
Are you a courtier, an't like you, sir?
Aut.
Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. See'st
thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings? hath not
my gait in it the measure of the court?44 note I am courtier capa-pé,
and one that will either push on or pluck back thy
business there; whereupon I command thee to open thy
affair.
Shep.
My business, sir, is to the king.
Aut.
What advocate hast thou to him?
Shep.
I know not, an't like you.
Clown.
Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant; say
you have none.
Shep.
None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.45 note
Aut.
How bless'd are we, that are not simple men!
Yet nature might have made me as these are,
Therefore I'll not disdain.
Clown.
This cannot be but a great courtier.
Shep.
His garments are rich, but he wears them not
handsomely.
Clown.
He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical:
a great man, I'll warrant.
Aut.
The fardel there? what's i'the fardel?
Wherefore that box?
Shep.
Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box,
which none must know but the king, and which he shall
know within this hour, if I may come to the speech of him.
Aut.
Age, thou hast lost thy labour.
Shep.
Why, sir?
-- 85 --
Aut.
The king is not at the palace; he is gone aboard a
new ship to air himself: For, if thou be'st capable of things
serious, thou must know the king is full of grief.
Shep.
So 'tis said, sir; about his son, that should have
married a shepherd's daughter.
Aut.
If that shepherd be not in hand-fast, let him fly;
the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break
the back of man, the heart of monster.
Clown.
Think you so, sir?
Aut.
Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy,
and vengeance bitter; but those that are germane to him,
though removed fifty times, shall all come under the hangman;
which, though it be great pity, yet it is necessary.
Some say he shall be stoned, but that death is too soft for
him say I: Draw our throne into a sheep-cote! all deaths
are too few, the sharpest too easy.
Clown.
Has the old man e'er a son, sir, do you hear, an't
like you, sir?
Aut.
He has a son, who shall be stay'd alive, then 'nointed
over with honey,46 note set on the head of a wasp's nest; then
stand till he be three quarters and a dram dead; then recovered
again with aqua-vitæ, or some other hot infusion;
then, raw as he is, and in the hottest day prognostication
proclaims,47 note shall he be set against a brick-wall, the sun
looking with a southward eye upon him; where he is to
behold him, with flies blown to death. But what talk we of
these traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be smil'd at,
their offences being so capital? Tell me (for you seem to
be honest plain men) what you have to the king; being
something gently considered,48 note I'll bring you where he is
-- 86 --
aboard, tender your persons to his presence, whisper him in
your behalfs; and, if it be in man, besides the king, to effect
your suits, here is man shall do it.
Clown.
He seems to be of great authority; close with
him, give him gold, and no more ado: Remember, stoned,
and flay'd alive.
Shep.
An't please you, sir, to undertake the business for
us, here is that gold I have; I'll make it as much more, and
leave this young man in pawn till I bring it you.
Aut.
After I have done what I promised?
Shep.
Ay, sir.
Aut.
Well, give me the moiety:—Are you a party in this
business?
Clown.
In some sort, sir: but though my case be a pitiful
one, I hope I shall not be flay'd out of it.
Aut.
O, that's the case of the shepherd's son:—Hang
him, he'll be made an example. Walk before toward the
sea-side; I will follow you.
Clown.
We are bless'd in this man, as I may say, even
bless'd.
Shep.
Let's before, as he bids us: he was provided to do
us good.
[Exeunt Shepherd and Clown.
Aut.
If I had a mind to be honest, I see, fortune would
not suffer me; she drops booties in my mouth. I am
courted now with a double occasion; gold, and a means to
do the prince my master good; which, who knows how
that may turn luck to my advancement? I will bring these
two moles, these blind ones, aboard him: there may be
matter in it.
[Exit.
END OF ACT FOURTH.
-- 87 --
Charles Kean [1856], Shakespeare's play of the Winter's Tale, arranged for representation at the Princess's Theatre, with historical and explanatory notes, by Charles Kean. As first performed on Monday, April 28th, 1856 (Printed by John K. Chapman and Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S33200].
