Ant.
Thou art perfect,^{1 note}

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

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!

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!

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

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'd^{6 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-cloth^{7 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.

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,

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 argument^{12 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.

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