Leon.
O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort
That I have had of thee!

Paul.
What, sovereign, sir,
I did not well, I meant well: All my services,
You have paid home: but that you have vouchsaf'd,
With your crown'd brother, and these your contracted
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit;
It is a surplus of your grace, which never
My life may last to answer.

Leon.
O Paulina,
We honour you with trouble: But we came
To see the statue of our queen: your gallery
Have we passed through, not without much content
In many singularities; but we saw not
That which my daughter came to look upon,—
The statue of her mother.

Paul.
As she liv'd peerless,
So her dead likeness, I do well believe,
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon.
Here it is: prepare
To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever
Still sleep mock'd death: behold; and say, 'tis well. [Paulina undraws a curtain, and discovers a statue.
I like your silence, it the more shows off
Your wonder: But yet speak;—first, you, my liege.
Comes it not something near?

Leon.
Her natural posture!—
Chide me, dear stone; that I may say, indeed,
Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she,
In thy not chiding: for she was as tender

As infancy and grace.—O, thus she stood,
Even with such life of majesty, when first I woo'd her!
Does not the stone rebuke me,
For being more stone than it?
There's magic in thy majesty, which has
My evils conjur'd to remembrance; and
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
Standing like stone with thee!

Paul.
Indeed, my lord,
If I had thought the sight of my poor image
Would thus have wrought^{5 note} you,
I'd not have show'd it. [Going to draw the curtain.

Leon.
Do not draw the curtain.

Paul.
No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy
May think anon it moves.

Leon.
Let be, let be.
Would I were dead, but that methinks, already,
I am but dead, stone looking upon stone:^{6 note}
What was he that did make it?—See, my lord,
Would you not deem, it breath'd? and that those veins
Did verily bear blood?

Pol.
Masterly done:
The very life seems warm upon her lip.

Leon.
The fixure of her eye has motion in't,
As we are mock'd with art.

Paul.
I'll draw the curtain;
My lord's almost so far transported, that
He'll think anon it lives.

Leon.
Make me to think so twenty years together;
No settled senses of the world can match
The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone.

Paul.
I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you: but
I could afflict you further.

Leon.
Do, Paulina;
For this affliction has a taste as sweet
As any cordial comfort.—Still, methinks,
There is an air comes from her: What fine chisel

Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,
For I will kiss her.

Paul.
Good my lord, forbear:
The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;
You'll mar it, if you kiss it: Shall I draw the curtain?

Leon.
No, not these twenty years.

Per.
So long could I
Stand by, a looker-on.

Paul.
Either forbear,
Quit presently the chapel; or resolve you
For more amazement: If you can behold it,
I'll make the statue move indeed; descend,
And take you by the hand: but then you'll think
(Which I protest against,) I am assisted
By wicked powers.

Leon.
What you can make her do,
I am content to look on: what to speak,
I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy
To make her speak, as move.

Paul.
It is requir'd,
You do awake your faith: Then, all stand still;
Or those, that think it is unlawful business
I am about, let them depart.

Leon.
Proceed;
No foot shall stir.

Paul.
Music; awake her: strike.— [Music.
'Tis time; descend; be stone no more: approach;
Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come; [Hermione comes down from the pedestal.
Start not: her actions shall be holy, as,
You hear, my spell is lawful: Nay, present your hand.

Leon.
O, she's warm! [Embracing her.
If this be magic, let it be an art
Lawful as eating.

Pol.
She embraces him.

Cam.
She hangs about his neck;
If she pertain to life, let her speak too.

Pol.
Ay, and make't manifest where she has liv'd,
Or, how stol'n from the dead?

Paul.
Mark a little while.—
Please you to interpose, fair madam; kneel,
And pray your mother's blessing.—Turn, good lady;
Our Perdita is found. [Presenting Perdita who kneels to Hermione.

Her.
You gods, look down,
And from your sacred vials pour your graces^{7 note}
Upon my daughter's head!—Tell me, mine own,
Where hast thou been preserv'd? where liv'd? how found
Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear, that I,—
Knowing by Paulina, that the oracle
Gave hope thou wast in being,—have preserv'd myself,
To see the issue.

Paul.
There's time enough for that;
Lest they desire, upon this push, to trouble
Your joys with like relation.—Go together,
You precious winners all;^{8 note} your exultation
Partake to every one.^{9 note}

Leon.
Let's from this place.—
What?—Look upon my brother:—both your pardons,
That e'er I put between your holy looks
My ill suspicion.—This your son-in-law,
And son unto the king, (whom heavens directing,)
Is troth-plight to your daughter.—Good Paulina,
Lead us from hence; where we may leisurely
Each one demand, and answer to his part
Perform'd in this wide gap of time, since first
We were dissever'd: Hastily lead way. [Exeunt. END OF ACT FIFTH.

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