David Garrick [1758], Florizel and Perdita. A Dramatic Pastoral, In three acts. Alter'd from The Winter's Tale of Shakespear. By David Garrick. As it is performed at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S33300].
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Florizel and Perdita.
note
Introductory matter
PROLOGUE TO THE WINTER's TALE, AND CATHARINE and PETRUCHIO.
(Both from Shakespear.) Written and Spoken by Mr. GARRICK.
To various Things the Stage has been compar'd,
As apt Ideas strike each humorous Bard:
This Night, for want of better Simile,
Let this our Theatre a Tavern be:
The Poets Vintners, and the Waiters we.
So (as the Cant, and Custom of the Trade is)
You're welcome Gem'min, kindly welcome Ladies.
To draw in Customers, our Bills are spread;
[Shewing a Play Bill.
You cannot miss the Sign, 'tis Shakespear's Head.
From this same Head, this Fountain-head divine,
For different Palates springs a different Wine!
In which no Tricks, to strengthen, or to thin 'em—
Neat as imported—no French Brandy in 'em—
Hence for the choicest Spirits flow Champaign;
Whose sparkling Atoms shoot thro' every Vein,
Then mount in magic Vapours, to th' enraptur'd Brain!
Hence flow for martial Minds Potations strong;
And sweet Love Potions, for the Fair and Young.
For you, my Hearts of Oak, for your Regale,
[To the Upper Gallery.
There's good old English Stingo, mild and stale.
For high, luxurious Souls with luscious smack;
There's Sir John Falstaff, is a Butt of Sack:
And if the stronger Liquors more invite ye;
Bardolph is Gin, and Pistol Aqua Vitæ.
But shou'd you call for Falstaff, where to find him,
* noteHe's gone—nor left one Cup of Sack behind him.
Sunk in his Elbow Chair, no more he'll roam;
No more, with merry Wags, to Eastcheap come;
He's gone,—to jest, and laugh, and give his Sack at Home.
As for the learned Critics, grave and deep,
Who catch at Words, and catching fall asleep;
Who in the Storms of Passion—hum,—and haw!
For such, our Master will no Liquor draw—
So blindy thoughtful, and so darkly read,
They take Tom Durfy's, for the Shakespear's Head.
A Vintner once acquir'd both Praise and Gain,
And sold much Perry for the best Champaign.
-- --
Some Rakes, this precious Stuff did so allure;
They drank whole Nights—what's that—when Wine is pure?
“Come fill a Bumper, Jack—, I will my Lord—
“Here's Cream!—Damn'd fine!—immense!—upon my Word!
“Sir William, what say you?—The best, believe me—
“In this—Eh Jack!—the Devil can't deceive me.”
Thus the wise Critic too, mistakes his Wine,
Cries out with lifted Hands, 'tis great!—divine!
Then jogs his Neighbour, as the Wonders strike him;
This Shakespear! Shakespear!—Oh, there's nothing like him!
In this Night's various, and enchanted Cup,
Some little Perry's mixt for filling up.
The five long Acts, from which our Three are taken,
Stretch'd out to† note sixteen Years, lay by, forsaken.
Lest then this precious Liquor run to waste,
'Tis now confin'd and bottled for your Taste.
'Tis my chief Wish, my Joy, my only Plan,
To lose no Drop of that immortal Man!
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
| Leontes | Mr. Garrick. |
| Polixenes | Mr. Havard. |
| Camillo | Mr. Davies. |
| Old Shepherd | Mr. Berry. |
| Clown | Mr. Woodward. |
Autolicus [Autolycus] | Mr. Yates. |
Cleomines [Cleomenes] | Mr. Jefferson. |
| Florizel | Mr. Holland. |
Gent. [Gentleman] | Mr. Blakes. |
| Servant | Mr. Beard. |
| Rogero | Mr. Walker. |
| Perdita | Mrs. Cibber. |
| Paulina | Mrs. Bennet. |
| Dorcas | Miss. Minors. |
| Mopsa | Mrs. Bradshaw. |
| Hermione | Mrs. Pritchard. |
-- 1 --
FLORIZEL and PERDITA.
[ACT I.]
Scene 1
SCENE. The court of Bohemia.
Enter Camillo and a Gentleman.
Camillo.
The gods send him safe passage to
us, for he seems embarked in a tempestuous
season.
Gent.
I pray thee, Lord Camillo, instruct
me, what concealed matter there is in the coming
of Leontes to Bohemia, shou'd so wrap our king in
astonishment?
Camillo.
Good sign your knowledge in the court is young,
if you make that your question.
Gent.
I wou'd not be thought too curious, but I prithee,
be my tutor in this matter.
-- 2 --
Camillo.
To be short then—Give it thy hearing, for my
tale is well worthy of it; these two kings, Leontes of
Sicily, and Polixenes of Bohemia, were train'd together
in their childhoods, and there rooted betwixt
'em such an affection as cou'd not chuse but branch
as it grew up. One unhappy summer (and full sixteen
as unhappy have follow'd it) our Polixenes went
to repay Sicily the visitation which he justly ow'd
him.—Most royalty, and with the utmost freedom
of society, was he entertain'd both by Leontes, and
his queen Hermione; a lady, whose bodily accomplishments
were unparallel'd, but by those of her
own mind. The free strokes of youth and gaiety,
in her extended civility to Polixenes (pleas'd as she
was to see her lord delighted) bred in him suspicion
of her conduct.
Gent.
And that is an evil weed, that once taking root,
needs no manure.
Camillo.
I then waited about the person of Leontes, and
was alone thought worthy the participation of his
jealousy. Into my bosom he disgorg'd his monstrous
secret, with no tenderer an injunction than to take
off his innocent, abused guest, by poison.
Gent.
To kill Polixenes!
Camillo.
Even so.—What cou'd I do? What ran evenest
with the grain of my honesty I did, and have not
since repented me:—whisper'd Polixenes of the matter
—left my large fortunes, and my larger hopes
in Sicily, and on the very wing of occasion slew with
-- 3 --
him hither, no richer than my honor; and have
since been ever of his bosom.
Gent.
I tremble for the poor queen, left to the injuries
of a powerful king, and jealous husband.
Camillo.
Left too in her condition! for she had some while
promis'd an heir to Sicily, and now, mark me,—
for the occasion—
Gent.
Cannot surpass my attention.
Camillo.
Scarcely settled in Bohemia here, we are alarm'd
with the arrival of Paulina (that excellent matron,
and true friend of her unhappy queen) from whom
we too soon learn how sad a tragedy had been acted
in Sicily—the dishonor'd Hermione clapp'd up in
prison, where she gave the king a princess—the
child (the innocent milk yet in her innocent mouth)
by the king's command, expos'd; expos'd even on
the desarts of this kingdom;—our Polixenes being
falsly deem'd the father.
Gent.
Poor babe! unhappy queen! tyrant Leontes!
Camillo.
What blacker title will you fix upon him, when
you shall hear that Hermione, in her weak condition
(the child bed privilege deny'd, which belongs to
women of all fashion) was haul'd out to an open
mockery of trial; that on this inhuman outrage
(her fame being kill'd before) she died—in the very
prison where she was deliver'd, died; and that on
her decease, Paulina (whose free tongue was the
-- 4 --
king's living scourge, and perpetual remembrancer
to him of his dead queen) fled with her effects, for
safety of her life, to Bohemia, here—I tire
you.
Gent.
My king concern'd, I am too deeply interested in
the event, to be indifferent to the relation.
Camillo.
All this did Leontes, in defiance of the plain answer
of the oracle, by him consulted at Delphi;
which now, after sixteen years occurring to his more
sober thoughts, he first thinks it probable, then finds
it true, and his penitence thereupon is as extreme,
as his suspicions had been fatal. In the course of his
sorrows he has, as we are inform'd, twice attempted
on his life; and this is now his goad to the present
expedition; to make all possible atonement to his
injur'd brother Bohemia, and to us the fellow-sufferers
in his wrongs—we must break off—the king and
good Paulina—
Enter Polixenes and Paulina.
Polixenes.
Weep not now, Paulina, so long-gone-by misfortunes;
this strange and unexpected visit, from Leontes,
calls all your sorrows up a-new: but good Paulina,
be satisfied that heav'n has will'd it so. That sixteen
years absence shou'd pass unnotic'd by this king,
without exchange of gifts, letters, or embassies; and
now!—I am amaz'd as thou art; but not
griev'd—
Paulina.
Grudge me not a tear to the memory of my
queen, my royal mistress; and there dies my resentment;
now, Leontes, welcome.
-- 5 --
Polixenes.
Nobly resolv'd: of him think we no more 'till he
arrives.
Camillo.
Hail, royal Sir. If the king of Sicily escape this
dreadful tempest, I shall esteem him a favourite of
the gods, and his penitence effectual.
Polixenes.
Of that fatal country Sicily, and of its penitent
(as we must think him) and reconcil'd king, my
brother, (whose loss of his most precious queen and
child are even now afresh lamented) I prithee, speak
no more—say to me, when saw'st thou prince Florizel,
my son? Fathers are no less unhappy, their issue
not being gracious, than they are in losing 'em, when
they have approv'd their virtues.
Camillo.
Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince; what
his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown; but
I have musingly noted, he is of late much retir'd
from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises
than formerly he hath appear'd.
Polixenes.
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, is grown rich beyond the
imagination of his neighbours.
Paulino.
I have heard too of such a man, who hath a
daughter of most rare note; the report of her is
-- 6 --
extended more than can be thought to begin from
such a cottage.
Polixenes.
That's likewise part of my intelligence, and I fear,
the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou, Camillo,
shalt accompany us to the place, where we
will (not appearing what we are) have some question
with the shepherd; from whose simplicity, I think
it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort
thither.
Camillo.
I willingly obey your command.
Polixenes.
My best Camillo!—we must disguise ourselves.
Paulina.
Lest your royalty be discover'd by the attendance
of any of your own train; my steward, Dion, shall
provide disguises, and accompany your design with
all secrecy.
Polixenes.
It is well advis'd—I will make choice of some
few to attend us, who shall wait at distance from the
cottage—you instruct Dion in the matter, while we
prepare ourselves.
[Ex. Polix. and Camillo.
Paulina, sola.
What fire is in my ears! can it be so,
Or are my senses cheated with a dream?
Leontes in Bohemia!—O most welcome,
My penitent liege—my tears were those of joy
—Paulina, for her royal mistress' sake,
Shall give thee welcome to this injur'd coast:
Such as the riches of two mighty kingdoms,
-- 7 --
Bohemia join'd with fruitful Sicily,
Wou'd not avail to buy—Leontes, welcome.
Let thy stout vessel but the beating stand
Of this chaf'd sea, and thou art whole on land.
[Ex. Paulina.
SCENE II.
The country by the sea-side. A storm.
Enter an Old Shepherd.
I wou'd there were no age between thirteen and
three and twenty; or that youth wou'd sleep out
the rest: For there is nothing in the between, but
getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry,
stealing, fighting—Hark you now! wou'd any
but these boil'd brains of two and twenty hunt this
weather! they have scar'd away two of my best
sheep, which, I fear, the wolf will sooner find than
the master; if any where I have 'em, 'tis by the seaside,
browzing of ivy—Yet I'll tarry till my son
come: He hollow'd but even now—Whoa!
ho—hoa—
Enter Clown.
Clown.
Hoilloa! hoa!
Old Shep.
What, art so near? What ail'st thou man?
Clown.
I have seen such a sight!
-- 8 --
Old Shep.
Why, boy, how is it?
Clown.
I wou'd you did but see how the sea chafes, how
it rages, how it rakes up the shore—But I am
not to say it is a sea, for it is now the sky; betwixt
the firmament and it you cannot thrust a bodkin's
point.—But O the most pitious cry of the poor souls,
sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em—But
then, the ship—to see how the sea flap-dragon'd it—
but first how the poor souls roar'd, and the sea mock'd
'em—Then the ship, now boring the moon with
her main-mast, and anon swallow'd with yest and
froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead.
Old Shep.
Name of mercy! when was this, boy?
Clown.
Now, now, I have not wink'd since I saw it; the
men are not yet cold under water.
Old Shep.
Wou'd I had been by the ship-side to have help'd
'em.
Clown.
There your charity wou'd have lack'd footing.
Old Shep.
Heavy matters! heavy matters!
Clown.
Look! look, father—there are two of 'em cast
ashore, and crawling up the rock—now they are
down again—poor souls, they have not strength to
keep their hold—I will go help them.
-- 9 --
Old Shep.
Run, run, boy! thy legs are youngest.
Clown.
Stay, they have found the road to the beach, and
come towards us.
Old Shep.
Some rich men, I warrant 'em; that are poorer
than we now.
Clown.
Lord, father! look—they are out-landish folk;
their fine cloaths are shrunk in the wetting.
Enter Leontes, supported by Cleomines.
Cleomines.
Bear up, my liege;—again welcome on shore.
Leontes.
Flatter me not—In death distinctions cease—
Am I on shore; walk I on land, firm land,
Or ride I yet upon the billows backs?
Methinks I feel the motion—who art thou?
Cleomines.
Know you me not?—your friend Cleomines.
Leontes.
Where are my other friends?—What, perish'd all!
Cleomines.
Not a soul sav'd! ourselves are all our crew,
Pilot, shipmaster, boatswain, sailors, all.
Leontes.
Laud we the gods! Yet wherefore perish'd they,
-- 10 --
Innocent souls! and I, with all my guilt,
Live yet to load the earth?—O righteous gods!
Your ways are past the line of man to fathom.
Cleomines.
Waste not your small remaining strength of body
In warring with your mind. This desart waste
Has some inhabitants—Here's help at hand—
Good day, old man—
Old Shep.
Never said in worse time—a better to both your
worships—command us, Sir.
Clown.
You have been sweetly soak'd; give the gods
thanks that you are alive to feel it.
Leontes.
We are most thankful, Sir.
Cleomines.
What desarts are these same?
Old Shep.
The desarts of Bohemia.
Leontes.
Say'st thou Bohemia? ye gods, Bohemia!
In ev'ry act your judgments are sent forth
Against Leontes!—Here to be wreck'd and sav'd!
Upon this coast!—All the wrongs I have done,
Stir now afresh within me—Did I not
Upon this coast expose my harmless infant—
Bid Polixenes (falsly deem'd the father)
To take his child—O hell-born jealousy!
All but myself most innocent—and now
Upon this coast—Pardon, Hermione!
'Twas this that sped thee to thy proper heav'n;
-- 11 --
If from thy sainted seat above the clouds,
Thou see'st my weary pilgrimage thro' life,
Loath'd, hated life, 'cause unenjoy'd with thee—
Look down, and pity me.
Cleomines.
Good Sir, be calm:
What's gone, and what's past help, shou'd be past grief;
You do repent these things too sorely.
Leontes.
I can't repent these things, for they are heavier
Than all my woes can stir: I must betake me
To nothing but despair—a thousand knees
Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting,
Upon a barren mountain, and still winter,
In storms perpetual, could not move the gods
To look this way upon me.
Clown.
What says he, pray? The sea has quite wash'd
away the poor gentleman's brains. Come, bring
him along to our farm; and we'll give you both a
warm bed, and dry cloathing.
Cleomines.
Friends, we accept your offer'd courtesy.
Come, Sir—bear up—be calm—compose your mind;
If still the tempest rages there, in vain
The gods have sav'd you from the deep.
Leontes.
I'll take thy council, friend,—Lend me thy arm
—Oh, Hermione!—
[Leans on him.
Cleomines.
Good shepherd, shew us to the cottage.
-- 12 --
Old Shep.
This way, this way—
Clown.
And now the storm's blown over, father, we'll
send down Nicholas and his fellow to pick up the
dead bodies, if any may be thrown ashore, and bury
them.
Old Shep.
'Tis a good deed, boy—Help the gentlemen,
and bring them after me.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Another part of the country.
Enter Autolicus, (Singing)
SONG.
When daffadils begin to peere
With hey the doxy over the dale,
Why then comes in the sweet o'th' year,
For the red blood reigns o'er the winter's pale.
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge;
With hey the sweet birds, O how they sing!
Doth set my progging tooth on edge;
For a quart of ale is a dish for a King.
I once serv'd prince Florizel, and in my time
wore three-pile, but now am out of service.
-- 13 --
SONG.
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 go most right.
My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look
to lesser linen. My father nam'd me Autolicus,
being litter'd under Mercury; who, as I am, was
likewise a snapper-up of unconsider'd trifles: with
dice and drab I purchas'd this caparison, and my
revenue is the silly cheat—for the life to come,
I sleep out the thought of it—a prize! a prize!
Enter Clown.
Clown.
Let me see, every eleven weather tods—every
tod yields pound, and odd shilling; fifteen hundred
shorn—what comes the wool to?
Autolicus.
If the sprindge hold, the cock's mine.
[Aside.
Clown.
I can't do't without counters—Let me see,
what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast?
—Three pounds of sugar, five pounds 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.—She hath made me
four and twenty nosegays for the shearers—I must
have saffron to colour the warden pies—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 raisins o'th' sun.
-- 14 --
Autolicus. (grovelling on the ground.)
Oh! that ever I was born!
Clown.
In the name of me—
Autolicus.
O help me, help me: Pluck but off these rags,
and then death, death—
Clown.
Alack, poor soul, thou hast need of more rags to
lay on thee, rather than to have these off.
Autolicus.
Oh, Sir, the loathsomeness of 'em offend me,
more than the stripes I have receiv'd; which are
mighty ones, and millions—
Clown.
Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come
to a great matter.
Autolicus.
I am robb'd, Sir, and beaten; my money and apparel
ta'en from me, and these detestable things put
upon me.
Clown.
What, by a horseman or a footman?
Autolicus.
A footman, sweet Sir; a footman.
Clown.
Indeed he should be a footman, by the garments
he has left with thee. If this be a horseman's coat,
it hath seen very hot service—Lend me thy hand, I'll
help thee. Come, lend me thy hand.
[Helps him up.
-- 15 --
Autolicus.
Oh, good Sir; tenderly—Oh!
Clown.
Alas, poor soul!
Autolicus.
O! good Sir; softly, good Sir; I fear, Sir, my
shoulder blade is out.
Clown.
How now, can'st stand?
Autolicus.
Softly, dear Sir; good Sir, softly; you ha' done
me a charitable office.
[Picks his pocket.
Clown.
Dost lack any money? I have a little money for
thee.
Autolicus.
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?
Autolicus.
A fellow, Sir, that I have known to go about
with trol-my-dames: I knew him 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 wou'd say; there is no virtue whipp'd
-- 16 --
out of the court; they cherish it to make it stay
there, and yet it will do no more but abide.
Autolicus.
Vices, I would say, Sir.—I know this man well, he
hath been since an ape-bearer, then a process-server,
a bailiff; then he compast a motion of the prodigal
son, and 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 Autolicus.
Clown.
Out upon him, prig! for my life, prig;—he
haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings.
Autolicus.
Very true, Sir; he, Sir, he; that's the rogue
that put me into this apparel.
Clown.
Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you
had but look'd big, and spit at him, he'd have run.
Autolicus.
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 do now?
Autolicus.
Sweet, Sir, much better than I was; I can stand
and walk; I will e'en take my leave of you, and
pace softly towards my kinsman's.
Clown.
Shall I bring thee on thy way?
-- 17 --
Autolicus.
No good-fac'd Sir; no good Sir; no, sweet Sir.
Clown.
Then farewell—I must go buy spices for our
sheep-shearing.
[Exit.
Autolicus.
Prosper you, sweet Sir. 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 unrol'd, and my name put into the book of
virtue.
SONG.
Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,
And merrily hent the stile—a—
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile—a—
[Exit.
ACT II.
SCENE I.
A prospect of a shepherd's cottage.
Enter Florizel and Perdita:
Florizel.
These your unusual weeds, to each part of you
Do give a life; no shepherdess but Flora,
Peering it April's front, this your sheep-shearing
-- 18 --
Is as a meeting of the petty gods,
And you the queen on't.
Perdita.
Sir, my gracious Lord,
To chide at your extreams it not becomes me:
O pardon that I name 'em; your high self,
The gracious mark o'th' land; you have obscur'd
With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid,
Most goddess-like prank'd up: but that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, I shou'd blush
To see you so attired; sworn, I think,
To shew myself a glass.
Florizel.
I bless the time,
When my good Faulcon made her flight across
Thy Father's ground.
Perdita.
Now Jove afford you cause!
To me the difference forges dread: your greatness
Hath not been us'd to fear; ev'n now I tremble
To think your father, by some accident,
Shou'd pass this way, as you did: O the fates!
How wou'd he look, to see his work, so noble,
Vilely bound up! What wou'd he say! Or how
Shou'd I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
The sternness of his presence?
Florizel.
Apprehend
Nothing but jolity: the gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The shapes of Beasts upon 'em—Jupiter
Became a bull, and bellow'd; the green Neptune
-- 19 --
A ram, and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god,
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
As I seem now—their transformations
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer,
Nor in a way so chaste; since my desires
Run not before mine honor, nor my lusts
Burn hotter than my faith.
Perdita.
Oh, but dear Sir,
Your resolution cannot hold, when 'tis
Oppos'd, as it must be, by th' power o'th' king:
One of these two must be necessities,
Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose,
Or I my life.
Florizel.
Thou dearest Perdita;
With these forc'd thoughts, I prithee, darken not
The mirth o'th' 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,
Tho' destiny say, no. Be merry, gentlest,
Strangle such thoughts as these, with any thing
That you behold the while. Your guests are coming:
Lift up your countenance; as 'twere the day
Of celebration of that nuptial, which
We two have sworn shall come.
Perdita.
O lady fortune,
Stand thou auspicious!
-- 20 --
Enter Old Shepherd, Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas;
with Polixenes, Camillo, and servants. Polixenes
and Camillo, disguis'd.
Florizel.
See your guests approach;
Address yourself to entertain 'em sprightly,—
And let's be red with mirth.
Old Shepherd.
Fie, 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;
Wou'd sing her song, and dance her turn; now here,
At upper end o'th' table; now i'th' middle;
On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire,
With labour; and the thing she took to quench it,
She wou'd to each one sip: 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's 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'th' feast: come on,
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
As your good flock shall prosper.
Perdita.
Sirs, welcome.
It is my father's will, I shou'd take on me
The hostess-ship o'th' day; you're welcome, sirs.
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 unto you both,
[To Polixenes and Camillo.
And welcome to our shearing.
-- 21 --
Polixenes.
Shepherdess,
A fair one are you; well you fit our ages
With flowers of winter.
Perdita.
Here are flowers for you;
[To others.
Hot lavender, mint, savoury, marjoram,
The mary-gold, that goes to bed with the sun,
And with him rises weeping: these are flowers
Of middle summer; and I think are given
To men of middle age. You're very welcome.
Camillo.
I shou'd leave grazing were I of your flock,
And only live by gazing.
Perdita.
Out, alas
You'd be so lean, that blasts of January,
Wou'd blow you thro' and thro'—now my fairest friend,
I wou'd I had some flowers o'th' spring, that might
Become your time of day; and yours, and yours,
That wear upon your virgin-branches, yet
Your maiden honours growing: daffadils,
That come before the swallow dares; and take
The winds of March with beauty; vi'lets dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, e're they can behold
Bright Phœbus in his strength; gold oxlips and
The crown imperial; lillies of all kinds
The flower-de-lis being one; o'these, I lack
To make you garlands of, and my sweet friend,
[To Flor.
To strow him o'er and o'er.
-- 22 --
Florizel.
What? like a coarse?
Perdita.
[Apart to Flo.
No, like a bank, for love to lie and play on;
Not like a coarse—come, come, take your flowers;
Methinks, I play, as I have seen them do
In Whitsun pastorals; sure this robe of mine
Does change my disposition.
Florizel.
What you do,
Still betters what is done—when you speak, sweet,
I'd have you do it ever; when you sing,
I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms;
Pray, so; and for the ordering your affairs,
To sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o'th' Sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, still so,
And own no other function. Each your doing,
So singular in each particular,
Crowns what you're doing in the present deeds,
That all your acts are queens.
Perdita.
O Doricles,
Your praises are too large; but that your youth
And the true blood, which peeps forth fairly thro' it,
Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd;
With wisdom, I might fear, my Doricles,
You woo'd me the false way.
Florizel.
I think, you have
As little skill to fear, as I have purpose
To put you to't. But come; our dance I pray;
-- 23 --
Your hand my Perdita; so turtles pair
That never mean to part.
Perdita.
I'll swear for 'em.
Old Shep.
Come, come, daughter, leave for a while these
private dalliances, and love-whisperings, clear up
your pipes, and call, as custom is, our neighbours to
your shearing.
Perdita.
I will obey you.
SONG.
I.
Come, come, my good shepherds, our flocks we must shear;
In your holy-day suits, with your lasses appear:
The happiest of folk, are the guiltless and free,
And who are so guiltless, so happy as we?
II.
We harbour no passions, by luxury taught;
We practice no arts, with hypocrisy fraught;
What we think in our hearts, you may read in our eyes;
For knowing no falshood, we need no disguise.
III.
By mode and caprice are the city dames led,
But we, as the children of nature are bred;
By her hand alone, we are painted and dress'd;
For the roses will bloom, when there's peace in the breast.
-- 24 --
IV.
That giant, ambition, we never can dread;
Our roofs are too low, for so lofty a head;
Content and sweet chearfulness open our door,
They smile with the simple, and feed with the poor.
V.
When love has possess'd us, that love we reveal;
Like the flocks that we feed, are the passions we feel;
So harmless and simple we sport, and we play,
And leave to fine folks to deceive and betray.
Polixenes.
This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever
Ran on the green-ford; nothing she does, or seems,
But smacks of something greater than herself,
Too noble for this place.
Camillo.
He tells her something,
That makes her blood look out; good sooth, she is,
The queen of curds and cream.
Clown.
Come on—our dance—strike up.
Dorcas.
Mopsa must be your mistress, marry, buy some
Garlick to mend her kissing with.
Mopsa.
Now, in good time, musk, will not mend thine.
Dorcas.
Thou art a false man; did'st not thou swear, (it
was but yesternight in the tallet, over the dove house)
how that at your shearing, you wou'd this day shame
Mopsa,—and—
-- 25 --
Clown.
Hold ye, maidens, hold ye—not a word—we
stand upon our manners here,—come strike up.
Mopsa.
Here's to do; marry I'll swear he promis'd me
long enough afore that in the hay-field—by the
token, our curate, came by, and whereof all our
folk were gone further a field; he advis'd us to get
up, and go home quickly, for that the dew fell
apace and the ground was dank, and unhealthsome;
more nor that, you promis'd me gloves, and
ribbands, and knacks at the fair,—and more nor
that—
Clown.
Not a word; not a word more, wenches.
Dorcas.
Marry, come up! others have had promises, as
well as some—but I have heard old folks in the parish
say, that some folks have been proud and courtly,
and false-hearted ever since some folk's father found
a pot of money by the sea-side here.—But I say nothing.
Clown.
Come, come, strike up.
A dance of shepherds and shepherdesses.
Polixenes.
I pray good shepherd, what fair swain is this,
Who dances with your daughter.
Old Shep.
They call him Doricles, and he boasts himself
To have a worthy breeding; but I have it
Upon his own report, and I believe it:
-- 26 --
He looks like sooth; he says, he loves my daughter;
I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon
Upon the water, as he'll stand and read
As 'twere my daughter's eyes; and to be plain,
I think there is not half a kiss to chuse,
Who loves the other best.
Polixenes.
She dances featly.
Old Shep.
So she does any thing, tho' I report it
That shou'd be silent: if young Doricles,
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that,
Which he not dreams of.
(Polixenes and Old Shepherd talk apart.)
Enter a Servant.
Servant.
O, Master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the
door, you wou'd never dance again after a tabor and
pipe: No; the bagpipe could not move you; he
sings several tunes faster than you'll tell money; he
utters them, as he had eaten ballads, and all men's
ears grow to his tunes.
Clown.
He cou'd never come better; he shall come in;
I love a ballad but even too well; if it be doleful
matter merrily set down; or a very pleasant thing
indeed, and sung lamentably.
Servant.
He hath songs for man or woman of all sizes; no
milliner can fit his customers with gloves; he has the
prettiest love-songs for maids, so without bawdry
(which is strange) with such delicate burthens of
jump her and thump her: and where some stretch-mouth'd
-- 27 --
rascal wou'd, as it were mean mischief, and
break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid
to answer—Whoop, do me no harm, good man—puts
him off, slights him, with—Whoop, do me no harm,
good man.
Polixenes.
This is a brave fellow.
Clown.
Believe me, thou talk'st of an admirable conceited
fellow; has he any unbraided wares?
Servant.
He hath ribbands of all colours i'th' rainbow;
points, more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can
learnedly handle, though they came to him by the
gross; inkles, caddisses, cambricks, lawns; why,
he sings them over, as they were gods and goddesses;
you would think a smock a she-angel, he so chants to
the sleeve-hand, and the work about the square on't.
Clown.
Prithee, bring him in, and let him approach singing.
Perdita.
Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in's
songs.
Clown.
You have of these pedlars, that have more in 'em
than you think, sister.
Perdita.
Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
Enter Autolicus singing.
Lawn, as white as driven snow,
Cyprus, black as e'er was crow;
-- 28 --
Gloves, as sweet as damask roses,
Masks, for faces, and for noses;
Bugle bracelets, necklace amber,
Perfume, for a lady's chamber;
Golden coifs, and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears:
Pins, and poaking-sticks of steel,
What maids lack from head to heal:
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 shou'd'st
take no money of me; but being enthralled as I am,
it will also be the bondage of certain ribbands and
gloves.
Mopsa.
I was promis'd them against the feast, but they
come not too late now.
Dorcas.
He hath promis'd you more than that, or there
be liars.
Mopsa.
He hath paid you all he promis'd you, may be,
he hath paid you more, which will shame you to
give him again.
Clown.
Is there no manners left among you maids? is
there not milking time, when you are going to bed,
or kill-hole, to whistle of these secrets, but you must
be tittle-tattle before all our guests? 'tis well they
are whispering, clamour your tongues, and not a
word more.
-- 29 --
Mopsa.
I have done: come, you promis'd me a tawdry
lace and a pair of sweet gloves.
Clown.
Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the
way, and lost all my money?
Autolicus.
And, indeed, Sir, there are cozeners abroad;
therefore it behoves men to be wary.
Clown.
Fear not, thou, man—thou shalt lose nothing
here.
Autolicus.
I hope so, Sir; for I have about me many parcels
of charge.
Clown.
What hast here? ballads?
Mopsa.
Pray now buy some; I love a ballad in print,
Or a life; for then we are sure they are true.
Autolicus.
Here's one, to a very doleful tune, how a usurer's
wife was brought to bed with twenty money bags at
a burthen, and how she long'd to eat adders heads,
and toads carbonado'd.
Mopsa.
Is it true, think you?
Autolicus.
Very true, and but a month old.
Dorcas.
Bless me, from marrying an usurer!
-- 30 --
Autolicus.
Here's the midwife's name to it; and five or six
honest wives that were present. Why shou'd I
carry lies abroad?
Mopsa.
Pray, you now, buy it.
Clown.
Come on; lay it by; let's first see more ballads;
We'll buy the other things anon.
Autolicus.
Here's another ballad of a fish, that appear'd
upon the coast on Wednesday the fourscore of April,
forty thousand fathom above water, and sung this
ballad, against the hard hearts of maids: it was
thought she was a woman, and turn'd into a cold
fish, for she wou'd not exchange flesh with one that
lov'd her: the ballad is very pitiful, and as true.
Dorcas.
Is it true, too, think you?
Autolicus.
Five justices hands at it; and witnesses more than
my pack will hold.
Clown.
Lay it by too—Another.
Autolicus.
This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.
Mopsa.
Let's have some merry ones.
Autolicus.
Why, this is a passing merry one, and goes to the
tune of two maids wooing a man: there's scarce a maid
westward but she sings it: 'tis in request, I can tell
you.
-- 31 --
Clown.
Nicholas, Dorcas, and Mopsa can sing that: we
had the tune on't a month ago—Come Nicholas,
strike up.
SONG.
Man.
Get you hence, for I must go,
Where it fits not you to know.
Dor.
Whither?
Mop.
O Whither?
Dor.
Whither?
Mop.
It becomes thy oath full well,
Thou to me thy secrets tell;
Dor.
Me too, let me go thither:
Mop.
Or thou go'st to the grange, or mill,
Dor.
If to either thou do'st ill.
Man.
Neither,
Dor.
what neither?
Man.
neither
Dor.
Thou has sworn my love to be;
Mop.
Thou hast sworn it more to me:
Both.
Then, whither goest? say, whither?
Clown.
We'll have this song out anon by ourselves:
My father and the gentlemen are in sad talk,
And we'll not trouble them: come, bring away
The pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both:
Pedlar, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls.
Autolicus.
And you shall pay well for 'em.
[Aside.
SONG.
Will you buy any tape, or lace for your cape?
My dainty duck my dear-a—?
Any silk and thread? any toys for your head,
Of the new'st, and fin'st, fin'st wear a—?
Come to the pedler; Money's a medler,
That doth utter all men's ware-a—
[Ex Aut. Clown, Dor. Mop.
-- 32 --
Enter Leontes and Cleomenes, from the farm-house.
Celomines.
Why will you not repose you, Sir? these sports,
The idle merriments of hearts at ease,
But ill will suit the colour of your mind.
Leontes.
Peace—I enjoy them in a better sort—
Cleomines, look on this pretty damsel;
[Pointing to Perdita.
Haply such age, such innocence and beauty,
Had our dear daughter own'd, had not my hand—
O had I not the course of nature stop'd
On weak surmise—I will not think that way—
And yet I must, always, and ever must.
Cleomines.
No more, my liege—
Leontes.
Nay, I will gaze upon her; each salt dropt
That tricles down my cheek, relieves my heart,
Which else wou'd burst with anguish.
Polixenes (to Camillo.)
Is it not too far gone? 'tis time to part 'em;
He's simple, and tells much—how now, fair shepherd;
[To Flor.
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 pedler's silken treasury, and have pour'd it
To her acceptance; you have let him go,
And nothing marted with him. If your lass
Interpretation should abuse, and call this
Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited
For a reply, at least, if you make care
Of happy holding her.
-- 33 --
Florizel.
Old Sir, I know:
She prizes not such trifles as these are:
The gifts she looks from me, are packt and lockt
Up in my heart; which I have given already,
But not deliver'd. O hear me breathe my love
Before this ancient Sir; who, it should seem,
Hath some time lov'd. I take thy hand, this hand,
As soft as dove's down, and as white as it,
Or Æthiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow,
That's bolted by the northern blast twice o'er.
Polixenes.
What follows this?
Leontes.
How prettily the young swain seems to wash
The hand was fair before?
Polixenes.
You've put him out;
Come to your protestation: let me hear
What you profess.
Florizel.
Do; and be witness to't.
Polixenes.
And this my neighbour too.
Florizel.
And he, and more
Than he, and men; the earth, and heav'ns, 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 force and knowledge,
More than was ever man's, I would not prize 'em
Without her love; for her employ them all;
Commend them, and condemn them, to her service,
Or to their own perdition.
-- 34 --
Polixenes.
Fairly offer'd.
Leontes.
This shews a sound affection.
Old Shep.
But, my daughter
Say you the like to him?
Perdita.
I cannot speak
So well; nothing so well; no, nor mean better.
By the pattern of my own thoughts, I cut out
The purity of his.
Old 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.
Florizel.
O, that must be
I'th'virtue of your daughter; one being dead,
I shall have more than you can dream of yet;
Enough then, for your wonder: but come on;
Contract us 'fore these witnesses.
Old Shep.
Come, your hand;
And, daughter, yours.
Polixenes.
Soft, swain, a-while; 'beseech you,
Have you a father?
Florizel.
I have; but what of him?
Polixenes.
Knows he of this?
-- 35 --
Florizel.
He neither does, nor shall.
Polixenes.
Methinks a father
Is, at the nuptial of his son, a guest
That best becomes the table: 'pray you, once more;
Is not your father grown incapable
Of reasonable affairs? is he not stupid
With age, and alt'ring rheums? can he speak? hear?
Know man from man? dispute his own estate?
Lies he not bed-rid, and again, does nothing
But what he did, being childish!
Florizel.
No, good Sir;
He has his health, and ampler strength indeed,
Than most have of his age?
Leontes.
By my white beard,
You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
Something unfilial: reason my son
Shou'd chuse himself a wife; but as good reason,
The father (all whose joy is nothing else
But fair posterity) shou'd hold some council
In such a business.
Florizel.
I yield all this:
But for some other reasons, my grave Sirs,
Which 'tis not fit you know; I not acquaint
My father of this business.
Polixenes.
Let him know't.
Florizel.
He shall not.
-- 36 --
Polixenes.
Prithee, let him.
Leontes.
O let him.
Florizel.
No; he must not.
Old Shep.
Let him, my son, he shall not heed to grieve
At knowing of thy choice.
Florizel.
Come, come, he must not:
Mark our contract.
Polixenes. (Discovering himself.)
Mark your divorce, young Sir;
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
To be acknowledg'd. Thou, a scepter's heir,
That thus affect'st a sheep-hook!
Leontes. (Amaz'd.)
How! Polixenes! what myst'ry is this!
I want the power to throw me at his feet,
Nor can I bear his eyes—
[Leans on Cleomines, and they go apart.
Polixenes.
And thou, old traitor,
(To the Old Shep.
I'm sorry, that by hanging thee, I can but
Shorten thy life one week: and thou, fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know
The royal fool thou cop'st with—
Old Shep.
O my heart!
-- 37 --
Polixenes.
I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briars, and made
More homely than thy state. 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, no, not our kin;
Far than deucation off: mark thou, my words;
Follow us to the court—thou churl; for this time,
Tho' full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it; and you enchantment,
Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too,
That makes himself, but for our honor therein,
Unworthy thee; if ever henceforth, thou
These rural latches to his entrance open,
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee,
As thou art tender to it.
[Exit. Pol and Cam.
Perdita.
Ev'n here undone!
I was not much afraid; for once or twice,
I was about to speak, and tell him plainly,
The self-same sun, that shines upon his court,
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
Looks on all alike—wil't please you, Sir, be gone?
[To Flor.
I told you what wou'd hap'—this dream of mine,
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther,
But milk my ewes, and weep.
Leontes. (Coming forward.)
How now, old father?
Good shepherd, speak.
Old Shep.
I cannot speak, nor think,
-- 38 --
Nor dare to know, that which I know—O Sir,
[To Flor.
You have undone a man of fourscore three,
That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,
To die upon the bed my father dy'd,
To lie close by his honest bones; but now
Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me
Where no priest shovels in dust—O cursed wretch!
[To Per.
Thou knew'st this was the prince, and wou'dst adventure
To mingle faith with him—Undone! undone!
If I might die this hour, I have liv'd
To die when I desire.
[Exit.
Perdita.
O my poor father!
Leontes. (To Cleomines.)
The honest wretch, he helpt us at our need—
I will no longer veil me in this cloud,
But plead unmask'd, this good old shepherd's cause
Before my own; ev'n at Bohemia's knees.
Florizel. (To Perdita.)
Why look you so upon me?
I am but sorry, not afraid; delay'd,
But nothing alter'd; what I was, I am,
And ever shall be thine, my Perdita!
Perdita.
Alas, alas! my lord; those hopes are fled!
How often have I told you 'twou'd be thus,
How often said, my dignity wou'd last
But 'till 'twere known?
Florizel.
It cannot fail, but by
The violation of my faith; and then
Let nature crush the sides o'th' earth together,
-- 39 --
And mar the seeds within!—lift up thy looks!—
From my succession, wipe me, father; I
Am heir to my affection.
Leontes.
Be advis'd—
Florizel.
I am, and by my fancy; if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness,
Do bid it welcome.
Leontes.
This is desp'rate, Sir!
Florizel.
So call it; but it does fulfil my vow;
I needs must think it honesty; my heart
Is anchor'd here, as rooted as the rocks,
Who stand the raging of the roaring deep,
Immoveable, and fix'd!—let it come on—
I'll brave the tempest!
Perdita.
Be patient, Doricles.
Leontes.
Passion transports you, prince; be calm a while,
Nor scorn my years and counsel, but attend;—
My lowly seeming, and this outward garment,
But ill denote my quality and office—
Trust to my words, tho' myst'ry obscures 'em—
I know the king your father, and if time,
And many accidents (cease foolish tears)
Have not effac'd my image from his breast,
Perhaps he'll listen to me—I am sorry,
Most sorry, you have broken from his liking,
Where you were ty'd in duty; and as sorry
Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty,
-- 40 --
That you might well enjoy her—Prince, you know
Prosperity's the very bond of love,
Whose fresh complexion, and whose heart together,
Affliction alters.
Perdita.
One of these is true;
I think affliction may subdue the cheek,
But not take in the mind.
Leontes.
Yea, say you so?
There shall not at your father's house, these sev'n years,
Be born another such.
Florizel.
O reverend Sir!
As you wou'd wish a child of your own youth
To meet his happiness in love, speak for me;
Remember, since you ow'd no more to time
Than I do now; and with thought of like affections,
Step forth my advocate.
Leontes.
You touch me deep,
Deep, to the quick, sweet prince; alas! alas!
I lost a daughter, that 'twixt heav'n and earth
Might thus have stood begetting wonder, as
Yon lovely maiden does—of that no more;—
I'll to the king your father—this our compact,
Your honor not o'erthrown by your desires,
I am friend to them and yo:
[Exit Leon. and Cleom.
Florizel.
Dear, look up;
Tho' fortune, visible an enemy,
Shou'd chace us with my father; power, no jot
Hath she to change our loves.
-- 41 --
Perdita.
Alas, my lord,
Bethink yourself, as I do me. Heav'n knows,
All faults I make, when I do come to know 'em,
I do repent—Alas! I've shewn too much
A maiden's simpleness; I have betray'd,
Unwittingly divorc'd a noble prince
From a dear father's love; have caus'd him sell
His present honor, and his hop'd reversion,
For a poor sheep-hook, and its lowly mistress,
Of lesser price than that—beseech you, Sir,
Of your own state take care, drown the remembrance
Of me, my father's cott, and these poor beauties
Wrong'd by your praise too often.
Florizel.
My Perdita,
How sweetly do'st thou plead against thyself?
Let us retire, my love—again I swear,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
Be there out-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 thee, my fair betroth'd—with thee I'll fly
From stormy regions and a low'ring sky;
Where no base views our purer minds shall move;
And all our wealth be innocence and love.
End of the Second Act.
-- 42 --
ACT III.
Scene 1
Another part of the country.
Enter Autolicus, in rich cloaths.
Autolicus.
How fortune drops into the mouth of the diligent
man?—see, if I be not transform'd courtier
again—four silken gamesters, who attended the king,
and were revelling by themselves, at some distance
from the shepherds, have drank so plentifully, that
their weak brains are turn'd topsy-turvy—I found
one of 'em, an old court comrade of mine, retir'd from
the rest, sobering himself with sleep under the shade
of a hawthorn; I made use of our antient familiarity
to exchange garments with him; the pedlar's cloaths
are on his back, and the pack by his side, as empty
as his pockets, for I have sold all my trumpery;
not a counterfeit stone, nor a ribband, glass, pomander,
browch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape,
glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn; they throng'd who
shou'd buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallow'd,
and brought a benediction to the buyer; by
which means, I saw whose purse was best in picture;
and what I saw to my good use I remember'd—my
good Clown (who wants but something to be a reasonable
man) grew so in love with the wenches song,
that he wou'd not stir his pettitoes 'till he had tune
and words, which so drew the rest of the herd to
me, that all their other senses stuck in ears: no hearing,
no feeling, but my Sir's song, and admiring the
nothing of it. I pick'd and cut most of their festival
purses: and had not the old man come in with a
whoo-bub against his daughter and the king's son,
-- 43 --
and scar'd my choughs from the chaff, I had not
left a purse alive in the whole army;—ha, ha, ha,
what a fool honesty is! and trust, his sworn brother, a
very simple gentleman! I see this is the time the unjust
man doth thrive; the gods do this year connive
at us, and we may do any thing extempore—aside,
aside, here is more matter for a hot brain. Ev'ry
lane's end, ev'ry shop, church, session, hanging,
yields a careful man work.
Enter Clown and Old Shep.
Clown.
See, see, what a man you are now—there is no
other way, but to tell the king she is a changeling,
and none of your flesh and blood.
Old Shep.
Nay, but hear me.
Clown.
Nay, but hear me.
Old Shep.
Go to, then—
Clown.
Let him know the truth of the matter; how you
found her by the sea-side some eighteen years agone;
that there was this bundle with her, with the things
and trinkets contained therein; but there was some
money too, which being spent in nursing her, you
need say nothing about it, together with all the circumstances
of the whole affair; do it, I say.
Old Shep.
And what then, think'st thou?
-- 44 --
Clown.
Why then, 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: shew those things—I say, you
found about her, those secret things: this being done,
let the law go whistle—I warrant you.
Old 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 farthest off you
cou'd have been to him; and then your blood had
been the dearer, by I know not how much an ounce.
Autolicus. (Aside.)
Very wisely, puppies.
Old Shep.
Well, let us to the king; there is that in this
fardel, will make him scratch his beard.
Clown.
Pray heartily he be at the palace.
Autolicus. (Coming forward.)
How now, rustics, whither are you bound?
Old Shep.
To th' palace, an' it like your worship.
Autolicus.
Your affairs there? what? with whom? the condition
of that fardel, the place of your dwelling,
-- 45 --
your names, your age, of what having, breeding,
and any thing that is fitting to be known, discover.
Clown.
We are but plain fellows, Sir.
Autolicus.
A lye—you are rough and hairy; let me have no
lying, it becomes none but tradesmen.
Old Shep.
Are you a courtier, an' like you, Sir?
Autolicus.
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?
receives not thy nose court-odour from me? reflect
not I on thy baseness, court-contempt? think'st
thou for that I insinuate, or toze from thee thy business,
I am therefore no courtier? I am a courtier
cap-à-pee; and one that will either push on, or push
back thy business there; whereupon, I command
thee to open thy affair.
Old Shep.
My business, Sir, is to the king.
Autolicus.
What advocate hast thou to him?
Old Shep.
I know not, and't like you.—Advocate!
[Aside to Clown.
Clown.
Advocate's the court word for a pheasant; say
you have none.
[Apart.
-- 46 --
Old Shep.
None, Sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.
Autolicus.
How blest are we, that are not simple men!
Yet nature might have made as these are,
Therefore I will not disdain.
[Aside.
Clown, to Shep.
This cannot be but a great courtier.
Old Shep. to Clown.
His garments are rich, but he wears 'em not handsomely.
Clown.
He seems to be more noble in being fantastical;
a great man, I'll warrant, I know by the picking
on's teeth.
Autolicus.
The fardel there, what's in the fardel?
Wherefore that box?
Old 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 th'
speech of him.
Autolicus.
Age, thou hast lost thy labour.
Old Shep.
Why, Sir?
Autolicus.
The king is not at the palace, he's gone aboard a
new ship to purge melancholy, and air himself; for
if thou be'st capable of things serious, thou must
know the king is full of grief.
-- 47 --
Old Shep.
So, 'tis said, Sir, about his son that shou'd have
marry'd a shepherd's daughter.
Autolicus.
If that shepherd be not in hand fast, let him fly;
the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel,
will break the heart of man, the back of monster.
Old Shep.
Think you so, Sir?
Autolicus.
Not he, alone, shall suffer what wit can make
heavy, and vengeance bitter; but those that are germain
to him, tho' remov'd fifty times, shall all come
under the hangman; which, tho' it be great pity,
yet it is necessary; an old sheep-whistling rogue, a
ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into
grace!—Some say he shall be ston'd; but that
death is too soft for him, say I: draw our throne
into a sheep-cot! 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?
Autolicus.
He has a son, who shall be stay'd alive, then
'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's
nest; then stand 'till he be three quarters and a dram
dead; then recover'd again with aqua-vita, or some
other hot infusion; then (raw as he is, and in the
hottest day prognostication proclaims) shall he be set
against a brick wall, the sun looking with a southward
eye upon him, where he is to behold him with
-- 48 --
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 consider'd, I'll bring you
where he is, tender your persons to his presence,
whisper him in your behalf, and if it be in man, besides
the king, to effect your suits, here is a man
shall do it.
Clown.
He seems to be of great authority, close with him,
give him gold; tho' authority be a stubborn bear,
yet he is often led by the nose with gold; shew the
inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and
no more ado; remember ston'd and stay'd alive.
(Aside to Old Shep.
Old Shep.
And'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.
Autolicus.
After I have done what I promis'd—
Clown.
Ay, Sir.
Autolicus.
Well, give me the moiety—are you a party in
this business?
Clown.
In some sort, Sir: but tho' my case be a pitiful
one, I hope I shall not be stay'd out of it.
Autolicus.
O, that's the case of the shepherd's son; hang
him, he'll be made an example.
-- 49 --
Clown (To Shep.)
Comfort! good comfort! we must to the king,
and shew our strange sights; he must know 'tis none
of your daughter, nor my sister; we are gone else—
Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does,
when the business is perform'd, and remain, as he
says, your pawn 'till it be brought you.
Autolicus.
I will trust you; walk before toward the sea-side;
go on the right hand, I will but look upon the hedge,
and follow you.
Clown.
We are blest in this man, as I may say, ev'n
blest.
Old Shep.
Let's before as he bids us; he was provided to do
us good.
[Exeunt Shep. and Clown.
Autolicus.
If I had a mind to be honest, I see fortune wou'd
not suffer me; she drops booties in my mouth—
I am courted now, with a double occasion: gold,
and a means to do the king good; which, who
knows how that may turn to my advancment! I will
bring these two moles, these blind ones before him;
if that the complaint they have to the king concerns
him nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far
officious; I am proof against that title, and what
shame else belongs to it: to him will I present them;
there may be matter in it.
[Exit.
-- 50 --
Scene 2
SCENE, Paulina's House.
Enter Paulina and a Gentleman.
Paulina.
Beseech you, Sir, now that my first burst of joy
is over, and my ebbing spirits no longer bear down
my attention, give my ear again the circumstances of
this strange story: Leontes arriv'd! escap'd from the
fury of the sea! veil'd in the 'semblance of a poor
shepherd! and has now thrown himself into the arms
of Polixenes! 'tis a chain of wonders!
Gent.
Yet the tale is not more wonderful than true; I
was present at the interview.
Paulina.
Speak, Sir, speak; tell me all.
Gent.
Soon as our king return'd to the palace, he retir'd
with the good Camillo, to lament the unhappy
and ill-plac'd affection of his son: yet, as gleams of
sunshine oft break in upon a storm, so, thro' all
his indignation, there burst out by intervals paternal
love and sorrow; 'twas brought him that a person of
no great seeming intreated admittance; a refusal was
return'd to this bold request; but the stranger, unaw'd
by this discouragement, advanc'd to the king's
presence: his boldness had met with an equal punishment,
had he not on the sudden assum'd a majesty
of mien and feature, that threw a kind of radiance
over his peasant garb, and fixt all who saw him with
silent wonder and admiration.
Paulina.
Well, but Polixenes!
-- 51 --
Gent.
He stept forth to the stranger; but 'ere he cou'd
enquire the reasons of his presumption—behold, said
Leontes bursting into grief, behold the unhappy
king, that much hath wrong'd you—behold Leontes!
—On this the king started from him—true, I have
wrong'd you, cry'd Leontes; but if penitence can
attone for guilt, behold these eyes, wept dry with honest
sorrow; this breast, rent with honest anguish; and
if you can suspect that my heart yet harbours those
passions which once infested it, here, I offer it to
your sword; lay it open to the day!
Paulina.
O, the force, the charm of returning virtue!
Gent.
Its charm was felt, indeed, by the generous king;
for at once forgetting that fatal enmity that had so
long divided them, he embrac'd the penitent Leontes,
with the unfeign'd warmth of one who had found a
long lost friend, return'd beyond hope from banishment
or death; while Leontes, overwhelm'd with
such unlook'd-for goodness, fell on his neck, and
wept: thus they stood embracing and embrac'd, in
dumb and noble sorrow! their old friendship being
thus renew'd, Leontes began his intercession for prince
Florizel; but Polixenes—break we off—here comes
the good Camillo; speak, thou bear'st thy tydings in
thy looks.
Enter Camillo.
Nothing but bonfires—the oracle is fulfill'd!
O, Paulina, the beatings of my heart, will scarce
Permit my tongue to tell thee what it bears.
Paulina.
I know it all, my friend; the king of Sicily is arriv'd.
-- 52 --
Camillo.
Not only the king of Sicily is arriv'd, but his
daughter; his long-lost daughter, is found.
Paulina.
Gracious gods support me! his daughter found!
can it be? how was she sav'd? and where has she
been conceal'd?
Camillo.
That shepherdess, our prince has so long and so
secretly affected, proves Sicilia's heiress: the old
shepherd, her suppos'd father, deliver'd the manner
how he found her upon the coast, produc'd a fardel,
in which are uncontested proofs of every circumstance.
Paulina.
Can this be true?
Camillo.
Most true, if ever the truth were pregnant by circumstance;
that which you hear, you'll swear you
see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle
of queen Hermione, her jewel about the neck of it,
the letters (pardon me, the mention of them) of
your lord Antigonus, found with it, which I know
to be his characters; the majesty of the creature in
resemblance of the mother; the affection of nobleness,
which nature shews above her breeding, and
many other evidences, proclaim her with all certainty
to be the king's daughter.
Paulina.
Praised be the gods! wou'd I had beheld the behaviour
of the two kings at the unravelling of this
story.
Camillo.
Ay, Paulina, for you have lost a sight, which
was to be seen—cannot be spoken of. There might
you have beheld one joy crown another, so, and in
such a manner, that it seem'd sorrow wept to take
-- 53 --
leave of 'em, for their joy waded in tears: there was
casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with countenance
of such distraction, that they were to be
known by garment, not by favour. Sicily, being
ready to leap out of himself for joy of his found
daughter, lifted the princess from the earth, and so
lock'd her in embracing, as if he wou'd pin her to
his heart, that she might no more be in danger of
losing: then, as if that joy had now become a loss,
cries—Oh, thy mother! thy mother! now he thanks
the Old Shepherd, who stands by like a weather-beaten
conduit of many kings reigns; then asks Bohemia
forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-law; then
again worries his daughter with clipping her.—I never
heard of such another encounter, which lames report
to follow it, and undoes description to draw it.
Paulina.
The dignity of this act was worth the audience of
kings and princes, for by such was it acted.
Camillo.
One of the prettiest touches of all, and that which
angled for my eyes, was, at the relation of the
queen's death, with the manner how she came by
it (bravely confess'd and lamented by the king); how
attentiveness wounded his daughter, 'till from one
sign of dolor to another, she did with an, Alas!
I wou'd fain say, bleed tears—I am sure my heart
wept blood. Who was most marble, there chang'd
colour; some swooned, all sorrow'd; if the world
cou'd have seen't, the woe had been universal.
Paulina.
Are they return'd to court?
Camillo.
Not yet. They were proceeding with due ceremony,
amid the clamorous joy of the multitude,
-- 54 --
when I took advantage of their delay, to recount to
you this rhapsody of wonders.
[Trumpets.
Paulina.
Camillo, haste thee; this royal assembly is entring
now the city. Haste thee, with Paulina's greeting to
the double majesty, and our new found princess; give
them to know I have in my keeping a statue of Hermione,
perform'd by the most rare master of Italy; who,
had he himself eternity, and cou'd put breath into this
work, wou'd beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly
he is her ape. He, so near to Hermione, has done Hermione,
that they will speak to her, and stand in hope of
answer. Invite them to the sight of it, put thy message
into what circumstance of compliment the time
and sudden occasion may admit, and return with
best speed to prepare for their unprovided entertainment.
[Exit.
Camillo.
I obey you, madam.
[Exeunt severally.
Scene 3
SCENE, the court.
Enter Autolicus.
Autolicus.
Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me,
wou'd preferment fall upon my head. I brought
the old man and his son to the king's, and told
them, I heard them talk of a fardel, and I know
not what—but 'tis all one to me; for had I been
the finder-out of this secret, it wou'd not have relish'd
among my other discredits—here come those I have
done good to against my will, and already appearing
in the blossoms of their fortune.
-- 55 --
Enter Old Shep. and Clown, fantastically dress'd.
Old Shep.
Come, boy; I am past more children; but thy
sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born.
Clown. (To Autolicus.)
You are well met, Sir; you denied that I was a
gentleman born; see these cloaths! say you see them
not, and think me still no gentleman born—give me
the lie, do—and try whether I am now no gentleman
born.
Autolicus.
I know you are now, Sir, a gentleman born.
Clown.
Ay, and have been so, for any time this half hour.
Old Shep.
And so have I, boy.
Clown.
So you have; but I was a gentleman born before
my father; for the king's son took me by the hand
and call'd me brother; and then the two kings call'd
my father, brother; and then, the prince, my brother,
and the princess, my sister, (that is, that was
my sister) call'd my father, father; and so we all
wept; and there was the first gentleman-like tears
that ever we shed.
Old Shep.
We may live, son, to shed many more.
Clown.
Ay, or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous
estate as we are.
Autolicus.
I humbly beseech you, Sir, to pardon all the
faults I have committed to your worship; and to
give me your good report to the prince my master.
-- 56 --
Old Shep.
Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we
are gentlemen.
Clown.
Thou wilt amend thy life?
Autolicus.
Ay, an' it like your good worship.
Clown.
No, it does not like my worship now; but it is
like it may like my worship when it is amended;
therefore have heed that thou do'st amend it.
Autolicus.
I will, an't like you.
Clown.
Give me thy hand; hast nothing in't? am not I a
gentleman? I must be gently consider'd—am not I
a courtier? seest thou not the air of the court in these
enfoldings? hath not my gait in it the measure of the
court?
Autolicus.
Here is what gold I have, Sir;—so, I have
brib'd him with his own money.
[Aside.
Clown.
And when am I to have the other moiety? and
the young man in pawn till you bring it me?
Autolicus.
After you have done the business, Sir.
Clown.
Well, I will swear to the prince, thou art as honest
a tall fellow as any in Bohemia.
Old Shep.
You may say it, but not swear it.
-- 57 --
Clown.
Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? let boors and
franklyns say it; I'll swear it.
Old Shep.
How, if it be false, son?
Clown.
If it be never so false, a true gentleman may swear
it in behalf of his friend; and I will swear to the
prince thou art a tall fellow of thy hands, and that
thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall
fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt be drunk;
but I'll swear it; no matter for that. (Trumpets.)
Hark! the kings, and the princes, our kindred, are
going to see the queen's statute. Come, follow us,
we will be thy good masters.
[Exeunt.
Scene 4
SCENE, Paulina's House.
Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Perdita, Camillo, Lords, and Attendants.
Polixenes.
Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd
A saint-like sorrow: no fault cou'd you make
Which you have not redeem'd; indeed paid down
More penitence, than done trespass. At the last
Do, as the heav'ns have done, forget your evil;
With them forgive yourself.
Leontes.
Whilst I remember
Her, and her virtues; whilst I gaze upon
This pretty abstract of Hermione,
So truly printed off, I can't forget
My blemishes in them.
Paulina.
Too true, my lord.
If one by one, you wedded all the world,
-- 58 --
Or from the all that are, took something good
To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd
Wou'd be unparallel'd.
Leontes.
I think so—kill'd!
Kill'd! I kill'd! I did so, but thou strik'st me
Sorely to say I did; it is as bitter
Upon thy tongue, as in my thought. Now, good now,
Say so but seldom.
Paulina.
Touch'd to th' noble heart!
What, my dear sovereign, I said not well;
I meant well, pardon; then, a foolish woman—
The love I bore your queen—lo, fool again!—
I'll speak of her no more.
Leontes.
Ah, good Paulina,
Who hast the memory of Hermione,
I know in honour; O that ever I
Had squar'd me to thy counsel; then, ev'n now,
I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes,
Ta'en treasure from her lips!
Paulina.
All my poor service
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.
Polixenes.
Oh, Paulina,
We honor you with trouble; but your gall'ry
Have we pass'd thro', not without much content
In many singularities, yet we saw not
That which you bad us here to look upon,
The statue of Hermione.
-- 59 --
Paulina.
As she liv'd peerless,
So her dead likeness, I do well believe,
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon,
Or hand of man hath done; therefore, I keep it
Lonely, apart; but here it is, prepare
To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever
Still sleep mock'd death: behold, and say 'tis well.
[She draws a curtain, and discovers Hermione standing like a statue.
I like your silence, it the more shews off
Your wonder; but yet speak; first you, my liege,
Comes it not something near?
Leontes.
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; but yet, Paulina,
Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing
So aged as this seems.
Polixenes.
O, not by much.
Paulina.
So much the more our carver's excellence,
Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her
As she liv'd now.
Leontes.
As now she might have done,
So much to my good comfort, as it is
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood;
Ev'n with such life of majesty, (warm life,
As now it coldly stands) when first I woo'd her.
I am asham'd—O royal piece!
There's magic in thy majesty, which has
My evils conjur'd to remembrance, and
-- 60 --
From my admiring daughter ta'en the spirits,
Standing like stone with thee.
(Bursts into tears.
Perdita.
And give me leave,
And do not say 'tis superstition, that
I kneel, and then implore her blessing.
Florizel.
Rise not yet;
I join me in the same religious duty;
Bow to the shadow of that royal dame,
Who, dying, gave my Perdita to life,
And plead an equal right to blessing.
Leontes.
O master-piece of art! nature's deceiv'd
By thy perfection, and at every look
My penitence is all afloat again.
[Weeps.
Cleomines.
My lord, your sorrow was too sore lay'd on,
Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,
So many summers dry: scarce any joy
Did ever so long live; no sorrow,
But kill'd itself much sooner.
Polixenes.
Dear my brother,
Let him that was the cause of this, have pow'r
To take off so much grief from you, as he
Will piece up in himself.
Perdita.
Let Perdita
Put up her first request, that her dear father
Have pity on her rather, nor let sorrow
Second the stroke of wonder.
Paulina.
Indeed, my lord,
If I had thought the sight of my poor image
-- 61 --
Wou'd thus have wrought you, (for the stone is mine)
I'd not have shewn it.
Leontes.
Do not draw the curtain.
Paulina.
No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy
May think anon, it move.
Leontes.
Let be, let be;
Wou'd I were dead, but that, methinks, already—
What was he that made it? see, see, my lord,
Wou'd you not deem it breath'd; and that those veins
Did verily bear blood?
Polixenes.
Masterly done!
The very life seems warm upon her lip.
Leontes.
The fixure of her eye has motion in't,
As we were mock'd with art.
Paulina.
I'll draw the curtain.
My lord's almost so far transported, that
He'll think anon it lives.
Leontes.
O, sweet Paulina,
Make me to think so twenty years together
No settled senses of the world can match
The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone.
Paulina.
I'm sorry, Sir, I've thus far stirr'd you; but
I cou'd afflict you further.
Leontes.
Do, Paulina,
For this affliction has a taste as sweet
-- 62 --
As any cordial comfort; still, methinks,
There is an air come from her: what fine chissel
Cou'd ever yet cut breath? let no man mock me,
For I will kiss it.
Paulina.
Good my lord, forbear;
The ruddiness upon her lips is wet;
You'll mar it, if you kiss it; stain your own
With oily painting—shall I draw the curtain?
Leontes.
No, not these twenty years.
Perdita.
So long cou'd I
Stand by, a looker-on.
Florizel.
So long cou'd I
Admire her royal image stampt on thee,
Heiress of all her qualities.
Paulina.
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.
Leontes.
What you can make it 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.
Paulina.
It is requir'd,
You do awake your faith; then, all stand still:
And those that think it an unlawful business
I am about, let them depart.
-- 63 --
Leontes.
Proceed;
No foot shall stir.
Paulina.
Music, awake her—strike—
'Tis time; descend—be stone no more—approach;
Strike all that look on you with marvel!
[Music; during which she comes down.
Leontes. (Retiring.)
Heav'nly pow'rs!
Paulina, to Leontes.
Start not—her actions shall be holy, as,
You hear, my spell is lawful; do not shun her,
Until you see her die again, for then
You kill her double; nay, present your hand;
When she was young, you woo'd her; now in age
She is become your suitor.
Leontes.
Support me, gods!
If this be more than visionary bliss,
My reason cannot hold: my wife! my queen!
But speak to me, and turn me wild with transport
I cannot hold me longer from those arms;
She's warm! she lives!
Polixenes.
She hangs about his neck:
If she pertain to life, let her speak too.
Perdita.
O Florizel!
[Perdita leans on Florizel's bosom.
Florizel.
My princely shepherdess!
This is too much for hearts of thy soft mold.
Leontes.
Her beating heart meets mine, and fluttering owns
Its long-lost half: these tears that choak her voice
Are hot and moist—it is Hermione!
[Embrace.
-- 64 --
Polixenes.
I'm turn'd myself to stone! where has she liv'd?
Or how so stolen from the dead?
Paulina.
That she is living,
Were it but told you, shou'd be hooted at
Like an old tale; but it appears she lives,
Tho' yet she speak not. Mark them yet a little.
'Tis past all utterance, almost past thought;
Dumb eloquence beyond the force of words.
To break the charm,
Please you to interpose; fair madam, kneel,
And pray your mother's blessing, turn, good lady,
Our Perdita is found, and with her found
A princely husband, whose instinct of royalty,
From under the low thatch where she was bred,
Took his untutor'd queen.
Hermione.
You gods, look down,
And from your sacred phials pour your graces
Upon their princely heads!
Leontes.
Hark! hark! she speaks—
O pipe, thro' sixteen winters dumb! then deem'd
Harsh as the raven's note; now musical
As nature's song, tun'd to th' according spheres.
Hermione.
Before this swelling flood o'er-bear our reason,
Let purer thoughts, unmix'd with earth's alloy,
Flame up to heav'n, and for its mercy shewn,
Bow we our knees together.
Leontes.
Oh! if penitence
Have pow'r to cleanse the foul sin-spotted soul,
Leontes' tears have wash'd away his guilt.
If thanks unfeign'd be all that you require,
-- 65 --
Most bounteous gods, for happiness like mine,
Read in my heart, your mercy's not in vain.
Hermione.
This firstling duty paid, let transport loose,
My lord, my king,—there's distance in those names,
My husband!
Leontes.
O my Hermione!—have I deserv'd
That tender name?
Hermione.
No more; be all that's past
Forgot in this enfolding, and forgiven.
Leontes.
Thou matchless saint!—Thou paragon of virtue!
Perdita.
O let me kneel, and kiss that honor'd hand.
Hermione.
Thou Perdita, my long-lost child, that fill'st
My measure up of bliss—tell me, mine own,
Where hast thou been preserv'd? where liv'd! how found
Bohemia'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.
Paulina.
There's time enough
For that, and many matters more of strange
Import—how the queen escap'd from Sicily,
Retir'd with me, and veil'd her from the world—
But at this time no more; go, go together,
Ye precious winners all, your exultation
Pertake to ev'ry one; I, an old turtle,
Will wing me to some wither'd bough, and there
My mate, that's never to be found again,
Lament 'till I am lost.
-- 66 --
Leontes.
No, no, Paulina;
Live bless'd with blessing others—my Polixenes!
[Presenting Polixenes to Hermione.
What? look upon my brother: both your pardons,
That e'er I put between your holy looks
My ill suspicion—come, our good Camillo,
Now pay thy duty here—thy worth and honesty
Are richly noted, and here justified
By us a pair of kings; and last, my queen,
Again I give you this your son-in-law,
And son to this good king by heav'n's directing
Long troth-plight to our daughter.
Leontes, Hermione, and Polixenes join their hands.
Perdita.
I am all shame
And ignorance itself, how to put on
This novel garment of gentility,
And yield a patch'd behaviour, between
My country-level, and my present fortunes,
That ill becomes this presence. I shall learn,
I trust I shall with meekness—but I feel,
(Ah happy that I do) a love, an heart
Unalter'd to my prince, my Florizel.
Florizel.
Be still my queen of May, my shepherdess,
Rule in my heart; my wishes be thy subjects,
And harmless as thy sheep.
Leontes.
Now, 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—then thank the righteous gods,
Who, after tossing in a perilous sea,
Guide us to port, and a kind beam display,
To gild the happy evening of our day. |
