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!

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.

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.

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

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,

when I took advantage of their delay, to recount to you this rhapsody of wonders.

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.

Camillo.

I obey you, madam.