Pol.
Nine Changes of the watry star hath been
^{2 note}(The shepherd's note,) since we have left our Throne
Without a burthen: time as long again
Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks;
And yet we should, for perpetuity,
Go hence in debt: and therefore, like a cypher,
Yet standing in rich place, I multiply
With one, we thank you, many thousands more
That go before it.

Leo.
Stay your thanks a while;
And pay them, when you part.

Pol.
Sir, that's to morrow:
I'm question'd by my fears, of what may chance,
Or breed upon our absence, ^{3 note}

No sneaping winds at home, to make us say,
“This is put forth too truly.” Besides, I have stay'd
To tire your royalty.

Leo.
We are tougher, brother,
Than you can put us to't.

Pol.
No longer Stay.

Leo.
One sev'n-night longer.

Pol.
Very sooth, to morrow.

Leo.
We'll part the time between's then: and in that
I'll no gain-saying.

Pol.
Press me not, 'beseech you, so;
There is no tongue that moves, none, none i'th' world,
So soon as yours, could win me: so it should now,
Were there necessity in your request, altho'
'Twere needful I deny'd it. My affairs
Do even drag me homeward; which to hinder,
Were, in your love, a whip to me; my stay,
To you a charge and trouble: to save both,
Farewel, our brother.

Leo.
Tongue-ty'd, our Queen? speak you.

Her.
I had thought, Sir, to've held my peace, until
You'ad drawn oaths from him not to stay: you, Sir,
Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sure,
All in Bohemia's well: this satisfaction
The by-gone day proclaim'd; say this to him,
He's beat from his best ward.

Leo.
Well said, Hermione.

Her.
To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong,
But let him say so then, and let him go;
But let him swear so, and he shall not stay;
We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.
Yet of your royal presence I'll adventure [To Pol.
The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia
You take my lord, ^{4 note}

To let him there a month, ^{5 note}behind the gest
Prefix'd for's parting: ^{6 note}yet, good heed, Leontes,
I love thee not a jar o'th' clock behind
What lady she her lord. You'll stay?

Pol.
No, Madam.

Her.
Nay, but you will?

Pol.
I may not, verily.

Her.
Verily?
You put me off with limber vows; but I,
Tho' you would seek t'unsphere the stars with oaths,
Should yet say, “Sir, no going: verily,
“You shall not go;” a lady's verily is
As potent as a lord's. Will you go, yet?
Force me to keep you as a prisoner,
Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees,
When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?
My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread verily,
One of them you shall be.

Pol.
Your Guest then, Madam:
To be your prisoner, should import offending;
Which is for me less easie to commit,
Than you to punish.

Her.
Not your Goaler then,
But your kind Hostess; come, I'll question you
Of my lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys:

You were pretty lordings then?

Pol.
We were, fair Queen,
Two lads, that thought there was no more behind,
But such a day to morrow as to day,
And to be boy eternal.

Her.
Was not my lord
The verier wag o'th' two?

Pol.
We were as twinn'd lambs, that did frisk i'th' Sun,
And bleat the one at th' other: what we chang'd,
Was innocence for innocence; we knew not
The doctrine of ill-doing; no, nor dream'd,
That any did: had we pursu'd that life,
And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd
With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven
Boldly, Not guilty; ^{7 note}
th'imposition clear'd,
Hereditary ours.

Her.
By this we gather,
You have tript since.

Pol.
O my most sacred lady,
Temptations have since then been born to's: for
In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl;
Your precious self had not then cross'd the eyes
Of my young play-fellow.

Her.
^{8 note}
Grace to boot!

Of this make no conclusion, lest you say,
Your Queen and I are devils. Yet, go on;
Th' offences we have made you do, we'll answer;
If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us
You did continue fault; and that you slipt not,
With any but with us.

Leo.
Is he won yet?

Her.
He'll stay, my Lord.

Leo.
At my request he would not:
Hermione, my dearest, thou ne'er spok'st
To better purpose.

Her.
Never?

Leo.
Never, but once.

Her.
What? have I twice said well? when was't before?
I pr'ythee, tell me; cram's with praise, and make's
As fat as tame things: one good deed, dying tongue-less,
Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon That.
Our praises are our wages. You may ride's
With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs, ere
^{9 note}

Leo.
Why, that was when
Three crabbed months had sowr'd themselves to death,

Ere I could make thee open thy white hand,
And clepe thyself my love; then didst thou utter,
“I am yours for ever.

Her.
'Tis grace, indeed.
Why, lo you now; I've spoke to th' purpose twice;
The one for ever earn'd a royal husband;
Th' other, for some while a friend.

Leo.
Too hot, too hot— [Aside.
To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods.
I have tremor cordis on me—my heart dances;
But not for joy—not joy.—This entertainment
May a free face put on; derive a liberty
From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,
And well become the Agent: 't may, I grant;
But to be padling palms, and pinching fingers,
As now they are, and making practis'd smiles,
As in a looking-glass—and then to sigh, as 'twere
^{1 note}The mort o'th' deer; oh, that is entertainment
My bosom likes not, nor my brows—Mamillius,
Art thou my boy?

Mam.
Ay, my good lord.

Leo.
I' fecks!
Why, that's my bawcock; what? has't smutch'd thy nose?
They say, it's a copy out of mine. Come, captain,
We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain;
And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf,
Are all call'd neat. Still virginalling [Observing Polixenes and Hermione.
Upon his palm?—how now, you wanton calf!
Art thou my calf?

Mam.
Yes, if you will, my lord.

Leo.
Thou want'st a rough pash, and the shoots that I have,
To be full like me.—Yet they say, we are

Almost as like as eggs; women say so,
That will say any thing; but were they false,
As o'er-dy'd blacks, as winds, as waters; false,
As dice are to be wish'd, by one that fixes
No bourne 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true
To say, this boy were like me. Come, Sir page,
Look on me with your welkin-eye, sweet villain.
Most dear'st, my collop—can thy dam—may't be—
Imagination! thou dost stab to th' center.
Thou dost make possible things not be so held,
Communicat'st with dreams—(how can this be?)
With what's unreal, Thou co-active art,
And fellow'st Nothing. Then 'tis very credent,
Thou may'st co-join with something, and thou dost,
And That beyond commission; and I find it:
And That to the infection of my brains,
And hardning of my brows.

Pol.
What means Sicilia?

Her.
He something seems unsettled.

Pol.
How? my lord?

Leo.
What cheer? how is't with you, best brother?

Her.
You look,
As if you held a brow of much Distraction.
Are not you mov'd, my lord?

Leo.
No, in good earnest.
How sometimes nature will betray its folly!
Its tenderness! and make itself a pastime
To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines
Of my boy's face, methoughts, I did recoil
Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech'd,
In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled,
Lest it should bite its master; and so prove,
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous;
How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,
This squash, this gentleman. Mine honest friend,
Will you take eggs for mony?

Mam.
No, my lord, I'll fight.

Leo.
You will! why, happy man be's dole!—My brother,
Are you so fond of your young Prince, as we
Do seem to be of ours?

Pol.
If at home, Sir,
He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter;
Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy;
My parasite, my soldier, states-man, all;
He makes a July's day short as December;
And with his varying childness, cures in me
Thoughts that should thick my blood.

Leo.
So stands this Squire
Offic'd with me: we two will walk, my lord,
And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione,
How thou lov'st us, shew in our brother's welcome:
Let what is dear in Sicily, be cheap:
Next to thyself, and my young rover, he's
Apparent to my heart.

Her.
If you will seek us,
We are yours i'th' garden: shall's attend you there?

Leo.
To your own bents dispose you; you'll be found,
Be you beneath the sky: I am angling now,
Tho' you perceive me not, how I give line;
Go to, go to. [Aside, observing Her.
How she holds up the neb! the bill to him!
And arms her with the boldness of a wife [Exeunt Polix. Her. and attendants. Manent Leo. Mam. and Cam.
To her allowing husband. Gone already,
Inch-thick, knee-deep; o'er head and ears, a fork'd one.
Go, play, boy, play—thy mother plays, and I
Play too; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue.
Will hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour
Will be my knel. Go, play, boy, play—there have been,

Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now;
And many a man there is, even at this present,
Now while I speak this, holds his wife by th' arm,
That little thinks, she has been sluic'd in's absence;
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by
Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay, there's comfort in't,
Whiles other men have gates; and those gates open'd,
As mine, against their will. Should all despair,
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
Would hang themselves. Physick for't, there is none:
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike
Where 'tis predominant; and ^{2 note}'tis powerful: think it.
Many a thousand of's have the disease and feel't not.
How now, boy?

Mam.
I am like you, they say.

Leo.
Why, that's some comfort.
What? Camillo there?

Cam.
Ay, my good Lord.

Leo.
Go play, Mamillius—thou'rt an honest man: [Exit Mamillius. SCENE III.

Camillo, this Great Sir will yet stay longer.

Cam.
You had much ado to make his anchor hold;
When you cast out, it still came home.

Leo.
Didst note it?

Cam.
He would not stay at your petitions made;
His business more material.

Leo.
Didst perceive it?

They're here with me already; ^{3 note}whisp'ring, rounding;
Sicilia is a so-forth; 'tis far gone,
When I shall gust it last. How came't, Camillo,
That he did stay?

Cam.
At the good Queen's entreaty.

Leo.
At the Queen's be't; good, should be pertinent;
But so it is, it is not. Was this taken
By any understanding pate but thine?
For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in
More than the common blocks; not noted, is't,
But of the finer natures? by some severals
Of head-piece extraordinary; lower messes,
Perchance, are to this business purblind? say.

Cam.
Business, my lord? I think, most understand
Bohemia stays here longer.

Leo.
Ha?

Cam.
Stays here longer.

Leo.
Ay, but why?

Cam.
To satisfie your Highness, and th' entreaties
Of our most gracious mistress.

Leo.
Satisfie
Th' entreaties of your mistress? satisfie?
Let That suffice. I've trusted thee, Camillo,
With all the things nearest my heart; as well
My chamber-councels, wherein, priest like, thou
Hast cleans'd my bosom: I from thee departed
Thy Penitent reform'd; but we have been
Deceiv'd in thy integrity; deceiv'd
In that, which seems so.

Cam.
Be it forbid, my lord—

Leo.
To bide upon't;—Thou art not honest; or,
If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward;
Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining

From course requir'd: or else thou must be counted
A servant grafted in my serious Trust,
And therein negligent; or else a fool,
That seest a game plaid home, the rich stake drawn,
And tak'st it all for jest.

Cam.
My gracious lord,
I may be negligent, foolish and fearful;
In every one of these no man is free,
But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
Amongst the infinite doings of the world,
^{4 note}Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,
If ever I were wilful negligent,
It was my folly; if industriously
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,
Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful
To do a thing, where I the issue doubted,
Whereof the execution did cry out
Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear
Which oft infects the wisest: these, my lord,
Are such allow'd infirmities, that honesty
Is never free of. But, 'beseech your Grace,
Be plainer with me, let me know my trespass
By its own visage; if I then deny it,
'Tis none of mine.

Leo.
Ha'not you seen, Camillo,
(But that's past doubt, you have; or your eye-glass
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn;) or heard,
(For to a vision so apparent, rumour
Cannot be mute;) or thought, (for cogitation
Resides not in that man, that do's not think it;)
My wife is slippery? if thou wilt, confess;
(Or else be impudently negative,
To have nor eyes nor ears, nor thought,) then say,
Wy wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name

As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to
Before her troth-plight: say't, and justify't.

Cam.
I would not be a stander-by, to hear
My sovereign Mistress clouded so, without
My present vengeance taken; 'shrew my heart,
You never spoke what did become you less
Than this; which to reiterate, ^{5 note}
were sin
As deep as that, tho' true.

Leo.
Is whispering nothing?
Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?
Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career
Of laughter with a sigh? (a note infallible
Of breaking honesty:) horsing foot on foot?
Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift?
Hours, minutes? the noon, midnight, and all eyes
Blind with the pin and web, but theirs; theirs only,
That would, unseen, be wicked? is this nothing?
Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing;
The covering sky is nothing, Bohemia nothing;
My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings,
If this be nothing.

Cam.
Good my lord, be cur'd
Of this diseas'd Opinion, and betimes;
For 'tis most dangerous.

Leo.
Say it be, 'tis true.

Cam.
No, no, my lord.

Leo.
It is; you lie, you lie:
I say, thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee;
Pronounce thee a gross lowt, a mindless slave,
Or else a hovering temporizer, that
Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,
Inclining to them both: were my wife's liver
Infected, as her life, she would not live
The running of one glass.

Cam.
Who do's infect her?

Leo.
Why he, that wears her like his medal, hanging
About his neck; Bohemia,—who, if I
Had servants true about me, that bare eyes
To see alike mine honour, as their profits,
Their own particular thrifts, they would do That
Which should undo more Doing: I, and thou
His cup-bearer, (whom I from meaner forme
Have bench'd, and rear'd to worship; who may'st see
Plainly, as heav'n sees earth, and earth sees heav'n,
How I am gall'd;) thou might'st be-spice a cup,
To give mine enemy a lasting wink;
Which draught to me were cordial.

Cam.
Sir, my lord,
I could do this, and that with no rash potion,
^{6 note}

Leo.
I've lov'd thee.—Make't thy Question, and go rot:
Do'st think, I am so muddy, so unsettled,
To appoint my self in this vexation? Sully
The purity and whiteness of my sheets,
(Which to preserve, is sleep; which being spotted,
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps:)
Give scandal to the blood o'th' Prince, my son,
Who, I do think, is mine, and love as mine,

Without ripe moving to't? would I do this?
Could man so blench?

Cam.
I must believe you, Sir;
I do, and will fetch off Bohemia for't:
Provided, that, when he's remov'd, your Highness
Will take again your Queen, as yours at first,
Even for your son's sake, and thereby for sealing
The injury of tongues, in Courts and Kingdoms
Known and ally'd to yours.

Leo.
Thou dost advise me,
Even so as I mine own course have set down:
I'll give no blemish to her honour, none.

Cam.
My lord,
Go then; and with a countenance as clear
As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia,
And with your Queen: I am his cup-bearer;
If from me he have wholesome beveridge,
Account me not your servant.

Leo.
This is all;
Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart;
Do't not, thou split'st thine own.

Cam.
I'll do't, my lord.

Leo.
I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me. [Exit.

Cam.
O miserable lady! but, for me,
What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner
Of good Polixenes, and my ground to do't
Is the obedience to a master; one,
Who, in rebellion with himself, will have
All that are his, so too. To do this deed,
Promotion follows. If I could find example
Of thousands, that had struck anointed Kings,
And flourish'd after, I'd not do't: but since
Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one;
Let villany it self forswear't. I must
Forsake the Court; to do't, or no, is certain

To me a break-neck. Happy star reign now!
Here comes Bohemia. SCENE IV. Enter Polixenes.

Pol.
This is strange! methinks,
My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?—
Good day, Camillo.

Cam.
Hail, most royal Sir!

Pol.
What is the news i'th' court?

Cam.
None rare, my Lord.

Pol.
The King hath on him such a countenance,
As he had lost some province, and a region
Lov'd, as he loves himself: even now I met him
With customary compliment, when he,
Wafting his eyes to th' contrary, and falling
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me, and
So leaves me to consider what is breeding,
That changes thus his manners.

Cam.
I dare not know, my Lord.

Pol.
How, dare not? do not? do you know, and dare not?
Be intelligent to me, 'tis thereabouts:
For to yourself, what you do know, you must;
And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo,
Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror,
Which shews me mine chang'd too; for I must be
A party in this alteration, finding
Myself thus alter'd with it.

Cam.
There is a sickness
Which puts some of us in distemper; but
I cannot name the disease, and it is caught
Of you that yet are well.

Pol.
How caught of me?
Make me not sighted like the basilisk.
I've look'd on thousands, who have sped the better

By my regard, but kill'd none so: Camillo,
As you are certainly a gentleman,
Clerk-like experienc'd, (which no less adorns
Our gentry, than our parents' noble names,
In whose success we are gentle;) I beseech you,
If you know aught, which does behove my knowledge
Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not
In ignorant concealment.

Cam.
I may not answer.

Pol.
A sickness caught of me, and yet I well?
I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo,
I conjure thee by all the parts of man,
Which honour does acknowledge, (whereof the least
Is not this suit of mine,) that thou declare,
What incidency thou dost guess of harm
Is creeping towards me; how far off, how near;
Which way to be prevented, if it be;
If not, how best to bear it.

Cam.
Sir, I'll tell you.
Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him
That I think honourable; therefore, mark my counsel;
Which must be ev'n as swiftly follow'd, as
I mean to utter it; or both yourself and me
Cry lost, and so good night.

Pol.
On, good Camillo.

Cam.
I am appointed Him to murder you.

Pol.
By whom, Camillo?

Cam.
By the King.

Pol.
For what?

Cam.
He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,
As he had seen't, or been an instrument
^{7 note}To vice you to't, that you have toucht his Queen
Forbiddenly.

Pol.
Oh, then, my best blood turn
To an infected gelly, and my name

Be yoak'd with his, that did betray the best!
Turn then my freshest reputation to
A savour, that may strike the dullest nostril
Where I arrive; and my approach be shun'd,
Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection
That e'er was heard, or read!

Cam.
Swear (a) ^notethis though over
By each particular star in heaven, and
By all their influences; you may as well
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon,
As or by oath remove, or counsel shake,
The fabrick of his folly; whose foundation
Is pil'd upon his faith, and will continue
The standing of his body.

Pol.
How should this grow?

Cam.
I know not; but, I'm sure, 'tis safer to
Avoid what's grown, than question how 'tis born.
If therefore you dare trust my honesty,
That lies inclosed in this trunk, which you
Shall bear along impawn'd, away to night;
Your followers I will whisper to the business;
And will by twoes, and threes, at several posterns,
Clear them o'th' city. For myself, I'll put
My fortunes to your service, which are here
By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain;
For by the honour of my parents, I
Have utter'd truth; which if you seek to prove,
I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer,
Than one condemned by the King's own mouth;
Thereon his execution sworn.

Pol.
I do believe thee:
I saw his heart in's face. Give me thy hand;
Be pilot to me, and thy places shall
Still neighbour mine. My ships are ready, and
My people did expect my hence departure

Two days ago.—This jealousie
Is for a precious creature; as she's rare,
Must it be great; and, as his person's mighty,
Must it be violent; and, as he does conceive
He is dishonour'd by a man, which ever
Profess'd to him; why, his revenges must
In That be made more bitter. Fear o'er-shades me:
^{8 note}

Cam.
It is in mine authority to command
The keys of all the posterns: please your Highness,
To take the urgent hour. Come, Sir, away. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. The PALACE. Enter Hermione, Mamillius, and Ladies.

Hermione.
Take the boy to you; he so troubles me,
'Tis past enduring.

1 Lady.
Come, my gracious Lord.
Shall I be your play-fellow?

Mam.
No, I'll none of you.

1 Lady.
Why, my sweet Lord?

Mam.
You'll kiss me hard, and speak to me as if
I were a baby still; I love you better.

2 Lady.
And why so, my Lord?

Mam.
Not for because
Your brows are blacker; (yet black brows, they say,
Become some women best; so that there be not
Too much hair there, but in a semicircle,
Or a half-moon made with a pen.)

2 Lady.
Who taught you this?

Mam.
I learn'd it out of women's faces: pray now,
What colour be your eye-brows?

1 Lady.
Blue, my Lord.

Mam.
Nay, that's a mock: I've seen a lady's nose
That has been blue, but not her eye-brows.

1 Lady.
Hark ye,
The Queen, your mother, rounds apace: we shall
Present our services to a fine new prince
One of these days; and then you'll wanton with us,
If we would have you.

2 Lady.
She is spread of late
Into a goodly bulk; (good time encounter her!)

Her.
What wisdom stirs amongst you? come, Sir, now
I am for you again. Pray you sit by us,
And tell's a tale.

Mam.
Merry, or sad, shall't be?

Her.
As merry as you will.

Mem.
A sad tale's best for winter.
I have one of sprights and goblins.

Her.
Let's have that, good Sir.
Come on, sit down. Come on, and do your best

To fright me with your sprights: you're powerful at it.

Mam.
There was a man—

Her.
Nay, come sit down; then on.

Mam.
Dwelt by a church-yard;—I will tell it softly:
Yond crickets shall not hear it.

Her.
Come on then, and give't me in mine ear. SCENE II. Enter Leontes, Antigonus, and Lords.

Leo.
Was he met there? his train? Camillo with him?

Lord.
Behind the tuft of pines I met them; never
Saw I men scowr so on their way: I ey'd them
Even to their ships.

Leo.
How blest am I
In my just censure! in my true opinion!
Alack, for lesser knowledge, how accurs'd
In being so blest! &wlquo;There may be in the cup
&wlquo;A spider steep'd, and one may drink; depart,
&wlquo;And yet partake no venom; for his knowledge
&wlquo;Is not infected: but if one present
&wlquo;Th' abhorr'd ingredient to his eye, make known
&wlquo;How he hath drunk, he cracks his gorge, his sides
&wlquo;With violent hefts.—I have drunk, and seen the spider.—&wrquo;
Camillo was his help in this, his Pander:
There is a plot against my life, my crown;
All's true, that is mistrusted: that false villain,
Whom I employ'd, was pre-employ'd by him:
^{1 note}
He hath discover'd my design, and I

Remain a pinch'd thing; yea, a very trick
For them to play at will: how came the posterns
So easily open?

Lord.
By his great authority,
Which often hath no less prevail'd than so
On your command.

Leo.
I know't too well.
Give me the boy; I'm glad, you did not nurse him:
Though he does bear some signs of me, yet you
Have too much blood in him.—

Her.
What is this, sport?

Leo.
Bear the Boy hence, he shall not come about her;
Away with him, and let her sport herself
With that she's big with: for 'tis Polixenes
Has made thee swell thus.

Her.
But I'd say, he had not;
And, I'll be sworn, you would believe my saying,
Howe'er you lean to th' nayward.

Leo.
You, my lords,
Look on her, mark her well; be but about
To say, she is a goodly lady, and
The justice of your hearts will thereto add,
'Tis pity, she's not honest, honourable:
Praise her but for this her without-door form,
(Which on my faith deserves high speech,) and straight
The shrug, the hum, or ha,—(these petty brands,
That calumny doth use: oh, I am out,—
That mercy do's; for calumny will sear
Virtue it self.) These shrugs, these hums, and ha's,
When you have said she's goodly, come between,
Ere you can say she's honest: but be't known,
(From him, that has most cause to grieve it should be;)
She's an adultress.

Her.
Should a villain say so,
The most replenish'd villain in the world,

He were as much more villain: you, my lord,
Do but mistake.

Leo.
You have mistook, my lady,
Polixenes for Leontes. O thou thing,
Which I'll not call a creature of thy place,
Lest barbarism, making me the precedent,
Should a like language use to all degrees;
And mannerly distinguishment leave out
Betwixt the prince and beggar.—I have said,
She's an adultress; I have said with whom:
More; she's a traitor, and Camillo is
A federary with her; and one that knows
What she should shame to know herself,
But with her most vile Principal, that she's
A bed-swerver, even as bad as those
That Vulgars give bold'st titles; ay, and privy
To this their late escape.

Her.
No, by my life,
Privy to none of this: how will this grieve you,
When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that
You thus have publish'd me? gentle my lord,
You scarce can right me throughly then, to say
You did mistake.

Leo.
No, if I mistake
In these foundations which I build upon,
The center is not big enough to bear
A school-boy's top. Away with her to prison:
He, who shall speak for her, is far off guilty,
But that he speaks.

Her.
There's some ill planet reigns;
I must be patient, 'till the heavens look
With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords,
I am not prone to weeping; (as our sex
Commonly are,) the want of which vain dew,
Perchance, shall dry your pities; but I have
That honourable grief lodg'd here, which burns
Worse than tears drown: 'beseech you all, my lords,

With thoughts so qualified as your charities
Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so
The King's will be perform'd!—

Leo.
Shall I be heard?—

Her.
Who is't, that goes with me? 'beseech your Highness,
My women may be with me, for, you see,
My plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools,
There is no cause; when you shall know, your mistress
Has deserv'd prison, then abound in tears,
As I come out; this action, I now go on,
Is for my better grace. Adieu, my lord,
I never wish'd to see you sorry; now,
I trust, I shall. My women,—come, you've leave.

Leo.
Go, do your bidding; hence. [Exit Queen, guarded; and Ladies.

Lord.
'Beseech your Highness call the Queen again.

Ant.
Be certain what you do, Sir, lest your justice
Prove violence; in the which three Great ones suffer,
Your self, your Queen, your son.

Lord.
For her, my lord,
I dare my life lay down, and will do't, Sir,
Please you t'accept it, that the Queen is spotless
I'th' eyes of heaven, and to you, (I mean,
In this which you accuse her.)

Ant.
If it prove
She's otherwise, I'll keep my ^{2 note}stable-stand where
I lodge my wife, I'll go in couples with her:
Than when I feel, and see, no further trust her;
For every inch of woman in the world,
Ay, every dram of woman's flesh is false,
If she be.

Leo.
Hold your peaces.

Lord.
Good my lord,—

Ant.
It is for you we speak, not for ourselves:
You are abus'd, and by some putter-on,
That will be damn'd for't; 'would I knew the villain,
I would land-damm him: be she honour-flaw'd,
I have three daughters; the eldest is eleven;
The second, and the third, nine, and some five;
If this prove true, they'll pay for't. By mine honour,
I'll geld 'em all: fourteen they shall not see,
To bring false generations; they are coheirs,
And I had rather glib myself, than they
Should not produce fair issue.

Leo.
Cease; no more:
You smell this business with a sense as cold
As is a dead man's nose; I see't and feel't,
As you feel doing thus; and see withal
The instruments that feel.

Ant.
If it be so,
We need no grave to bury honesty;
There's not a grain of it, the face to sweeten
Of the whole dungy earth.

Leo.
What? lack I credit?

Lord.
I had rather you did lack than I, my lord,
Upon this ground; and more it would content me
To have her honour true, than your suspicion;
Be blam'd for't, how you might.

Leo.
Why, what need we
Commune with you of this? but rather follow
Our forceful instigation? our prerogative
Calls not your counsels, but our natural goodness
Imparts this; which, if you, (or stupified,
Or seeming so, in skill,) cannot, or will not
Relish a truth like us; inform your selves,
We need no more of your advice; the matter,
The loss, the gain, the ord'ring on't, is all
Properly ours.

Ant.
And I wish, my Liege,

You had only in your silent judgment try'd it,
Without more overture.

Leo.
How could that be?
Either thou art most ignorant by age,
Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo's flight,
Added to their familiarity,
(Which was as gross as ever touch'd conjecture,
That lack'd sight only; nought for approbation,
But only seeing; all other circumstances
Made up to th' deed) doth push on this proceeding;
Yet for a greater confirmation,
(For, in an act of this importance, 'twere
Most piteous to be wild) I have dispatch'd in post,
To sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple,
Cleomines and Dion, whom you know
Of stuff'd sufficiency: Now, from the oracle
They will bring all: whose spiritual counsel had,
Shall stop, or spur me. Have I done well?

Lord.
Well done, my Lord.

Leo.
Tho' I am satisfy'd, and need no more
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle
Give rest to th' minds of others; such as he,
Whose ignorant credulity will not
Come up to th' truth. So have we thought it good
From our free person, she should be confin'd;
Lest that the treachery of the two, fled hence,
Be left her to perform. Come, follow us,
We are to speak in publick; for this business
Will raise us all.

Ant.
To laughter, as I take it,
If the good truth were known. [Exeunt.

SCENE III. Changes to a Prison. Enter Paulina, and a Gentleman.

Paul.
The keeper of the prison, call to him: [Exit Gentleman.
Let him have knowledge who I am. Good lady,
No court in Europe is too good for thee;
What dost thou then in prison? now, good Sir,
You know me, do you not? Re-enter Gentleman, with the Goaler.

Goa.
For a worthy lady,
And one whom much I honour.

Paul.
Pray you then,
Conduct me to the Queen.

Goa.
I may not, Madam;
To the contrary I have express commandment.

Paul.
Here's ado to lock up honesty and honour from
Th' access of gentle visitors! Is't lawful, pray you,
To see her women? any of them? Emilia?

Goa.
So please you, Madam,
To put a-part these your attendants, I
Shall bring Emilia forth.

Paul.
I pray you now, call her:
Withdraw yourselves. [Exeunt Gent. &c.

Goa.
And, Madam,
I must be present at your conference.

Paul.
Well; be it so, pr'ythee. Enter Emilia.
Here's such ado to make no stain a stain,
As passes colouring. Dear gentlewoman,
How fares our gracious lady?

Emil.
As well, as one so great and so forlorn
May hold together; On her frights and griefs,
(Which never tender lady hath borne greater,)
She is something before her time, deliver'd.

Paul.
A boy?

Emil.
A daughter, and a goodly babe,
Lusty, and like to live: the Queen receives
Much comfort in't: says, My poor prisoner,
I'm innocent as you.

Paul.
I dare be sworn:
These dangerous, unsafe lunes i'th' King! beshrew them,
He must be told on't, and he shall; the office
Becomes a woman best. I'll take't upon me.
If I prove honey-mouth, let my tongue blister;
And never to my red-look'd anger be
The trumpet any more! Pray you, Emilia,
Commend my best obedience to the Queen,
If she dares trust me with her little babe,
I'll shew't the King, and undertake to be
Her advocate to th' loud'st. We do not know,
How he may soften at the sight o'th' child:
The silence often of pure innocence
Persuades, when speaking fails.

Emil.
Most worthy Madam,
Your honour and your goodness is so evident,
That your free undertaking cannot miss
A thriving issue: there is no lady living
So meet for this great errand. Please your ladyship
To visit the next room, I'll presently
Acquaint the Queen of your most noble offer,
Who but to day hammer'd of this design;
But durst not tempt a minister of honour,
Lest she should be deny'd.

Paul.
Tell her, Emilia,
I'll use that tongue I have; if wit flow from't,
As boldness from my bosom, let't not be doubted
I shall do good.

Emil.
Now be you blest for it!
I'll to the Queen: please you, come something nearer.

Goa.
Madam, if't please the Queen to send the babe,
I know not what I shall incur, to pass it,
Having no warrant.

Paul.
You need not fear it, Sir;
The child was prisoner to the womb, and is
By law and process of great nature thence
Free'd and enfranchis'd; not a party to
The anger of the King, nor guilty of,
If any be, the trespass of the Queen.

Goa.
I do believe it.

Paul.
Do not you fear; upon mine honour, I
Will stand 'twixt you and danger. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Changes to the Palace. Enter Leontes, Antigonus, Lords and other Attendants.

Leo.
Nor night, nor day, no rest;—it is but weakness
To bear the matter thus; meer weakness, if
The cause were not in being; part o'th' cause,
She, the adultress; for the Harlot-King
Is quite beyond mine arm; out of the blank
And level of my brain; plot-proof; but she
I can hook to me: say, that she were gone,
Given to the sire, a moiety of my rest
Might come to me again. Who's there? Enter an Attendant.

Atten.
My Lord.

Leo.
How do's the boy?

Atten.
He took good rest to night; 'tis hop'd,
His sickness is discharg'd.

Leo.
To see his nobleness!
Conceiving the dishonour of his mother,
He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply;
Fasten'd, and fix'd the shame on't in himself;
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,
And down-right languish'd. Leave me solely; go, [Exit Attendant.
See how he fares.—Fie, fie, no thought of him;—
The very thought of my revenges that way
Recoyl upon me; in himself too mighty,
And in his parties, his alliance; let him be,
Until a time may serve. For present vengeance,
Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes
Laugh at me; make their pastime at my sorrow;
They should not laugh, if I could reach them; nor
Shall she, within my power. SCENE V. Enter Paulina, with a Child.

Lord.
You must not enter.

Paul.
Nay rather, good my lords, be second to me:
Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,
Than the Queen's life? a gracious innocent soul,
More free than he is jealous.

Ant.
That's enough.

Atten. [within].
Madam, he hath not slept to night commanded,
None should come at him.

Paul.
Not so hot, good Sir;
I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you,
That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh
At each his needless heavings; such as you
Nourish the cause of his awaking. I
Do come with words, as medicinal, as true;

^{3 note}Honest, as either; to purge him of that humour,
That presses him from sleep.

Leo.
What noise there, ho?

Paul.
No noise, my Lord, but needful conference,
About some gossips for your Highness.

Leo.
How?
Away with that audacious lady.—Antigonus,
I charg'd thee, that she should not come about me;
I knew, she would.

Ant.
I told her so, my Lord,
On your displeasure's peril and on mine,
She should not visit you.

Leo.
What? can'st not rule her?

Paul.
From all dishonesty he can; in this,
(Unless he take the course that you have done,
Commit me, for committing honour,) trust it,
He shall not rule me.

Ant.
Lo-you now, you hear,
When she will take the rein, I let her run,
But she'll not stumble.

Paul.
Good my Liege, I come—
And I beseech you, hear me, who profess
Myself your loyal servant, your physician,
Your most obedient counsellor: yet that dares
Less appear so, in comforting your evils,
Than such as most seems yours. I say, I come
From your good Queen.

Leo.
Good Queen?

Paul.
Good Queen, my Lord,
Good Queen, I say, good Queen;
^{4 note}

A man, on th' worst about you.

Leo.
Force her hence.

Paul.
Let him, that makes but trifles of his eyes,
First hand me: on mine own accord, I'll off;
But first, I'll do my errand. The good Queen,
For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter
Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing. [Laying down the child

Leo.
Out!
A mankind witch! hence with her, out o' door:
A most intelligencing bawd!

Paul.
Not so;
I am as ignorant in That, as you
In so intit'ling me; and no less honest
Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant,
As this world goes, to pass for honest.

Leo.
Traitors!
Will you not push her out? give her the bastard. [To Antigonus.
Thou dotard, thou art woman-tyr'd; unroosted
By thy dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard,
Take't up, I say; give't to thy croan.

Paul.
For ever
Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou
Take'st up the Princess, by that ^{5 note}forced baseness
Which he has put upon't!

Leo.
He dreads his wife.

Paul.
So, I would, you did: then 'twere past all doubt,
You'd call your children yours.

Leo.
A nest of traytors!

Ant.
I am none, by this good light.

Paul.
Nor I; nor any
But one, that's here; and that's himself. For he
The sacred honour of himself, his Queen's,
His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander,
Whose sting is sharper than the sword's, and will not
(For as the case now stands, it is a curse
He cannot be compell'd to't) once remove
The root of his opinion, which is rotten,
As ever oak or stone was sound.

Leo.
A callat
Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband,
And now baits me!—This brat is none of mine;
It is the issue of Polixenes.
Hence with it, and together with the dam,
Commit them to the fire.

Paul.
It is yours;
And, might we lay th' old proverb to your charge,
So like you, 'tis the worse. Behold, my lords,
Altho' the print be little, the whole matter
And copy of the father; eye, nose, lip,
The trick of's frown, his forehead, nay, the valley,
The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek, his smiles,
The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger.
And thou, good Goddess Nature, which hast made it
So like to him that got it, if thou hast
The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours
No yellow in't; lest she suspect, as he does,
Her children not her husband's.

Leo.
A gross hag!
And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd,
That wilt not stay her tongue.

Ant.
Hang all the husbands,

That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself
Hardly one subject.

Leo.
Once more, take her hence.

Paul.
A most unworthy and unnatural lord
Can do no more.

Leo.
I'll ha' thee burnt.

Paul.
I care not;
It is an heretick that makes the fire,
Not she which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant,
But this most cruel usage of your Queen
(Not able to produce more accusation
Than your own weak-hing'd fancy) something savours
Of tyranny; and will ignoble make you,
Yea, scandalous to the world.

Leo.
On your allegiance,
Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyrant,
Where were her life? she durst not call me so,
If she did know me one. Away with her.

Paul.
I pray you, do not push me, I'll be gone.
Look to your babe, my lord, 'tis yours; Jove send her
A better guiding spirit! What need these hands?
You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies,
Will never do him good, not one of you.
So, so: farewel, we are gone. [Exit. SCENE VI.

Leo.
Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.
My child? away with't. Even thou, thou that hast
A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence,
And see it instantly consum'd with fire;
Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight:
Within this hour bring me word it is done,
And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life,
With what thou else call'st thine: if thou refuse,
And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so:
The bastard brains with these my proper hands

Shall I dash out: go take it to the fire,
For thou sett'st on thy wife.

Ant.
I did not, Sir:
These lords, my noble fellows, if they please,
Can clear me in't.

Lord.
We can; my royal Liege,
He is not guilty of her coming hither:

Leo.
You're liars all.

Lords.
'Beseech your Highness, give us better credit.
We've always truly serv'd you, and beseech you
So to esteem of us: and on our knees we beg,
(As recompence of our dear services
Past, and to come) that you do change this purpose,
Which being so horrible, so bloody, must
Lead on to some foul issue. We all kneel—

Leo.
I am a feather for each wind that blows:
Shall I live on, to see this bastard kneel
And call me father? better burn it now,
Than curse it then. But be it; let it live:
It shall not neither.—You, Sir, come you hither; [To Antigonus.
You, that have been so tenderly officious
With lady Margery, your midwife there,
To save this bastard's life; (for 'tis a bastard,
So sure as this beard's grey) what will you adventure
To save this brat's life?

Ant.
Any thing, my Lord,
That my ability may undergo,
And nobleness impose: at least, thus much;
I'll pawn the little blood which I have left,
To save the innocent; any thing possible.

Leo.
It shall be possible; swear by this sword,
Thou wilt perform my bidding.

Ant.
I will, my Lord.

Leo.
Mark and perform it; seest thou? for the fail
Of any point in't shall not only be
Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu'd wife,

Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoyn thee,
As thou art liege-man to us, that thou carry
This female bastard hence, and that thou bear it
To some remote and desart place, quite out
Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it,
(Without more mercy,) to its own protection
And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee,
On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture,
That thou commend it strangely to some place,
Where chance may nurse, or end it. Take it up.

Ant.
I swear to do this: tho' a present death
Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe;
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens
To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say,
(Casting their savageness aside) have done
Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous
In more than this deed does require; and blessing,
Against this cruelty, fight on thy side!
Poor thing condemn'd to loss.— [Exit, with the child.

Leo.
No; I'll not rear
Another's issue. Enter a Messenger.

Mes.
Please your Highness, posts,
From those you sent to th' oracle, are come
An hour since. Cleomines and Dion,
Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed,
Hasting to th' court.

Lord.
So please you, Sir, their speed
Hath been beyond account.

Leo.
Twenty-three days
They have been absent: this good speed foretels,
The great Apollo suddenly will have
The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords,
Summon a session, that we may arraign

Our most disloyal Lady; for as she hath
Been publickly accus'd, so shall she have
A just and open tryal. While she lives,
My heart will be a burthen to me. Leave me,
And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt severally. ACT III. SCENE I. A Part of Sicily, near the Sea-side. Enter Cleomines and Dion.

Cleomines.
The climate's delicate, the air most sweet,
^{1 note}

Dion.
^{2 note}

Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice—
How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly
It was i'th' offering!

Cleo.
But of all, the burst
And the ear-deafning voice o'th' oracle,
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpriz'd my sense,
That I was nothing.

Dion.
If th' event o'th' journey
Prove as successful to the Queen, (O be't so!)
As it hath been to us, rare, pleasant, speedy,
^{3 note}

Cleo.
Great Apollo,
Turn all to th' best! these proclamations,
So forcing faults upon Hermione,
I little like.

Dion.
The violent carriage of it
Will clear, or end the business; when the oracle,
(Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up,)
Shall the contents discover: something rare
Even then will rush to knowledge. Go; fresh horses:
And gracious be the issue! [Exeunt. SCENE II. Represents a Court of Justice. Leontes, Lords and Officers, appear properly seated.

Leo.
This session, (to our great grief, we pronounce,)
Ev'n pushes 'gainst our heart. The party try'd,
The daughter of a King, our wife, and one
Of us too much belov'd;—let us be clear'd
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly

Proceed in justice, which shall have due course,
Even to the guilt, or the purgation.
Produce the prisoner.—

Offi.
It is his Highness' pleasure, that the Queen
Appear in person here in court. Silence! Hermione is brought in, guarded; Paulina, and Ladies attending.

Leo.

Read the indictment.

Offi.

Hermione, Queen to the worthy Leontes, King of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of high treason, in committing adultery with Polixenes, King of Bohemia, and conspiring with Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign lord the King, thy royal husband; the pretence whereof being by circumstances partly laid open, thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of a true subject, didst counsel and aid them, for their better safety, to fly away by night.

Her.
Since what I am to say, must be but That
Which contradicts my accusation; and
The testimony on my part, no other
But what comes from myself; it shall scarce boot me
To say, Not guilty: mine integrity,
Being counted falshood, shall, as I express it,
Be so receiv'd. But thus, if powers divine
Behold our human actions, as they do,
I doubt not then, but innocence shall make
False accusation blush, &wlquo;and tyranny
&wlquo;Tremble at patience.&wrquo;—You, my Lord, best know,
Who least will seem to do so, my past life
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,
As I am now unhappy; which is more
Than history can pattern, tho' devis'd,
And play'd, to take spectators. For behold me
A fellow of the royal bed, which owe
A moiety of the throne, a great King's daughter,
The mother to a hopeful Prince, here standing

To prate and talk for life and honour, 'fore
Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it
As I weigh grief which I would spare: for honour,
'Tis a derivative from me to mine,
And only That I stand for. I appeal
To your own conscience, Sir, before Polixenes
Came to your court, how I was in your grace,
How merited to be so; since he came,
With what encounter so uncurrent I
Have strain'd t'appear thus; if one jot beyond
The bounds of honour, or in act, or will
That way inclining, hardned be the hearts
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
Cry, fie, upon my grave!

Leo.
I ne'er heard yet,
That any of those bolder vices wanted
Less impudence to gain-say what they did,
Than to perform it first.

Her.
That's true enough;
Tho' 'tis a saying, Sir, not due to me.

Leo.
You will not own it.

Her.
More than mistress of,
What comes to me in name of fault, I must not
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,
With whom I am accus'd, I do confess,
I lov'd him, as in honour he requir'd;
With such a kind of love, as might become
A lady like me; with a love, even such,
So and no other, as your self commanded:
Which not to have done, I think, had been in me
Both disobedience and ingratitude
To you, and towards your friend; whose love had spoke,
Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely,
That it was yours. Now for Conspiracy,
I know not how it tastes, tho' it be dish'd
For me to try how; all I know of it,

Is, that Camillo was an honest man;
And why he left your Court, the Gods themselves
(Wotting no more than I,) are ignorant.

Leo.
You knew of his departure, as you know
What you have underta'en to do in's absence.

Her.
Sir,
You speak a language that I understand not;
My life stands in the level of your dreams,
Which I'll lay down.

Leo.
Your Actions are my Dreams.
You had a Bastard by Polixenes,
And I but dream'd it:—as you were past all shame,
(Those of your Fact are so) so past all truth;
Which to deny, concerns more than avails: for as
Thy brat hath been cast out, like to it self,
No father owning it, (which is, indeed,
More criminal in thee than it) so thou
Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage
Look for no less than death.

Her.
Sir, spare your threats;
The bug, which you would fright me with, I seek:
To me can life be no commodity.
The crown and comfort of my life, your Favour,
I do give lost; for I do feel it gone,
But know not how it went. My second joy,
The first-fruits of my body, from his presence
I'm barr'd like one infectious. My third comfort,
(Starr'd most unluckily,) is from my breast
(The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth)
Hal'd out to murder; my self on every post
Proclaim'd a strumpet with immodest hatred;
The child-bed privilege deny'd, which 'longs
To women of all fashion: lastly, hurried
Here to this place, i'th' open air, before
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,
Tell me what blessings I have here alive,
That I should fear to die? therefore proceed:

But yet hear this; mistake me not; no life,—
I prize it not a straw; but for mine honour,
Which I would free, if I shall be condemn'd
Upon surmises, (all proofs sleeping else,
But what your jealousies awake,) I tell you,
'Tis Rigour, and not Law. Your Honours all,
I do refer me to the Oracle:
Apollo be my judge. SCENE III. Enter Dion and Cleomines.

Lord.
This your request
Is altogether just; therefore bring forth,
And in Apollo's name, his Oracle.

Her.
The Emperor of Russia was my father,
Oh, that he were alive, and here beholding
His daughter's tryal; that he did but see
The flatness of my misery; yet with eyes
Of Pity, not Revenge!

Offi.
You here shall swear upon the Sword of Justice,
That you, Cleomines and Dion, have
Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought
This seal'd up Oracle, by the hand deliver'd
Of great Apollo's Priest; and that since then
You have not dar'd to break the holy Seal,
Nor read the secrets in't.

Cleo. Dion.
All this we swear.

Leo.
Break up the Seals, and read.

Offi.

Hermione is chaste, Polixenes blameless, Camillo a true Subject, Leontes a jealous Tyrant, his innocent babe truly begotten; and the King shall live without an heir, if That, which is lost, be not found.

Lords.
Now blessed be the great Apollo!

Her.
Praised!

Leo.
Hast thou read truth?

Offi.
Ay, my lord, even so as it is here set down.

Leo.
There is no truth at all i'th' Oracle;
The Session shall proceed; this is meer falshood. Enter Servant.

Ser.
My lord the King, the King,—

Leo.
What is the business?

Ser.
O Sir, I shall be hated to report it.
The Prince your son, with meer conceit and fear
Of the Queen's Speed, is gone.

Leo.
How gone?

Ser.
Is dead.

Leo.
Apollo's angry, and the heav'ns themselves
Do strike at my injustice.—How now, there? [Her. faints.

Pau.
This news is mortal to the Queen: look down,
And see what death is doing.

Leo.
Take her hence;
Her heart is but o'er-charg'd; she will recover. [Exeunt Paulina and ladies with Hermione. SCENE IV.

I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion:
'Beseech you, tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life. Apollo, pardon
My great Prophaneness 'gainst thine Oracle!
I'll reconcile me to Polixenes,
New woo my Queen, recal the good Camillo;
(Whom I proclaim a man of Truth, of Mercy)
For being transported by my jealousies
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose
Camillo for the Minister, to poison
My friend Polixenes; which had been done,
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
My swift Command; tho' I with death, and with

Reward, did threaten, and encourage him,
Not doing it, and being done; he (most humane,
And fill'd with Honour) to my kingly Guest
Unclasp'd my practice, quit his fortunes here,
Which you knew great, and to the certain hazard
Of all incertainties himself commended,
No richer than his honour: how he glisters
Through my dark Rust! and how his Piety
Does my deeds make the blacker! SCENE V. Enter Paulina.

Pau.
Woe the while!
O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,
Break too.—

Lord.
What fit is this, good lady?

Pau.
What studied torments, Tyrant, hast for me?
What wheels? racks? fires? what slaying? boiling? burning
In leads, or oils? what old, or newer, torture
Must I receive? whose every word deserves
To taste of thy most worst. Thy Tyranny
Together working with thy Jealousies,
(Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle
For girls of nine!) O, think, what they have done,
And then run mad, indeed; stark mad, for all
Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.
That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing;
That did but ^{4 note}shew thee off, a fool, inconstant,
And damnable ingrateful: nor was't much,
Thou would'st have poison'd good Camillo's honour,
To have him kill a King: poor trespasses,

More monstrous standing by; whereof I reckon
The casting forth to crows thy baby-daughter,
To be, or none, or little; tho' a devil
Would have shed water out of fire, ere don't:
Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death
Of the young Prince, whose honourable thoughts
(Thoughts high for one so tender) cleft the heart,
That could conceive a gross and foolish Sire
Blemish'd his gracious Dam: this is not, no,
Laid to thy answer; but the last, O lords,
When I have said, cry, woe! the Queen, the Queen,—
The sweetest, dearest, creature's dead; and vengeance for't
Not dropt down yet.

Lord.
The higher Powers forbid!

Pau.
I say, she's dead: I'll swear't: if word, nor oath,
Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring
Tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye,
Heat outwardly, or breath within, I'll serve you
As I would do the Gods. &plquo;But, O thou tyrant!
&plquo;Do not repent these things; for they are heavier
&plquo;Than all thy woes can stir: therefore betake thee
&plquo;To nothing but Despair. A thousand knees,
&plquo;Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting,
&plquo;Upon a barren mountain, and still winter
&plquo;In storm perpetual, could not move the Gods
&plquo;To look that way thou wert.&prquo;

Leo.
Go on, go on:
Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv'd
All tongues to talk their bitterest.

Lord.
Say no more;
Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault
I'th' boldness of your speech.

Pau.
I am sorry for't.
All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,
I do repent: alas, I've shew'd too much

The rashness of a woman; he is touch'd
To th' noble heart. What's gone, and what's past help,
Should be past grief. Do not receive affliction
At my petition, I beseech you; rather
Let me be punish'd, that have minded you
Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege,
Sir, royal Sir, forgive a foolish woman;
The love I bore your Queen—lo, fool again!—
I'll speak of her no more, nor of your children:
I'll not remember you of my own lord,
Who is lost too. Take you your patience to you,
And I'll say nothing.

Leo.
Thou didst speak but well,
When most the truth; which I receive much better
Than to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me
To the dead bodies of my Queen and son;
One Grave shall be for both. Upon them shall
The causes of their death appear unto
Our shame perpetual; once a day I'll visit
The Chapel where they lye, and tears, shed there,
Shall be my recreation. So long as nature
Will bear up with this exercise, so long
I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me
To these sorrows. [Exeunt. SCENE VI. Changes to Bohemia. A desart Country; the Sea at a little Distance. Enter Antigonus with a Child, and a Mariner.

Ant.
Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd upon
The desarts of Bohemia?

Mar.
Ay, my lord; and fear,

We've landed in ill time: the skies look grimly,
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,
The heav'ns with that we have in hand are angry,
And frown upon's.

Ant.
Their sacred wills be done! get thee 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'th' 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'm glad at heart
To be so rid o' th' 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 becoming; 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 Bohemia,
There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe
Is counted lost for ever and 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. Affrighted much,
I did in time collect myself, and thought
^{5 note}This was so, and no slumber: Dreams are toys,
Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously,
I will be squar'd by this. I do believe,
Hermione hath suffer'd 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 lye, and there thy character: there these,
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty one,
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 accurst am I
To be by oath enjoin'd to this.) Farewel!
The day frowns more and more; thou art like to have
A lullaby too rough: I never saw
The heav'ns so dim by day. A savage clamour!
Well may I get aboard! this is the chace;
I am gone for ever. [Exit, pursued by a bear. SCENE VII. Enter an old Shepherd.

&wlquo;Shep.

&wlquo;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 getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry,

stealing, fighting—hark you now!—would any but these boil'd brains of nineteen, and 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 them, 'tis by the sea-side, brouzing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will! what have we here? [Taking up the child.] Mercy on's, a bearne! a very pretty bearne! a boy, or a child, I wonder! a pretty one, a very pretty one; sure, some 'scape: tho' I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the 'scape. This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work:&wrquo; they were warmer that got this, than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity, yet I'll tarry 'till my son come: he hollow'd but even now; Whoa, ho-hoa!

Clo.

Hilloa, loa!—

Shep.

What, art so near? if thou'lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail'st thou, man?

Clo.

I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land; 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.

Shep.

Why, boy, how is it?

&wlquo;Clo.

&wlquo;I would, you did but see how it chases, how it rages, how it takes up the shore; but that's not to the point; oh, 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 main-mast, and anon swallow'd with yest and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. ^{6 note}And then for the

land-service.—to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone, how he cry'd 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 it. But first, how the poor souls roar'd, and the sea mock'd them. And how the poor gentleman roar'd, and the bear mock'd him; both roaring louder than the sea, or weather.&wrquo;

Shep.

'Name of mercy, when was this, boy?

Clo.

Now, now, I have not wink'd since I saw these sights; the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half din'd on the gentleman; he's at it now.

Shep.

'Would, I had been by to have help'd the old man.

Clo.

I would, you had been by the ship-side, to have help'd her; there your charity would have lack'd footing.—

Shep.

Heavy matters, heavy matters! but look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou meet'st with things dying, I with things new-born. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's child! 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 changling: open't; what's within, boy?

Clo.

You're a mad 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 will prove so. Up with it, keep it close: home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy; and to be so still, requires nothing but secresie. Let my sheep go: come, good boy, the next way home.

Clo.

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: they are never curst but when they are hungry: if there be any of him left, I'll bury it.

Shep.

That's a good deed If thou may'st discern by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to th' sight of him.

Clo.

Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i'th' ground.

Shep.

'Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do good deeds on't.

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, ^{7 note}

In fair Bohemia; and remember well,
I mention here a son o'th' King's whom Florizel
I now name to you; and with speed so pace
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wondring. What of her ensues,
I list not prophesie. But let Time's news
Be known, when 'tis brought forth. A shepherd's daughter,
And what to her adheres, which follows after,
Is th' argument of time; of this allow,
If ever you have spent time worse ere now:
If never, yet that Time himself doth say,
He wishes earnestly, you never may. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I. The Court of Bohemia. Enter Polixenes and Camillo.

Polixenes.

I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate; 'tis a sickness denying thee any thing, a death to grant this.

Cam.

It is fifteen years since I saw my country; though I have for the most part been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent King, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to think so, which is another spur to my departure.

Pol.

As thou lov'st me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by leaving me now; the need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made: better

not to have had thee, than thus to want thee. Thou having made me businesses, which none, without thee, can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thy self, or take away with thee the very services thou hast done; which if I have not enough consider'd, (as too much I cannot,) to be more thankful to thee shall be my study; ^{1 note}and my profit therein, the reaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia, pr'ythee, speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and reconciled King my brother, whose loss of his most precious Queen and children are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou the Prince Florizel my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing them, when they have approved their virtues.

Cam.

Sir, it is three days since I saw the Prince; what his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown: ^{2 note}but I have (missing him) noted, he is of late much retired from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appear'd.

Pol.

I have consider'd so much, Camillo, and with some care so far, that I have eyes under my service, which look upon his removedness; from whom I

have this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd; a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.

Cam.

I have heard, Sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare note; the report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage.

Pol.

That's likewise a part of my intelligence; but, I fear, the Angle that plucks our son thither. Thou 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 uneasie to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Pr'ythee, be my present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.

Cam.

I willingly obey your command.

Pol.

My best Camillo—we must disguise ourselves,