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.

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