Lord.
You must not enter.

Pau.
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.
Madam, he hath not slept to-night; commanded
None should come at him.

Pau.
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;
Honest as either, to purge him of that humour
That presses him from sleep.

Leo.
What noise there, ho?

Pau.
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? canst not rule her?

Pau.
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.

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

Leo.
Good Queen?

Pau.
Good Queen, my lord,
Good Queen, I say good Queen;
And would by combat make her good so, were I
A man, the worst about you.

Leo.
Force her hence.

Pau.
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.

Pau.
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 Ant.
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.

Pau.
For ever
Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou
Take'st up the princess, by that forced baseness
Which he has put upon't.

Leo.
He dreads his wife.

Pau.
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.

Pau.
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 ^{a note}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.

Pau.
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 mold 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, left she suspect, as he does,
Her children not her husband's.

Leo.
A gross hag!
And, ^{b note}lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd,
Thou wilt not stay her tongue.

Ant.
Hang all the husbands

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

Leo.
Once more take her hence.

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

Leo.
I'll ha' thee burnt.

Pau.
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 all 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.

Pau.
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.

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