Leon.
Nor night, nor day, no rest. It is but weakness
To bear the matter thus, mere weakness. If
The cause were not in being, part o' the cause,
She, th' adult'ress; 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 fire, a moiety of my rest
Might come to me again.—Who's there?

1 Atten.
My lord.

Leon.
How does the boy?

1 Atten.
He took good rest to-night:
'Tis hop'd, his sickness is discharg'd.

Leon.
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 downright languish'd.—Leave me solely:—go,
See how he fares. [Exit Attend.]—Fie, fie! no thought of him^{5 note}:—
The very thought of my revenges that way
Recoil upon me: in himself too mighty,

And in his parties, his alliance^{6 note};—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. Enter Paulina, with a Child.

1 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.

1 Atten.
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,
Honest as either, to purge him of that humour,
That presses him from sleep.

Leon.
What noise there, ho^{7 note}?

Paul.
No noise, my lord; but needful conference,
About some gossips for your highness.

Leon.
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.

Leon.
What! canst 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 professes
Myself your loyal servant, your physician,
Your most obedient counsellor, yet that dares
Less appear so in comforting your evils^{8 note},
Than such as most seem yours,—I say, I come
From your good queen.

Leon.
Good queen!

Paul.
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.

Leon.
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.

Leon.
Out!
A mankind witch^{9 note}! Hence with her, out o' door:
A most intelligencing bawd!

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

Leon.
Traitors!
Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard.—
Thou, dotard, [To Antigonus.] thou art woman-tir'd^{10 note}

, unroosted
By thy dame Partlet here.—Take up the bastard:
Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone^{1 note}.

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

Leon.
He dreads his wife.

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

Leon.
A nest of traitors!

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.

Leon.
A callat,
Of boundless tongue^{2 note}
, 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 the old proverb to your charge,
So like you, 'tis the worse.—Behold, my lords,
Although the print be little, the whole matter
And copy of the father: eye, nose, lip,
The trick of his 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.

Leon.
A gross hag!—
And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd^{3 note},

That wilt not stay her tongue.

Ant.
Hang all the husbands
That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself
Hardly one subject.

Leon.
Once more, take her hence.

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

Leon.
I'll ha' thee burn'd.

Paul.
I care not:
It is an heretic 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.

Leon.
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:—farewell; we are gone. [Exit.

Leon.
Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.—
My child? away with't!—even 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 'tis 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.

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

Leon.
You're liars all.

1 Lord.
Beseech your highness, give us better credit.
We have always truly serv'd you, and beseech
So to esteem of us; and on our knees we beg,
(As recompense 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.

Leon.
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 thy beard's grey^{4 note},—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.

Leon.
It shall be possible. Swear by this sword,

Thou wilt perform my bidding.

Ant.
I will, my lord.

Leon.
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-tongued wife,
Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,
As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry
This female bastard hence; and that thou bear it
To some remote and desert 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, though 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 doth require!—and blessing
Against this cruelty fight on thy side,
Poor thing, condemn'd to loss! [Exit with the Child.

Leon.
No; I'll not rear
Another's issue.

1 Atten.
Please your highness, posts
From those you sent to the oracle are come
An hour since: Cleomenes and Dion,
Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed,
Hasting to the court.

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

Leon.
Twenty-three days
They have been absent: 'tis 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 publicly accus'd, so shall she have
A just and open trial. While she lives,
My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me,
And think upon my bidding. [Exeunt.

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