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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 show thee, of a fool, inconstant, And damnable ungrateful: nor was't much, Thou wouldst have poisoned good Camillo's honor, 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; though a devil Would have shed water out of fire,1 ere done't:Nor is't directly laid to thee, the death Of the young prince; whose honorable thoughts (Thoughts high for one so tender) cleft the heart That could conceive a gross and foolish sire Blemished 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 dropped down yet.

1 Lord. The higher powers forbid!

Paul. 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.—But, O thou tyrant! Do not repent these things; for they are heavier Than all thy woes can stir; therefore betake thee To nothing but despair. A thousand knees Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, Upon a barren mountain, and still winter In storm perpetual could not move the gods To look that way thou wert.

1 i. e. a devil would Lave shed tears of pity, ere he would have perpetrated such an action

VOL. III. 7

Leon. Go on, go on.

Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserved
All tongues to talk their bitterest.

1 Lord. Say no more;

Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault
I'the boldness of your speech.

Paul. I am sorry for't;

All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,
I do repent. Alas, I have showed too much
The rashness of a woman: he is touched
To the 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 punished, 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;
PU not remember you of my own lord,
Who is lost too. Take your patience to you,
And I'll say nothing.

Leon. 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 lie; 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 III. Bohemia. A desert Country near

the Sea.

Enter Antigonus, with the Child; and a Mariner.

Ant. Thou art perfect,1 then, our ship hath touched upon The deserts of Bohemia?

Mar. Ay, my lord; and fear

We have landed in ill time; the skies look grimly, And threaten present blusters. In my conscience, The Heavens with that we have in hand are angry, And frown upon us.

Ant. Their sacred wills be done !—Go, get 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'the 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 am glad at heart

To be so rid o'the business. [Exit.

Ant. Come, poor babe.

I have heard (but not believed) the spirits of the dead
May walk again. If such thing be, thy mother
Appeared 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,
Sojfilled, and so becoming; in pure white robes,
Like very sanctity, she did approach
My cabin where I lay; thrice bowed before me;
And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes
Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon
Did this break from her: Good Antigonus,

i L e. well assured.

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 forever, Perdita,

Ipr^ythee calVt; 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

This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys;

Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously,

I will be squared by this. I do believe

Hermione hath suffered 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 lie; and there thy character:1 there-these;

[Laying down a bundle. Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,

And still rest thine. The storm begins.—Poor

wretch, That, for thy mother's fault, art thus exposed To loss, and what may follow!—Weep I cannot, But my heart bleeds; and most accursed am I, To be by oath enjoined to this.—Farewell!The day frowns more and more; thou art like to have A lullaby too rough. I never saw The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamor!2

Well may I get aboard! This is the chase;

I am gone forever. [Exit, pursued by a bear. Enter an old Shepherd.

1 i. e. description. The writing afterward discovered with Perdita.

2 "A savage clamor." This clamor was the cry of the dogs and hunters; then seeing the bear, he cries, This is the chase, i. e. the animal pursued.

Shep. 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

boiled brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty, hunt this weather? They have scared 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, browzing of ivy.1 Good luck, an't be thy will! what have we here? [Taking up the Child.] Mercy on's, a barne; a very pretty barne! A boy, or a child, I wonder? A pretty one; a very pretty one. Sure, some scape: though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behinddoor work. 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 hollaed but even now. Whoa, ho, hoa!

Enter Clown.

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?

Clo. I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore! But that's not to the point. O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls! Sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em: now the

1 This is from the novel. It is there said to be "sea ivie, on which they do greatly feed."

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