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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, 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. I 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.
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
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;
I’ll 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,” then, our ship hath touched UTOOIl e
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,
So filled, 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,
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,
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
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:* there.these;
[Laying down a bundle.
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,
And still rest thine. The storm begins.—Poor
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!”—
Well may I get aboard' This is the chase; . .
I am gone forever. [Exit, pursued by a bear.
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 P 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." Good luck, an’t be thy will ! what have we here P [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
Clo. Hilloa, loa! Shep. What, art so near 2 If thou’lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail'st thou, man P 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