But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me
To
say, "Not guilty:" mine integrity,

Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it,
Be so receiv'd. But thus:-If powers divine
Behold our human actions, (as they do,)

I doubt not, then, but innocence shall make
False accusation blush, and tyranny

Tremble at patience.-You, my lord, best know,
(Who least will seem to do so,) my past life
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,
As I am now unhappy; which is more
Than history can pattern, though devis'd,
And play'd to take spectators. For behold me,
A fellow of the royal bed, which owe

A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter,
The mother to a hopeful prince, here standing
To prate and talk for life, and honour, 'fore
Who please to come and hear.

For life, I prize it

As I weigh grief, which I would spare: for honour, 'Tis a derivative from me to mine,

And only that I stand for. I appeal

To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes
Came to your court, how I was in your grace,
How merited to be so; since he came,
With what encounter so uncurrent I

Have strain'd, t' appear thus: if one jot beyond
The bound of honour, or, in act, or will,
That way inclining, hardened be the hearts
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
Cry, "Fie!" upon my grave.

Leon.
I ne'er heard yet,
That any of these bolder vices wanted
Less impudence to gainsay what they did,
Than to perform it first.

Her.
Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me.

That's true enough;

More than mistress of,

Leon. You will not own it.
Her.

Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not

At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,

(With whom I am accus'd,) I do confess,

I lov'd him, as in honour he requir'd,

With such a kind of love as might become

A lady like me; with a love, even such,
So and no other, as yourself commanded:
Which not to have done, I think, had been in me
Both disobedience and ingratitude

To you, and toward your friend, whose love had spoke,
Even since it could speak from an infant, freely,
That it was yours. Now, for conspiracy,

I know not how it tastes, though it be dish'd
For me to try how: all I know of it
Is, that Camillo was an honest man;

And why he left your court, the gods themselves,
Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.

Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know What you have underta'en to do in 's absence. Her. Sir,

You speak a language that I understand not:
My life stands in the level of your dreams,
Which I'll lay down.

Leon.
Your actions are my dreams:
You had a bastard by Polixenes,

And I but dream'd it.-As you were past all shame,
(Those of your fact are so,) so past all truth,
Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as
Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,
No father owning it, (which is, indeed,
More criminal in thee than it,) so thou
Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage
Look for no less than death.

Her.

Sir, spare your threats: The bug, which you would fright me with, I seek. To me can life be no commodity:

The crown and comfort of my life, your favour,
I do give lost; for I do feel it gone,

But know not how it went. My second joy,
And first-fruits of my body, from his presence

I am barr'd, like one infectious. My third comfort,
Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast,

The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth.
Haled out to murder: myself on every post
Proclaim'd a strumpet: with immodest hatred,
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs
To women of all fashion: lastly, hurried
Here to this place, i' the open air, before
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,
Tell me what blessings I have here alive,
That I should fear to die? Therefore, proceed.
But yet hear this; mistake me not.-No: life,
I prize it not a straw; but for mine honour,
(Which I would free,) if I shall be condemn'd
Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else
But what your jealousies awake, I tell you,
'Tis rigour, and not law.-Your honours all,
I do refer me to the oracle:
Apollo be my judge.

1 Lord.

This your request

Is altogether just. Therefore, bring forth,
And in Apollo's name, his oracle.

[Exeunt several Officers.
Her. The emperor of Russia was my father:
O! that he were alive, and here beholding
His daughter's trial; that he did but see
The flatness of my misery, yet with eyes
Of pity, not revenge!

Re-enter Officers, with CLEOMENES and DION. Offi. You here shall swear upon the sword of justice,

That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have

Been both at Delphos; and from thence have brought
This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd

Of great Apollo's priest; and that, since then,
You have not dar'd to break the holy seal,
Nor read the secrets in 't.

Cleo. Dion.
All this we swear.
Leon. Break up the seals, and read.

Offi. [Reads.] "Hermione is chaste, Polixenes blameless, Camillo a true subject, Leontes a jealous tyrant, his innocent babe truly begotten; and the king shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not found."

Lords. Now, blessed be the great Apollo!
Her.

Leon. Hast thou read truth?

Offi.

As it is here set down.

Praised!

Ay, my lord; even so

Paul. This news is mortal to the queen.-Look

down,

And see what death is doing.

Leon. Take her hence: Her heart is but o'ercharg'd: she will recover.I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion :Beseech you, tenderly apply to her Some remedies for life.-Apollo, pardon

[Exeunt PAULINA and Ladies, with HERMIONE. My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle!— I'll reconcile me to Polixenes,

New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo,
Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;
For, being transported by my jealousies
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose
Camillo for the minister, to poison

My friend Polixenes: which had been done,
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
My swift command; though I with death, and with
Reward, did threaten and encourage him,
Not doing it, and being done: he, most humane,
And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest
Unclasp'd my practice; quit his fortunes here,
Which you knew great, and to the hazard
Of all incertainties himself commended,
No richer than his honour.-How he glisters
Thorough my rust! and how his piety
Does my deeds make the blacker!

O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,
Break too!

1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady?
Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?
What wheels? racks? fires? What flaying? boiling,
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 show thee of a fool, inconstant,
And damnable ungrateful: 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; 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 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 sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead; and vengeance
for't

Not dropp'd 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.
Leon.
Go on, go on;
Thou canst not speak too much: I have deserv'd
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 show'd too much
The rashness of a woman. He is touch'd
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 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 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 Babe; and a Mariner. Ant. Thou art perfect, then, our ship hath touch'd

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.

I'll follow instantly. Mar.

Go thou away:

I am glad at heart To be so rid o' the business.

Ant.

[Exit.

Come, poor babe :—

I have heard, (but not believ'd,) the spirits o' the dead
May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother
Appear'd 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,

I pr'ythee, call't: for this ungentle business, "Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see

66

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 squar'd by this. I do believe,
Hermione hath suffer'd 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 Babe.
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 wretch!
That for thy mother's fault art thus expos'd
To loss, and what may follow.-Weep I cannot,
But my heart bleeds, and most accurs'd am I,

To be by oath enjoin'd 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. [Bear roars.] A savage clamour?

Well may I get aboard!-This is the chase;
I am gone for ever. [Erit, pursued by a bear.
Enter an old Shepherd.

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-andtwenty, hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my best sheep; which, I fear, the wolf will sooner find, than the master: if anywhere I have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browzing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will! what have we here? [Taking up the Child.] Mercy on 's, a barn, a very pretty barn! 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 waitinggentlewoman in the scape. This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-doorwork 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 hallood but even now.Whoa, họ hoa!

Clo. Hilloa, loa!

Enter Clown.

Shep. What! art so near? If thou' it 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 ship boring the moon with her mainmast; and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land service:-to see how the bear tore out his shoulder bone; how he cried to me for help, and said, his name was Antigonus, a nobleman.-But to make an end of the ship:-to see how the sea flap-dragoned it ;-but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them;-and how the poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea, or weather.

Shep. Name of mercy! when was this, boy? Clo. Now, now; I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman: he's at

it now.

Shep. Would I had been by, to have helped the old man!

Clo. I would you had been by the ship's side, to

have helped her: there your charity would have lacked footing.

Shep. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself: thou met'st with things dying, I with things new born. Here's a sight for thee: look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's child! Look thee here: take up, take up, boy; open't. So, let's see. It was told me, I should be rich by the fairies: this is some changeling.— Open't: what's within, boy?

Clo. You're a made old man: if the sins of your youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold!

Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so: up with it, keep it close; home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy; and to be so still requires nothing but secrecy.-Let my sheep go.Come, good boy, the next way home.

Clo. Go you the next way with your findings: I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten: they are never curst, but when they are hungry. If there be any of him left, I'll bury it.

Shep. That's a good deed. If thou may'st discern by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to the sight of him.

Clo. Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' the ground.

Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do good deeds on't.

[Exeunt.

Enter TIME, the Chorus.

Time. I, that please some, try all; both joy, and

terror,

Of good and bad; that make, and unfold error,-
Now take upon me, in the name of Time,
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime
To me, or my swift passage, that I slide
O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried
Of that wide gap; since it is in my power
To o'erthrow law, and in one self born hour
To plant and o'erwhelm custom.
Let me pass
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was,
Or what is now receiv'd: I witness to
The times that brought them in; so shall I do
To the freshest things now reigning, and make stale
The glistering of this present, as my tale
Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,
I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing,
As you had slept between. Leontes leaving
Th' effects of his fond jealousies, so grieving
That he shuts up himself, imagine me,
Gentle spectators, that I now may be
In fair Bohemia; and remember well,

I mention'd a son o' the king's, which Florizel
I now name to you; and, with speed, so pace
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wondering: What of her ensues,
I list not prophesy; but let Time's news

Be known, when 'tis brought forth :-a shepherd's daughter,

And what to her adheres, which follows after,
Is th' argument of Time. Of this allow,
If ever you have spent time worse ere now:
If never, yet that Time himself doth say,
He wishes earnestly you never may.

[Exit.

SCENE 1.-The Same. A Room in the Palace of POLIXENES.

Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO.

Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: 'tis a sickness denying thee any thing, a death to grant this.

Cam. It is fifteen years, since I saw my country: though I have, for the most part, been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent king, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'er

ween to think so, which is another spur to my departure.

Pol. As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services, by leaving me now. The need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made: better not to have had thee, than thus to want thee. Thou, having made me businesses, which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very services thou hast done; which if I have not enough considered, (as too much I cannot,) to be more thankful to thee shall be my study, and my profit therein, the heaping friendships. Of that fatal country, Sicilia, pr'ythee speak no more, whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and reconciled king, my brother; whose loss of his most precious queen, and children, are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when saw'st thou the prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their virtues.

Cam. Sir, it is three days, since I saw the prince. What his happier affairs may be, are to me unknown; but I have missingly noted, he is of late much retired from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared.

Pol. I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care; so far, that I have eyes under my service, which look upon his removedness: from whom I have this intelligence; that he is seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd; a man, they say, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.

Cam. I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most rare note: the report of her is extended more, than can be thought to begin from such a cottage.

Pol. That's likewise part of my intelligence, but, I fear, the angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place, where we will, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd; from whose simplicity, I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Pr'ythee, be my present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Sicilia.

Cam. I willingly obey your command.

Pol. My best Camillo!-We must disguise ourselves.

[Exeunt.