Her heart is but o'ercharged; she will recover.-
I have too much believed mine own suspicion.-
'Beseech you, tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life.-Apollo, pardon
[Exeunt PAULINA and Ladies, with HERM. 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 filled with honor, to my kingly guest
Unclasped my practice; quit his fortunes here,
Which you knew great; and to the certain1 hazard
Of all incertainties himself commended,
No richer than his honor.-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
1 Certain is not in the first folio; it was supplied by the editor of the second.
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
The higher powers forbid !
Paul. I say, she's dead; I'll swear't. If word nor
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 have shed tears of pity, ere he would have perpetrated such an action.
Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserved
All tongues to talk their bitterest.
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.
And lead me to these sorrows.
Enter ANTIGONUS, with the Child; and a Mariner.
Ant. Thou art perfect,1 then, our ship hath touched
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
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.
To be so rid o'the business.
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! 2Well may I get aboard!
This is the chase;
[Exit, pursued by a bear.
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.
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