60

THE WINTER'S TALE.

As ever oak, or stone, was sound.

Leon.

A callat

Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her hus

band

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, 't is the worse.-Behold, my lords,
Although the print be little, the whole matter
And copy of the father: eye, nose, lip,

The trick of 's 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!

I care not:

It is an heretic that makes the fire,

Not she which burns in 't. I'll not call

tyrant ;

But this most cruel usage of your queen

Not able to produce more accusation

you

Than your own weak-hinged 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
Look to your babe, my lord; 't is yours: Jove send

her

gone.

A better guiding spirit -What needs these

bandal

62

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 consumed with fire:
Even thou, and none but thou.

straight.

Take it up

Within this hour bring me word 't is 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
Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire,

For thou sett'st on thy wife.

Ant.

hands

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 are liars all.

1 Lord. 'Beseech your highness, give us better

THE WINTER'S TALE.

So to esteem of us; and on our knees we beg,
As recompense of our dear services,

63

Past, and to come, that you do change this pur

pose;

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.-[To ANTIGONUS.] You, sir, come you hither;

You, that have been so tenderly officious

With Lady Margery, your midwife, there,
To save this bastard's life-for 't is a bastard,
So sure as this beard's grey-what will you ad-

venture

Anything, 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; anything possible.

Leon. It shall be possible. Swear by this sword, Thou wilt perform my bidding.

Ant

64

THE WINTER'S TALE.

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,