Kill'd' fhe I kill'd? I did fo, but thou ftrik'st me Sorely, to fay I did; it is as bitter Upon thy tongue, as in my thought. Now, good now, Say fo but feldom. Cle. Not at all, good Lady; You might have spoke a thousand things that would Paul. You are one of those You pity not the state, nor the remembrance Paul. There is none worthy, Refpecting her that's gone. Befides, the gods Is't not the tenor of his oracle, That King Leontes fhall not have an heir, The crown will find an heir. Great Alexander Leo. Good Paulina, Who haft the memory of Hermione, Had Had fquar'd me to thy counfel! then, even now Paul. And left them More rich, for what they yielded. Leo. Thou fpeak'st truth : No more fuch wives, therefore no wife; one worse, Paul. Had fhe such power, She had just cause. Leo. She had, and would incense me To murder her I married. Paul. I fhould fo. Were I the ghost that walk'd, I'd bid you mark You chofe her; then I'd fhriek, that even your ears Leo. Stars, ftars, And all eyes elfe, dead coals: fear thou no wife. Paul. Will you fwear Never to marry, but by my free leave? Leo. Never, Paulina; fo be blefs'd my spirit! Paul. Then, good my Lords, bear witnefs to his oath. Cleo. You tempt him over-much. Paul. Unlefs another, As like Hermione as is her picture, Affront his eye. Cleo. Good Madam, pray, have done. Paul. Yet, if my Lord will marry; if you will, Sir; No remedy, but you will; give me the office. To chufe you a Queen; the thall not be to young As, walk'd your firft Queen's ghoft, it should take joy Leo. My true Paulina, We fhall not marry till thou bid'st us. Paul. Paul. That Shall be when your first Queen's again in breath: SCENE II. Enter a Gentleman. Gent. One that gives out himself Prince Florizel, Son of Polixenes, with his Princess (fhe The fairest I have yet beheld), defires accefs Leo. What with him? he comes not Like to his father's greatnefs; his approach, So out of circumftance and fudden, tells us, 'Tis not a vifitation fram'd, but force'd By need and accident. What train? Gent. But few, And thofe but mean. Leo. His Princefs, fay you, with him? Gent. Yes; the most peerless piece of earth, I think, That e'er the fun fhone bright on. Paul. Oh Hermione, As every present time doth boast itself * Give way to what's feen now. Sir, you yourfelf Gent. Pardon, Madam; The one I have almoft forgot, (your pardon); Cf who the but bid follow. Paul. How? not women? Gent. Women will love her, that he is a woman More worth than any man; men, that fhe is The rareft of all women. Leo. Go, Clomenes; Yourfelf (affifted with your honour'd friends) Grave for epitapk. Bring them to our embracement. Still 'tis ftrange He thus fhould fteal upon us. Paul. Had our Prince [Exit Cleo, (Jewel of children) seen this hour, he had pair'd Well with this Lord; there was not full a month Between their births. Leo. Pr'ythee, no more; ceafe; thou know'ft, Hedies to me again, when talk'd of: sure, When I fhall fee this gentleman, thy fpeeches Will bring me to confider that which may Unfurnish me of reafon. They are come. Enter Florizel, Perdita, Cleomenes, and others. His very air, that I fhould call you brother, Flo. Sir, by his command Have I here touch'd Sicilia, and from him Give you all greetings that a King (as friend) The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his Leo. Oh, my brother! Good gentleman, the wrongs I have done thee ftir Afreth Afresh within me; and these thy offices, So rarely kind, are as interpreters Of my behind-hand flackness. Welcome hither, And hath he too Expos'd this paragon to th' fearful ufage (At leaft, ungentle) of the dreadful Neptune, To greet a man not worth her pains, much less Th' adventure of her perfon? Flo. Good my Lord, She came from Libya. Leo. Where the warlike Smalus, That noble honour'd Lord is fear'd and lov'd? Flo. Moft Royal Sir, From thence; from him, whofe daughter His tears proclaim'd his parting with her; thence Leo. The bleffed gods Purge all infection from our air, whilft you For which the heavens, taking angry note, Worthy his goodnefs. What might I have been, SCENE IV. Enter a Lord. Lord. Moft Noble Sir, That which I fhall report will bear no credit, Defires you to attach his fon, who has His dignity and duty both caft off, |