Her heart is but o'ercharg'd: she will recover: Some remedies for life. [Exeunt Paul, and Ladies, with Her. My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle!— New woo my queen; recall the good Camillo, My friend Polixenes: which had been done, Does my deeds make the blacker! Paul. Re-enter PAULINA. Woe the while! O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it, Break too! First Lord. What fit is this, good lady? Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? What wheels? racks ? fires? what flaying? or what boiling In lead or oil? what old or newer torture Must I receive, whose every word deserves That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant, Of the young prince, whose honorable thoughts First 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 luster in her lip, her eye, Heat outwardly or breath within, I'll serve you Leon. First Lord. Say no more: Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault Paul. I'm sorry for't: All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, I do repent. Alas, I've 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, The love I bore your queen,-lo, fool again! Leon. I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me [Exeunt. SCENE III. Bohemia. A desert country near the sea. Mar. Go, get aboard; Ant. Their sacred wills be done! Mar. Make your best haste; and go not Of prey that keep upon't. Ant. I'll follow instantly. Mar. Go thou away: I'm glad at heart ¡Ext. To be so rid o' the business. Come, poor babe: Ant. I've heard, but not believ'd,-the spirits o' the dead So fill'd and so becoming in pure white robes, My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me; 66 Good Antigonus, Hath made thy person for the thrower-out There wend, and leave it crying; and, for the babe I prithee, 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: I will be squar'd by this. I do believe [Laying down the Child, with a scroll 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, [Thunder. That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd The day frowns more and more: thou rt like to have A lullaby too rough: — I never saw The heavens so dim by day.— A savage clamor!— [Noise of hunters, dogs, and bears within, Well may I get aboard!— This is the chase: I am gone for ever. [Exit, 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-and-twenty hunt this weather? 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 seaside, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will! what have we here? [Seeing 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 waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-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 hallooed but even now.- Whoa, ho, hoa Clo. [within] Hilloa, loa! Shep. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. Enter Clown. What ailest 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 main-mast, and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. |