I like your silence: it the more shows off Leon. Her natural posture. Chide me, dear stone, that I may say, indeed, Thou art Hermione; or, rather, thou art she Pol. O! not by much. Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence; Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her As she liv'd now. Leon. As now she might have done, So much to my good comfort, as it is Now piercing to my soul. O! thus she stood, Per. And give me leave, And do not say 'tis superstition, that I kneel, and then implore her blessing.-Lady, Give me that hand of yours to kiss. Paul. O, patience! The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on, Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, So many summers dry scarce any joy Did ever so long live; no sorrow, But kill'd itself much sooner. Pol. Dear my brother, Let him that was the cause of this have power Will piece up in himself. Paul. Indeed, my lord, If I had thought, the sight of my poor image Leon. Do not draw the curtain. Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy May think anon it moves. Let be, let be! 3 Leon. Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already3—— What was he that did make it ?-See, my lord, Would you not deem it breath'd, and that those veins Did verily bear blood? Pol. Masterly done: The very life seems warm upon her lip. Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in't, As we are mock'd with art. Paul. I'll draw the curtain. My lord's almost so far transported, that He'll think anon it lives. O, sweet Paulina! Leon. No settled senses of the world can match Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you; I could afflict you farther. Leon. 3 Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already-] Leontes, in his ecstasy, breaks off without completing what he was about to say what was in his thought seems to have been something to contradict his wish, “Would I were dead," because he almost fancies that the statue of Hermione is alive. As any cordial comfort.-Still, methinks, There is an air comes from her: what fine chisel Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me, For I will kiss her. Paul. Good my lord, forbear. The ruddiness upon her lip is wet: You'll mar it, if you kiss it; stain your own With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain? Per. Stand by, a looker on. Paul. So long could I Either forbear, Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you And take you by the hand; but then you'll think, By wicked powers. Leon. What you can make her do, I am content to look on: what to speak, I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy To make her speak, as move. Paul. It is requir'd, You do awake your faith. Then, all stand still. 4 "Tis time; descend; be stone no more: approach; 4 ON, those that think, &c.] The meaning is, "Let those go on, and depart, who think it is unlawful business I am about." Sir T. Hanmer, without necessity, altered" on," the reading of the old copy, to or, and he has been usually followed. "On" could hardly have been misprinted for or, because in all the old copies it is followed by a colon. Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him Dear life redeems you.-You perceive, she stirs. [HERMIONE descends from the pedestal. Start not her actions shall be holy, as You hear my spell is lawful: do not shun her, You kill her double. Nay, present your hand: Cam. She hangs about his neck. If she pertain to life, let her speak too. Pol. Ay; and make it manifest where she has liv'd, Or how stol'n from the dead? Paul. That she is living, Were it but told you, should be hooted at Like an old tale; but it appears she lives, And pray your mother's blessing.-Turn, good lady, Her. [PERDITA kneels to HERMIONE. You gods, look down, And from your sacred vials pour your graces Upon my daughter's head!-Tell me, mine own, Where hast thou been preserv'd? where liv'd? how found Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear, that I, Knowing by Paulina that the oracle Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserv'd Paul. There's time enough for that, Lest they desire upon this push to trouble You precious winners all: your exultation Will wing me to some wither'd bough, and there Lament till I am lost. Leon. O peace, Paulina ! Thou should'st a husband take by my consent, As I by thine, a wife: this is a match, And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine; But how is to be question'd, for I saw her, As I thought, dead; and have in vain said many A prayer upon her grave: I'll not seek far (For him, I partly know his mind) to find thee An honourable husband.-Come, Camillo, And take her by the hand, whose worth, and honesty, By us, a pair of kings.-Let's from this place.- My ill suspicion.-This your son-in-law, And son unto the king, (whom heavens directing) [Exeunt. END OF VOL. III. LONDON: GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, ST. JOHN'S SQUARE. 17 |