You speak a language that I understand not: [My life stands in the level of your dreams, Which I'll lay down. ]

Leon. [Your actions are my dreams; You had a bastard by Polixenes, {And I but dream'd it.] As you were past all shame,

Those of your fact1 are so,-so past all truth: Which to deny concerns more than avails; } [for as

Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,
No father owning it,-which is, indeed,
More criminal in thee than it,- -SO thou 90
Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage
Look for no less than death.

Her.
Sir, spare your threats:
The bug which you would fright me with I seek.
To me can life be no commodity:3

The crown and comfort of my life, your favour,
I do give lost; for I do feel it gone,
But know not how it went. My second joy
And first-fruits of my body, from his presence
I am barr'd, like one infectious. My third
comfort,

99

1 Those of your fact, i.e. those who have done as you have done. 2 Bug, bugbear. 3 Commodity, profit.

Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast,
The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth,
Haled out to murder: [myself on every post
Proclaim'd a strumpet; with immodest hatred
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs
To women of all fashion; ] lastly, hurried
Here to this place, i' the open air, before
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,
Tell me what blessings I have here alive,
That I should fear to die? Therefore proceed.
But yet hear this; mistake me not; no life,
I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour,
Which I would free, if I shall be condemn'd
Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else
But what your jealousies awake, I tell you,
'Tis rigour, and not law. Your honours all,
I do refer me to the oracle:
Apollo be my judge!

113

[Exeunt some Officers. Her. The emperor of Russia was my father: O that he were alive, and here beholding 121 His daughter's trial! that he did but see The flatness of my misery, yet with eyes Of pity, not revenge!

Re-enter Officers, with CLEOMENES and DION.

First Offi. You here shall swear upon this sword of justice,

That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought

This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd Of great Apollo's priest; and that since then You have not dar'd to break the holy seal Nor read the secrets in 't.

Apollo, pardon

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

1 With mere conceit, i.e. with the mere conception.
2 Speed, fortune.

161

In leads or oils? what old or newer torture Must I receive, whose every word deserves To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny Together working with thy jealousies, 181 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, 't was nothing;
That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant
And damnable ingrateful: nor was 't much,
Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's
honour,

To have him kill a king; poor trespasses, 190
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 honourable
thoughts,

Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart
That could conceive a gross and foolish sire
Blemish'd 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

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 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.

Leon.
Go on, go on:
Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv'd
All tongues to talk their bitterest.

First Lord. Say no more: Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault I' the boldness of your speech.

Paul.

I am sorry for 't:

I do repent. Alas, I have 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,
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.

231

Thou didst speak but well, When most the truth; which I receive much better

Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, 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

1 Tincture, colour.

242

There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the

babe

Is counted lost for ever, Perdita,

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:
Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously,
I will be squar'd2 by this. I do believe
Hermione hath suffer'd 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

40

Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well! There lie, and there thy character: 3 there these; Which may, if fortune please, both breed 4 thee, pretty,

And still rest thine. The storm begins: poor wretch,

49

That, for thy mother's fault art thus expos'd To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot, But my heart bleeds; and most accurs'd am I To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell! 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 clamour!
Well may I get aboard! This is the chase:
I am gone for ever. [Exit pursued by a bear.
Enter a 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 scar'd away two of my best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the master: if any where I have them, 't is by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will! what have we here? Mercy on 's, a barne; a very pretty barne! 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 halloo'd but even now. Whoa, ho, hoa!

Enter Clown.

Clo. Hilloa, loa!

80

Shep. What, art so near? [If thou 'lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. 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

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 yest1 and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land-service, to see how the bear tore out his shoulderbone; how he cried to me for help, and said

1 Yest, foam.