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Leo. How gone?

Ser. Is dead.

Leo. Apollo's angry, and the heav'ns themselves Do ftrike at my injuftice.-How now, there?

[Her. faints. Paul. This news is mortal to the Queen: look down, And fee what death is doing.

Lco. Take her hence;

Her heart is but o'er-charg'd; fhe will recover.

[Exeunt Paulina and ladies with Hermione.

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I have too much believ'd mine own fufpicion :
'Befeech you, tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life. Apollo, pardon
My great Prophanenefs '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 jealoufies
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chofe
Camillo for the Minifter, to prison

My friend Polixenes; which had been done,
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied

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My fwift Command; tho' I with death, and with
Reward, did threaten, and encourage him,

Not doing it, and being done; he (moft humane,
And fill'd with Honour) to my kingly Guest
Unclafp'd my practice, quit his fortunes here,
Which you knew great, and to the certain hazard
Of all incertainties himself commended,
No richer than his honour: how he glifters
Through my dark Ruft! and how his Piety
Does my deeds make the blacker!


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Break too..


O, cut my lace, left my heart, cracking it,

Lord. What fit is this, good lady?

Paul. What ftudied torments, Tyrant, haft for me? What wheels ? racks? fires? what flaying? boiling? burning

In leads, or oils ? what old, or newer, torture
Muft I receive? whose every word deferves
To tafte of thy moft worft. Thy Tyranny
Together working with thy Jealoufies,

(Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle
For girls of mine!) O, think, what they have done,
And then run mad, indeed; stark mad, for all
Thy by-gone fooleries were but fpices of it.
That thou betray'dft Polixenes, 'twas nothing;
That did but fhew thee off, a fool, inconftant,
And damnable ingrateful: nor was't much,
Thou would't have poifon'd good Camillo's honour,
To have him kill a King: poor trefpaffes,
More monstrous ftanding by; whereof I reckon
The cafting forth to crows thy baby-daughter,
To be, or none, or little; tho' a devil

Would have fhed water out of fire, ere don't:
Nor is't directly laid to thee, the deathgod
Of the young Prince, whofe honourable thoughts
(Thoughts high for one fo tender) cleft the heart,
That could conceive a grofs and foolish Sire
Blemish'd his gracious Dam: this is not, no,
Laid to thy answer; but the laft, Odlords, onl
When I have faid, cry, woe! the Queen, the Queen,-
The fweeteft, deareft, creature's dead; and vengeance
Not dropt down yet.


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Lord. The higher Powers forbid !

Paul. I fay, fhe's dead: I'll fwear't: if word, nor

Prevail not, go and fee: if you can bring
Tincture or luftre in her lip, her eye,

Heat outwardly, or breath within, I'll ferve 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 ftir: therefore betake thee
To nothing but Defpair. A thousand knees,
Ten thousand years together, naked, fafting,
Upon a barren mountain, and still winter
In ftorm perpetual, could not move the Gods
To look that way thou wert.

Leo. Go on, go on:

Thou canst not speak too much; I have deferv'd All tongues to talk their bittereft.

Lord. Say no more;

Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault
I'th' boldness of your speech.

Paul. I am forry for't.

All faults I make, when I fhall come to know them, I do repent: alas, I've fhew'd too much

The rafhness of a woman; he is touch'd

To th' noble heart. What's gone, and what's paft help,

Should be paft grief. Do not receive affliction
At my petition, I befeech 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 loft too. Take you your patience to you,
And I'll fay

Leo. Thou didst speak but well,

When most the truth; which I receive much better




Than to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me
WOM To the dead bodies of my Queen and fon;
One Grave fhall be for both. Upon them fhall
The causes of their death appear unto

Our fhame perpetual; once a day I'll vifit

The Chapel where they lie, and tears, fhed there,
Shall be my recreation. So long as nature
Will bear up with this


I daily vow to use it.

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exercife, fo long
Come, and lead me

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Changes to Bohemia. A defart Country; the Sea at a little Distance.

Enter Antigonus with a Child, and a Mariner. Ant.HOU art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd

THOU upon

The defarts of Bohemia ?

Mar. Ay, my lord; and fear,

We've landed in ill time: the fkies look grimly, And threaten present blufters. In my confcience, The heav'ns with that we have in hand are angry, And frown upon's.

Ant. Their facred wills be done! get thee aboard, Look to thy bark, I'll not be long before

I call upon thee.

Mar. Make your best hafte, and go not

Too far i'th' land; 'tis like to be loud weather.
Befides, this place is famous for the creatures
Of pray, that keep upon't.

Ant. Go thou away.

I'll follow inftantly.

Mar. I'm glad at heart

To be fo rid o'th' bufinefs.

Ant. Come, poor babe;


I have heard, but not believ'd, the spirits of the dead

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May walk again; if fuch thing be, thy mother
Appear'd to me laft night; for ne'er was dream
So like a waking. To me comes a creature,
Sometimes her head on one fide, some another,
I never faw a veffel of like forrow

So fill'd, and so becoming; in pure white robes,
Like very fanctity, fhe did approach
My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me,
And, gafping to begin some speech, her eyes
Became two fpouts; the fury spent, anon
Did this break from her. Good Antigonus,
Since fate, against thy better difpofition,
Hath made thy perfon for the thrower-out
Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,
Places remote enough are in Bohemia,

There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe
Is counted loft for ever and ever, Perdita,

I pr'ythee, call't. For this ungentle bufinefs,
Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er fhalt fee
Thy wife Paulina more. And fo, with fhrieks,
She melted into air. Affrighted much,

I did in time collect myfelf, and thought
This was fo, and no flumber: Dreams are toys,
Yet for this once, yea, fuperftitiously,
I will be fquar'd by this. I do believe,
Hermione hath fuffer'd death; and that
Apollo would, this being indeed the iffue
Of King Polixenes, it fhould here be laid,
Either for life or death, upon the earth
Of its right father. Bloffom, speed thee well!
[Laying down the child.
There lie, and there thy character: there thefe,
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty


And ftill reft thine. The ftorm begins;Poor


That for thy mother's fault art thus expos'd
To lofs, and what may follow, (weep I cannot,


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