With what encounter fo uncurrant I
Have ftrain'd t'appear thus; if one jot beyond
The bounds of honour, or in act, or will
That way inclining, hardned be the hearts
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
Cry, fie, upon my grave!
Leo. I ne'er heard yet,
That any of those bolder vices wanted
Lefs impudence to gain-fay what they did,
Than to perform it first.
Her. That's true enough;
Tho' 'tis a faying, Sir, not due to me.
Leo. You will not own it.
Her. More than mistress of,
What comes to me in name of fault, I must not
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,
With whom I am accus'd, I do confefs,
I lov'd him, as in honour he requir'd;
With fuch a kind of love, as might become
A lady like me; with a love, even fuch,
So and no other, as your felf commanded :
Which not to have done, I think, had been in me
Both disobedience and ingratitude
To you, and towards your friend; whofe love had fpoke,
Even fince it could speak, from an infant, freely,
That it was yours. Now for Confpiracy,
I know not how it taftes, tho' it be dish'd
For me to try how; all I know of it,
Is, that Camille was an honest man ;
And why he left your Court, the Gods themselves
(Wotting no more than I,) are ignorant.
Leo. You knew of his departure, as you know
What you have underta'en to do in's absence.
Her. Sir,
You fpeak a language that I understand not;
My life ftands in the level of your dreams,
Which I'll lay down.
Leo. Your Actions are my Dreams.
You had a Baftard by Polixenes,
And I but dream'd it :-as you were past all shame,
(Thofe of your Fact are fo) fo past all truth;
Which to deny, concerns more than avails: for as
Thy brat hath been caft out, like to it felf,
No father owning it, (which is, indeed,
More criminal in thee than it) fo thou
Shalt feel our juftice; in whofe eafieft paffage
Look for no less than death.
Her. Sir, fpare your threats;
The bug, which you would fright me with, I feek:
To me can life be no commodity.
The crown and comfort of my life, your Favour,
I do give loft; for I do feel it gone,
But know not how it went.
My fecond joy,
The first-fruits of my body, from his prefence
I'm barr'd like one infectious. My third comfort,
(Starr'd moft unluckily,) is from my breast
(The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth)
Hal'd out to murder; my felf on every post
Proclaim'd a ftrumpet; with immodest hatred
The child-bed privilege deny'd, which 'longs
To women of all fashion: laftly, hurried
Here to this place, i'th' open air, before
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,
Tell me what bleffings I have here alive,
That I fhould fear to die? therefore proceed:
But yet hear this; mistake me not; no life,-
I prize it not a ftraw; but for mine honour,
Which I would free, if I fhall be condemn'd
Upon furmifes, (all proofs fleeping else,
But what your jealoufies awake,) I tell you,
'Tis Rigour, and not Law. Your Honours all,
I do refer me to the Oracle :
Enter Dion and Cleomines.
Lord. This your request
Is altogether juft; therefore bring forth,
And in Apollo's name, his Oracle.
Her. The Emperor of Ruffia was my father,
Oh, that he were alive, and here beholding
His daughter's tryal; that he did but fee
The flatnefs of my mifery; yet with eyes
Of Pity, not Revenge!
Off. You here fhall fwear upon the Sword of Justice, That you, Cleomines and Dion, have
Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought
This feal'd up Oracle, by the hand deliver'd
Of great Apollo's Prieft; and that fince then
You have not dar'd to break the holy Seal,
Nor read the secrets in't.
Cleo. Dion. All this we fwear.
Leo. Break up the Seals, and read.
Offi. Hermione is chafte, Polixenes blameless, Camillo a true Subject, Leontes a jealous Tyrant, his innocent babe truly begotten; and the King fhall live without an heir, if That, which is loft, be not found.
Lords. Now bleffed be the great Apollo!
Her. Praised!
Leo. Haft thou read truth?
Offi. Ay, my lord, even fo as it is here fet down.
Leo. There is no truth at all i'th' Oracle;
The Seffion fhall proceed; this is meer falfhood.
Enter Servant.
Ser. My lord the King, the King,
Leo. What is the bufinefs?
Ser. O Sir, I fhall be hated to report it.
The Prince your fon, with meer conceit and fear
Of the Queen's Speed, is gone.
Leo. How gone?
Ser. Is dead.
Leo. Apollo's angry, and the heav'ns themselves Do ftrike at my injuftice.-How now, there?
Pau. This news is mortal to the Queen: look down, And fee what death is doing.
Her heart is but o'er-charg'd; fhe will recover.
[Exeunt Paulina and ladies with Hermione.
I have too much believ'd mine own fufpicion:
'Beseech 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, recal 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 poifon
My friend Polixenes; which had been done,
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
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 himfelf commended,
No richer than his honour: how he glitters
Through my dark Ruft! and how his Piety
Does my deeds make the blacker !
Pau. Woe the while!
O, cut my lace, left my heart, cracking it,
Break too.
Lord. What fit is this, good lady?
Pau. What studied 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? whofe every word deferves
To taste of thy most worst. Thy Tyranny
Together working with thy Jealoufies,
(Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle
For girls of nine!) O, think, what they have done,
And then run mad, indeed ; ftark mad, for all
Thy by-gone fooleries were but fpices of it.
That thou betray'dft Polixenes, 'twas nothing; (8)
That did but fhew thee of a Soul 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 monftrous 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 death
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 anfwer; but the last, O lords,
When I have faid, cry, woe! the Queen, the Queen,
The sweetest, deareft, creature's dead; and vengeance
for't
Not dropt down yet.
Lord. The higher Powers forbid !
Pau. I fay, fhe's dead: I'll fwear't: if word, nor oath,
Prevail not, go and fee: if you can bring
Tincture or luftre 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 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
(8) That thou betray'dft Polixenes,' twas Nothing;
That did but fhew thee, of a Fool, inconftant,
And damnable ingrateful.] I have ventur'd at a flight Alteration here, against the Authority of all the Copies. It is certainly too grofs and blunt in Paulina, tho' She might impeach the King of Fooleries in fome of his paft Actions and Conduct, to call him downright a Fool. And it is much more pardonable in her to arraign his Morals, and the Qualities of his Mind, than rudely to call him Idiot to his Face.
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