To prate and talk for life and honour, 'fore Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it As I weigh grief which I would spare: for honour, 'Tis a derivative from me to mine,
And only That I ftand for. I appeal
To your own confcience, Sir, before Polixenes Came to your court, how I was in your grace, How merited to be fo; fince he came, With what encounter fo uncurrent 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'ft of kin Cry, fie, upon my grave!
Leo. I ne'er heard yet,
That any of thofe 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 difobedience and ingratitude
To you, and towards your friend; whofe love had fpoke,
Even fince it could fpeak, from an infant, freely, That it was yours. Now for Confpiracy,
I know not how it taftes, tho' it be dith'd
For me to try how; all I know of it,
Is, that Camillo 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 abfence. Her. Sir,
You speak 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 self, 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 firft-fruits of my body, from his prefence I'm barr'd like one infectious. My third comfort, (Starr'd most 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; miftake 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 :
Apollo be my judge.
SCENE III.
Enter Dion and Cleomines.
Lord. This your requeft
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 Juftice,
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 fecrets 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, bis 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 business?
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?
[Her. faints. Pau. This news is mortal to the Queen: look
And fee what death is doing.
Leo. Take her hence ;
Her heart is but o'er-charg'd; fhe will recover.
[Exeunt Paulina and ladies with Hermione.
SCEN E IV.
I have too much believ'd mine own fufpicion : 'Befeech you, tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life. Apollo, pardon My great Prophaneness '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 jealousies To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose Camillo for the Minifter, to poison
My friend Polixenes; which had been done, But that the good mind of Camillo tardied My swift Command; tho' I with death, and with
Reward, did threaten, and encourage him, Not doing it, and being done; he (most humane, And fill'd with Honour) to my kingly Gueft 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 glifters 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,
Lord. What fit is this, good lady?.
Pau. 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? whofe every word deferves To tafte 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; 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,
4 shew thee of a fool-] So all the copies. We should read, fhew thee off, a fool,- i. e. reprefent thee in thy
true colours; a fool, an inconftant, &c.
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