His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will not

For, as the case now stands, it is a curse

He cannot be compell'd to 't—once remove
The root of his opinion, which is rotten
As ever oak or stone was sound.

It is the issue of Polixenes :

Hence with it, and together with the dam

Commit them to the fire!

Paul.

It is yours;

And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge,
So like you, 'tis the worse.

Behold, my lords,

Although the print be little, the whole matter

And copy of the father, eye, nose, lip,

90

The trick of's frown, his forehead, nay, the valley, 100

The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek,

His smiles,

The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger : And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it

So like to him that got it, if thou hast

The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours
No yellow in 't, lest she suspect, as he does,
Her children not her husband's !

Leon.

A gross hag!

Hang all the husbands 110

And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd,
That wilt not stay her tongue.

Ant.

That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself

Hardly one subject.

90. callat, trull, loose woman.

109. lozel, rogue.

Leon.
Once more, take her hence.
Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord

Can do no more.

Leon.

Paul.

I'll ha' thee burnt.

I care not:

I'll not call you tyrant ;

It is an heretic that makes the fire,
Not she which burns in 't.

But this most cruel usage of your queen,

Not able to produce more accusation

Than your own weak-hinged fancy, something

savours

Of tyranny and will ignoble make you,
Yea, scandalous to the world.

Leon.

On your allegiance,
Were I a tyrant,

Out of the chamber with her!
Where were her life? she durst not call me so,
If she did know me one. Away with her!

Paul. I pray you, do not push me; I'll be gone. Look to your babe, my lord; 'tis yours: Jove send her

A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands?
You, that are thus so tender o'er his follies,
Will never do him good, not one of you.

So, so farewell; we are gone.

120

[Exit. 130

Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.
My child? away with 't! Even thou, that hast
A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence

And see it instantly consumed with fire;

Even thou and none but thou. Take it up straight:
Within this hour bring me word 'tis done,
And by good testimony, or I'll seize thy life,
With what thou else call'st thine. If thou refuse
And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so ;

The bastard brains with these my proper hands
Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire;
For thou set'st on thy wife.

140

Ant.

I did not, sir:

These lords, my noble fellows, if they please,

Can clear me in 't.

Lords.

We can my royal liege,

He is not guilty of her coming hither.

Leon. You're liars all.

First Lord. Beseech your highness, give us better credit:

We have always truly served you, and beseech you
So to esteem of us, and on our knees we beg,
As recompense of our dear services

Past and to come, that you do change this purpose,
Which being so horrible, so bloody, must

Lead on to some foul issue: we all kneel.

Leon. I am a feather for each wind that blows: Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel

And call me father?
Than curse it then.
It shall not neither.

better burn it now

But be it; let it live.

You, sir, come you hither;

You that have been so tenderly officious
With Lady Margery, your midwife there,

To save this bastard's life,—for 'tis a bastard,

So sure as this beard's grey,-what will you ad

venture

To save this brat's life?

Ant.

Any thing, my lord,
That my ability may undergo

And nobleness impose: at least thus much:
I'll pawn the little blood which I have left
To save the innocent: any thing possible.

Leon. It shall be possible.
Thou wilt perform my bidding.

Ant.

Swear by this sword

I will, my lord.

150

160

160. Lady Margery, a contemptuous term for a woman.

162. this beard, i.e. Anti

gonus'.

164. undergo, undertake.

Leon. Mark and perform it, see'st thou ! for the fail

Of any point in 't shall not only be

Death to thyself but to thy lewd-tongued wife,
Whom for this time we pardon.

We enjoin thee,
As thou art liege-man to us, that thou carry
This female bastard hence and that thou bear it
To some remote and desert place quite out
Of our dominions, and that there thou leave it,
Without more mercy, to it own protection
And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee,
On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture,
That thou commend it strangely to some place
Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up.

Ant. I swear to do this, though a present death
Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe :
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens
To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say,
Casting their savageness aside have done
Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous

170

180

In more than this deed does require! And blessing 190 Against this cruelty fight on thy side,

Poor thing, condemn'd to loss!

[Exit with the child.

Leon. Another's issue.

No, I'll not rear

Enter a Servant.

Serv.

Please your highness, posts

From those you sent to the oracle are come
An hour since: Cleomenes and Dion,

178. it, its; a form of the possessive current for a few years of the early seventeenth century, when his was obsolescent and its not yet established.

There is no instance of its in any
edition of a Shakespeare play
published in his lifetime.

182. commend, commit.
190. require, claim, deserve.

Being well arrived from Delphos, are both landed,

Hasting to the court.

First Lord.

So please you, sir, their speed

Twenty three days

Hath been beyond account.

Leon.

They have been absent: 'tis good speed; foretells
The great Apollo suddenly will have

The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords;
Summon a session, that we may arraign
Our most disloyal lady, for, as she hath
Been publicly accused, so shall she have
A just and open trial. While she lives
My heart will be a burthen to me.
And think upon my bidding.

Leave me,

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. A sea-port in Sicilia.

Enter CLEOMENES and DION.

Cleo. The climate 's delicate, the air most sweet, Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing

The common praise it bears.

Dion.

I shall report,

For most it caught me, the celestial habits,

Methinks I so should term them, and the reverence
Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!
How ceremonious, solemn and unearthly
It was i' the offering!

Cleo.

But of all, the burst

And the ear-deafening voice o' the oracle,

2. the isle; see note to ii. 1. 183.

200