50

And still rest thine. The storm begins: poor wretch,
That for thy mother's fault art thus exposed
To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,
But my heart bleeds; and most accursed 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.

Well may I get aboard!

I am gone for ever.

A savage clamour!

This is the chase:

[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 60
out the rest; for there is nothing in the be-
tween but getting wenches with child, wrong-
ing the ancientry, stealing, fighting-Hark you
now! Would any but these boiled brains of
nineteen and two-and-twenty hunt this weather?
They have scared away two of my best sheep,
which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the
master: if any where I have them, 'tis by the
sea-side, browzing of ivy. Good luck, an 't be
thy will! what have we here? Mercy on's, 70

a barne; 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 hallooed but even now. Whoa, ho, hoa !

Clo. Hilloa, loa!

Enter Clown.

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 is now the sky: betwixt the firmament and it you cannot thrust a bodkin's point.

Shep. Why, boy, how is it?

Clo. I would you did but see how it chafes, how

it rages, how it takes
up the shore! but that's 90
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 yest and froth, as you 'ld thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land service, to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help and said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to make an end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragoned it : but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them; and how the poor gentleman roared and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea or weather. Shep. Name of mercy, when was this, boy? Clo. Now, now: I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman he's at it now.

100

Shep. Would I had been by, to have helped the 110 old man!

Clo. I would you had been by the ship side, to have helped her there your charity would have lacked footing.

Shep. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself: thou mettest with things dying, I with things newborn. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a

bearing-cloth for a squire's child! look thee
here; take up, take up, boy; open 't. So, 120
let's see it was told me I should be rich by
the fairies. This is some changeling: open't.
What's within, boy?

Clo. You're a made old man: if the sins of your
youth are forgiven you, you're well to live.
Gold! all gold!

Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so:

up with 't, keep it close: home, home, the next
way. We are lucky, boy; and to be so still
requires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep 130
go: come, good boy, the next way home.

Clo. Go you the next way with your findings. I'll
go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman
and how much he hath eaten: they are never
curst but when they are hungry: if there be
any of him left, I'll bury it.

Shep. That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern

by that which is left of him what he is, fetch
me to the sight of him.

Clo. Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him 140

i' the ground.

Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do good

deeds on 't.

[Exeunt.

Act Fourth.

Scene I.

Enter Time, the Chorus.

Time. I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror
Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error,

Now take upon me,

To use my wings.

in the name of Time,

Impute it not a crime
To me or my swift passage, that I slide
O'er sixteen years and leave the growth untried
Of that wide gap, since it is in my power
To o'erthrow law and in one self-born hour
To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was
Or what is now received: I witness to
The times that brought them in; so shall I do
To the freshest things now reigning, and make stale
The glistering of this present, as my

tale

Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,.
I turn my glass and give my scene such growing
As you had slept between: Leontes leaving,
The effects of his fond jealousies so grieving
14 f

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