Thou wouldst have poison'd good Camillo's honour,

To have him kill a king; poor trespasses, More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon

The casting forth to crows thy baby-daughter

To be or none or little; though a devil
Would have shed water out of fire ere done't:
Nor is 't directly laid to thee, the death
Of the young prince, whose honourable
thoughts,

Thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart

That could conceive a gross and foolish sire Blemish'd his gracious dam: this is not, no, Laid to thy answer: but the last,—O lords, When I have said, cry 'woe !'-the queen, the queen,

The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead, and vengeance for 't

Not dropp'd down yet.

First Lord. The higher powers forbid ! Paul. I say she's dead, I'll swear't. If

word nor oath

Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring

Tincture or lustre 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 stir: therefore betake

thee

To nothing but despair. A thousand knees Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, Upon a barren mountain, and still winter In storm perpetual, could not move the gods To look that way thou wert.

Leon.

Go on, go on : Thou canst not speak too much; I have de

served

All faults I make, when I shall come to know

them,

I do repent. Alas! I have show'd too much

The rashness of a woman: he is touch'd

To the noble heart. What's gone and what's past help

Should be past grief: do not receive affliction

At my petition; I beseech 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 chil-
dren;

I'll not remember you of my own lord,
Who is lost too: take your patience to you,
And I'll say nothing.

Thou didst speak but well

Leon.

When most the truth;

which I receive

much better

Than to be pitied of thee.

Prithee, bring me

To the dead bodies of my queen and son :
One grave shall be for both; upon them shall
The causes of their death appear, unto
Our shame perpetual. Once a day I'll visit
The chapel where they lie, and tears shed
there

Shall be my recreation: so long as nature
Will bear up with this exercise, so long

I daily vow to use it.
To these sorrows.

Come and lead me

[exeunt.

SCENE III.

Bohemia.

A desert country

near the sea.

Enter ANTIGONUS with a Child, and a Mariner.

Ant. Thou art perfect, then, our ship hath touch'd upon

The deserts of Bohemia?

Mar.

Ay, my lord; and fear

We have landed in ill time: the skies look

grimly

And threaten present blusters. In my con

science,

The heavens with that we have in hand are

angry

And frown upon 's.

Ant. Their sacred wills be done! Go, get

aboard;

Look to thy bark: I'll not be long before I call upon thee.

Mar. Make your best haste, and go not

Too far i' the land: 'tis like to be loud

weather;

Besides, this place is famous for the creatures Of prey that keep upon 't.

I have heard, but not believed, the spirits o’

the dead

May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother

Appear'd to me last night, for ne'er was dream

So like a waking. To me comes a creature, Sometimes her head on one side, some another;

I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,

So fill'd and so becoming in pure white robes,

Like very sanctity, she did approach

My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before

me,

Ana, gasping to begin speech, her eyes

Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon