[oath,

Paul. I say, she's dead: I'll swear't: if word, nor Prevail not, go and fee: 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 ftir: therefore betake thee • To nothing but despair. A thousand knees, • Ten thousand years together, naked, fafting, • Upon a barren mountain, and still winter • In storm perpetual, could not move the gods • To look that way thou wert.

Leo. Go on, go on :

Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv'd
All tongues to talk their bittereft.

Lord. Say no more ;

Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault
I' th' boldness of your speech,

Paul. I am forry for't.

All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,

I do repent: alas, I've shew'd too much

The rashness of a woman; he is touch'd

To th' noble heart. What's gone, and what's past help, Should be paft 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 children :
I'll not remember you of my own Lord,

Who is loft too. Take you your patience to you,
And I'll say nothing.

Leo. Thou didst speak but well,
When most the truth; which I receive much better
Than to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me
To the dead bodies of my Queen and fon;
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

VOL. III.

X

1

Will bear up with this exercise, so long
I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me
To these forrows.

[Exeunt.

Changes to Bithynia. A defart country; the sea at e

little distance.

Enter Antigonus with a child, and a Mariner.

Ant. Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd The defarts of Bithynia?

Mar. Ay, my Lord; and fear,
We've landed in ill time: the skies look grimly,
And threaten present blusters. In my confcience,
The heav'ns with that we have in hand are angry,
And frown upon 's.

[upon

Ant. Their facred wills be done! get thee aboard,
Look to thy bark, I'll not be long before
I call upon thee.

Mar. Make your best hafte, and go not
Too far i' th' land; 'tis like to be loud weather,
Befides, this place is famous for the creatures
Of prey that keep upon't.

Ant. Go thou away.

I'll follow instantly.

Mar. I'm glad at heart

To be fo rid o' th' business.

Ant. Come, poor babe;

[Exit.

I have heard, but not believ'd, the fpirits of 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 fide, some another;
I never faw a vessel of like forrow

So fill'd, and fo becoming; in pure white robes,
Like very fanctity, she did approach
My cabbin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me,
And, gafping to begin some speech, her eyes
Became two spouts; the fury spent, anon
Did this break from her. Good Antigonus,
Since fate, against thy better difpofition,

Hath made thy person for the thrower-out
Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,
Places remote enough are in Bithynia,

And so, with shrieks,

There weep, and leave it crying; and for the babe
Is counted loft for ever and ever, Perdita,
I pr'ythee, call't. For this ungentle business,
Put on thee by my Lord, thou ne'er shalt fee
Thy wife Paulina more.
She melted into air. Affrighted much,
I did in time collect myself, and thought
This was footh, and no slumber. Dreams are toys;
Yet for this once, yea, superftitiously,
I will be squar'd by this. I do believe
Hermione hath fuffer'd death; and that
Apollo would, this being indeed the issue
Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid,
Either for life or death, upon the earth
Of its right father. Bloffom, speed thee well!

[Laying down the child.

There lie, and there thy character: there these, Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty

one,

And still rest thine. The storm begins;
Poor
That for thy mother's fault art thus expos'd [wretch,
To lofs, and what may follow. (Weep I cannot,
But my heart bleeds: and moft accurs'd am I

To be by oath injoin'd to this). Farewel!

The day frowns more and more; thou art like to have

A lullaby too rough: I never faw

The heav'ns so dim by day. A favage clamour!

Well may I get aboard! this is the chace;

I am gone for ever..

[Exit, pursued by a bear

SCENE VII. Enter an old Shepherd.

Shep. "I would there were no age between ten and "three and twenty, or that youth would sleep out the "reft: for there is nothing in the between but getting " wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, steal

66

ling, fighting hark you now! would any " but these boil'd brains of nineteen, and two and "twenty, hunt this weather? They have scar'd away two of my best sheep, which I fear the wolf will

66

"fooner find than the master; if any where I have them, 'tis by the fea-fide, brouzing of ivy. Good " luck, an't be thy will! What have we here? [Taking up the child.] Mercy on's, a bearn! a very pretty bearn! 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 fon come: he hollow'd but even now.

Clo. Hilloa, loa!

Whoa, ho-hoa!

Enter Clown.

Shep. What, art so near? if thou 'lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail'ft thou, man?

Clo. I have seen two such fights, 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 fee how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore; but that's not to the point; oh, the most piteous cry of the poor fouls, "sometimes to fee 'em, and not to fee 'em: now the

८८

ship boring the moon with her main-maft, and anon " fwallow'd with yest and froth, as you'd thrust a cork " into a hogshead. And then for the land-service"to fee how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone, how " he cry'd to me for help, and faid, his name was Antigonus, a Nobleman. But to make an end of the fhip, to fee how the fea flap-dragon'd it. But first, " how the poor fouls roar'd, and the fea mock'd them. "And how the poor gentleman roar'd, and the bear " mock'd him; both roaring louder than the fea, er " weather.

Shep. 'Name of mercy, when was this, boy? Clo. Now, now, I have not wink'd since I saw these fights; the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half-din'd on the gentleman; he's at it now.

1

Shep. 'Would I had been by to have help'd the old

man.

Clo. I would you had been by the ship-fide to have help'd her; there your charity would have lack'd footing.[Afide.

Shep. Heavy matters, heavy matters! but look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou meet'st with things dying, I with things new-born. Here's a fight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's child! look thee here; take up, take up, boy, open 't; so let's fee : it was told me I should be rich by the fairies. This is some changling: open 't; what's within, boy?

Clo. You're a mad 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 will prove fo. Up with it, keep it clofe: home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy; and to be so still, requires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good boy, the next way home.

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

Shep. That's a good deed. If thou may'st discern by that which is left of him what he is, fetch me to th' fight of him.

Clo. Marry, will I; and you shall help to put himm i' th' ground.

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

on't.

Enter Time, as Chorus.

[Exeunt.

Time. I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror Of good and bad, that make and unfold error; Now take upon me, in the name of Time, To use my wings. Impute it not a crime To me, or my swift paffage, that I flide O'er fixteen years, and leave the gulf untry'd Of that wide gap; since it is in my power To o'erthrow law, and in one felf-born hous