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Paul. I am sorry for't;9

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

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

Leon. 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 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. Come,
And lead me to these sorrows. [Exeunt.

9 I am sorry fort;] This is another instance of the sudden changes incident to vehement and ungovernable minds.


Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea.

Enter Antigonus, with the 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 conscience, The heavens with that we have in hand are angry, And frown upon us.

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.

Ant. Go thou away:

I'll follow instantly.

Mar. I am glad at heart

To be so rid o'the business. [Exit.

Ant. Come, poor babe:

I have heard, (but not believ'd,) the spirits of the

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,

1 Thou art perfect then,] Perfect is often used for certain, well assured, or well informed, by almost all our ancient writers.


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;

And, gasping 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 disposition,

Hath made thy person for the thrower-out

Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,

Places remote enough are in Bohemia, •

There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe

Is counted lost for ever, Perdita,

Iprythee, calft: for this ungentle business,

Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see

Thy wife Paulina more:—and so, with shrieks,

She melted into air. Affrighted much,

I did in time collect myself; and thought

This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys:

Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously,

I will be squar'd by this. I do believe,

Hermione hath suffer'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.—Blossom, speed thee well!

[Laying down the Child. There lie; and there thy character:1 there these;

[Laying down a Bundle. Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee,

pretty, And still rest thine. The storm begins:—Poor


That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd
To loss, and what may follow!—Weep I cannot,

* thy character:] thy description; i. e. the writing afterwards discovered with Perdita.

But my heart bleeds: and most accurs'd am I,

To be by oath enjoin'd to this.—Farewell!

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

A lullaby too rough: I never saw

The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour ?—

Well may I get aboard! This is the chace;

I am gone for ever. [Exit, pursued by a Bear.

Enter an old Shepherd.

Shep. I would, there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty; or that youth would sleep out the rest: for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging 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 on ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will! what have we here? [Taking up the Child.'] Mercy on's, a barne; a very pretty barne! A boy, or a child,3 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 hollaed but even now. Whoa, ho hoa!

Enter Clown.

Clo. Hilloa, loa!

Shep. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing

'A boy, or a child,] I am told, that in some of our inland

counties, A female infant, in contradistinction to a male one, is still termed, among the peasantry,—a child. Steevens.

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