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Leon I thought of her,

Even in these looks, I made.-But your petition
[To Florizel.

Is yet unanswered, I will to your father;
Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires,
I am a friend to them, and you; upon which errand,
I now go toward him; therefore follow me,
And mark what way I make! Come, good my lord!
[Exeunt

SCENE II. The same. Before the palace.

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Enter AUTOLYCUS and a Gentleman.
Aut. 'Beseech you, sir, were you present at this

relation?

257

Enter a third Gentleman. Here comes the lady Paulina's steward; he can deliver you more.-How goes it now, sir? this news, which is called true, is so like an old tale, that the verity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the king found his heir? 3 Gent. Most true; if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance: that, which you hear, you'll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle of queen Hermione: her jewel about the neck of it: -the letters of Antigonus, found with it, which they know to be his character-the majesty of the creature,in resemblance of the mother; the affection of uobleness, which nature shows above her breeding, and many other evidences, proclaim her, with all certainty, to be the king's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the two kings? 2 Gent. No.

3 Gent. Then have you lost a sight, which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one joy crown another, so, and in such manner,that, it seemed, sorrow wept to take leave of them: for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands; with countenance of such distraction, that they were to be known by garment, not by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his found daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries, O, thy mother, thy mother! then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter, with clipping her; now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by, like a weather-bitten conduit of many kings' reigns. Inever heard of such another encounter, which lames report to follow it, and undoes description to do it.

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2 Gent. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child?

3 Gent. Like an old tale still; which will have matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep, and not an car open. He was torn to pieces with a bear: this avouches the shepherd's son; who has not only his innocence (which seems much,) to justify him, but a handherchief, and rings, of his, that Paulina knows. 1 Gent. What became of his bark, and his followers? 3 Gent. Wrecked, the same instant of their master's death; and in the view of the shepherd: so that all the instruments, which aided to expose the child, were even then lost, when it was found. But, O, the noble combat, that, 'twixt joy and sorrow, was fought in Paulina! She had one eye declined for the loss of her husband; another elevated, that the oracle was fulfil1 Gent. I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard led. She lifted the princess from the earth, and so the old shepherd deliver the manner, how he found it: locks her in embracing, as if she would pin her to her whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were all com-heart, that she might no more be in danger of losing. manded out of the chamber; only this, methought, 1 Gent. The dignity of this act was worth the auI heard the shepherd say, he found the child. dience of kings and princes; for by such was it acted. Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of it. 2 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that 1 Gent. I make a broken delivery of the business :which angled for mine eyes, (caught the water, though but the changes, I perceived in the king, and Camillo, not the fish,) was, when at the relation of the queen's were very notes of admiration: they seemed almost, death, with the mauner, how she came to it, (bravely with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their confessed and lamented by the king,) how attentiveeyes; there was speech in their dumbness, language ness wounded his daughter: till, from one sign of in their very gesture: they looked, as they had heard dolour to another, she did, with an alas! I would of a world ransomed, or one destroyed. A notable fain say, bleed tears; for, I am sure, my heart wept passion of wonder appeared in them; but the wisest beholder, that knew no more but seeing, could not say, if the importance were joy, or sorrow: but in the extremity of the one, it must needs be.

Enter another Gentleman.

Here comes a gentleman, that, happily, knows more.
The news, Rogero?

blood. Who was most marble there, changed colour;
some swooned, all sorrowed: if all the world could
have seen it, the woe had been universal.
1 Gent. Are they returned to the court?

3 Gent. No: the princess, hearing of her mother's statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina,—a piece many years in doing, and now newly performed by that Gent. Nothing but bonfires. The oracle is ful-rare Italian master, Julio Romano; who, had he himfilled; the king's daughter is found; such a deal of self eternity, and could put breath into his work, wonder has broken out within this hour, that ballad- would beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly he is makers cannot be able to express it. her ape: he so near to Hermione hath done Hermione,

that, they say, one would speak to her, and stand in | SCENE III. -The same. A Room in Paulina's house.
hope of answer: thither with all greediness of affec- Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PERDita, Ca-
tion, are they gone; and there they intend to sup. MILLO, PAULINA, Lords, and Attendants.
1 Gent. I thought, she had some great matter there Leon. O, grave and good Paulina,the great comfort,
in hand; for she hath privately, twice or thrice a day. That I have had of thee!
ever since the death of Hermione, visited that re- Paul. What, sovereign sir,
moved house. Shall we thither, and with our com-I did not well, I meant well: all my services,
pany piece the rejoicing?

3 Gent. Who would be thence, that has the benefit of access? every wink of an eye, some new grace will be born: our absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along. [Exeunt Gentlemen. Aut. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the prince; told him, I heard him talk of a fardel, and I know not what: but he at that time, overfond of the shepherd's daughter,( so he then took her to be,) who began to be much sea sick, and himself little better, extremity of weather continuing, this mystery remained undiscovered. But 'tis all one to me for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not have relished among my other discredits. Enter Shepherd and Clown.

Here come those, I have done good to against my will, and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune. Shep. Come, boy; I am past more children; but thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born.

Clo. You are well met, sir. You denied to fight with me this other day, because I was no gentleman born. See you these clothes? say, you see them not, and think me still no gentleman born: you were best say, these robes are not gentlemen born. Give me the lie; do, and try, whether I am not now a gentleman born.

Aut. I know, you are now, sir, a gentleman born.
Clo. Ay, aud have been so any time these four hours.
Shep. And so have I, boy.

You have paid home: but that you have vouchsaf'd,
With your crown'd brother, and these your contracted
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,
It is a surplus of your grace, which never
My life may last to answer.
Leon. O Paulina,

Clo. So you have:-but I was a gentleman born before my father: for the king's son took me by the hand, and called me brother; and then the two kings called my father brother: and then the prince, my brother, and the princess, my sister, called my father father; and so we wept; and there was the first gentlemanlike tears that ever we shed.

We honour you with trouble: but we came
To see the statue of our queen; your gallery
Have we pass'd through, not without much content
In many singularities; but we saw not
That which my daughter came to look upon,
The sfatue of her mother.
Paul. As she liv'd peerless,

Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more. Clo. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate, as we are.

Aut. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults, I have committed to your worship, and to give me your good report to the prince, my master. Shep. Pry'thee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen.

Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life?

Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship.

So her dead likeness, I do well believe,
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon,
Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it
Lonely apart. But there it is: prepare
To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever
Still sleep mock'd death! behold; and say, 'tis well.
[Paulina undraws a curtain, and discovers a

Clo. Give me thy hand! I will swear to the prince thou art as honest a true fellow, as any is in Bohemia. Shep. You may say it, but not swear it.

Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it, I'll swear it. Shep. How if it be false, son?

statue.

first, you, my liege,

I like your silence, it the more shows off
Your wonder: but yet speak ;-
Comes it not something near?
Leon. Her natural posture!
Chide me, dear stone, that I may say, indeed,
Thou art Hermione: or, rather, thou art she,
In thy not chiding: for she was as tender,
As infancy, and grace.· But yet, Paulina,
Hermione was not so much wrinkled; nothing
So aged, as this seems.
Pol. O, not by much.

Clo.If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of his friend: -and I'll swear to the prince, thou art a tall fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know, thou art no tall fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt be drunk: but I'll swear it: and I would, thou would'st be a tall fellow of thy hands.

Aut. I will prove so, sir, to my power. Clo. Av, by any means prove a tall fellow; if I do no wonder, how thou darest venture to be drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not-Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the queen's picture. Come, follow us: we'll be thy good masters.

-

Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence,
Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her
As she liv'd now.

Leon. As now she might have done,
So much to my good comfort, as it is
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,
Even with such life of majesty, (warm life,
As now it coldly stands,) when first I woo'd her!
I am ashamed. Does not the stone rebuke me,
For being more stone than it?— O, royal piece,
There's magic in thy majesty, which has
My evils conjur'd to remembrance; and
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
Standing like stone with thee!

I

Per. And give me leave;

And do not say, 'tis superstition, that

kneel, and then implore her blessing.-Lady,
Dear queen, that ended, when I but began,
Give me that hand of yours, to kiss!
Paul. O patience;

The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's
Not dry.

Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sorc laid on;
Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,
So many summers, dry: scarce any joy
Did ever so long live; no sorrow,
But kill'd itself much sooner.
Pol. Dear my brother,

Let him that was the cause of this, have power
To take off so much grief from you, as he
Will piece up in himself.
Paul. Indeed, my lord,

If I had thought, the sight of my poor image
[Exeunt. Would thus have wrought you, (for the stone is mine,)

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I'd not have show'd it.

Leon. Do not draw the curtain!

You hear, my spell is lawful: do not shun her, Until you see her die again; for then

Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy You kill her double. Nay, present your hand!

May think anon, it moves.

Leon. Let be, let be.

Would, I were dead, but that, methinks, already-
What was he that did make it? - See, my lord,
Would you not deem, it breath'd? and that those veins
Did verily bear blood?

Pol. Masterly done!

The very life seems warm upon her lip.

Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in't, As we are mock'd with art.

Paul. I'll draw the curtain;

My lord's almost so far transported, that
He'll think anon, it lives.

Leon. O sweet Paulina,

Make me to think so twenty years together;
No settled senses of the world can match
The pleasure of that madness. Let's alone.
Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd y
I could afflict you further.

Leon. Do, Paulina;

For this affliction has a taste as sweet

As any cordial comfort.-Still, methinks,

you: but

There is an air comes from her: what fine chizzel Could ever vet cut breath? Let no man mock me, For I will kiss her.

Paul. Good my lord, forbear:

The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;

You'll mar it, if you kiss it; stain your own

With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?
Leon. No, not these twenty years.
Per. So long could I
Stand by, a looker on.

Paul. Either forbear,

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259

When she was young, you woo'd her; now, in age,

Is she become the suitor.

Leon. O, she's warm!

If this be magic, let it be an art
Lawful as eating!

Pol. She embraces him.

Cam. She hangs about his neck;

[Embracing her.

If she pertain to life, let her speak too.

Pol. Ay, and make't manifest where she has liv'd, Or, how stolen from the dead?

Paul. That she is living,

Were it but told you, should be hooted at

Like an old tale; but it appears, she lives,
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while!
Please you to interpose, fair madam; kneel,
And pray your mother's blessing.—Turn, good lady;
Our Perdita is found.

[Presenting Perdita, who kneels to Hermione. Her. You gods, look down,

And from your sacred vials pour your graces
Upon my daughter's head!-Tell me, mine own,
Where hast thou been preserv'd? where liv'd? how

found

Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear, that I, -
Knowing by Paulina, that the oracle

Gave hope, thou wast in being, --have preserv'd
Myself to see the issue.

Paul. There's time enough for that;

Lest they desire, upon this push, to trouble
Your joys with like relation. Go together,
You precious winners all; your exultation
Partake to every one! I, an old turtle,

Will wing me to some wither'd bough; and there
My mate, that's never to be found again,
Lament, till I am lost.

Leon. O peace, Paulina !

Thou should'st a husband take by my consent,

As I by thine, a wife: this is a match,

And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine; But how, is to be question'd: for I saw her,

As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many

A prayer upon her grave: I'll not seek far

(For him, I partly know his mind,) to find thee An honourable husband: - come, Camillo,

And take her by the hand: whose worth and honesty
Is richly noted, and here justified

By us, a pair of kings. - Let's from this place!-
What? - Look upon my brother;

pardons,

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both your

That e'er I put between your holy looks
My ill suspicion. This your son-in-law,
And son unto the king, (whom heavens directing,)
Is troth-plight to your daughter.-Good Paulina,
Lead us from hence; where we may leisurely
Each one demand, and answer to his part
Perform'd in this wide gap of time, since first
We were dissever'd. Hastily lead away!

[Exeunt.

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A C T

I.

Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants.

SCENE, Ephesus.

SCENE I.-A hall in the Duke's palace.
Enter Duke, AEGEON, Gaoler, Officers, and other

Attendants.

Aege. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall,
And, by the doom of death, end woes and all!
Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more!
I am not partial to infringe our laws :
The enmity and discord, which of late
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,-
Who, wanting gilders to redeem their lives,
Have sealed his rigorous statutes with their bloods,-
Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks.
For, since the mortal and intestine jars
'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed,
Both by the Syracusans and ourselves,

To admit no traffic to our adverse towns:
Nay, more,

If any, born at Ephesus, be seen
At any Syracusan marts and fairs;
Again, if any Syracusan born

Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,

His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose;
Unless a thousand marks be levied,

To quit the penalty, and to ransome him.

Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,

Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;

Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to die.

And soon, and safe, arrived, where I was.
There she had not been long, but she became
A joyful mother of two goodly sons;
And, which was strange, the one so like the other,
As could not be distinguish'd but by names.
That very hour, and in the selfsame inn,
A poor mean woman was delivered
Of such a burden, male twins, both alike.
Those, for their parents were exceeding poor,
I bought, and brought up to attend my sons.
My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,
Made daily motions for our home return:
Unwilling I agreed; alas, too soon.
We came aboard:

A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,
Before the always-wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragic instance of our harm:
But longer did we not retain much hope;
For what obscured light the heavens did grant,
Did but convey unto our fearful minds

A doubtful warrant of immediate death;
Which, though myself would gladly have embrac'd,
Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,
Weeping before for what she saw must come,
And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant, what to fear,
Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me.
And this it was,-for other means was none.-
The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us.
My wife, more careful for the latter-born,

Aege. Yet this my comfort; when your words are Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,

done,

My woes end likewise with the evening sun.

Duke. Well, Syracusan, say, in brief, the cause
Why thou departedst from thy native home,
And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.
Aege. A heavier task could not have been impos'd,
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable :
Yet that the world may witness, that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
I'll utter, what my sorrow gives me leave.

In Syracusa was I born, and wed

Unto a woman, happy but for me,

And by me too, had not our hap been bad.

With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd,
By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum, 'till my factor's death;
And he (great care of goods at random left)
Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:
From whom my absence was not six months old,
Before herself (almost at fainting under
The pleasing punishment, that women bear,)
Had made provision for her following me,

Such as sea-faring men provide for stornis;
To him one of the other twins was bound,
Whilst I had been like heedful of the other.
The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I,
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast,
And floating straight, obedient to the stream,
Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispers'd those vapours that offended us,
And, by the benefit of his wish'd light,
The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered
Two ships from far making amain to us,
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:
But ere they came, O, let me say no more!
Gather the sequel by that went before!
Duke. Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so!
For we may pity, though not pardon thee.

Aege. O, had the gods done so, I had not now
Worthily term'd them merciless to us!
For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues,
We were encounter'd by a mighty rock;

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.

Which being violently borne upon,

Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst,
So that, in this unjust divorce of us,
Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened
With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe,
Was carried with more speed before the wind;
And in our sight they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length, another ship had seiz'd on us,
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave helpful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests,
And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark been very slow of sail;

And therefore homeward did they bend their course.
Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss;
That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.

Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings,
And then return, and sleep within mine inn;
For with long travel I am stiff and weary.
Get thee away!

261

Dro. S. Many a man would take you at your word,
And go indeed,having so good a mean.
n.[Exit Dromio S.
Ant. S. A trusty villain, sir, that very oft,
When I am dull with care and melancholy,
Lightens my humour with his merry jests.
What, will you walk with me about the town,
And then go to my inn, and dine with me?
Mer. I am invited, sir, to certain merchants,
Of whom I hope to make much benefit;
I crave your pardon. Soon, at five o'clock,
Please you, I'll meet with you upon the mart,
And afterwards consort you till bed-time;
My present business calls me from you now.
Ant. S. Farewell till then! I will go lose myself,
And wander up and down, to view the city.

Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for, Mer. Sir, I commend you to your own content.
Do me the favour, to dilate at full

What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now!

Aege. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,

At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother, and importun'd me,
That his attendant, (for his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name,)
Might bear him company in the quest of him:
Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought,
Or that, or any place that harbours men.
But here must end the story of my life,
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my travels warrant me, they live.
Duke. Hapless Aegeon, whom the fates have mark'd
To bear the extremity of dire mishap!
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
Which princes, would they, may not disannul,
My soul should sue as advocate for thee.
But though thou art adjudged to the death,
And passed sentence may not be recall'd,
But to our honour's great disparagement,
Yet will I favour thee in what I can.
Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day,
To seek thy help by beneficial help.
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus;
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live; if not, then thou art doom'd to die.
Gaoler, take him to thy custody!

Gaol. I will, my lord.

Aege. Hopeless, and helpless, doth Aegeon wend,
But to procrastinate his lifeless end.

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A public place.

[Exeunt.

Enter ANTIPHOLUS and DROMIO of Syracuse, and a
Merchant.

Mer. Therefore, give out, you are of Epidamnum,
Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate.

This very day, a Syracusan merchant

Is apprehended for arrival here,

And not being able to buy out his life,
According to the statute of the town,
Dies, ere the weary sun set in the west.
There is your money, that I had to keep.

Ant. S. Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host,
And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee!
Within this hour it will be dinner-time:
Till that, I'll view the manners of the town,

[Exit Merchant. Ant. S. He, that commends me to mine own content, Commends me to the thing, I cannot get.

I to the world am like a drop of water,
That in the ocean seeks another drop,
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself.
SoI, to find a mother, and a brother,
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
Enter DROMIO of Ephesus.

Here comes the almanac of my true date. -
What now? How chance, thou art return'd so soon?
Dro. E. Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too

late:

The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit;
The clock has strucken twelve upon the bell,
My mistress made it one upon my
cheek:
She is so hot, because the meat is cold;
The meat is cold, because you come not home;
You come not home, because you have no stomach;
You have no stomach, having broke your fast;
But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray,
Are penitent for your default to-day.
Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir! tell me this, I pray :
Where have you left the money, that I gave you?
Dro. E. 0,-sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday
To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper? -
The saddler had it, sir, I kept it not.

last,

Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humour now:
Tell me, and dally not, where is the money?
We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust
So great a charge from thine own custody?
Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner:
I from my mistress come to you in post;
If I return, I shall be post indeed;

For she will score your fault upon my pate.
Methinks, your maw, like mine, should be your clock,
And strike you home without a messenger.

Ant. S. Čome, Dromio, come, these jests are out of

season;

Reserve them till a merrier hour than this!
Where is the gold, I gave in charge to thee?
Dro. E. To me, sir? why you gave no gold to me.
Ant. S. Come on, sir kuave, have done your foo-
lishness,

And tell me, how thou hast dispos'd thy charge.
Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the

mart

Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner;
My mistress, and her sister, stay for you.

Ant. S. Now, as I am a Christian, answer me,
In what safe place you have bestow'd my money;
Or I shall break that merry scouce of yours,

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