The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (book suggestions TXT) 📖

chaste; Polixenes blameless; Camillo a true subject; Leontes a jealous tyrant; his innocent babe truly begotten; and the King shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not found.’

LORDS. Now blessed be the great Apollo!

HERMIONE. Praised!

LEONTES. Hast thou read truth?

OFFICER. Ay, my lord; even so

As it is here set down.

LEONTES. There is no truth at all i’ th’ oracle.

The sessions shall proceed. This is mere falsehood.

 

Enter a SERVANT

 

SERVANT. My lord the King, the King!

LEONTES. What is the business?

SERVANT. O sir, I shall be hated to report it: The Prince your son, with mere conceit and fear Of the Queen’s speed, is gone.

LEONTES. How! Gone?

SERVANT. Is dead.

LEONTES. Apollo’s angry; and the heavens themselves Do strike at my injustice. [HERMIONE swoons]

How now, there!

PAULINA. This news is mortal to the Queen. Look down And see what death is doing.

LEONTES. Take her hence.

Her heart is but o’ercharg’d; she will recover.

I have too much believ’d mine own suspicion.

Beseech you tenderly apply to her

Some remedies for life.

Exeunt PAULINA and LADIES with HERMIONE

Apollo, pardon

My great profaneness ‘gainst thine oracle.

I’ll reconcile me to Polixenes,

New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo-Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy.

For, being transported by my jealousies To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose Camillo for the minister to poison

My friend Polixenes; which had been done But that the good mind of Camillo tardied My swift command, though I with death and with Reward did threaten and encourage him, Not doing it and being done. He, most humane And fill’d with honour, to my kingly guest Unclasp’d my practice, quit his fortunes here, Which you knew great, and to the certain hazard Of all incertainties himself commended, No richer than his honour. How he glisters Thorough my rust! And how his piety

Does my deeds make the blacker!

 

Re-enter PAULINA

 

PAULINA. Woe the while!

O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it, Break too!

FIRST LORD. What fit is this, good lady?

PAULINA. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me?

What wheels, racks, fires? what flaying, boiling In leads or oils? What old or newer torture Must I receive, whose every word deserves To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny Together working with thy jealousies, Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle For girls of nine-O, think what they have done, And then run mad indeed, stark mad; for all Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.

That thou betray’dst Polixenes, ‘twas nothing; That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant, And damnable ingrateful. Nor was’t much 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 pow’rs forbid!

PAULINA. 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.

LEONTES. Go on, go on.

Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv’d All tongues to talk their bitt’rest.

FIRST LORD. Say no more;

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

PAULINA. I am sorry for’t.

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

LEONTES. Thou didst speak but well

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. Come, and lead me To these sorrows. Exeunt

SCENE III.

Bohemia. The sea-coast

 

Enter ANTIGONUS with the CHILD, and a MARINER

 

ANTIGONUS. Thou art perfect then our ship hath touch’d upon The deserts of Bohemia?

MARINER. 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 ‘s.

ANTIGONUS. Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard; Look to thy bark. I’ll not be long before I call upon thee.

MARINER. Make your best haste; and go not Too far i’ th’ land; ‘tis like to be loud weather; Besides, this place is famous for the creatures Of prey that keep upon’t.

ANTIGONUS. Go thou away;

I’ll follow instantly.

MARINER. I am glad at heart

To be so rid o’ th’ business. Exit ANTIGONUS. Come, poor babe.

I have heard, but not believ’d, the spirits o’ th’ 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; 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

I prithee call’t. For this ungentle business, Put on thee by my lord, thou ne’er shalt see Thy wife Paulina more.’ 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; there these [Laying down a bundle]

Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty, And still rest thine. The storm begins. Poor wretch, That for thy mother’s fault art thus expos’d To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot, 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’rt like to have A lullaby too rough; I never saw

The heavens so dim by day. [Noise of hunt within] A savage clamour!

Well may I get aboard! This is the chase; I am gone for ever. Exit, pursued by a bear Enter an old SHEPHERD

 

SHEPHERD. 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- [Horns] 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 sooner find than the master. If any where I have them, ‘tis by the seaside, browsing of 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, 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 halloo’d but even now. Whoa-ho-hoa!

 

Enter CLOWN

 

CLOWN. Hilloa, loa!

SHEPHERD. What, art so near? If thou’lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail’st thou, man?

CLOWN. 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.

SHEPHERD. Why, boy, how is it?

CLOWN. I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore! But that’s 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 mainmast, and anon swallowed with yeast and froth, as you’d 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-dragon’d it; but first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mock’d them; and how the poor gentleman roared, and the bear mock’d him, both roaring louder than the sea or weather.

SHEPHERD. Name of mercy, when was this, boy?

CLOWN. Now, now; I have not wink’d since I saw these sights; the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half din’d on the gentleman; he’s at it now.

SHEPHERD. Would I had been by to have help’d the old man!

CLOWN. I would you had been by the ship-side, to have help’d her; there your charity would have lack’d footing.

SHEPHERD. Heavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here, boy.

Now bless thyself; thou met’st 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, let’s see-it was told me I should be rich by the fairies.

This is some changeling. Open’t. What’s within, boy?

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

SHEPHERD.