Of us too much beloved. Let us be cleared Offi. It is his highness' pleasure that the queen Appear in person here in court.-Silence! HERMIONE is brought in, guarded; PAULINA and Ladies, attending. 46 Leon. Read the indictment. Officer reads. Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, King of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of high treason, in committing adultery with Polixenes, King of Bohemia; and conspiring with Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign lord the king, thy royal husband. The pretence whereof being by circumstances partly laid open, thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of a true subject, didst counsel and aid them, for their better safety, to fly away by night." Her. Since what I am to say must be but that But what comes from myself; it shall scarce boot me A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter, That I ne'er heard yet any of these bolder vices wanted Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not To you, and toward your friend; whose love had spoke, Even since it could speak, from an infant, freely, I know not how it tastes; though it be dished Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know What you have underta'en to do in 's absence. Her. Sir, You speak a language that I understand not: My life stands in the level of your dreams; Which I'll lay down. Leon. Your actions are my dreams: You had a bastard by Polixenes, And I but dreamed it.-As you were past all shame (Those of your fact are so), so past all truth: Which to deny, concerns more than avails: For as Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, Her. I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege, Is altogether just: therefore, bring forth, [Exeunt certain Officers. Her. The Emperor of Russia was my father: O, that he were alive, and here beholding His daughter's trial! that he did but see The flatness of my misery; yet, with eyes Of pity, not revenge! Re-enter Officers, with CLEOMENES and DION. Offi. You here shall swear upon this sword of justice, That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have Been both at Delphos; and from thence have Her heart is but o'ercharged; she will recover.- [Exeunt PAULINA and Ladies, with HERMIONE. My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle!— I'll reconcile me to Polixenes; New woo my queen; recal the good Camillo, O, cut my lace; lest my heart, cracking it, 1st Lord. What fit is this, good lady? Paul. 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 betrayedst Polixenes, 't was nothing; That did but shew thee of a fool, inconstant, And damnable ungrateful: nor was 't much Thou wouldst have poisoned 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 Blemished 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 sweetest, dearest, creature 's dead; and vengeance for 't Not dropped down yet. 1st 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 In storm perpetual, could not move the gods All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, Leon. Thou didst speak but well, I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea. Enter ANTIGONUS, with the Child; and a Mariner. Ant. Thou art perfect, then, our ship hath touched upon The deserts of Bohemia? Ay, my lord; and fear Ant. Their sacred wills be done! - Go, get Look to thy bark; I'll not be long before Mar. Make your best haste, and go not Ant. I'll follow instantly. I have heard (but not believed) the spirits of the dead May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother Appeared 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 filled, and so becoming: in pure white robes, My cabin, where I lay: thrice bowed before me; I pr'y thee call 't: for this ungentle business, I did in time collect myself; and thought I will be squared by this. I do believe 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 exposed To loss, and what may follow:-weep I cannot, But my heart bleeds: and most accursed am I, To be by oath enjoined 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! Enter an Old Shepherd. Shep. I would there was 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 anywhere I have them, 'tis by the sea-side, 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 hollaed but even now. Whoa, ho hoa! Enter Clown. Clo. Hilloa, loa! |