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I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion :
'Beseech you, tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life. Apollo, pardon
My great prophaneness ’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,
great, and to the certain hazard
Of all incertainties himself commended,
No richer than his honour : how he glisters
Through my dark rust! and how his
piety Does my deeds make the blacker!
Pau. Wo the while !
O, cut my lace, left my heart, cracking it,
Lord. Alas! what fit is this, good lady?
Pau. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? What wheels ? racks? fires? what Aaying? boiling? burning 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, od think what they have done,
And then run mad indeed; stark mad; for all
Thy by-gone fooleries were but fpices of it.
That thou betray’dft Polixenes, 'twas nothing;
That did but show thee of a foul inconstant
And damnable ingrateful: nor was’t much,
Thou would'st 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 don't:
Nor is’t directly lay'd 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,
Lay’d to thy answer; but the last, o, lords,
When I have said, cry, wo! the queen, the queen,
The sweetest creature's dead; and vengeance for't
Not drop'd down yet.
Lord. The higher powers forbid !
Pau. I say, she's dead: I'll swear't: if word, nor oath
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 vows can stir: therefore betake thee
To nothing bụt 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
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
l'th'boldness of your speech.
Pau. I am sorry for't:
All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,
I do repent: alas, I've 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
should forget. Now, good my liege,
Sir, royal fir, forgive a foolish woman
The love I bore your queen - lo, fool again!
I'll speak of her no more, nor of
I'll not remember you of my own lord,
Who is lost 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 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. Long as nature
Will bear up with this exercise, so long
I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me
A desert country; the sea at a little distance.
Enter Antigonus, with a child; and a Mariner.
Ant. "HOU art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd upon
The deserts of Bithynia ?
Mar. Ay, and fear
We've landed in ill time: the skies look grimly,
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,
The heay’ns with that we have in hand are angry,
And frown upon’s.
Ant. Their sacred wills be done! get thee aboard,
Look to thy bark; I'll not be long before
I call on thee.
Mar. 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.
Ant. Go thou away:
I'll follow instantly.
Mar. I'm glad at heart To be so rid o'th' business.
Ant. 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 forrow
So fillid, and so becoming; in pure white robes,
Like very fanctity, 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 Bithynia,
There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe
Is counted lost for ever, Perdita,
I pr’ythee, callt: 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 sumber : 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 lay'd,
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;
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty one,
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. Farewel !
The day frowns more and more; thou art like to have
A lullaby too rough: I never saw
The heav'ns so dim by day. A savage clamour ?
Well may I get aboard ! this is the chase;
I am gone for ever.
[Exit pursued by a bear.