Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest Might come to me again. Who's there? 1. Atten. My Lord? Leon. How does the boy? [advancing. 1. Atten. He took good rest to-night; 'Tis hop d, his sickness is discharg'd. Leon. To see, His nobleness! Conceiving the dishonour of his mother, Laugh at me; make their pastime at my sorrow: Enter PAULINA, with a Child. 1. Lord. You must not enter. Paul. Nay, rather, good my Lords, be second te Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, Than the Queen's life? a gracious innocent soul; Ant. That's enough. 1. Atten. Madam, be hath not slept to-night; None should come at him. Paul. Not so hot, good Sir; commanded I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as youl, 1 Nourish the cause of his awaking: I Do come with words as med'cinal as true; Leon. What noise there, ho? Paul. No noise, my Lord; but needful conference, About some gossips for your Highness. Leon. How? Away with that audacious lady: Antigonus, I charg'd thee, that she should not come about me: I knew, she would. Ant. I told her so, my Lord, On your displeasure's peril, and on mine, Leon. What, canst not rule her? Paul. From all dishonesty, he can: in this, (Unless he take the course that you have done, Commit me, for committing honour,) trust it, He shall not rule me. Ant. Lo you now; you hear! When she will take the rein, I let her run; Paul. Good my Liege, I come, Leon. Good Queen! Paul. Good Queen, my Lord, good Queen: I say, good Queen; And would by combat make her good, so were I the worst about you. A man, Leon. Force her hence. Paul. Let him, that makes but trifles of his eyes, First hand me: on mine own accord, I'll off; But, first, I'll do mine errand The good Queen, For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter; Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing. Leon. Out! [Laying down the child. A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o'door: Paul. Not so: I am as ignorant in that, as you In so entitling me: and no less honest Than you are mad; wich is enough, I'll warrant, Leon. Traitors! Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard: Thou, dotard, [To ANTIGONUS.] thou art woman. tir'd, unroosted By thy dame Partlet here, take up the bastard; Take't up, I say; give't to thy crone. Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou Tak'st up the Princess, by that forced baseness Which he has put upon't? Leon. He dreads his wife. Paul. So, I would, you did; then, 'twere past You'd call your children yours. Leon. A nest of traitors! all doubt, Ant. I am none, by this good light. Paul. Nor I; nor any, But one, that's here, and that's himself: for he The sacred honour of himself, his Queen's, His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will not (For, as the case now stands, it is a curse Leon. A callat, Of boundless tongue; who late hath beat her hus And now baits me! band, That brat is none of mine; It is the issue of Polixenes: Hence with it; and, together with the dam, Paul. It is yours; And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge, So like you, 'tis the worse. Behold, my Lords, Although the print be little, the whole matter And copy of the father: eye, nose, lip, The trick of his frown, his forehead; nay, the valley, The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek; his smiles; The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger: The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours Her children not her husband's! Leon. A gross hag! And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd, That wilt not stay her tongue. Ant. Hang all the husbands, That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself Leon. Once more, take her hence. Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural lord Can do no more. Leon. I'll have thee burn'd. Paul. I care not: It is an heretick, that makes the fire, Not she, which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant; Cut this most cruel usage of your Queen (Not able to produce more accusation Than your own weak-hing'd fancy,) something savours Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you, Yea, scandalous to the world. Leon. On your allegiance, Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyrant, Paul. I pray you, do not push me: I'll be gone. Look to your babe, my Lord; 'tis yours: Jove send her A better guiding spirit! What need these hands? — So, so: Farewell; we are gone. [Exit. Leon. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to A heart so tender o'er it, take it hence, And see it instantly consum'd with fire; Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight: |