 | Florizel and Perdita |  |
ACT III.
Another part of the country.Enter Autolicus, in rich cloaths.
Autolicus.
How fortune drops into the mouth of the diligent
man?—see, if I be not transform'd courtier
again—four silken gamesters, who attended the king,
and were revelling by themselves, at some distance
from the shepherds, have drank so plentifully, that
their weak brains are turn'd topsy-turvy—I found
one of 'em, an old court comrade of mine, retir'd from
the rest, sobering himself with sleep under the shade
of a hawthorn; I made use of our antient familiarity
to exchange garments with him; the pedlar's cloaths
are on his back, and the pack by his side, as empty
as his pockets, for I have sold all my trumpery;
not a counterfeit stone, nor a ribband, glass, pomander,
browch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape,
glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn; they throng'd who
shou'd buy first, as if my trinkets had been hallow'd,
and brought a benediction to the buyer; by
which means, I saw whose purse was best in picture;
and what I saw to my good use I remember'd—my
good Clown (who wants but something to be a reasonable
man) grew so in love with the wenches song,
that he wou'd not stir his pettitoes 'till he had tune
and words, which so drew the rest of the herd to
me, that all their other senses stuck in ears: no hearing,
no feeling, but my Sir's song, and admiring the
nothing of it. I pick'd and cut most of their festival
purses: and had not the old man come in with a
whoo-bub against his daughter and the king's son,
left a purse alive in the whole army;—ha, ha, ha,
what a fool honesty is! and trust, his sworn brother, a
very simple gentleman! I see this is the time the unjust
man doth thrive; the gods do this year connive
at us, and we may do any thing extempore—aside,
aside, here is more matter for a hot brain. Ev'ry
lane's end, ev'ry shop, church, session, hanging,
yields a careful man work.
Enter Clown and Old Shep.
Clown.
See, see, what a man you are now—there is no
other way, but to tell the king she is a changeling,
and none of your flesh and blood.
Old Shep.
Nay, but hear me.
Clown.
Nay, but hear me.
Old Shep.
Go to, then—
Clown.
Let him know the truth of the matter; how you
found her by the sea-side some eighteen years agone;
that there was this bundle with her, with the things
and trinkets contained therein; but there was some
money too, which being spent in nursing her, you
need say nothing about it, together with all the circumstances
of the whole affair; do it, I say.
Old Shep.
And what then, think'st thou?
Why then, she being none of your flesh and
blood, your flesh and blood has not offended the
king, and so your flesh and blood is not to be punish'd
by him: shew those things—I say, you
found about her, those secret things: this being done,
let the law go whistle—I warrant you.
Old Shep.
I will tell the king all, every word; yea, and his
son's pranks too; who, I may say, is no honest
man, neither to his father nor to me, to go about to
make me the king's brother-in-law.
Clown.
Indeed, brother-in-law was the farthest off you
cou'd have been to him; and then your blood had
been the dearer, by I know not how much an ounce.
Autolicus.
(Aside.)
Very wisely, puppies.
Old Shep.
Well, let us to the king; there is that in this
fardel, will make him scratch his beard.
Clown.
Pray heartily he be at the palace.
Autolicus.
(Coming forward.)
How now, rustics, whither are you bound?
Old Shep.
To th' palace, an' it like your worship.
Autolicus.
Your affairs there? what? with whom? the condition
of that fardel, the place of your dwelling,
and any thing that is fitting to be known, discover.
Clown.
We are but plain fellows, Sir.
Autolicus.
A lye—you are rough and hairy; let me have no
lying, it becomes none but tradesmen.
Old Shep.
Are you a courtier, an' like you, Sir?
Autolicus.
Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier—see'st
thou not the air of the court in these enfoldings?
hath not my gait in it the measure of the court?
receives not thy nose court-odour from me? reflect
not I on thy baseness, court-contempt? think'st
thou for that I insinuate, or toze from thee thy business,
I am therefore no courtier? I am a courtier
cap-à-pee; and one that will either push on, or push
back thy business there; whereupon, I command
thee to open thy affair.
Old Shep.
My business, Sir, is to the king.
Autolicus.
What advocate hast thou to him?
Old Shep.
I know not, and't like you.—Advocate!
[Aside to Clown.
Clown.
Advocate's the court word for a pheasant; say
you have none.
[Apart.
None, Sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.
Autolicus.
How blest are we, that are not simple men!
Yet nature might have made as these are,
Therefore I will not disdain.
[Aside.
Clown
, to Shep.
This cannot be but a great courtier.
Old Shep.
to Clown.
His garments are rich, but he wears 'em not handsomely.
Clown.
He seems to be more noble in being fantastical;
a great man, I'll warrant, I know by the picking
on's teeth.
Autolicus.
The fardel there, what's in the fardel?
Wherefore that box?
Old Shep.
Sir, there lies such secrets in this fardel and box,
which none must know but the king; and which he
shall know within this hour, if I may come to th'
speech of him.
Autolicus.
Age, thou hast lost thy labour.
Old Shep.
Why, Sir?
Autolicus.
The king is not at the palace, he's gone aboard a
new ship to purge melancholy, and air himself; for
if thou be'st capable of things serious, thou must
know the king is full of grief.
So, 'tis said, Sir, about his son that shou'd have
marry'd a shepherd's daughter.
Autolicus.
If that shepherd be not in hand fast, let him fly;
the curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel,
will break the heart of man, the back of monster.
Old Shep.
Think you so, Sir?
Autolicus.
Not he, alone, shall suffer what wit can make
heavy, and vengeance bitter; but those that are germain
to him, tho' remov'd fifty times, shall all come
under the hangman; which, tho' it be great pity,
yet it is necessary; an old sheep-whistling rogue, a
ram-tender, to offer to have his daughter come into
grace!—Some say he shall be ston'd; but that
death is too soft for him, say I: draw our throne
into a sheep-cot! all deaths are too few, the sharpest
too easy.
Clown.
Has the old man e'er a son, Sir, do you hear,
an't like you, Sir?
Autolicus.
He has a son, who shall be stay'd alive, then
'nointed over with honey, set on the head of a wasp's
nest; then stand 'till he be three quarters and a dram
dead; then recover'd again with aqua-vita, or some
other hot infusion; then (raw as he is, and in the
hottest day prognostication proclaims) shall he be set
against a brick wall, the sun looking with a southward
eye upon him, where he is to behold him with
traitorly rascals, whose miseries are to be smil'd at, their
offences being so capital? tell me, (for you seem to
be honest, plain men) what you have to the king;
being something gently consider'd, I'll bring you
where he is, tender your persons to his presence,
whisper him in your behalf, and if it be in man, besides
the king, to effect your suits, here is a man
shall do it.
Clown.
He seems to be of great authority, close with him,
give him gold; tho' authority be a stubborn bear,
yet he is often led by the nose with gold; shew the
inside of your purse to the outside of his hand, and
no more ado; remember ston'd and stay'd alive.
(Aside to Old Shep.
Old Shep.
And't please you, Sir, to undertake the business
for us, here is that gold I have; I'll make it as much
more, and leave this young man in pawn 'till I bring
it you.
Autolicus.
After I have done what I promis'd—
Clown.
Ay, Sir.
Autolicus.
Well, give me the moiety—are you a party in
this business?
Clown.
In some sort, Sir: but tho' my case be a pitiful
one, I hope I shall not be stay'd out of it.
Autolicus.
O, that's the case of the shepherd's son; hang
him, he'll be made an example.
(To Shep.)
Comfort! good comfort! we must to the king,
and shew our strange sights; he must know 'tis none
of your daughter, nor my sister; we are gone else—
Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does,
when the business is perform'd, and remain, as he
says, your pawn 'till it be brought you.
Autolicus.
I will trust you; walk before toward the sea-side;
go on the right hand, I will but look upon the hedge,
and follow you.
Clown.
We are blest in this man, as I may say, ev'n
blest.
Old Shep.
Let's before as he bids us; he was provided to do
us good.
[Exeunt Shep. and Clown.
Autolicus.
If I had a mind to be honest, I see fortune wou'd
not suffer me; she drops booties in my mouth—
I am courted now, with a double occasion: gold,
and a means to do the king good; which, who
knows how that may turn to my advancment! I will
bring these two moles, these blind ones before him;
if that the complaint they have to the king concerns
him nothing, let him call me rogue for being so far
officious; I am proof against that title, and what
shame else belongs to it: to him will I present them;
there may be matter in it.
[Exit.
Enter Paulina and a Gentleman.
Paulina.
Beseech you, Sir, now that my first burst of joy
is over, and my ebbing spirits no longer bear down
my attention, give my ear again the circumstances of
this strange story: Leontes arriv'd! escap'd from the
fury of the sea! veil'd in the 'semblance of a poor
shepherd! and has now thrown himself into the arms
of Polixenes! 'tis a chain of wonders!
Gent.
Yet the tale is not more wonderful than true; I
was present at the interview.
Paulina.
Speak, Sir, speak; tell me all.
Gent.
Soon as our king return'd to the palace, he retir'd
with the good Camillo, to lament the unhappy
and ill-plac'd affection of his son: yet, as gleams of
sunshine oft break in upon a storm, so, thro' all
his indignation, there burst out by intervals paternal
love and sorrow; 'twas brought him that a person of
no great seeming intreated admittance; a refusal was
return'd to this bold request; but the stranger, unaw'd
by this discouragement, advanc'd to the king's
presence: his boldness had met with an equal punishment,
had he not on the sudden assum'd a majesty
of mien and feature, that threw a kind of radiance
over his peasant garb, and fixt all who saw him with
silent wonder and admiration.
Paulina.
Well, but Polixenes!
He stept forth to the stranger; but 'ere he cou'd
enquire the reasons of his presumption—behold, said
Leontes bursting into grief, behold the unhappy
king, that much hath wrong'd you—behold Leontes!
—On this the king started from him—true, I have
wrong'd you, cry'd Leontes; but if penitence can
attone for guilt, behold these eyes, wept dry with honest
sorrow; this breast, rent with honest anguish; and
if you can suspect that my heart yet harbours those
passions which once infested it, here, I offer it to
your sword; lay it open to the day!
Paulina.
O, the force, the charm of returning virtue!
Gent.
Its charm was felt, indeed, by the generous king;
for at once forgetting that fatal enmity that had so
long divided them, he embrac'd the penitent Leontes,
with the unfeign'd warmth of one who had found a
long lost friend, return'd beyond hope from banishment
or death; while Leontes, overwhelm'd with
such unlook'd-for goodness, fell on his neck, and
wept: thus they stood embracing and embrac'd, in
dumb and noble sorrow! their old friendship being
thus renew'd, Leontes began his intercession for prince
Florizel; but Polixenes—break we off—here comes
the good Camillo; speak, thou bear'st thy tydings in
thy looks.
Nothing but bonfires—the oracle is fulfill'd!
O, Paulina, the beatings of my heart, will scarce
Permit my tongue to tell thee what it bears.
Paulina.
I know it all, my friend; the king of Sicily is arriv'd.
Not only the king of Sicily is arriv'd, but his
daughter; his long-lost daughter, is found.
Paulina.
Gracious gods support me! his daughter found!
can it be? how was she sav'd? and where has she
been conceal'd?
Camillo.
That shepherdess, our prince has so long and so
secretly affected, proves Sicilia's heiress: the old
shepherd, her suppos'd father, deliver'd the manner
how he found her upon the coast, produc'd a fardel,
in which are uncontested proofs of every circumstance.
Paulina.
Can this be true?
Camillo.
Most true, if ever the 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 (pardon me, the mention of them) of
your lord Antigonus, found with it, which I know
to be his characters; the majesty of the creature in
resemblance of the mother; the affection of nobleness,
which nature shews above her breeding, and
many other evidences, proclaim her with all certainty
to be the king's daughter.
Paulina.
Praised be the gods! wou'd I had beheld the behaviour
of the two kings at the unravelling of this
story.
Camillo.
Ay, Paulina, for you have 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 a manner, that it seem'd sorrow wept to take
casting up of eyes, holding up of hands, with countenance
of such distraction, that they were to be
known by garment, not by favour. Sicily, being
ready to leap out of himself for joy of his found
daughter, lifted the princess from the earth, and so
lock'd her in embracing, as if he wou'd pin her to
his heart, that she might no more be in danger of
losing: then, as if that joy had now become a loss,
cries—Oh, thy mother! thy mother! now he thanks
the Old Shepherd, who stands by like a weather-beaten
conduit of many kings reigns; then asks Bohemia
forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-law; then
again worries his daughter with clipping her.—I never
heard of such another encounter, which lames report
to follow it, and undoes description to draw it.
Paulina.
The dignity of this act was worth the audience of
kings and princes, for by such was it acted.
Camillo.
One of the prettiest touches of all, and that which
angled for my eyes, was, at the relation of the
queen's death, with the manner how she came by
it (bravely confess'd and lamented by the king); how
attentiveness wounded his daughter, 'till from one
sign of dolor to another, she did with an, Alas!
I wou'd fain say, bleed tears—I am sure my heart
wept blood. Who was most marble, there chang'd
colour; some swooned, all sorrow'd; if the world
cou'd have seen't, the woe had been universal.
Paulina.
Are they return'd to court?
Camillo.
Not yet. They were proceeding with due ceremony,
amid the clamorous joy of the multitude,
you this rhapsody of wonders.
[Trumpets.
Paulina.
Camillo, haste thee; this royal assembly is entring
now the city. Haste thee, with Paulina's greeting to
the double majesty, and our new found princess; give
them to know I have in my keeping a statue of Hermione,
perform'd by the most rare master of Italy; who,
had he himself eternity, and cou'd put breath into this
work, wou'd beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly
he is her ape. He, so near to Hermione, has done Hermione,
that they will speak to her, and stand in hope of
answer. Invite them to the sight of it, put thy message
into what circumstance of compliment the time
and sudden occasion may admit, and return with
best speed to prepare for their unprovided entertainment.
[Exit.
Camillo.
I obey you, madam.
[Exeunt severally.
SCENE, the court.
Enter Autolicus.
Autolicus.
Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me,
wou'd preferment fall upon my head. I brought
the old man and his son to the king's, and told
them, I heard them talk of a fardel, and I know
not what—but 'tis all one to me; for had I been
the finder-out of this secret, it wou'd not have relish'd
among my other discredits—here come those I have
done good to against my will, and already appearing
in the blossoms of their fortune.
Old Shep.
Come, boy; I am past more children; but thy
sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born.
Clown.
(To Autolicus.)
You are well met, Sir; you denied that I was a
gentleman born; see these cloaths! say you see them
not, and think me still no gentleman born—give me
the lie, do—and try whether I am now no gentleman
born.
Autolicus.
I know you are now, Sir, a gentleman born.
Clown.
Ay, and have been so, for any time this half hour.
Old Shep.
And so have I, boy.
Clown.
So you have; but I was a gentleman born before
my father; for the king's son took me by the hand
and call'd me brother; and then the two kings call'd
my father, brother; and then, the prince, my brother,
and the princess, my sister, (that is, that was
my sister) call'd my father, father; and so we all
wept; and there was the first gentleman-like tears
that ever we shed.
Old Shep.
We may live, son, to shed many more.
Clown.
Ay, or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous
estate as we are.
Autolicus.
I humbly beseech you, Sir, to pardon all the
faults I have committed to your worship; and to
give me your good report to the prince my master.
Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we
are gentlemen.
Clown.
Thou wilt amend thy life?
Autolicus.
Ay, an' it like your good worship.
Clown.
No, it does not like my worship now; but it is
like it may like my worship when it is amended;
therefore have heed that thou do'st amend it.
Autolicus.
I will, an't like you.
Clown.
Give me thy hand; hast nothing in't? am not I a
gentleman? I must be gently consider'd—am not I
a courtier? seest thou not the air of the court in these
enfoldings? hath not my gait in it the measure of the
court?
Autolicus.
Here is what gold I have, Sir;—so, I have
brib'd him with his own money.
[Aside.
Clown.
And when am I to have the other moiety? and
the young man in pawn till you bring it me?
Autolicus.
After you have done the business, Sir.
Clown.
Well, I will swear to the prince, thou art as honest
a tall fellow as any in Bohemia.
Old Shep.
You may say it, but not swear it.
Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? let boors and
franklyns say it; I'll swear it.
Old Shep.
How, if it be false, son?
Clown.
If it be never so false, a true gentleman may swear
it in behalf of his friend; and I will 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; no matter for that.
(Trumpets.)
Hark! the kings, and the princes, our kindred, are
going to see the queen's statute. Come, follow us,
we will be thy good masters.
[Exeunt.
SCENE, Paulina's House.
Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizel, Perdita, Camillo, Lords, and Attendants.
Polixenes.
Sir, you have done enough, and have perform'd
A saint-like sorrow: no fault cou'd you make
Which you have not redeem'd; indeed paid down
More penitence, than done trespass. At the last
Do, as the heav'ns have done, forget your evil;
With them forgive yourself.
Leontes.
Whilst I remember
Her, and her virtues; whilst I gaze upon
This pretty abstract of Hermione,
So truly printed off, I can't forget
My blemishes in them.
Paulina.
Too true, my lord.
If one by one, you wedded all the world,
To make a perfect woman, she you kill'd
Wou'd be unparallel'd.
Leontes.
I think so—kill'd!
Kill'd! I kill'd! I did so, but thou strik'st me
Sorely to say I did; it is as bitter
Upon thy tongue, as in my thought. Now, good now,
Say so but seldom.
Paulina.
Touch'd to th' noble heart!
What, my dear sovereign, I said not well;
I meant well, pardon; then, a foolish woman—
The love I bore your queen—lo, fool again!—
I'll speak of her no more.
Leontes.
Ah, good Paulina,
Who hast the memory of Hermione,
I know in honour; O that ever I
Had squar'd me to thy counsel; then, ev'n now,
I might have look'd upon my queen's full eyes,
Ta'en treasure from her lips!
Paulina.
All my poor service
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.
Polixenes.
Oh, Paulina,
We honor you with trouble; but your gall'ry
Have we pass'd thro', not without much content
In many singularities, yet we saw not
That which you bad us here to look upon,
The statue of Hermione.
As she liv'd peerless,
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 here it is, prepare
To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever
Still sleep mock'd death: behold, and say 'tis well.
[She draws a curtain, and discovers Hermione standing like a statue.
I like your silence, it the more shews off
Your wonder; but yet speak; first you, my liege,
Comes it not something near?
Leontes.
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.
Polixenes.
O, not by much.
Paulina.
So much the more our carver's excellence,
Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her
As she liv'd now.
Leontes.
As now she might have done,
So much to my good comfort, as it is
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood;
Ev'n with such life of majesty, (warm life,
As now it coldly stands) when first I woo'd her.
I am asham'd—O royal piece!
There's magic in thy majesty, which has
My evils conjur'd to remembrance, and
Standing like stone with thee.
(Bursts into tears.
Perdita.
And give me leave,
And do not say 'tis superstition, that
I kneel, and then implore her blessing.
Florizel.
Rise not yet;
I join me in the same religious duty;
Bow to the shadow of that royal dame,
Who, dying, gave my Perdita to life,
And plead an equal right to blessing.
Leontes.
O master-piece of art! nature's deceiv'd
By thy perfection, and at every look
My penitence is all afloat again.
[Weeps.
Cleomines.
My lord, your sorrow was too sore lay'd 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.
Polixenes.
Dear my brother,
Let him that was the cause of this, have pow'r
To take off so much grief from you, as he
Will piece up in himself.
Perdita.
Let Perdita
Put up her first request, that her dear father
Have pity on her rather, nor let sorrow
Second the stroke of wonder.
Paulina.
Indeed, my lord,
If I had thought the sight of my poor image
I'd not have shewn it.
Leontes.
Do not draw the curtain.
Paulina.
No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy
May think anon, it move.
Leontes.
Let be, let be;
Wou'd I were dead, but that, methinks, already—
What was he that made it? see, see, my lord,
Wou'd you not deem it breath'd; and that those veins
Did verily bear blood?
Polixenes.
Masterly done!
The very life seems warm upon her lip.
Leontes.
The fixure of her eye has motion in't,
As we were mock'd with art.
Paulina.
I'll draw the curtain.
My lord's almost so far transported, that
He'll think anon it lives.
Leontes.
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't alone.
Paulina.
I'm sorry, Sir, I've thus far stirr'd you; but
I cou'd afflict you further.
Leontes.
Do, Paulina,
For this affliction has a taste as sweet
There is an air come from her: what fine chissel
Cou'd ever yet cut breath? let no man mock me,
For I will kiss it.
Paulina.
Good my lord, forbear;
The ruddiness upon her lips is wet;
You'll mar it, if you kiss it; stain your own
With oily painting—shall I draw the curtain?
Leontes.
No, not these twenty years.
Perdita.
So long cou'd I
Stand by, a looker-on.
Florizel.
So long cou'd I
Admire her royal image stampt on thee,
Heiress of all her qualities.
Paulina.
Either forbear,
Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you
For more amazement; if you can behold it,
I'll make the statue move indeed, descend,
And take you by the hand; but then you'll think
(Which I protest against) I am assisted
By wicked powers.
Leontes.
What you can make it do,
I am content to look on; what to speak,
I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy
To make her speak, as move.
Paulina.
It is requir'd,
You do awake your faith; then, all stand still:
And those that think it an unlawful business
I am about, let them depart.
Proceed;
No foot shall stir.
Paulina.
Music, awake her—strike—
'Tis time; descend—be stone no more—approach;
Strike all that look on you with marvel!
[Music; during which she comes down.
Leontes.
(Retiring.)
Heav'nly pow'rs!
Paulina
, to Leontes.
Start not—her actions shall be holy, as,
You hear, my spell is lawful; do not shun her,
Until you see her die again, for then
You kill her double; nay, present your hand;
When she was young, you woo'd her; now in age
She is become your suitor.
Leontes.
Support me, gods!
If this be more than visionary bliss,
My reason cannot hold: my wife! my queen!
But speak to me, and turn me wild with transport
I cannot hold me longer from those arms;
She's warm! she lives!
Polixenes.
She hangs about his neck:
If she pertain to life, let her speak too.
Perdita.
O Florizel!
[Perdita leans on Florizel's bosom.
Florizel.
My princely shepherdess!
This is too much for hearts of thy soft mold.
Leontes.
Her beating heart meets mine, and fluttering owns
Its long-lost half: these tears that choak her voice
Are hot and moist—it is Hermione!
[Embrace.
I'm turn'd myself to stone! where has she liv'd?
Or how so stolen from the dead?
Paulina.
That she is living,
Were it but told you, shou'd be hooted at
Like an old tale; but it appears she lives,
Tho' yet she speak not. Mark them yet a little.
'Tis past all utterance, almost past thought;
Dumb eloquence beyond the force of words.
To break the charm,
Please you to interpose; fair madam, kneel,
And pray your mother's blessing, turn, good lady,
Our Perdita is found, and with her found
A princely husband, whose instinct of royalty,
From under the low thatch where she was bred,
Took his untutor'd queen.
Hermione.
You gods, look down,
And from your sacred phials pour your graces
Upon their princely heads!
Leontes.
Hark! hark! she speaks—
O pipe, thro' sixteen winters dumb! then deem'd
Harsh as the raven's note; now musical
As nature's song, tun'd to th' according spheres.
Hermione.
Before this swelling flood o'er-bear our reason,
Let purer thoughts, unmix'd with earth's alloy,
Flame up to heav'n, and for its mercy shewn,
Bow we our knees together.
Leontes.
Oh! if penitence
Have pow'r to cleanse the foul sin-spotted soul,
Leontes' tears have wash'd away his guilt.
If thanks unfeign'd be all that you require,
Read in my heart, your mercy's not in vain.
Hermione.
This firstling duty paid, let transport loose,
My lord, my king,—there's distance in those names,
My husband!
Leontes.
O my Hermione!—have I deserv'd
That tender name?
Hermione.
No more; be all that's past
Forgot in this enfolding, and forgiven.
Leontes.
Thou matchless saint!—Thou paragon of virtue!
Perdita.
O let me kneel, and kiss that honor'd hand.
Hermione.
Thou Perdita, my long-lost child, that fill'st
My measure up of bliss—tell me, mine own,
Where hast thou been preserv'd? where liv'd! how found
Bohemia'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.
Paulina.
There's time enough
For that, and many matters more of strange
Import—how the queen escap'd from Sicily,
Retir'd with me, and veil'd her from the world—
But at this time no more; go, go together,
Ye precious winners all, your exultation
Pertake to ev'ry 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.
No, no, Paulina;
Live bless'd with blessing others—my Polixenes!
[Presenting Polixenes to Hermione.
What? look upon my brother: both your pardons,
That e'er I put between your holy looks
My ill suspicion—come, our good Camillo,
Now pay thy duty here—thy worth and honesty
Are richly noted, and here justified
By us a pair of kings; and last, my queen,
Again I give you this your son-in-law,
And son to this good king by heav'n's directing
Long troth-plight to our daughter.
Leontes, Hermione, and Polixenes join their hands.
Perdita.
I am all shame
And ignorance itself, how to put on
This novel garment of gentility,
And yield a patch'd behaviour, between
My country-level, and my present fortunes,
That ill becomes this presence. I shall learn,
I trust I shall with meekness—but I feel,
(Ah happy that I do) a love, an heart
Unalter'd to my prince, my Florizel.
Florizel.
Be still my queen of May, my shepherdess,
Rule in my heart; my wishes be thy subjects,
And harmless as thy sheep.
Leontes.
Now, 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—then thank the righteous gods,
Who, after tossing in a perilous sea,
Guide us to port, and a kind beam display,
To gild the happy evening of our day.
| Florizel and Perdita | |