ANTIGONUS.
I swear to do this, though a present death
Had been more merciful.--Come on, poor babe:
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens
To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say,
Casting their savageness aside, have done
Like offices of pity.--Sir, be prosperous
In more than this deed does require!--and blessing,
Against this cruelty, fight on thy side,
Poor thing, condemn'd to loss!
[Exit with the child.]
LEONTES.
No, I'll not rear
Another's issue.
SECOND ATTENDANT.
Please your highness, posts
From those you sent to the oracle are come
An hour since: Cleomenes and Dion,
Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed,
Hasting to the court.
FIRST LORD.
So please you, sir, their speed
Hath been beyond account.
LEONTES.
Twenty-three days
They have been absent: 'tis good speed; foretells
The great Apollo suddenly will have
The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords;
Summon a session, that we may arraign
Our most disloyal lady; for, as she hath
Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have
A just and open trial. While she lives,
My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me;
And think upon my bidding.
[Exeunt.]
ACT III.
SCENE I. Sicilia. A Street in some Town.
[Enter CLEOMENES and DION.]
CLEOMENES.
The climate's delicate; the air most sweet;
Fertile the isle; the temple much surpassing
The common praise it bears.
DION.
I shall report,
For most it caught me, the celestial habits,--
Methinks I so should term them,--and the reverence
Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!
How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly,
It was i' the offering!
CLEOMENES.
But of all, the burst
And the ear-deaf'ning voice o' the oracle,
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense
That I was nothing.
DION.
If the event o' the journey
Prove as successful to the queen,--O, be't so!--
As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,
The time is worth the use on't.
CLEOMENES.
Great Apollo
Turn all to th' best! These proclamations,
So forcing faults upon Hermione,
I little like.
DION.
The violent carriage of it
Will clear or end the business: when the oracle,--
Thus by Apollo's great divine seal'd up,--
Shall the contents discover, something rare
Even then will rush to knowledge.--Go,--fresh horses;--
And gracious be the issue!
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. The same. A Court of Justice
[Enter LEONTES, Lords, and Officers appear, properly seated.]
LEONTES.
This sessions,--to our great grief we pronounce,--
Even pushes 'gainst our heart;--the party tried,
The daughter of a king, our wife; and one
Of us too much belov'd. Let us be clear'd
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly
Proceed in justice; which shall have due course,
Even to the guilt or the purgation.--
Produce the prisoner.
OFFICER.
It is his highness' pleasure that the queen
Appear in person here in court.--
CRIER.
Silence!
[HERMIONE, is brought in guarded; PAULINA, and Ladies attending.]
LEONTES.
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 true subject, didst counsel and aid them,
for their better safety, to fly away by night.'
HERMIONE.
Since what I am to say must be but that
Which contradicts my accusation, and
The testimony on my part no other
But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me
To say 'Not guilty': mine integrity,
Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it,
Be so receiv'd. But thus,--if powers divine
Behold our human actions,--as they do,--
I doubt not, then, but innocence shall make
False accusation blush, and tyranny
Tremble at patience.--You, my lord, best know,--
Who least will seem to do so,--my past life
Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,
As I am now unhappy: which is more
Than history can pattern, though devis'd
And play'd to take spectators; for behold me,--
A fellow of the royal bed, which owe
A moiety of the throne, a great king's daughter,
The mother to a hopeful prince,--here standing
To prate and talk for life and honour 'fore
Who please to come and hear. For life, I prize it
As I weigh grief, which I would spare: for honour,
'Tis a derivative from me to mine,
And only that I stand for. I appeal
To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes
Came to your court, how I was in your grace,
How merited to be so; since he came,
With what encounter so uncurrent I
Have strain'd t' appear thus: if one jot beyond
The bound of honour, or in act or will
That way inclining, harden'd be the hearts
Of all that hear me, and my near'st of kin
Cry fie upon my grave!
LEONTES.
I ne'er heard yet
That any of these bolder vices wanted
Less impudence to gainsay what they did
Than to perform it first.
HERMIONE.
That's true enough;
Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me.
LEONTES.
You will not own it.
HERMIONE.
More than mistress of
Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not
At all acknowledge. For Polixenes,--
With whom I am accus'd,--I do confess
I lov'd him, as in honour he requir'd;
With such a kind of love as might become
A lady like me; with a love even such,
So and no other, as yourself commanded:
Which not to have done, I think had been in me
Both disobedience and ingratitude
To you and toward your friend; whose love had spoke,
Ever since it could speak, from an infant, freely,
That it was yours. Now for conspiracy,
I know not how it tastes; though it be dish'd
For me to try how: all I know of it
Is that Camillo was an honest man;
And why he left your court, the gods themselves,
Wotting no more than I, are ignorant.
LEONTES.
You knew of his departure, as you know
What you have underta'en to do in 's absence.
HERMIONE.
Sir,
You speak a language that I understand not:
My life stands in the level of your dreams,
Which I'll lay down.
LEONTES.
Your actions are my dreams;
You had a bastard by Polixenes,
And I but dream'd 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,
No father owning it,--which is, indeed,
More criminal in thee than it,--so thou
Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage
Look for no less than death.
HERMIONE.
Sir, spare your threats:
The bug which you would fright me with, I seek.
To me can life be no commodity:
The crown and comfort of my life, your favour,
I do give lost; for I do feel it gone,
But know not how it went: my second joy,
And first-fruits of my body, from his presence
I am barr'd, like one infectious: my third comfort,
Starr'd most unluckily, is from my breast,--
The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth,--
Hal'd out to murder: myself on every post
Proclaim'd a strumpet; with immodest hatred
The child-bed privilege denied, which 'longs
To women of all fashion; lastly, hurried
Here to this place, i' the open air, before
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,
Tell me what blessings I have here alive,
That I should fear to die. Therefore proceed.
But yet hear this; mistake me not;--no life,--
I prize it not a straw,--but for mine honour
(Which I would free), if I shall be condemn'd
Upon surmises--all proofs sleeping else,
But what your jealousies awake--I tell you
'Tis rigour, and not law.--Your honours all,
I do refer me to the oracle:
Apollo be my judge!
FIRST LORD.
This your request
Is altogether just: therefore, bring forth,
And in Apollo's name, his oracle:
[Exeunt certain Officers.]
HERMIONE.
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.]
OFFICER.
You here shall swear upon this sword of justice,
That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have
Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought
This seal'd-up oracle, by the hand deliver'd
Of great Apollo's priest; and that since then,
You have not dar'd to break the holy seal,
Nor read the secrets in't.
CLEOMENES, DION.
All this we swear.
LEONTES.
Break up the seals and read.
OFFICER.
[Reads.] 'Hermione is 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' the oracle:
The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood!
[Enter a Servant hastily.]
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 faints.]
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 sweetest, dearest creature's dead; and vengeance for't
Not dropp'd down yet.
FIRST LORD.
The higher powers 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 bitterest!
FIRST LORD.
Say no more:
Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault
I' the 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. 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: 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. A desert Country near the Sea.
[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' the 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 of the 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 pr'ythee 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. 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.--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 bairn: A very pretty bairn! 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 comes; he hallaed but even now.--Whoa, ho hoa!
CLOWN.
[Within.] Hilloa, loa!
SHEPHERD.
What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on when thou
art dead and rotten, come hither.
[Enter CLOWN.]
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 yest 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 mocked them;--and how the poor
gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him,--both roaring louder
than the sea or weather.
SHEPHERD.
Name of mercy! when was this, boy?
CLOWN.
Now, now; I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men
are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the
gentleman; he's at it now.
SHEPHERD.
Would I had been by to have helped the old man!
CLOWN.
I would you had been by the ship-side, to have helped her:
there your charity would have lacked footing.
SHEPHERD.
[Aside.] Heavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here, boy.
Now bless thyself: thou mettest with things dying, I with things
new-born. 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.
This is fairy-gold, boy, and 'twill prove so: up with it, keep
it close: home, home, the next way! We are lucky, boy: and to be
so still requires nothing but secrecy--Let my sheep go:--come,
good boy, the next way home.
CLOWN.
Go you the next way with your findings. I'll go see if the bear
be gone from the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten: they
are never curst but when they are hungry: if there be any of him
left, I'll bury it.
SHEPHERD.
That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left
of him what he is, fetch me to the sight of him.
CLOWN.
Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' the ground.
SHEPHERD.
'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do good deeds on't.
[Exeunt.]
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
[Enter Time, as Chorus.]
TIME.
I,--that please some, try all; both joy and terror
Of good and bad; that make and unfold error,--
Now take upon me, in the name of Time,
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime
To me or my swift passage, that I slide
O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untried
Of that wide gap, since it is in my power
To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour
To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was
Or what is now received: I witness to
The times that brought them in; so shall I do
To the freshest things now reigning, and make stale
The glistering of this present, as my tale
Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,
I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing
As you had slept between. Leontes leaving
The effects of his fond jealousies, so grieving
That he shuts up himself; imagine me,
Gentle spectators, that I now may be
In fair Bohemia; and remember well,
I mention'd a son o' the king's, which Florizel
I now name to you; and with speed so pace
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wondering: what of her ensues,
I list not prophesy; but let Time's news
Be known when 'tis brought forth:--a shepherd's daughter,
And what to her adheres, which follows after,
Is the argument of Time. Of this allow,
If ever you have spent time worse ere now;
If never, yet that Time himself doth say
He wishes earnestly you never may.
[Exit.]
SCENE II. Bohemia. A Room in the palace of POLIXENES.
[Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO.]
POLIXENES.
I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: 'tis
a sickness denying thee anything; a death to grant this.
CAMILLO.
It is fifteen years since I saw my country; though I have
for the most part been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones
there. Besides, the penitent king, my master, hath sent for me;
to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween
to think so,--which is another spur to my departure.
POLIXENES.
As thou lovest me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy
services by leaving me now: the need I have of thee, thine own
goodness hath made; better not to have had thee than thus to want
thee; thou, having made me businesses which none without thee can
sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself, or
take away with thee the very services thou hast done; which if I
have not enough considered,--as too much I cannot,--to be more
thankful to thee shall be my study; and my profit therein the
heaping friendships. Of that fatal country Sicilia, pr'ythee,
speak no more; whose very naming punishes me with the remembrance
of that penitent, as thou call'st him, and reconciled king, my
brother; whose loss of his most precious queen and children are
even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me, when sawest thou the
Prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy, their issue
not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have
approved their virtues.
CAMILLO.
Sir, it is three days since I saw the prince. What his happier
affairs may be, are to me unknown; but I have missingly noted
he is of late much retired from court, and is less frequent to
his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared.
POLIXENES.
I have considered so much, Camillo, and with some care; so
far that I have eyes under my service which look upon his
removedness; from whom I have this intelligence,--that he is
seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd,--a man, they
say, that from very nothing, and beyond the imagination of his
neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable estate.
CAMILLO.
I have heard, sir, of such a man, who hath a daughter of most
rare note: the report of her is extended more than can be
thought to begin from such a cottage.
POLIXENES.
That's likewise part of my intelligence: but, I fear, the
angle that plucks our son thither. Thou shalt accompany us
to the place; where we will, not appearing what we are, have
some question with the shepherd; from whose simplicity I think
it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither.
Pr'ythee, be my present partner in this business, and lay
aside the thoughts of Sicilia.
CAMILLO.
I willingly obey your command.
POLIXENES.
My best Camillo!--We must disguise ourselves.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. The same. A Road near the Shepherd's cottage.
[Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing.]
AUTOLYCUS.
When daffodils begin to peer,--
With, hey! the doxy over the dale,--
Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year:
For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
The white sheet bleaching on the hedge,--
With, hey! the sweet birds, O, how they sing!--
Doth set my pugging tooth on edge;
For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.
The lark, that tirra-lirra chants,--
With, hey! with, hey! the thrush and the jay,--
Are summer songs for me and my aunts,
While we lie tumbling in the hay.
I have serv'd Prince Florizel, and in my time wore three-pile;
but now I am out of service:
But shall I go mourn for that, my dear?
The pale moon shines by night:
And when I wander here and there,
I then do most go right.
If tinkers may have leave to live,
And bear the sow-skin budget,
Then my account I well may give
And in the stocks avouch it.
My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen.
My father named me Autolycus; who being, I as am, littered under
Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With
die and drab I purchased this caparison; and my revenue is the
silly-cheat: gallows and knock are too powerful on the highway;
beating and hanging are terrors to me; for the life to come, I
sleep out the thought of it.--A prize! a prize!
[Enter CLOWN.]
CLOWN.
Let me see:--every 'leven wether tods; every tod yields pound
and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool to?
AUTOLYCUS.
[Aside.] If the springe hold, the cock's mine.
CLOWN.
I cannot do't without counters.--Let me see; what am I to
buy for our sheep-shearing feast? 'Three pound of sugar; five
pound of currants; rice'--what will this sister of mine do with
rice? But my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she
lays it on. She hath made me four and twenty nosegays for the
shearers,--three-man song-men all, and very good ones; but they
are most of them means and bases; but one puritan amongst them,
and he sings psalms to hornpipes. I must have saffron to colour
the warden pies; 'mace--dates',--none, that's out of my note;
'nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger',--but that I may beg;
'four pound of prunes, and as many of raisins o' the sun.'
AUTOLYCUS.
[Grovelling on the ground.] O that ever I was born!
CLOWN.
I' the name of me,--
AUTOLYCUS.
O, help me, help me! Pluck but off these rags; and then, death,
death!
CLOWN.
Alack, poor soul! thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee,
rather than have these off.
AUTOLYCUS.
O sir, the loathsomeness of them offend me more than the stripes
I have received, which are mighty ones and millions.
CLOWN.
Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter.
AUTOLYCUS.
I am robb'd, sir, and beaten; my money and apparel ta'en from me,
and these detestable things put upon me.
CLOWN.
What, by a horseman or a footman?
AUTOLYCUS.
A footman, sweet sir, a footman.
CLOWN.
Indeed, he should be a footman, by the garments he has left
with thee: if this be a horseman's coat, it hath seen very hot
service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee: come, lend me thy
hand.
[Helping him up.]
AUTOLYCUS.
O, good sir, tenderly, O!
CLOWN.
Alas, poor soul!
AUTOLYCUS.
O, good sir, softly, good sir: I fear, sir, my shoulder blade
is out.
CLOWN.
How now! canst stand?
AUTOLYCUS.
Softly, dear sir! [Picks his pocket.] good sir, softly; you ha'
done me a charitable office.
CLOWN.
Dost lack any money? I have a little money for thee.
AUTOLYCUS.
No, good sweet sir; no, I beseech you, sir: I have a kinsman not
past three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going; I
shall there have money or anything I want: offer me no money, I
pray you; that kills my heart.
CLOWN.
What manner of fellow was he that robbed you?
AUTOLYCUS.
A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about with troll-my-dames;
I knew him once a servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good sir,
for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipped out
of the court.
CLOWN.
His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipped out of the
court: they cherish it, to make it stay there; and yet it will no
more but abide.
AUTOLYCUS.
Vices, I would say, sir. I know this man well: he hath been
since an ape-bearer; then a process-server, a bailiff; then he
compassed a motion of the Prodigal Son, and married a tinker's
wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having
flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in rogue:
some call him Autolycus.
CLOWN.
Out upon him! prig, for my life, prig: he haunts wakes, fairs,
and bear-baitings.
AUTOLYCUS.
Very true, sir; he, sir, he; that's the rogue that put me into
this apparel.
CLOWN.
Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but looked
big and spit at him, he'd have run.
AUTOLYCUS.
I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter: I am false of heart
that way; and that he knew, I warrant him.
CLOWN.
How do you now?
AUTOLYCUS.
Sweet sir, much better than I was; I can stand and walk: I will
even take my leave of you and pace softly towards my kinsman's.
CLOWN.
Shall I bring thee on the way?
AUTOLYCUS.
No, good-faced sir; no, sweet sir.
CLOWN.
Then fare thee well: I must go buy spices for our sheep-shearing.
AUTOLYCUS.
Prosper you, sweet sir!
[Exit CLOWN.]
Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with
you at your sheep-shearing too. If I make not this cheat bring
out another, and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled,
and my name put in the book of virtue!
[Sings.]
Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,
And merrily hent the stile-a:
A merry heart goes all the day,
Your sad tires in a mile-a.
[Exit.]
SCENE IV. The same. A Shepherd's Cottage.
[Enter FLORIZEL and PERDITA.]
FLORIZEL.
These your unusual weeds to each part of you
Do give a life,--no shepherdess, but Flora
Peering in April's front. This your sheep-shearing
Is as a meeting of the petty gods,
And you the queen on't.
PERDITA.
Sir, my gracious lord,
To chide at your extremes it not becomes me,--
O, pardon that I name them!--your high self,
The gracious mark o' the land, you have obscur'd
With a swain's wearing; and me, poor lowly maid,
Most goddess-like prank'd up. But that our feasts
In every mess have folly, and the feeders
Digest it with a custom, I should blush
To see you so attir'd; swoon, I think,
To show myself a glass.
FLORIZEL.
I bless the time
When my good falcon made her flight across
Thy father's ground.
PERDITA.
Now Jove afford you cause!
To me the difference forges dread: your greatness
Hath not been us'd to fear. Even now I tremble
To think your father, by some accident,
Should pass this way, as you did. O, the fates!
How would he look to see his work, so noble,
Vilely bound up? What would he say? Or how
Should I, in these my borrow'd flaunts, behold
The sternness of his presence?
FLORIZEL.
Apprehend
Nothing but jollity. The gods themselves,
Humbling their deities to love, have taken
The shapes of beasts upon them: Jupiter
Became a bull and bellow'd; the green Neptune
A ram and bleated; and the fire-rob'd god,
Golden Apollo, a poor humble swain,
As I seem now:--their transformations
Were never for a piece of beauty rarer,--
Nor in a way so chaste, since my desires
Run not before mine honour, nor my lusts
Burn hotter than my faith.
PERDITA.
O, but, sir,
Your resolution cannot hold when 'tis
Oppos'd, as it must be, by the power of the king:
One of these two must be necessities,
Which then will speak, that you must change this purpose,
Or I my life.
FLORIZEL.
Thou dearest Perdita,
With these forc'd thoughts, I pr'ythee, darken not
The mirth o' the feast: or I'll be thine, my fair,
Or not my father's; for I cannot be
Mine own, nor anything to any, if
I be not thine: to this I am most constant,
Though destiny say no. Be merry, gentle;
Strangle such thoughts as these with any thing
That you behold the while. Your guests are coming:
Lift up your countenance, as it were the day
Of celebration of that nuptial which
We two have sworn shall come.
PERDITA.
O lady Fortune,
Stand you auspicious!
FLORIZEL.
See, your guests approach:
Address yourself to entertain them sprightly,
And let's be red with mirth.
[Enter Shepherd, with POLIXENES and CAMILLO, disguised; CLOWN,
MOPSA, DORCAS, with others.]
SHEPHERD.
Fie, daughter! When my old wife liv'd, upon
This day she was both pantler, butler, cook;
Both dame and servant; welcom'd all; serv'd all;
Would sing her song and dance her turn; now here
At upper end o' the table, now i' the middle;
On his shoulder, and his; her face o' fire
With labour, and the thing she took to quench it
She would to each one sip. You are retir'd,
As if you were a feasted one, and not
The hostess of the meeting: pray you, bid
These unknown friends to us welcome, for it is
A way to make us better friends, more known.
Come, quench your blushes, and present yourself
That which you are, mistress o' the feast: come on,
And bid us welcome to your sheep-shearing,
As your good flock shall prosper.
PERDITA.
[To POLIXENES.] Sir, welcome!
It is my father's will I should take on me
The hostess-ship o' the day:--
[To CAMILLO.] You're welcome, sir!
Give me those flowers there, Dorcas.--Reverend sirs,
For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep
Seeming and savour all the winter long:
Grace and remembrance be to you both!
And welcome to our shearing!
POLIXENES.
Shepherdess--
A fair one are you!--well you fit our ages
With flowers of winter.
PERDITA.
Sir, the year growing ancient,--
Not yet on summer's death nor on the birth
Of trembling winter,--the fairest flowers o' the season
Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors,
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not
To get slips of them.
POLIXENES.
Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Do you neglect them?
PERDITA.
For I have heard it said
There is an art which, in their piedness, shares
With great creating nature.
POLIXENES.
Say there be;
Yet nature is made better by no mean
But nature makes that mean; so, o'er that art
Which you say adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry
A gentler scion to the wildest stock,
And make conceive a bark of baser kind
By bud of nobler race. This is an art
Which does mend nature,--change it rather; but
The art itself is nature.
PERDITA.
So it is.
POLIXENES.
Then make your garden rich in gillyvors,
And do not call them bastards.
PERDITA.
I'll not put
The dibble in earth to set one slip of them;
No more than were I painted, I would wish
This youth should say, 'twere well, and only therefore
Desire to breed by me.--Here's flowers for you;
Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram;
The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun,
And with him rises weeping; these are flowers
Of middle summer, and I think they are given
To men of middle age. You're very welcome!
CAMILLO.
I should leave grazing, were I of your flock,
And only live by gazing.
PERDITA.
Out, alas!
You'd be so lean that blasts of January
Would blow you through and through.--Now, my fairest friend,
I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might
Become your time of day;--and yours, and yours,
That wear upon your virgin branches yet
Your maidenheads growing.--O Proserpina,
From the flowers now, that, frighted, thou lett'st fall
From Dis's waggon!--daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets dim
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength,--a malady
Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and
The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce being one.--O, these I lack,
To make you garlands of; and, my sweet friend,
To strew him o'er and o'er!
FLORIZEL.
What, like a corse?
PERDITA.
No; like a bank for love to lie and play on;
Not like a corse; or if,--not to be buried,
But quick, and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers;
Methinks I play as I have seen them do
In Whitsun pastorals: sure, this robe of mine
Does change my disposition.
FLORIZEL.
What you do
Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
I'd have you do it ever; when you sing,
I'd have you buy and sell so; so give alms;
Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,
To sing them too: when you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, still so, and own
No other function: each your doing,
So singular in each particular,
Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds,
That all your acts are queens.
PERDITA.
O Doricles,
Your praises are too large: but that your youth,
And the true blood which peeps fairly through it,
Do plainly give you out an unstained shepherd,
With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles,
You woo'd me the false way.
FLORIZEL.
I think you have
As little skill to fear as I have purpose
To put you to't. But, come; our dance, I pray:
Your hand, my Perdita; so turtles pair
That never mean to part.
PERDITA.
I'll swear for 'em.
POLIXENES.
This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever
Ran on the green-sward: nothing she does or seems
But smacks of something greater than herself,
Too noble for this place.
CAMILLO.
He tells her something
That makes her blood look out: good sooth, she is
The queen of curds and cream.
CLOWN.
Come on, strike up.
DORCAS.
Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, garlic,
To mend her kissing with!
MOPSA.
Now, in good time!
CLOWN.
Not a word, a word; we stand upon our manners.--
Come, strike up.
[Music. Here a dance Of Shepherds and Shepherdesses.]
POLIXENES.
Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this
Which dances with your daughter?
SHEPHERD.
They call him Doricles; and boasts himself
To have a worthy feeding; but I have it
Upon his own report, and I believe it:
He looks like sooth. He says he loves my daughter:
I think so too; for never gaz'd the moon
Upon the water as he'll stand, and read,
As 'twere, my daughter's eyes: and, to be plain,
I think there is not half a kiss to choose
Who loves another best.
POLIXENES.
She dances featly.
SHEPHERD.
So she does anything; though I report it,
That should be silent; if young Doricles
Do light upon her, she shall bring him that
Which he not dreams of.
[Enter a SERVANT.]
SERVANT.
O master, if you did but hear the pedlar at the door, you
would never dance again after a tabor and pipe; no, the bagpipe
could not move you: he sings several tunes faster than you'll
tell money: he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's
ears grew to his tunes.
CLOWN.
He could never come better: he shall come in. I love a ballad
but even too well, if it be doleful matter merrily set down, or
a very pleasant thing indeed and sung lamentably.
SERVANT.
He hath songs for man or woman of all sizes; no milliner can so
fit his customers with gloves: he has the prettiest love-songs
for maids; so without bawdry, which is strange; with such
delicate burdens of 'dildos' and 'fadings', 'jump her and thump
her'; and where some stretch-mouth'd rascal would, as it were,
mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the
maid to answer 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man',--puts him off,
slights him, with 'Whoop, do me no harm, good man.'
POLIXENES.
This is a brave fellow.
CLOWN.
Believe me, thou talkest of an admirable conceited fellow.
Has he any unbraided wares?
SERVANT.
He hath ribbons of all the colours i' the rainbow; points, more
than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle, though
they come to him by the gross; inkles, caddisses, cambrics,
lawns; why he sings 'em over as they were gods or goddesses;
you would think a smock were a she-angel, he so chants to the
sleeve-hand and the work about the square on't.
CLOWN.
Pr'ythee bring him in; and let him approach singing.
PERDITA.
Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in his tunes.
[Exit SERVANT.]
CLOWN.
You have of these pedlars that have more in them than you'd
think, sister.
PERDITA.
Ay, good brother, or go about to think.
[Enter AUTOLYCUS, singing.]
AUTOLYCUS.
Lawn as white as driven snow;
Cypress black as e'er was crow;
Gloves as sweet as damask-roses;
Masks for faces and for noses;
Bugle-bracelet, necklace amber,
Perfume for a lady's chamber;
Golden quoifs and stomachers,
For my lads to give their dears;
Pins and poking-sticks of steel,
What maids lack from head to heel.
Come, buy of me, come; come buy, come buy;
Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry:
Come, buy.
CLOWN.
If I were not in love with Mopsa, thou shouldst take no money
of me; but being enthralled as I am, it will also be the
bondage of certain ribbons and gloves.
MOPSA.
I was promis'd them against the feast; but they come not too
late now.
DORCAS.
He hath promised you more than that, or there be liars.
MOPSA.
He hath paid you all he promised you: may be he has paid you
more,--which will shame you to give him again.
CLOWN.
Is there no manners left among maids? will they wear their
plackets where they should bear their faces? Is there not
milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle
off these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our
guests? 'tis well they are whispering. Clamour your tongues, and
not a word more.
MOPSA.
I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace, and a pair
of sweet gloves.
CLOWN.
Have I not told thee how I was cozened by the way, and lost
all my money?
AUTOLYCUS.
And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it
behoves men to be wary.
CLOWN.
Fear not thou, man; thou shalt lose nothing here.
AUTOLYCUS.
I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge.
CLOWN.
What hast here? ballads?
MOPSA.
Pray now, buy some: I love a ballad in print a-life; for then
we are sure they are true.
AUTOLYCUS.
Here's one to a very doleful tune. How a usurer's wife was
brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she
long'd to eat adders' heads and toads carbonadoed.
MOPSA.
Is it true, think you?
AUTOLYCUS.
Very true; and but a month old.
DORCAS.
Bless me from marrying a usurer!
AUTOLYCUS.
Here's the midwife's name to' t, one Mistress Taleporter,
and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I
carry lies abroad?
MOPSA.
Pray you now, buy it.
CLOWN.
Come on, lay it by; and let's first see more ballads; we'll
buy the other things anon.
AUTOLYCUS.
Here's another ballad, of a fish that appeared upon the coast
on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom
above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of
maids: it was thought she was a woman, and was turned into a
cold fish for she would not exchange flesh with one that loved
her. The ballad is very pitiful, and as true.
DORCAS.
Is it true too, think you?
AUTOLYCUS.
Five justices' hands at it; and witnesses more than my pack
will hold.
CLOWN.
Lay it by too: another.
AUTOLYCUS.
This is a merry ballad; but a very pretty one.
MOPSA.
Let's have some merry ones.
AUTOLYCUS.
Why, this is a passing merry one, and goes to the tune of 'Two
maids wooing a man.' There's scarce a maid westward but she sings
it: 'tis in request, I can tell you.
MOPSA.
We can both sing it: if thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear;
'tis in three parts.
DORCAS.
We had the tune on't a month ago.
AUTOLYCUS.
I can bear my part; you must know 'tis my occupation: have at it
with you.
[SONG.]
AUTOLYCUS.
Get you hence, for I must go
Where it fits not you to know.
DORCAS.
Whither?
MOPSA.
O, whither?
DORCAS.
Whither?
MOPSA.
It becomes thy oath full well
Thou to me thy secrets tell.
DORCAS.
Me too! Let me go thither.
MOPSA.
Or thou goest to the grange or mill:
DORCAS.
If to either, thou dost ill.
AUTOLYCUS.
Neither.
DORCAS.
What, neither?
AUTOLYCUS.
Neither.
DORCAS.
Thou hast sworn my love to be;
MOPSA.
Thou hast sworn it more to me;
Then whither goest?--say, whither?
CLOWN.
We'll have this song out anon by ourselves; my father and the
gentlemen are in sad talk, and we'll not trouble them.--Come,
bring away thy pack after me.--Wenches, I'll buy for you
both:--Pedlar, let's have the first choice.--Follow me, girls.
[Exit with DORCAS and MOPSA.]
AUTOLYCUS.
[Aside.] And you shall pay well for 'em.
Will you buy any tape,
Or lace for your cape,
My dainty duck, my dear-a?
Any silk, any thread,
Any toys for your head,
Of the new'st and fin'st, fin'st wear-a?
Come to the pedlar;
Money's a meddler
That doth utter all men's ware-a.
[Exit.]
[Re-enter Servant.]
SERVANT.
Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, three
neat-herds, three swine-herds, that have made themselves all
men of hair; they call themselves saltiers: and they have
dance which the wenches say is a gallimaufry of gambols,
because they are not in't; but they themselves are o' the
mind (if it be not too rough for some that know little but
bowling) it will please plentifully.
SHEPHERD.
Away! we'll none on't; here has been too much homely foolery
already.--I know, sir, we weary you.
POLIXENES.
You weary those that refresh us: pray, let's see these four
threes of herdsmen.
SERVANT.
One three of them, by their own report, sir, hath danced before
the king; and not the worst of the three but jumps twelve foot
and a half by the squire.
SHEPHERD.
Leave your prating: since these good men are pleased, let them
come in; but quickly now.
SERVANT.
Why, they stay at door, sir.
[Exit.]
[Enter Twelve Rustics, habited like Satyrs. They dance, and then
exeunt.]
POLIXENES.
O, father, you'll know more of that hereafter.--
[To CAMILLO.] Is it not too far gone?--'Tis time to part them.--
He's simple and tells much. [To FLORIZEL.] How now, fair shepherd!
Your heart is full of something that does take
Your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young
And handed love as you do, I was wont
To load my she with knacks: I would have ransack'd
The pedlar's silken treasury and have pour'd it
To her acceptance; you have let him go,
And nothing marted with him. If your lass
Interpretation should abuse, and call this
Your lack of love or bounty, you were straited
For a reply, at least if you make a care
Of happy holding her.
FLORIZEL.
Old sir, I know
She prizes not such trifles as these are:
The gifts she looks from me are pack'd and lock'd
Up in my heart; which I have given already,
But not deliver'd.--O, hear me breathe my life
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem,
Hath sometime lov'd,--I take thy hand! this hand,
As soft as dove's down, and as white as it,
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow that's bolted
By the northern blasts twice o'er.
POLIXENES.
What follows this?--
How prettily the young swain seems to wash
The hand was fair before!--I have put you out:
But to your protestation; let me hear
What you profess.
FLORIZEL.
Do, and be witness to't.
POLIXENES.
And this my neighbour, too?
FLORIZEL.
And he, and more
Than he, and men,--the earth, the heavens, and all:--
That,--were I crown'd the most imperial monarch,
Thereof most worthy; were I the fairest youth
That ever made eye swerve; had force and knowledge
More than was ever man's,--I would not prize them
Without her love: for her employ them all;
Commend them, and condemn them to her service,
Or to their own perdition.
POLIXENES.
Fairly offer'd.
CAMILLO.
This shows a sound affection.
SHEPHERD.
But, my daughter,
Say you the like to him?
PERDITA.
I cannot speak
So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.
SHEPHERD.
Take hands, a bargain!--
And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to't:
I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his.
FLORIZEL.
O, that must be
I' the virtue of your daughter: one being dead,
I shall have more than you can dream of yet;
Enough then for your wonder: but come on,
Contract us 'fore these witnesses.
