The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

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The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works Page 365

by William Shakespeare


  Here, to this place, i’th’ 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 condemned

  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.

  A 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.

  [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 sealed-up oracle, by the hand delivered

  Of great Apollo’s priest; and that since then

  You have not dared to break the holy seal,

  Nor read the secrets in’t.

  CLEOMENES and 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 blessèd 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’th’ oracle.

  The sessions shall proceed. This is mere falsehood.

  Enter a Servant

  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 falls to the ground

  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’ercharged. She will recover.

  I have too much believed mine own suspicion.

  Beseech you, tenderly apply to her

  Some remedies for life.

  Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, carrying 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 filled with honour, to my kingly guest

  Unclasped 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

  Through my rust! And how his piety

  Does my deeds make the blacker!

  Enter Paulina

  PAULINA Woe the while!

  O cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,

  Break too.

  A LORD What fit is this, good lady?

  PAULINA (to Leontes)

  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 bygone fooleries were but spices of it.

  That thou betrayed‘st Polixenes, ’twas nothing.

  That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant,

  And damnable ingrateful. 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 sweet‘st, dear’st creature’s dead, and vengeance

  for’t

  Not dropped down yet.

  A 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 deserved

  All tongues to talk their bitt’rest.

  A LORD (to Paulina)

  Say no more.

  Howe‘er the business goes, you have made fault

  I’th’ 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 showed too much

  The rashness of a woman. He is touched

  To th’ noble heart. What’s gone and what’s past help

  Should be past grief.

  (To Leontes) Do not receive affliction

  At my petition. I beseech you, rather

  Let me be punished, 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. Prithee 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

  3.3 Enter Antigonus, carrying the babe, with a Mariner ANTIGONUS

  Thou art perfect then our ship hath touched 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 barque. I’ll not be long before

  I call upon thee.

  MARINER

  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.

  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 believed, the spirits o‘th’ 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

  Like very sanctity she did approach

  My cabin where I lay, thrice bowed 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 prithee call’t. 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 slumber. Dreams are toys,

  Yet for this once, yea superstitiously,

  I will be squared by this. I do believe

  Hermione hath suffered 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!

  He lays down the babe and a scroll

  There lie, and there thy character.

  He lays down a box

  There these,

  Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,

  And still rest thine.

  ⌈Thunder⌉

  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’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

  OLD 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 seaside, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an’t be thy will!

  He sees the babe

  What have we here? 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 come. He hallooed but even now. Whoa-ho-hoa!

  Enter Clown

  CLOWN Hilloa, loa!

  OLD SHEPHERD What, art so near? If thou‘lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. 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.

  OLD 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 yeast 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-dragoned 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.

  OLD 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.

  OLD 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.

  OLD SHEPHERD Heavy matters, heavy matters. But look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself. Thou metst with things dying, I with things new-born. Here’s a sight for thee. Look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire’s child.

  He points to the box

  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 (opening the box) You’re a made old man. If the sins of your youth are forgiven you, you’re well to live. Gold, all gold!

  OLD SHEPHERD This is fairy gold, boy, and ‘twill prove so. Up with’t, 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.
/>   OLD SHEPHERD That’s a good deed. If thou mayst discern by that which is left of him what he is, fetch me to th’ sight of him.

  CLOWN Marry will I; and you shall help to put him i’th’ ground.

  OLD SHEPHERD ’Tis a lucky day, boy, and we’ll do good deeds on’t.

  Exeunt

  4.1 Enter Time, the Chorus

  TIME

  I that please some, try all; both joy and terror

  Of good and bad; that makes and unfolds 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 th’ 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

  Th‘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 mentioned a son o’th’ King‘s, which Florizel

  I now name to you; and with speed so pace

  To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace

  Equal with wond’ring. 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 th’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

  4.2 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 sixteen 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.

 

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