The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works
Page 365
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.
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.