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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!


Leon. Hast thou read truth?


As it is here set down.


Ay, my lord; even so

Leon. There is no truth at all i'the oracle:

The sessions shall proceed; this is mere falsehood.

Enter a Servant, hastily.

Ser. My lord the king, the king!

Leon. Ser. 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.


What is the business?

How! gone?


Is dead. Leon. Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves


And see what death is doing.

Do strike at my injustice. [Hermione faints.] How now there?

Paul. This news is mortal to the


Leon. 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.-Apollo, pardon

[Exeunt Paulina and ladies, with Hermione.

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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.


O, cut my lace; lest my heart, cracking it,
Break too!

Woe the while!

1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady?

Paul. 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 ungrateful: nor was't much,
Thou would'st 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 don'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 ven-
geance for't

Not dropp'd down yet.

1 Lord.

The higher powers forbid! Paul. 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.

Go on, go on:
Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv'd
All tongues to talk their bitterest.

1 Lord.
Say no more;
Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault
I'the boldness of your speech.


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 the 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.

Leon. 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.




Enter Antigonus, with the Child; and a Mariner. Ant. Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd


The deserts of Bohemia?

Mar. 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 us.

Ant. Their sacred wills be done!-- -Go, get


Look to thy bark; I'll not be long, before
I call upon thee.

Mar. 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.


I'll follow instantly.

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Go thou away;

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