THE WINTER'S TALE. Sidney Lee

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       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 childbed 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.—