THE WINTER'S TALE. Sidney Lee

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,