Leon. What is the business? Serv. 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. Leon. How! gone? Is dead. Leon. Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves Do strike at my injustice. [Hermione faints.] How now there? Paul. This news is mortal to the queen :-Look down, And see what death is doing. Leon. Take her hence : Her heart is but o'ercharg'd; she will recover.- Some remedies for life.-Apollo, pardon [Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, with Herm. My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle !I'll reconcile me to Polixenes; New woo my queen; recall the good Camillo ; My friend Polixenes; which had been done, Not doing it, and being done: he, most humane, Of the event of the queen's trial. Committed. Paul. Re-enter Paulina. Woe the while! O, cut my lace; lest my heart, cracking it, 1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady? Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? Would have shed water out of fire*, ere done't: Of the young prince; whose honourable thoughts Not dropped down yet. 1 Lord. The higher powers forbid ! Paul. I say, she's dead; I'll swear't: if word, nor oath, * i. e. A devil would have shed tears of pity, ere he would have perpetrated such an action. Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring Heat outwardly, or breath within, I'll serve you Leon. 1 Lord. Say no more; Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault I' the boldness of your speech. Paul. 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 Let me be punish'd, that have minded you The love I bore your queen,-lo, fool again!- Who is lost too: Take your patience to you, 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 chapel where they lie; and tears, shed there, So long I daily vow to use it. Come, SCENE III. [Exeunt. Bohemia. A desert country near the sea. Enter Antigonus, with the child; and a Mariner. Ant. Thou art perfect* then, our ship hath touch'd upon 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 aboard; 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. Go thou away: I am glad at heart Exit. Come, poor babe :—— To be so rid o'the business. Ant. I have heard (but not believ'd,) the spirits of the dead May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother Appear'd 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, * Well-assured. So fill'd, and so becoming; in pure white robes, My cabin where I lay: thrice bow'd before me ; I pr'ythee call't; for this ungentle business, I did in time collect myself; and thought pretty, And still rest thine.--The storm begins :-Poor wretch, That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour? *The writing afterward discovered with Perdita. |