Thou dotard, thou art woman-tyr'd; unroofted
By thy dame Partlet here. Take the bastard,
Take't up, I fay; give't to thy croan.

Paul. For ever

Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou

up

Tak'ft up the Princefs, by that forced basenefs '
Which he has put upon't!

Leo. He dreads his wife.

Paul. So, I would, you did: then 'twere past all

doubt,

You'd call your children yours.

Leo. A neft of traytors!

Ant. I am none, by this good light.

Paul. Nor I; nor any

But one, that's here; and that's himself. For he
The facred honour of himfelf, his Queen's,

His hopeful fon's, his babe's, betrays to flander,

Whofe fting is fharper than the fword's; and will not (For as the cafe now ftands, it is a curfe He cannot be compell'd to't) once remove

The root of his opinion, which is rotten,

ever oak or ftone was found.

Leo. A callat

Of boundlefs tongue, who late hath beat her husband, And now baits me!-This brat is none of mine:

It is the iffue of Polixenes.

Hence with it, and together with the dam,
Commit them to the fire.

Paul. It is yours;

And, might we lay th' old proverb to your charge,
So like you, 'tis the worfe. Behold, my Lords,
Altho' the print be little, the whole matter
And copy of the father; eye, nofe, lip,

The trick of's frown, his forehead, nay, the valley,

baftard; Paulina forbids him to touch the Princefs under that appellation. Forced is falfe, uttered with violence to truth.

The

The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek, his fmiles,
The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger.
And thou, good Goddefs Nature, which haft made it
So like to him that got it, if thou haft

The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours
No yellow in't; left she suspect, as he does,
Her children not her husband's.

Leo. A grofs hag!

And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd,
That wilt not ftay her tongue.

Ant. Hang all the hufbands,

That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourfelf
Hardly one fubject.

Leo. Once more, take her hence.

Paul. A moft unworthy and unnatural Lord

Can, do no more.

Leo. I'll ha', thee burnt.

Paul. I care not;

It is an heretick that makes the fire,

Not the which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant; But this moft cruel ufage of your Queen

Not able to produce more accufation

Than your own weak-hing'd fancy, fomething favours Of tyranny; and will ignoble make you,

Yea, fcandalous to the world.

Leo. On your allegiance,

Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyrant,
Where were her life? fhe durft not call me fo,
If she did know me one. Away with her.

Paul. I pray you, do not pufh me, I'll be gone. -Look to your babe, my Lord, 'tis yours; Jove fend her

A better guiding fpirit!--What need thefe hands?-
You, that are thus fo tender o'er his follies,

Will never do him good, not one of
So, fo: farewel, we are gone.

you.

[Exit.

No yellow in't;] Yellow is the colour of jealousy.

SCENE

SCENE VI.

Leo. Thou, traitor, haft fet on thy wife to this. My child? away with't. Even thou, thou that haft A heart fo tender o'er it, take it hence,

And fee it inftantly confum'd with fire;

Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up ftraight:
Within this hour bring me word it is done,
And by good teftimony, or I'll feize thy life,
With what thou elfe call'd thine: if thou refuse,
And wilt encounter with my wrath, fay fo:
The baftard brains with thefe my proper hands
Shall I dafh out: go take it to the fire,
For thou fett'ft on thy wife.

Ant. I did not, Sir:

Thefe lords, my noble fellows, if they please,
Can clear me in't.

Lord. We can. My royal Liege,

He is not guilty of her coming hither:
Leo. You're liars all.

Lord. 'Befeech your Highnefs, give us better credit.
We've always truly ferv'd you, and befeech you
So to efteem of us: and on our knees we beg
(As recompence of our dear fervices

Paft, and to come) that you do change this purpofe, Which being fo horrible, fo bloody, must

Lead on to fome foul iffue. We all kneel

[they kneel

Leo. I am a feather for each wind that blows:

Shall I live on, to fee this baftard kneel
And call me father? better burn it now,
Than curfe it then. But be it; let it live:

-It fhall not neither.-You, Sir, come you hither;

[To Antigonus.

You, that have been fo tenderly officious
With lady Margery, your midwife there,
To fave this baftard's life (for 'tis a bastard,

So

So fure as this beard's grey) what will you adventure To fave this brat's life?

Ant. Any thing, my Lord,
That my ability may undergo,

And noblenefs impofe: at least, thus much;
I'll pawn the little blood which I have left,
To fave the innocent; any thing poffible.
Leo. It fhall be poffible; fwear by this fword,
Thou wilt perform my bidding.

Ant. I will, my Lord.

Leo. Mark and perform it; feeft thou? for the fail Of any point in't fhall not only be

Death to thyfelf, but to thy lewd-tongu'd wife,
Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,
As thou art liege-man to us, that thou carry
This female bastard hence, and that thou bear it
To fome remote and defert place, quite out
Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it,
Without more mercy, to its own protection
And favour of the climate. As by ftrange fortune
It came to us, I do in juftice charge thee,
On thy foul's peril and thy body's torture,
That thou commend it ftrangely to fome place 7,
Where chance may nurfe, or end it. Take it up.
Ant. I fwear to do this: tho' a prefent death
Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe;
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens
To be thy nurfes! Wolves and bears, they say,
Cafting their favagenefs afide, have done
Like offices of pity. Sir, be profperous
In more than this deed does require; and bleffing,
Against this cruelty, fight on thy fide!

-Poor thing condemn'd to lofs.-[Exit, with the Child.
Leo. No; I'll not rear

Another's iffue.

7

commend it firangely to fome place,] Commit to

fome place, as a franger, with out more provifion."

Enter

Enter a Messenger.

Mef. Please your Highness, pofts,
From those you fent to th' oracle, are come
An hour fince. Cleomines and Dion,

Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed,
Hafting to th' Court.

Lord. So please you, Sir, their speed Hath been beyond account.

Leo. Twenty-three days

They have been abfent: this good fpeed foretels,
The great Apollo fuddenly will have

The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords,
Summon a feffion, that me may arraign
Our most difloyal Lady; for as the hath
Been publicly accus'd, fo fhall the have
A juft and open trial. While fhe lives,
My heart will be a burden to me.
And think upon my bidding.

ACT III.

Leave me,

[Exeunt feverally.

SCENE I.

A Part of Sicily, near the Sea-fide.

Enter Cleomines and Dion, with Attendants.

TH

CLEOMINES.

HE climate's delicate, the air moft fweet, Fertile the isle, the temple much furpaffing The common praise it bears.

& Fertile the ifle,-] But the temple of Apollo at Delphi was not in an island, but in Phocis, on the continent. Either

Dion.

Shakespeare, or his Editors, had their heads running on Delos, an ifland of the Cyclades. If it was the Editor's blunder, then ShakeSpeare