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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.
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.
9 I am sorry for't;] This is another instance of the sudden changes incident to vehement and ungovernable minds.
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
Mar. Make your best haste; and go not
Go thoù away:
I am glad at heart
Come, poor babe: I have heard, (but not believ'd, the spirits of the
dead "May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother Appeard to me last night; for ne'er was dream So like a waking. Tome comes a creature, Sometimes her head on one side, some another; I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,
Thou art perfect then,] Perfect is often used for certain, well assured, or well informed, by almost all our ancient writers.
So filld, and so becoming: in pure white robes,
[Laying down the Child There lie; and there thy character: there these;
[Laying down a Bundle. Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee,
pretty, And still rest thine. The storm begins:-Poor
wretch, That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd To loss, and what may follow!Weep I cannot,
t hy character:) thy description; i. e. the writing afterwards discovered with Perdita.
But my heart bleeds: and most accurs'd am I,
- Enter an old Shepherd. Shep. I would, there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty; or that youth would sleep out the rest: for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting.-Hark you now! Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen, and two-and-twenty, hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my best sheep; which, I fear, the wolf will sooner find, than the master: if any where I have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browzing on ivy. Good luck, an't be thy will! what have we here? [Taking up the Child.] Mercy on's, a barne; a very pretty barne! A boy, or a child, I wonder? A pretty one; a very pretty one: Sure, some scape: though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has been some stair-work, soine trunk-werk, some behind-door-work: they were warmer that got this, than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity: yet I'll tarry till my son coine; he hollaed but even now. Whoa, ho hoa!
Enter Clown. Clo. Hilloa, loa! Shep. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing
'. A boy, or a child,] I am told, that in some of our inland coimties, a female infant, ini contradistinction to a malc one, is still termed, among the peasantry,--a child. STEEVENS.
to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ailest thou, man? . ;i :
Clo. I have seen two such sights, by sea, and by land;-but I am not to say, it is a sea, for it is now the sky; betwixt the firmament and it, you cannot thrust a bodkin's point.
Shep. Why, boy, how is it?
Clo. I would, you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore! but that's not to the point: 0, the most piteous cry. of the poor souls! sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em: now the ship boring the moon with her mainmast; and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land service, To see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help, and said, his name was Antigonus, a nobleman:-Butto make an end of the ship: to see how the sea flapdragoned it:4—but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them;--and how the poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea, or weather. ' .
Shep. 'Name of mercy, when was this, boy?... • Clo. Now, now; I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman; he's at it now.
Shep. Would I had been by, to have helped the old man!
Clo. I would you had been by the ship side, to have helped her; there your charity would have lacked footing.
mens [Aside, Shep. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou met'st
Alap-dragoned it:] i. e. swallowed it, as our ancient topers swallowed flap-dragons.