Alon. What is this maid with whom thou wast at play? Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours: Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us, Fer. Alon. you gods, And on this couple drop a blessed crown! Alon. Should become kings of Naples ? O, rejoice And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife 210 Where he himself was lost, Prospero his dukedom In a poor isle and all of us ourselves Alon. [To Fer. and Mir.] Give me your hands: Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart Gon. 9, look, sir, look, sir! here is more of us : I prophesied, if a gallows were on land, This fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy, That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on shore ? Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news? 220 Is tight and yare and bravely rigg'd as when We first put out to sea. Ari. [Aside to Pros.] Sir, all this service Have I done since I went. Pros. [Aside to Ari.] My tricksy spirit! Alon. These are not natural events; they strengthen From strange to stranger. Say, how came you hither? Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, I'ld strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, Sir, my liege, Do not infest your mind with beating on The strangeness of this business; at pick'd leisure And think of each thing well. [Aside to Ari.] Come hither, spirit: Set Caliban and his companions free; There are yet missing of your company Ste. Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take care for himself; for all is but fortune. Coragio, bully-monster, coragio ! Trin. If these be true spies which I wear in my head, here's a goodly sight. 260 Cal. O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed! How fine my master is! I am afraid Seb. Ha, ha! What things are these, my lord Antonio? Will money buy 'em? Ant. Very like; one of them Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. Pros. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords I shall be pinch'd to death. Alon. Is not this Stephano, my drunkeu butler? Seb. He is drunk now: where had he wine? Alon. And Trinculo is reeling ripe where should they Find this grand liquor that hath gilded 'em? How camest thou in this pickle ? 281 Trin. I have been in such a pickle since I saw you last that, I fear me, will never out of my bones I shall not fear fly-blowing. Seb. Why, how now, Stephano! Ste. O, touch me not; I am not Stephano, but a cramp. Pros. You'ld be king o' the isle, sirrah? Ste. I should have been a sore one then. Alon. This is a strange thing as e'er I look'd on. [Pointing to Caliban. Pros. He is as disproportion'd in his man ners 290 As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell; Cal. Ay, that I will; and I'll be wise hereafter And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass Was I, to take this drunkard for a god And worship this dull fool! Pros. Go to; away! Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it. Seb. Or stole it, rather. [Exeunt Cal., Ste., and Trin. Pros. Sir, I invite your highness and your train 300 For this one night; which, part of it, I'll waste With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it Go quick away; the story of my life Alon. Pros. And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales That is thy charge: then to the elements EPILOGUE. SPOKEN BY PROSPERO. Now my charms are all o'erthrown, As you from crimes would pardon'd be, 10 20 THE WINTER'S TALE. (WRITTEN ABOUT 1610-11.) INTRODUCTION. The Winter's Tale was seen at the Globe on May 15, 1611, by Dr. Forman, and is described in his MS. Booke of Plaies and Notes thereof. The versification is that of Shakespeare's latest group of plays: no five-measure lines are rhymed; run-on lines and double endings are numerous. Its tone and feeling place it in the same period with The Tempest and Cymbeline; its breezy air is surely that which blew over Warwickshire fields upon Shakespeare now returned to Stratford; its country lads and lasses, and their junketings, are those with which the poet had in a happy spirit renewed his acquaintance. The Winter's Tale is perhaps the last complete play that Shakespeare wrote. It is founded upon Greene's Pandosto (or, as it was afterward named, Dorastus and Fawnia) first published in 1588. The idea of introducing Time as a chorus comes from Greene, and all the principal characters, except Pauline and the incomparable rogue Autolycus. After his manner, Shakespeare drives forward to what chiefly interests him in the subject. The jealousy of Leontes is not a detailed dramatic study like the love and jealousy of Othello. It is a gross madness which mounts to the brain, and turns Leontes' whole nature into unreasoning passion. The character of the noble sufferer Hermione is that with which the dramatist is above all concerned-this first; and, secondly, the grace, beauty, and girlish happiness of Perdita; while of the subordinate persons of the drama, Shakespeare delights chiefly in his own creation, Autolycus, the most charming of rogues and rovers. Hermione may be placed side by side with the Queen Katharine of Henry VIII., which play belongs to this period. Both are noble sufferers, who by the dignity and purity of their natures transcend all feeling of vulgar resentment. Deep and even quick feeling never renders Hermione incapable of an admirable justice, nor deprives her of a true sense of pity for him who so gravely wrongs both her and himself. The meeting of kindred, with forgiveness and reconciliation, if these are called for by past offences, forms the common cnding of the last plays of Shakespeare. Perdita belongs to the group of exquisite youthful figures set over against those of their graver and sadder elders in the plays of this period. She is one of the same company with Miranda and Marina, and the youthful sons of Cymbeline. The shepherdess-princess, "queen of curds and cream," is less a vision than Miranda, the child of wonder, but more perhaps a creature of this earth. There is nothing lovelier or more innocently joyous in poetry than Perdita at the rustic merry-making, sharing her flowers with old and young. And in Florizel she has found a lover, full of the innocence and chivalry of unstained early manhood. Autolycus stands by himself among the creations of the dramatist. The art of thieving as practised by him is no crime, but the gift of some knavish god. He does not trample on the laws of morality, but dances or leaps over them with so nimble a foot that we forbear to stay him. In the sad world which contains a Leontes and can lose a Mamillius, so light-hearted a wanderer must be pardoned even if he be light-fingered, and sometimes mistakes for his own the sheet bleaching on the hedge, which happens to be ours. ACT I. SCENE I. Antechamber in LEONTES' palace. Enter CAMILLO and ARCHIDAMUS. Arch. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion whereon my services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia. Cam. I think, this coming summer, the King of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him. Arch. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us we will be justified in our loves; for indeed10 Cam. Beseech you, Arch. Verily, I speak it in the freedom of my knowledge: we cannot with such magnificence-in so rare-I know not what to say. We will give you sleepy drinks, that your senses, unintelligent of our insufficience, may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse us. Cam. You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely. 19 Arch. Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me and as mine honesty puts it to utterance. Cam. Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia. They were trained together in their childhoods; and there rooted betwixt them then such an affection, which cannot choose but branch now. Since their more mature dignities and royal necessities made separation of their society, their encounters, though not personal, have been royally attorneyed with interchange of gifts, letters, loving embassies ; that they have seemed to be together, though absent, shook hands, as over a vast, and embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed winds. The heavens continue their loves! Arch. I think there is not in the world either malice or matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable comfort of your young prince Mamillius: it is a gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into my note. 40 Cam. I very well agree with you in the hopes of him it is a gallant child; one that indeed physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh they that went on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to see him a man. Arch. Would they else be content to die? Cam. Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should desire to live. Arch. If the king had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he had one. 50 [Exeunt. SCENE II. A room of state in the same. Enter LEONTES, HERMIONE, MAMILLIUS, POLIXENES, CAMILLO, and Attendants. Pol. Nine changes of the watery star hath been The shepherd's note since we have left our throne Were there necessity in your request, although Leon. Tongue-tied, our queen? speak you. Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until You have drawn oaths from him not to stay. You, sir, Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sure 30 All in Bohemia's well; this satisfaction Leon. But let him say so then, and let him go; To let him there a month behind the gest I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind Pol. No, madam. I may not, verily, Was not my lord The verier wag o' the two? Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs that did frisk i' the sun, And bleat the one at the other: what we changed 70 Was innocence for innocence; we knew not Boldly not guilty;' the imposition clear'd Her. Pol. In those unfledged days was my wife a girl; Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes Of my young play-fellow. Grace to boot! 80 Her. Of this make no conclusion, lest you say Your queen and I are devils: yet go on; The offences we have made you do we'll Her. What! have I twice said well ? when was't before? 90 I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and make's As fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. But once before I spoke to the purpose: when? Leon. Why, that was when 101 Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death, The one for ever earn'd a royal husband; Leon. The mort o' the deer; O, that is entertainment My bosom likes not, nor my brows! Mamillius, Art thou my boy? Mam. Leon. Ay, my good lord. I' fecks! 120 Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast smutch'd thy nose? They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain, We must be neat ; not neat, but cleanly, cap tain: And yet the steer, the heifer and the calf To be full like me: yet they say we are |