pieces with a bear: this avouches the shepherd's son; who has not only his innocence (which seems much) to justify him, but a handkerchief and rings of his, that Paulina knows. 1 Gent. What became of his bark, and his followers ? 3 Gent. Wrecked, the same instant of their master's death, and in the view of the shepherd: so that all the instruments, which aided to expose the child, were even then lost, when it was found. But, O, the noble combat, that, 'twixt joy and sorrow, was fought in Paulina! She had one eye declined for the loss of her husband, another elevated that the oracle was fulfilled: she lifted the princess from the earth, and so locks her in embracing, as if she would pin her to her heart, that she might no more be in danger of losing. 1 Gent. The dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes, for by such was it acted. 3 Gent. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angled for mine eyes, (caught the water, though not the fish,) was, when at the relation of the queen's death, with the manner how she came to it, (bravely confessed and lamented by the king,) how attentiveness wounded his daughter; till, from one sign of dolour to another, she did, with an "alas," I would fain say, bleed tears, for I am sure my heart wept blood. Who was most marble there changed colour; some swooned, all sorrowed: if all the world could have seen it, the woe had been universal. 1 Gent. Are they returned to the court? 3 Gent. No: the princess hearing of her mother's statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina,—a piece many years in doing, and now newly performed by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself eternity, and could put breath into his work, would beguile nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her ape: he so near to Hermione hath done Hermione, that, they say, one would speak to her, and stand in hope of answer :-thither with all greediness of affection, are they gone; and there they intend to sup. 2 Gent. I thought she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath privately twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed house. Shall we thither, and with our company piece the rejoicing? 1 Gent. Who would be thence, that has the benefit of access? every wink of an eye, some new grace will be born: our absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along. [Exeunt Gentlemen. Aut. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the prince; told him I heard them talk of a fardel, and I know not what but he at that time, over-fond of the shepherd's daughter, (so he then took her to be,) who began to be much seasick, and himself little better, extremity of weather continuing, this mystery remained undiscovered. But 'tis all one to me; for had I been the finder out of this secret, it would not have relished among my other discredits.-Here come those I have done good to against my will, and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune. Enter Shepherd and Clown. Shep. Come, boy; I am past more children, but thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born. Clo. You are well met, Sir. You denied to fight with me this other day, because I was no gentleman born. See you these clothes? say, you see them not, and think me still no gentleman born: you were best say, these robes are not gentlemen born: give me the lie, do; and try whether I am not now a gentleman born. Aut. I know you are now, Sir, a gentleman born. Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. Clo. So you have :—but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the king's son took me by the hand, and called me, brother; and then the two kings called my father, brother; and then the prince, my brother, and the princess, my sister, called my father, father; and so we wept, and there was the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed. Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more. Clo. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we are. Aut. I humbly beseech you, Sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed to your worship, and to give me your good report to the prince my master. Shep. Pr'ythee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen. Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life? Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship. Clo. Give me thy hand: I will swear to the prince, thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia. Shep. You may say it, but not swear it. Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it, I'll swear it. Shep. How if it be false, son? Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of his friend :—and I'll swear to the prince, thou art a tall fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt be drunk: but I'll swear it; and I would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands. Aut. I will prove so, Sir, to my power. Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow: if I do not wonder how thou darest venture to be drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not. Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the queen's picture. Come, follow us: we'll be thy good masters. SCENE III.-SICILIA. [Exeunt. A Chapel in PAULINA'S House. Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PERDITA, CAMILLO, PAULINA, Lords, and Attendants. Leon. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort Paul. Leon. Paul. That I have had of thee! What, sovereign Sir, I did not well, I meant well. All my services You have paid home: but that you have vouchsaf'd Leon. It is a surplus of your grace, which never My life may last to answer. O Paulina, We honour you with trouble :-but we came That which my daughter came to look upon, The statue of her mother. As she liv'd peerless, So her dead likeness, I do well believe, Excels whatever yet you look'd upon, Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever Still sleep mock'd death: behold! and say, 'tis well. [PAULINA draws back a curtain, and discovers HERMIONE standing as a statue. I like your silence,-it the more shows off Your wonder: but yet speak ;-first, you, my liege. Comes it not something near? Her natural posture !— Chide me, dear stone, that I may say, indeed, As infancy and grace.-But yet, Paulina, Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence ; Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her As she liv'd now. Leon. As now she might have done, So much to my good comfort, as it is Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood, As now it coldly stands,) when first I woo'd her! Per. And give me leave; And do not say 'tis superstition, that I kneel, and then implore her blessing.—Lady, Dear queen, that ended when I but began, Give me that hand of yours to kiss. Paul. O, patience! The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's Not dry. Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on, Which sixteen winters cannot blow away, So many summers dry: scarce any joy Did ever so long live; no sorrow, But kill'd itself much sooner. Pol. Dear my brother, Let him that was the cause of this have power Will piece up in himself. If I had thought the sight of my poor image Would thus have wrought you, (for the stone is mine,) I'd not have show'd it. Leon. Do not draw the curtain. Paul. No longer shall you gaze on 't, lest your fancy May think anon it moves. Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already What was he, that did make it ?-See, my lord, Would you not deem it breath'd? and that those veins Did verily bear blood? Pol. Masterly done : The very life seems warm upon her lip. Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in 't, As we are mock'd with art. Paul. I'll draw the curtain: My lord's almost so far transported, that He'll think anon it lives. Leon. O sweet Paulina, Make me to think so twenty years together! No settled senses of the world can match The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone. Paul. I am sorry, Sir, I have thus far stirr'd you: but For this affliction has a taste as sweet As any cordial comfort.-Still, methinks, There is an air comes from her: what fine chisel Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me, Paul. Good my lord, forbear: The ruddiness upon her lip is wet; You'll mar it, if you kiss it; stain your own With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain? Per. Stand by, a looker on. Paul. So long could I Either forbear, Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you And take you by the hand: but then you'll think You do awake your faith. Then, all stand still; I am about, let them depart. |