Flo. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be;
The stars, I see, will kiss the vallies first:-
The odds for high and low's alike.
Leon.

Is this the daughter of a king?
Flo.

My lord,

She is,

When once she is my wife.
Leon. That once, I see, by your good father's speed,
Will come on very slowly. I am sorry,
Most sorry, you have broken from his liking,
Where you were tied in duty and so sorry,
Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty,
That you might well enjoy her.
Flo.
Dear, look up:
Though fortune, visible an enemy,
Should chase us, with my father power no jot
Hath she to change our loves.-'Beseech you, sir,
Remember since you ow'd no more to time
Than I do now: with thought of such affections,
Step forth mine advocate; at your request,
My father will grant precious things, as trifles.
Leon. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious mistress,
Which he counts but a trifle.

Paul.

Sir, my liege,

Your eye hath too much youth in 't: not a month
'Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes
Than what you look on now.
Leon.
I thought of her,
Even in these looks I made.-But your petition
Is yet unanswer'd: I will to your father; [To FLO.
Your honour not o'erthrown by your desires,
I am a friend to them, and you: upon which errand
I now go toward him; therefore follow me,
And mark what way I make: Come, good my lord.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-The same. Before the Palace.
Enter AUTOLYCUS and a Gentleman.
Aut. 'Beseech you, sir, were you present at this
relation?

1 Gent. I was by at the opening of the fardel, beard the old shepherd deliver the manner how he found it: whereupon, after a little amazedness, we were all commanded out of the chamber; only this, methought I heard the shepherd say, he found the child.

Aut. I would most gladly know the issue of it. 1 Gent. I make a broken delivery of the business : -But the changes I perceived in the king, and Camillo, were very notes of admiration: they seemed almost, with staring on one another, to tear the cases of their eyes; there was a speech in their dumbness, language in their very gesture; they looked, as they had heard of a world ransomed, or one destroyed: A noble passion of wonder appeared in them: but the wisest beholder, that knew no more but seeing, could not say, if the importance were joy, or sorrow: but in the extremity of the one it must needs be.

Enter another Gentleman. Here comes a gentleman, that, happily, knows more: The news, Rogero?

2 Gent. Nothing but bonfires: The oracle is fulfilled; the king's daughter is found: such a deal of wonder is broken out within this hour, that balladmakers cannot be able to express it.

Enter a third Gentleman.

Here comes the lady Paulina's steward; he can dehver you more.-How goes it now, sir? this news,

|which is called true, is so like an old tale, that the verity of it is in strong suspicion: Has the king found his heir?

3 Gent. Most true; if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance; that, which you hear, you'll swear you see, there is such unity in the proofs. The mantle of queen Hermione :-her jewel about the neck of it: the letters of Antigonus, found with it, which they know to be his character:-the majesty of the creature, in resemblance of the mother;-the affection of nobleness, which nature shews above her breeding, and many other evidences, proclaim her, with certainty, to be the king's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the two kings?

2 Gent. No.

3 Gent. Then have you lost a sight, which was to be seen, cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one joy crown another; so, and in such manner, that, it seemed, sorrow wept to take leave of them; for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up of eyes, holding up of hands; with countenance of such distraction, that they were to be known by garment, not by favour. Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his found daughter; as if that joy were now become a loss, cries, O, thy mother, thy mother! then asks Bohemia forgiveness; then embraces his son-in-law; then again worries he his daughter, with clipping her; now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by, like a weather-bitten conduit of may kings' reigns. I never heard of such another encounter, which lames report to follow it, and undoes description to do it.

2 Gent. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried hence the child?

3 Gent. Like an old tale still; which will have matter to rehearse, though credit be asleep, and not an ear open: He was torn to 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 ber 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 coull 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 sea-sick, 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.

Enter Shepherd and Clown.

Here comes those I have done good to against my will, and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune.

Shep. Come, boy; I am past more children, but hy 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 gentleman 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. Shep. And so have I, boy.

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 would'st 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.
[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-The same. A Room in Paulina's House,
Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PERDITA,
CAMILLO, PAULINA, Lords, and Attendants.
Leon. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort
That I have had of thee!
Paul.
What, sovereign sir,
I did not well, I meant well: All my services,
You have paid home: but that you have vouchsaf'd
With your crown'd brother, and these your contracted
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit;
It is a surplus of your grace, which never
My life may last to answer.
Leon.

O Paulina,
We bonour you with trouble: but we came
To see the statue of our queen your gallery
Have we pass'd through, not without much content
In many singularities; but we saw not
That which my daughter came to look upon,
The statue of her mother.
Paul.
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
Lonely, apart: But here it is: prepare
To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever
Still sleep mock'd death: behold; and say, 'tis well,
[PAULINA undraws a curtain and discovers a statue,
I like your silence, it the more shews off
Your wonder: But yet speak ;-first, you, my liege,
Comes it not something near?
Leon.
Her natural posture
Chide me, dear stone; that I may say, indeed,
Thou art Hermione: or, rather, thou art she,
In thy not chiding; for she was as tender,
As infancy and grace.-But yet, Paulina,
Hermione was not so much wrinkled; nothing
So aged, as this seems.

Pol.
O, not by much.
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
Even with such life of majesty, (warm life,
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,
I am asham'd: Does not the stone rebuke me,
As now it coldly stands,) when first I woo'd her!
For being more store than it ?-0, royal piece,
There's magic in thy majesty; which has
My evils conjur'd to remembrance; and
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
Standing like stone with thee!

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,
Did ever so long live; no sorrow,
So many summers, dry; scarce any joy
But kill'd itself much sooner.

Pol.
Dear my brother,
Let him, that was the cause of this, have power

Indeed, my lord.

If I had thought, the sight of my poor image
Would thus have wrought you (for the stone is mine,)
I'd not have shew'd it.
Leon.

Do not draw the curtain.
Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't; lest your
May think anon, it moves.
[fancy

Leon. Let be, let be. Would I were dead, but that, methinks, alreadyWhat 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 fixture 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. Make me to think so twenty years together; No settled senses of the world can match The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone.

O sweet Paulina,

Dear life redeems you. You perceive, she stirs ;
[HERMIONE comes down from the pedestal.
Start not her actions shall be holy, as,
You hear, my spell is lawful: do not shun her,
Until you see her die again; for then

You kill her double; Nay, present your hand :
When she was young, you woo'd her; now, in age,
Is she become the suitor.

Leon. O, she's warm!
If this be magic, let it be an art
Lawful as eating.

Pol.

[Embracing her.

She embraces him.

Cam. She hangs about his neck;

If she pertain to life, let her speak too.

Pol. Ay, and make't manifest where she has liv'd, Or, how stol'n from the dead?

Paul.

That she is living, Were it but told you, should be hooted at Like an old tale; but it appears, she lives, Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.Please you to interpose, fair madam; kneel, And pray your mother's blessing.-Turn, good lady; Our Perdita is found.

[Presenting PERDITA, who kneels to HERMIONE. You gods, look down,

Her.

I could afflict you further.

Leon.

Do, Paulina;

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,
For I will kiss her.

Paul.

Upon my daughter's head!-Tell me, mine own, Where hast thou been preserv'd? where liv'd? how

found

Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear, that I,-
Knowing by Paulina, that the oracle
Gave hope thou wastan being,--have preserv'd
Myself, to see the issue.

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?
Leon. No, not these twenty years.
Per.
Stand by, a looker on.
Paul.

Either forbear,
Quit presently the chapel; or resolve you
For more amazement: If you can behold it,
I'll make the statue move indeed; descend,
And take you by the hand: but then you'll think,
(Which I protest against,) I am assisted
By wicked powers.

O peace, Paulina;
Thou should'st a husband take by my consent,
As I by thine, a wife: this is a match,
And made between's by vows. Thou hast found mine,
But how, is to be question'd: for I saw her,
As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many
A prayer upon her grave: I'll not seek far
(For him, I partly know his mind,) to find thee
An honourable husband :-Come, Camillo,
And take her by the hand: whose worth, and honesty,
Is richly noted; and here justified

By us, a pair of kings.-Let's from this place.-
What?-Look upon my brother :-both your pardons,
That e'er I put between your holy looks
My ill suspicion.-This your son-in-law,
And son unto the king, (whom heavens directing,)
Is troth-plight to your daughter.-Good Paulina,
Lead us from hence; where we may leisurely
Each one demand, and answer to his part
Perform'd in this wide gap of time, since first
We were dissever'd: Hastily lead away. [Exeunt

misled some of great name into a wrong judgment of its merit; which, as far as it regards sentiment and character, is scarce inferior to any in the whole collection."

The persons of great name to whom Warburton alludes are Dryden and Pope. The former of whom mentions this play with no great indulgence, in the Essay at the end of the second part of the Conquest of Grenada; while the latter, in the preface to his edition of our author's works, is rash enough to class it with Love's Labour's Lost, the Comedy of Errors, and Titus Andronicus, as one of the plays, in which Shakspeare had pro duced only some characters, or single scenes, or perhaps a few

PERSONS REPRESENTED.

SOLINUS, Duke of Ephesus.
EGLON, a merchant of Syracuse.
ANTIPHOLUS of Ephesus, twin brothers, and sons to
Ægeon and Emilia, but
ANTIPHOLUS of Syracuse, unknown to each other.
DROMIO of Ephesus, twin brothers, and Attendants
DROMIO of Syracuse, on the two Antipholus's.
BALTHAZAR, a merchant.
ANGELO, a goldsmith.

A Merchant, friend to Antipholus of Syracuse.
PINCH, a schoolmaster, and a conjurer.

EMILIA, wife to Egeon, an Abbess at Ephesus.
ADRIANA, wife to Antipholus of Ephesus.
LUCIANA, her sister.

SCENE I.-A Hall in the Duke's Palace. Enter DUIE, ÆGEON, Gaoler, Officers, and other Attendants.

Ege. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall,
And, by the doom of death, end woes and all.
Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more;
I am not partial, to infringe our laws :
The enmity and discord, which of late
Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke
To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen,-
Who, wanting gilders to redeem their lives,
Have sealed his rigorous statutes with their bloods,
Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks.
For, since the mortal and intestine jars
Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed,
Both by the Syracusans and ourselves,
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns:
Nay, more,

If any, born at Ephesus, be seen
At any Syracusan marts and fairs,
Again, If any Syracusan born,
Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,
His goods confiscate to the duke dispose,
Unless a thousand marks be levied,
To quit the penalty, and to ransom him.
Thy substance, valued at the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
Therefore, by the law thou art condemn'd to die.
Ege. Yet this my comfort; when your words are
My woes end likewise with the evening sun. [done,
Duke. Well, Syracusan, say in brief the cause
Why thou departedst from thy native home;
And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.
Ege. A heavier task could not have been impos'd,
Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable:
Yet, that the world may witness, that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave.
In Syracusa was I born; and wed

Unto a woman, happy but for me,
And by me too, had not our hap been bad.
With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd,
By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum, till my factor's death,
And he (great care of goods at random left)
Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse
From whom my absence was not six months old,
Before herself (almost at fainting, under
The pleasing punishment that women bear,)
Had made provision for her following me,
And soon, and safe, arrived where I was.
There she had not been long, but she became
A joyful mother of two goodly sons;

And, which was strange, the one so like the other.
As could not be distinguish'd but by names.
That very hour, and in the self same inn,
A poor mean woman was delivered

Of such a burden, male twins, both alike:
Those, for their parents were exceeding poor,
I bought, and brought up to attend my sons.
My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,
Made daily motions for our home return:
Unwilling I agreed; alas, too soon.
We came aboard

A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,
Before the always-wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragic instance of our harm:
But longer did we not retain much hope;
For what obscured light the heavens did grant
Did but convey unto our fearful minds

A doubtful warrant of immediate death;
Which, though myself would gladly have embrac'd,
Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,
Weeping before for what she saw must come,
And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,
Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me.
And this it was,-for other means was none.-
The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us:
My wife, more careful for the latter-born,
Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,
Such as sea-faring men provide for storms:
To him one of the other twins was bound,
Whilst I had been like heedful of the other.
The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I.
Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,
Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;
And floating straight, obedient to the stream,
Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispers'd those vapours that offended us;
And, by the benefit of his wish'd light,
The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered
Two ships from far making amain to us,
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:
But ere they came,-O, let me say no more!
Gather the sequel by that went before.

Duke. Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so; For we may pity, though not pardon thee.

Ege. O, had the gods done so, I had not now Worthily term'd them merciless to us!

For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues We were encounter'd by a mighty rock;

Which being violently borne upon,

Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst,
So that, in this unjust divorce of us,
Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened
With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe,
Was carried with more speed before the wind;
And in our sight they three were taken up
By fishermen of, Corinth, as we thought.
At length, another ship had seiz'd on us;
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave helpful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests;
And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark been very slow of sail,
And therefore homeward did they bend their course.-
bliss;
Thus have you heard me sever'd from my
That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.
Duke. And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,
Do me the favour to dilate at full

What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now.
Ege. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care,
At eighteen years became inquisitive
After his brother; and impórtun'd me,
That his attendant, (for his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name,)
Might bear him company in the quest of him:
Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought,
Or that, or any place that harbours men.
But here must end the story of my life;
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my travels warrant me they live.
Duke. Hapless Egeon, whom the fates have mark'd
To bear the extremity of dire mishap!
Now, trust me, were it not against our laws,
Against my crown, my oath, my dignity,
Which princes, would they, may not disannul,
My soul should sue as advocate for thee.
But, though thou art adjudged to the death,
And passed sentence may not be recall'd,
But to our honour's great disparagement,
Yet will I favour thee in what I can:
Therefore, merchant, I'll limit thee this day,
To seek thy help by beneficial help:
Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus:
Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum,
And live; if not, then thou art doom'd to die :-
Gaoler, take him to thy custody.
Gaol. I will, my lord.

Ege. Hopeless, and helpless, doth
But to procrastinate his lifeless end.

geon wend, [Exeunt.

According to the statute of the town,

Dies ere the weary sun set in the west.

There is your money that I had to keep.

:

I to the world am like a drop of water,
That in the ocean seeks another drop;
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth,
Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself:
So I, to find a mother, and a brother
In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself.
Enter DROMIO of Ephesus.

Here comes the almanac of my true date.-
What now? How chance, thou art return'd so soon?
Dro. E. Return'd so soon! rather approach'd too late:
The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit;
The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell,
My mistress made it one upon my cheek:
She is so hot, because the meat is cold;
The meat is cold, because you come not home;
You come not home, because you have no stomach;
You have no stomach, having broke your fast;
But we, that know what 'tis to fast and pray,
Are penitent for your default to-day.

Ant. S. Stop in your wind, sir; tell me this, I pray; Where have you left the money that I gave you?

Dro. E. O,-sixpence, that I had o' Wednesday last, To pay the saddler for my mistress' crupper ;The saddler had it, sir, I kept it not.

Ant. S. I am not in a sportive humour now: Tell me, and dally not, where is the money? We being strangers here, how dar'st thou trust So great a charge from thine own custody? Dro. E. I pray you, jest, sir, as you sit at dinner: I from my mistress come to you in post; If I return, I shall be post indeed; For she will score your fault upon my pate. Methinks, your maw, like mine, should be your clock, And strike you home without a messenger.

Ant. S. Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of Reserve them till a merrier hour than this: [season; Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee?

Dro. E. To me, sir? why you gave no gold to me. Ant. S. Come on, sir knave; have done your fool ishness,

And tell me, how thou hast dispos'd thy charge.

Dro. E. My charge was but to fetch you from the mart Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner; My mistress, and her sister, stay for you.

Ant. S. Now, as I am a christian, answer me,

And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. Within this hour it will be dinner-time :

Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours, That stands on tricks when I am undispos'd: