Imatges de pÓgina

Of King Polixenes, it fhould here be laid,
Either for Life or Death, upon the Earth
Of its right Father. Bloffom, fpeed thee well,

[Lying down the Child. There lye, and there thy Character: There thefe, Which may, if Fortune please, both breed thee, Pretty one, And ftill reft thine. The Storm begins, poor Wretch, That for thy Mother's fault, art thus expos'd To lofs, and what may follow. Weep I cannot, But my Heart bleeds: and most accurft am I

To be by Oath enjoin'd to this.


The Day frowns more and more; thou art like to have
A lullaby too rough: I never faw

The Heav'ns fo dim by Day. A favage Clamour!
Well may I get aboard: This is the Chace,
I am gone for ever.

[Exit pursued by a Bears

Enter an old Shepherd,

Shep. I would there were no Age between ten and three and twenty, or that Youth would fleep out the reft: For there is nothing, in the between, but getting Wenches with Child, wronging the Ancientry, ftealing, fightingHark you now- would any but thefe boil'd Brains of nineteen, and two and twenty, Hunt this Weather? They have fcar'd away two of my beft Sheep, which I fear the Wolf will fooner find than the Mafter; if any where I have them, 'tis by the Sea-fide, brouzing of Ivy. Good luck, and't be the will, what we have here? [Taking up the Child.] Mercy on's, a Barn! a very pretty Barn! a Boy or a Child, I wonder! a pretty one, a very pretty one, fure fome 'fcape: Tho' I am not Bookish, yet I can read Waiting-Gentlewoman in the 'fcape. This has been fome Stair-work, fome Trunk-work, fome behind-door-work: They were warmer that got this, than the poor thing is here. I'll take it I'll take it up for pity, yet I'll tarry 'till my Son come: He hollow'd but even now. Whoa, ho-hoa.

Clo. Hilloa, loa.

Enter Clown.

Shep. What, art fo near? If thou'lt fee a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail'ft thou, Man?


Clo. I have feen two fuch fights, by Sea and by Land; but I am not to fay it is a Sea, for it is now the Sky, betwixt the Firmament and it, you cannot thruft a Bodkin's point.

Shep. Why, Boy, how is it?

Clo. I would you did but fee how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the Shore; but that's not to the point; Oh the most piteous cry of the poor Souls, fometimes to fee 'em, and not to fee 'em: Now the Ship boar ing the Moon with her Main-maft, and anon fwallow'd with Yeft and Froth, as you'ld thrust a Cork into a Hogfhead. And then the Land-fervice, to fee how the Bear tore out his Shoulder-bone, how he cry'd to me for help, and faid his Name was Antigonus, a Nobleman. But to make an end of the Ship, to fee how the Sea flap-dragon'd it. But firft, how the poor Souls roar'd, and the Sea mock'd them. And how the poor Gentleman roar'd, and the Bear mock'd him, both roaring louder than the Sea, or Weather.

Shep. Name of Mercy, when was this, Boy?

Cle. Now, now, I have not winked fince I faw thefe fights, the Men are not cold under Water, nor the Bear half dined on the Gentleman; he's at it now.

Shep. Would I had been by to have help'd the old Man.

Clo. I would you had been by the Ship-fide, to have help'd her, there your Charity would have lack'd footing.

Shep. Heavy Matters, heavy Matters; but look thee here, Boy. Now blefs thy felf; thou meet'ft with things dying, I with things new born. Here is a fight for thee; Look thee, a Bearing-cloath for a Squire's Child! Look thee here, take up, take up, Boy, open't, fo, let's fee, it was told me I fhould be rich by the Fairies. This is fome Changling; open't, what is within, Boy?

Clo. You're a mad old Man; If the Sins of your Youth are forgiven you, you are well to live. Gold, all Gold.

Shep. This is Fairy Gold, Boy, and 'twill prove fo. Up with it, keep it clofe: Home, home, the next way. We are lucky, Boy, and to be fo ftill requires nothing but Se


crefie. Let my Sheep go: Come, good Boy, the next way home.

Clo. Go you the next way with your Findings, I'll go fee if the Bear be gone from the Gentleman, and how much, he hath eaten: They are never Curft, but when they are hungry: If there be any of him left, I'll bury it.

Shep. That's a good Deed; if thou may'ft difcern by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to th' fight of him.

Clo. Marry will I, and you shall help to put him i'th' Ground.

Shep. 'Tis a lucky Day, Boy, and we'll do good Deeds [Exeunt.



Enter Time, The Chorus.

Time. That please fome, try all, both Joy and Terror Of good and bad, that make and unfold Error:

Now take upon me, in the Name of Time,

To ufe my Wings. Impute it not a Crime
To me, or my fwift Paffage, that I flide
O'er fixteen Years, and leave the growth untry'd
Of that wide gap; fince it is in my power
To o'erthrow Law, and in one felf-born hour
To plant, and o'er-whelm Cuftom. Let me pafs
The fame I am, e'er ancient'ft Order was,
Or what is now receiv'd. I witness to
The times that brought them in, so shall I do
To the fresheft things now reigning, and make ftale
Th' gliftering of this prefent, as my Tale
Now feems to it: Your Patience this allowing,
I turn my Glafs, and give my Scene fuch growing
As you had flept between. Leontes leaving
Th'Effects of his fond Jealoufies, fo grieving
That he fhuts up himself; imagine me,

Gentle Spectators, that I now may be



In fair Bohemia, and remember well,

I mention here a Son o'th' King's, which Florizel
I now name to you, and with speed fo
To fpeak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wondring. What of her enfues,
I lift not Prophefie: But let Time's News

Be known when 'tis brought forth. A Shepherd's Daughter,
And what to her adheres, which follows after,
Is th' Argument of Time; of this allow,
If ever you have spent Time worfe, e'er now:
If never, yet that Time himself doth fay,
He wishes earneftly, you never may.


Enter Polixenes and Camillo.


Pol. I praythee, good Camillo, be no more importunate; 'tis a Sicknefs denying thee any thing, a Death to grant this.

Cam. It is fifteen Years fince I faw my Country; though I have, for the most part, being aired Abroad, I defire to lay my Bones there. Befides, the penitent King, my Mifter, hath fent for me, to whofe feeling Sorrows I might be fome allay, or I o'erween to think fo, which is another Spur to my departure.

Pol. As thou lov'ft me, Camillo, wipe not out the reft of thy Services, by leaving me now; the need I have of thee, thine own Goodnefs hath made: Better not to have had thee, than thus to want thee. Thou having made me Bufinefs, which none, without thee, can fufficiently manage, muft either ftay to execute them thy felf, or take away with thee the very Services thou haft done; which if I have not enough confidered, as too much I cannot, to be more thankful to thee fhall be my ftudy, and my profit therein, the heaping Friendships. Of that fatal Country Sicilia, prethee fpeak no more, whofe very na ming punishes me with the remembrance of that Penitent, as thou call'ft him, and reconciled King my Brother, whofe lofs of his moft precious Queen and Chil


dren, are even now to be afresh lamented. Say to me when faw'st thou the Prince Florizel my Son? Kings are no lefs unhappy, their Iffue not being gracious, than they are in lofing them, when they have approved their Virtues.

Cam. Sir, it is three days fince I faw the Prince; what his happier Affairs may be, are to me unknown: but I have (miffingly) noted, he is of late much retired from Court, and is lefs frequent to his Princely Exercises than formerly he hath appear'd.

Pol. I have confider'd fo much, Camillo, and with fome care fo far, that I have Eyes under my Service, which look upon his removednefs; from whom I have this Intelligence, that he is feldom from the Houfe of a moft homely Shepherd; a Man, they fay, that from very nothing, and beyond the Imagination of his Neighbours, is grown into an unspeakable Eftate.

Cam. I have heard, Sir, of fuch a Man, who hath a Daughter of moft rare Note; the Report of her is extended more, than can be thought to begin from fuch a Cottage.

Pol. That's likewife part of my Intelligence; but, I fear, the Angle that plucks our Son thither. Thou shalt accompany us to the place, where we will (nor appearing what we are) have fome queftion with the Shepherd; from whofe Simplicity, I think it not uneafie to get the cause of my Son's refort thither. Prethee be my prefent Partner in this bufinefs, and lay afide the thoughts of Sicilia.

Cam. I willingly obey your Command.

Pol. My best Camillo, we must Disguise our felves.


Enter Autolicus finging.

When Daffadils begin to Peer,

With heigh the Doxy over the dale,

Why then comes in the sweet o'th' Year:


For the red Blood reigns in the Winter's pale.

Ꮋ Ꮒ ?


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