 Dramatis personae of the winter's tale. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Winter's Tale by William Shakespeare. Dramatis personae. The Antigonus Lord of Cystia, read by John Doyle. Architimus, read by David Nicol. Ortolicus, read by Algy Pag. Camillo, a Lord of Cecilia, read by M.B. Cleomenus, read by Vicente. Clown, son of the old shepherd, read by Bags. Dion, read by Robert Fletcher. Tarkus, read by Patty Cunningham. Emilia, read by Laurie Ann Walden. First Gentleman, read by Levi Throckmorton. First Lady, read by Musical Heart One. First Lord, read by Guero. First Servant, read by Robin in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Florazelle, played by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. Jailer, read by Dennis D. The Gentleman, read by Joe Carabass. Hermione, read by Ariel Lipschaw. Leontes, read by Bruce Peary. Lord, Lords, read by the Rat King. Memilius, young Prince of Cecilia, read by Susanna. Mariner, read by David Lawrence. Mopsa, a Shepherdess, read by Avaii. Officer, as read by Bologna Times. Old Shepherd, read by Obi-Wan Dutri. Paulina, wife to Antigonus, read by Elizabeth Clirt. Perdita, performed by Karen Savage. Polixonies, read by David Goldfairb. Second Gentleman, read by Martin Geeson. Second Lady, read by Maria Therese. Second Servant, read by Lucy Perry. Servant, third Gentleman, read by Musical Heart One. Time as the Chorus, read by Philippa. End of Dramatis Personae. Act I, of the Winter's Tale, by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act I, Scene I. Enter Chamber in Leontes Palace. Enter Camillo and Architimus. If you shall chance Camillo to visit Bohemia on the like occasion whereon my service is now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia. I think this coming summer the King of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us. We will be justified in our loves, for indeed, 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 insufficions, may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse us. You pay a great deal too dear for what's given freely. Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me and as my honesty puts it to veterans. Sicilia cannot show himself over kind to Bohemia. They were trained together in their childhoods and their 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 opposite winds. The heavens continue their loves. I think there is not in the world either malice or matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable comfort of your young prince Memilius. It is a gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into my note. 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. Would they else be content to die? Yes, if there were no other excuse why they should desire to live. The king had no son. They would desire to live on crutches till he had one. Exeant. Act one, scene two. A room of state in the same. And to Leontes, Hermione, Memilius, Polyxonies, Camillo, and Attendance. Nine changes of the watery star have been the shepherd's note since we have left our throne without a burden. Time as long again would be we find up my brother with our thanks, and yet we should for perpetuity go hence in debt, and therefore, like a seeker yet standing in rich place, I multiply with one we thank you, many thousands more that go before it. Stay your thanks a while and pay them when you part. Sir, that's tomorrow. I am questioned by my fears of what may chance or breed upon our absence. That may blow no sneaking winds at home to make us say this is put forth too truly. Besides, I have stayed to tire your royalty. We are tougher, brother, than you can put us to it. No longer stay. One seven night longer. Very sooth, to-morrow. We'll part the time between us then, and in that I'll know gainsaying. Press me not, beseech you so. There is no tongue that moves none, none in the world so soon as yours could win me, so it should now were their necessity in your request, although it were needful I denied it. My affairs do even drag me homeward, which to hinder were in your lava whip to me. My stay to you a charge in trouble, to save both. Farewell, our brother. Tungtide, our queen, speak you. 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 all in Bohemia's well. This satisfaction, the bygone day proclaimed, say this to him, he's beat from his best ward. Well said, Hermione. To tell he longs to see his son were strong, but let him say so then, and let him go. But let him swear so, and he shall not stay, will thwack him hencewith distaffs. Yet of your royal presence I'll adventure the borough of a week. When at Bohemia you take my lord, I'll give him my commission to let him there a month behind the jest prefixed for his parting. Yet good deed, Leontes. I love thee not a jar of the clock behind what lady she her lord. You'll stay. No, madam. Nay, but you will. I may not, verily. Verily? You put me off with limber vows. But I, though you would seek to un-sphere the stars with oaths, should yet say, sir, no going. Verily, you shall not go. A lady's verily's as potent as a lord's. Will you go yet? Force me to keep you as a prisoner, not like a guest. So you shall pay your fees when you depart and save your thanks. How say you, my prisoner, or my guest? By your dread verily one of them you shall be. Your guest, then, madam. To be your prisoner should import offending, which is for me less easy to commit than you to punish. Not your jailer, then, but your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys. You were pretty lordings, then. We were, fair queen, two lads that thought there was no more behind, but such a day to-morrow as to-day, and to be boy eternal. Was not my lord the verier wag of the two? We were as twinned lambs that did frisky the sun and bleep the one at the other what we changed was innocence for innocence. We knew not the doctrine of ill-doing, nor dreamed that any did. Had we pursued that life and our weak spirits, Nair had been higher-reared with stronger blood, we should have answered heaven boldly, not guilty. The imposition cleared hereditary hours. By this we gather you have tripped since. O my most sacred lady! Temptations have since then been borne to us. For in those unfledged days was my wife a girl. Your precious self had then not crossed the eyes of my young play-fellow. Grace to boot! Of this make no conclusion, lest you say your queen and I are devils. Yet go on. The offenses we have made you do will answer. If you first sinned with us, and that with us you did continue fault, and that you slipped not with any but with us. Is he one yet? He'll stay, my lord. At my request he would not. Hermione, my dearest, thou never spokeest to better purpose. Never? Never but once. What have I twice said well, when watched before? I pretty tell me. Crams with praise, and makes as fat as tame things. One good deed dying tongueless, slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages. You may ride with one soft kiss a thousand furlongs, ere with spur we beat an acre. But to the goal, my last good deed was to entreat his stay. What was my first? It has an elder sister, or I mistake you. Oh, would her name were Grace. But once before I spoke to the purpose. When? Nay, let me have it, I long. Why, that was when three crabid months had soured themselves to death, ere I could make thee open thy white hand and clap thyself my love. Then, dits thou utter, I am yours for ever. Tis Grace indeed. While lo, you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice. The one for ever earned a royal husband, the other for some while a friend. Aside. Too hot, too hot. To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods. I have tremor cordus on me. My heart dances but not for joy, not joy. This entertainment may a free face put on derive a liberty from heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom, and well become the agent. To me, I grant, but to be paddling palms and pinching fingers as now they are and making practised smiles as in a looking-glass and then to sigh as tour the mort of the deer. Oh, that is entertainment my bosom likes not, nor my brows. Memilius, art thou my boy? I am my good lord. Ifx, why, that's my bar-cock. What has smut thy nose? They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain, we must be neat. Not neat, but cleanly, captain, and yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf are all called neat. Still virginalling upon his palm. How now you wanton calf, art thou my calf? Yes, if you will, my lord. I want a rough pash and the shoots that I have to be full like me. Yet they say we are almost as like as eggs. Women say so that we'll say anything. But were they false as or died, blacks as wind as waters, false as dice are to be wished by one that fixes no-born twist his in mine? Yet were it true to say this boy were like me. Come, Sir Page, look on me with your welkin eye. Sweet villain, most dearest, my callop. Can I damn? May it be? Affection, thy intention, stabs the centre. Thou dost make possible things not so held, Communicatest with dreams. How can this be? With what's unreal thou co-active art, and fellowest nothing, then to's very credent thou mayest co-join with something. Thou dost, and that beyond commission, and I find it, and that to the infection of my brains and hardening of my brows. What means, Cecilia? He something seems unsettled. How, my lord, what cheer? How is't with you best brother? You look as if you held a brow of much distraction. Are you moved, my lord? No, in good earnest, how sometimes nature will betray its folly, its tenderness, and to make itself a pastime to harder bosoms. Looking on the lines of my boy's face, me thoughts I did recoil twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreached in my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled lest it should bite its master, and so prove, as ornaments oft do, too dangerous. How like, me thought, I then was to this colonel, this squash, this gentleman. My nonnest friend, will you take eggs for money? No, my lord, I'll fight. You will? Why, happy man, be a stall. My brother, are you so fond of your young prince as we do seem to be of ours? If at home, sir, he's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter, now my sworn friend, and then my enemy, my parasite, my soldier, statesman, all. He makes a July's day shortest December, and with his very in-childish cures in me thoughts that would thick my blood. So stands this squire office'd with me. We, too, will walk, my lord, and leave you to your graver steps. Hermione, how thou lovest us, show in our brothers welcome. Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap. Next to thyself and my young rover. He's apparent to my heart. If you would seek us, we are yours in the garden. Shall's attend you there. To your own bents dispose you, you'll be found be you beneath the sky. Aside. I am angling now, though you perceive me not how I give line. Go to, go to, how she holds up the neb, the bill, to him, and arms her with the boldness of a wife to her allowing husband. Exeant, Polyxonies, Hermione, and attendants. Gone already. Inch thick, knee deep, or head and ears a fork'd one. Go play, boy, play. Thy mother plays, and I play, too, but so disgraced a part whose issue will hiss me to my grave. Contempt and clamour will be mine now. Go play, boy, play. There have been, or I am much deceived, cuckolds ere now, and many a man there is even at this present now while I speak this holds his wife by the arm that little thinks she has been sluiced in s'absence, and his pond fished by his next neighbour, by Sir Smile, his neighbour. Nay, there's comfort in it, whilst other men have gates and those gates opened as mine against their will. Should all despair that have revolted wise the tenth of mankind would hang themselves. Physic for it there is none. It is a body-planet that will strike where it is predominant, and his powerful, think it, from east, west, north and south. Be it concluded, no barricado for a belly, know it, it will let in and out the enemy with bag and baggage. Many thousand honours have the disease, and feel it not. How now, boy? I am like you, they say. Why, that's some comfort. What, Camillo there? I, my good Lord. Go play, Memilius, thou art an honest man. Exit Memilius. Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. You had much adieu to make his anchor hold. When you cast out it still came home. Didst note it. He would not stay at your petitions. Made his business more material. Didst perceive it. Aside. They're here with me already, whispering. Rounding Cecilia is a so forth. Tis far gone when I shall gust it last. How came it, Camillo, that he did stay? At the good Queen's entreaty. At the Queen's, be it. Good should be pertinent, but so it is, it is not. Was this taken by any understanding paid but thine? For thy conceit is soaking. We'll draw in more than the common blocks. Not noted is it but of the finer natures? By some severals of head-piece extraordinary, lower messes per chance to this business per blind say. Business, my Lord. I think most understand Bohemia stays here longer. Ha! Stays here longer. Aye, but why? To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties of our most gracious mistress. Satisfy. The entreaties of your mistress. Satisfy. Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, with all the nearest things to my heart, as well my chamber-councils wherein priest-like thou hast cleansed my bosom. I, from thee departed, thy penitent reformed. But we have been deceived in thy integrity, deceived in that which seems so. Be it forbid, my Lord! To bide upon it thou art not honest, or, if thou inclinest that way, thou art a coward, which hoxes honesty behind, restraining from course required, or else thou must be counted a servant grafted in my serious trust and therein negligent, or else a fool that seest a game played home, the rich stake drawn, and takest it all for jest. My gracious Lord, I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful. In every one of these no man is free. But that his negligence, his folly, fear among the infinite doings of the world sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my Lord, if ever I were willful negligent, it was my folly. If industriously I played the fool, it was my negligence not weighing well the end. If ever fearful to do a thing were I the issue doubted where the execution did cry out against the non-performance, it was a fear which often affects the wisest. These, my Lord, are allowed infirmities that honesty is never free of. Besiege, your grace, be plainer with me. Let me know my trespass by its own visage. If I then deny it is none of mine. And not you seen, Camillo, but that's past doubt you have, or your eyeglass is thicker than a cuckold's horn, or heard, for to a vision so apparent rumour cannot be mute, or thought, for cogitation resides not in that man that does not think. My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess, or else be impudently negative, to have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say my wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name as rank as any flax wench that puts to before her truth-plight. Say it and justify it. I would not be a standard by to hear my sovereign mistress clouded so without my present vengeance taken. Through my heart you never spoke what did become you less than this, which to reiterate were sin as deep as that, though true. Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek? Is meeting noses kissing with inside lip, stopping the career of laughing with a sigh, a note infallible of breaking honesty, horsing foot on foot, skulking in corners, wishing clocks more swift, hours minutes, noon, midnight, and all eyes blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only, that would unseen be wicked. Is this nothing? Why, then, the world and all that's in it is nothing. The covering sky is nothing, Bohemia nothing, my wife is nothing, nor nothing have these nothings if this be nothing. Could my lord be cured of this diseased opinion and betimes, for it is most dangerous? Say it be, it is true. No, no, my lord. It is, you lie, you lie. I say thou liest Camillo and I hate thee, pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave, or else a hovering temporizer that canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil inclining to them both. Where my wife's liver infected as her life, she would not live the running of one glass. Who does infect her? Why, he that wears her like a medal hanging about his neck, Bohemia, who if I had servants true about me that bear eyes to see alike mine honour as their profits, their own particular thrifts, they would do that which should undo more doing. I and thou, his cup-bearer, whom I from meaner form have benched and reared to worship, who mayst see plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven how I am galled, mightst be spice a cup to give mine enemy a lasting wink, which draught to me were cordial. Sir, my lord, I could do this, and that with no rash poison, but with a lingering dram that should not work maliciously like poison. But I cannot believe this crack to be in my dread, Mistress, so sovereignly being honourable. I have loved thee! Make that thy question and go wrought. Dest think I am so muddy, so unsettled to appoint myself in this vexation, sully the purity and whiteness of my sheets, which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted is golds, thorns, nettles, tales of wasps, give scandal to the blood of the prince my son, who I do think is mine and love as mine, without ripe moving to it. Would I do this? Could man so blench? I must believe you, sir. I do, and will fetch off Bohemia for it. Provided that, when he's removed, your highness will pick again your queen as yours at first, even for your son's sake, and thereby for sealing the injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms known and allied to yours. There dost advise me even so, as I my known course hath set down. I'll give no blemish to her honour, none. My lord, go then, and with accountenance as clear as friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia and with your queen. I am his cup-bearer, if from me he have wholesome beverage, account me not your servant. This is all. Do it, and thou hast the one half of my heart. Do it not, thou splits thine own. I'll do it, my lord. I will seem friendly as thou hast advised me. Exit. Oh, miserable lady, but, for me, what case stand I in? I must be the poisoner of good polyxonies, and my ground to do it is the obedience to a master, one who in rebellion with himself will have all that are his so too. To do this deed, promotion follows. If I could find example of thousands that had struck anointed kings and flourished after I'd not do it, but since nor brass nor stone nor parchment bears not one, let villainy itself forswear it. I must forsake the court. To do it or no is certain to me a breakneck. Oh, happy star, rain now. Here comes Bohemia. Re-enter polyxonies. This is strange. Me thinks my favour here begins to warp, not speak. Good day, Camillo. Hail, most royal, sir. What is the news of the court? Unrare, my lord. The king hath on him such accountenance, as he had lost some province and a region loved as he loves himself. Even now I met him with customary compliment, when he, wafting his eyes to the contrary and falling a lip of much contempt, speeds from me, and so leaves me to consider what is breeding that changeeth thus his manners. I dare not know, my lord. How? Dare not? Do not? Do you know and dare not? Be intelligent to me, that is thereabouts, for to yourself what you do know you must, and cannot say you dare not. Good Camillo, your changed complexions are to me a mirror which shows me mine changed too, for I must be a party in this alteration, finding myself thus altered with it. There is a sickness which put some of us in distemper, but I cannot name the disease, and it is caught of you that yet are well. How? Caught of me? Make me not sighted like the basilisk, I have looked on thousands who have sped the better by my regard, but killed none so. Camillo, as you are certainly a gentleman, there too clerk-like experienced, which no less adorns our gentry than our parents' noble names, in whose success we are gentle. I beseech you, if you know ought which does behoove my knowledge, thereof to be informed, imprisoned not in ignorant concealment. I may not answer. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well. I must be answered. Dost thou hear, Camillo? I conjure thee by all the parts of man which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least is not this suit of mine, that thou declare what incidences thou dost guess of harm is creeping toward me, how far off, how near, which way to be prevented, if to be, if not how best to bear it. Sir, I will tell you, since I am charged in honour and by him that I think honourable, therefore mark my counsel, which must be even as swiftly followed as I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me cry lost and so good-night. I'm good, Camillo. I am appointed him to murder you. By whom, Camillo? By the king. For what? He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears as he had seen toward being an instrument device you to it, that you have touched his queen forbiddenly. Oh! Then my best blood turned to an infected jelly, and my name be yoked with his that did betray the best. Turn, then, my freshest reputation to a savor that may strike the dullest nostril where I arrive, and my approach be shunned, nay, hated too, worse than the greatest infection that error was heard or read. Swear his thought over by each particular star in heaven by all their influences you may as well forbid the sea for to obey the moon as or by oath remove or counsel shake the fabric of his folly, whose foundation is piled upon his faith and will continue the standing of his body. How should this grow? I know not, but I am sure it is safer to avoid what's grown than question how it is born. If therefore you dare trust my honesty that lies enclosed in this trunk shall bear long impond away to-night your followers I will whisper to the business and will by twos and threes at several postures clear them in the city. For myself I'll put my fortunes to your service which are hereby this discovery lost, but not uncertain for by the honor of my parents I have uttered truth which if you seek to prove I dare not stand by nor shall you be safer than one condemned by the king's own mouth thereon his execution sworn. I do believe thee. I saw his heart in's face. Give me thy hand. Be pilot to me and thy places shall still neighbor mine. My ships are ready and my people did expect my hands departure two days ago. This jealousy is for a precious creature as she's rare must it be great and as his persons mighty must it be violent and as he does conceive he is dishonored by a man which ever professed to him why his revenges must in that be made more bitter. Fear oh shades me. Good expedition be my friend and comfort the gracious queen part of his theme but nothing of his ill tamed suspicion. Come Camillo, I will respect thee as a father if thou burst my life off hence. Let us avoid. It is in my authority to command the keys of all the postures. Please your highness to take the urgent hour. Come sir, away, exeant. End of Act One Act Two of the Winter's Tale by William Shakespeare This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Act Two, Scene One A Roman Leante's Palace Enter Hermione Mamillius and Ladies Take the boy to you he so troubles me to his past enduring. Come my gracious lord, shall I be your playfellow? No, I'll none of you. Why my sweet lord? You'll kiss me hard and speak to me as if I were a baby still. I love you better. And why so, my lord? Not for because your brows are blacker yet black brows they say become some women best so that there be not too much hair there but in a semi-circle or a half moon made with a pen. Who taught you this? I learned it out of women's faces. Pray now, what color are your eyebrows? Blue, my lord. Nay, that's a mock. I have seen a lady's nose that has been blue but not her eyebrows. Harky, the queen your mother rounds apace. We shall present our services to a fine new prince one of these days. Then you'd wanton with us if we would have you. She is spread of late into a goodly balk. Good times encounter her. What wisdom stirs amongst you. Come sir, now I am for you again. Pray you sit by us and tell the tale. Mary your sad shall to be. As Mary as you will. A sad tale's best for winter. I have one of sprites and goblins. Let's have that good sir. Come on, sit down. Come on and do your best to fright me with your sprites. You're powerful at it. There was a man. Nay, come, sit down, then on. Dwelt by a churchyard. I will tell it softly. Yond crickets shall not hear it. Come on then, and give to me in mine ear. Enter Leontes with Antigonus, Lords, and others. Was he met there, his train? Camillo with him? Behind the tuft of pines I met them. I saw I men scour so on their way. I eyed them, even to their ships. How blessed am I in my just censure, in my true opinion. A lack for lesser knowledge. How accursed in being so blessed. There may be in the cup a spider steeped, and one may drink the part and yet partake no venom, for his knowledge is not infected. But if one presents the abhorred ingredient to his eye, make known how he heth drunk, he cracks his gorge his sides with violent hefts. I have drunk and seen the spider. Camillo was his help in this, his pander. There is a plot against my life, my crown. All's true that is mistrusted, that false villain whom I employed was pre-employed by him. He has discovered my design, and I remain a pinched thing. Ye a very trick for them to play at will. How came the postern so easily open? By his great authority, which often hath no less prevailed than so on your command. I know it too well. Give me the boy. I am glad you did not nurse him, though he does bear some signs of me, yet you have too much blood in him. What is this, sport? Bear the boy hence. Do not come about her, away with him, and let her sport herself with that she's big with, for tis polyxonies has mead thee swell thus. But I'll say he had not, and I'll be sworn you would believe my saying how ere you lean to the nayward. You, my lords, look on her, mark her well. Be but about to say she is a goodly lady, and the justice of your hearts will there to add, tis pity she's not honest, honourable. Praise her but for this her without door-form, which on my faith deserts high speech, and straight the shrug, the hum, or ha, these petty brands that Calumny doth use. Oh, I am out that mercy does, for Calumny will sear virtue itself. These shrugs, these hums and haws, when you have said she's goodly, come between ere you can say she's honest. But, be it known, from him that has most cause to grieve it should be, she's an adulterous. Should a villain say so? The most replenished villain in the world he were as much more villain. You, my lord, do but mistake. You have mistook, my lady, polyxonies for Leontes, o thou thing, which I'll not call a creature of thy place, lest barbarism making me the precedent, should a like language use to all degrees, and mannerly distinguishment leave out betwixt the prince and beggar. I have said she's an adulterous, I have said with whom. More, she's a traitor, and Camillo is a federary with her, and one that knows what she should shame to know herself, but with her most vile principal, that she's a bed-swerver. Even as bad as those that vulgers have boldest titles, I, and privy to this their late escape. No, by my life, privy to none of this. How will this grieve you, when you shall come to clear a knowledge that you thus have published me? Gentle, my lord, you scarce can write me throughly than to say you did mistake. No. If I mistake in those foundations which I build upon, the center is not big enough to bear that little boy's top, away with her to prison. He who shall speak for her is a far-off guilty, but that he speaks. There's some ill-planet reigns. I must be patient till the heavens look with an aspect more favorable. Good, my lords, I am not prone to weeping as our sex commonly are, the want of which veined you perchance shall dry your pities. But I have that honorable grief lodged here which burns worse than tears drown. Besiege you all, my lords, with thoughts so qualified as your charity shall best instruct you measure me, and so the kings will be performed. Shall I be heard? Who is that goes with me? Besiege your highness, my women may be with me, for you see my plight requires it. Do not weep, good fools, there is no cause. When you shall know your mistress has deserved prison then abound in tears as I come out, this action I now go on is for my better grace. But you, my lord, I never wished to see you sorry. Now I trust I shall. My women, come, you have leave. Go do our bidding, hence. Exit Hermione, guarded with ladies. Besiege your highness, call the queen again. Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice prove violence, in the which three great ones suffer. Yourself, your queen, your son. For her, my lord, I dare my life lay down and will do it, sir. Please you to accept it that the queen is spotless in the eyes of heaven and to you. I mean, in this which you accuse her. If it proves she's otherwise, I'll keep my stables where I lodge my wife. I'll go in couples with her, then when I feel and see her, trust her. For every inch of woman in the world, eh, every dram of woman's flesh is false, if she be. Hold your pieces. Good, my lord. It is for you, we speak, not for ourselves. You are abused, and by some put her on. That'll be damned for it. Would I knew the villain, I would landam him. Be sure, honoured, flawed. I have three daughters, the eldest is eleven, the second and the third nine, and some five. If this proves true, they'll pay it. By mine honour. Our guildon, all. Fourteen they shall not see. To bring false generations, they are co-heirs, and I had rather glib myself than they should not produce fair issue. Cease, no more. You smell this business with a sense as cold as is a dead man's nose, but I do see it and feel it as you feel doing thus and see with all the instruments that feel. If it be so, we need no grave to bury honesty. There's not a grain of it the face to sweeten of the whole, dungy earth. What, lack I credit? I had rather you did lack than I, my lord, upon this ground, and more it would content me to have her honour true than your suspicion. Be blamed for it how you might. Why, what need we commune with you of this, but rather follow our forceful instigation. Our prerogative calls not your councils, but our natural goodness imparts this, which if you, or stupefied, or seeming so in skill, cannot or will not relish a truth like us, inform yourselves we need no more of your advice. The matter, the loss, the gain, the ordering on it is all properly ours. And I wish, my liege, you had only in your silent judgement tried it without more overture. How could that be? Either thou art most ignorant by age or thou art born a fool. Camillo's flight added to their familiarity which was as gross as every touched conjecture that lacked sight only, not for approbation but only seeing. Other circumstances made up to the deed doth push on this proceeding. Yet for a greater confirmation, for in an act of this importance to our most piteous to be wild, I have dispatched in post to sacred Delphos, to Apollo's temple, Cleomenes and Dion whom you know of stuffed sufficiency, now from the oracle they will bring all, whose spiritual council had, shall stop or spur me. Have I done well? Well done, my lord. Though I am satisfied and need no more than what I know, yet shall the oracle give rest to the minds of others, such as he whose ignorant credulity will not come up to the truth. So have we thought it good from our free person she should be confined, lest that the treachery of the two fled hence be left her to perform. Come, follow us. We are to speak in public, business will raise us all. Aside. Till after as I take it, if the good truth were known. Exeant. Act two, scene two, a prison. Enter Paulina, a gentleman, and attendants. The keeper of the prison. Call to him. Let him have knowledge who I am. Exit, gentlemen. Good lady. No court in Europe is too good for thee. Just dust thou, then, in prison. Re-enter, gentlemen, with the jailer. Now good sir. You know me, do you not? For a worthy lady, and one who much high honour. Pray you, then, conduct me to the queen. I may not, madam. To the contrary, I have expressed con-madment. Here's a do to lock up honesty and honour from the access of gentle visitors. Is't lawful I pray you to see her women, any of them, Emilia? So please, you, madam, to put apart these your attendants. I shall bring Emilia forth. I pray you now call her. Withdraw yourselves. Exeant, gentlemen, and attendants. And, madam, I must be present at your conference. Well be it so, prithee. Exit, jailer. There's such a do to make no stain a stain as passes colouring. Re-enter, jailer, with Emilia. Dear gentlewoman, how fares our gracious lady. As well as one so great and so forlorn may hold together. On her frights and griefs, which never tender lady hath borne greater, she is something before her time delivered. A boy? A daughter, and a goodly babe, lusty and like to live. The queen receives much comfort in it, says, my poor prisoner, I am innocent as you. I dare be sworn these dangerous unsafe loons of the king be shrew them. He must be told on't, and he shall. The office becomes a woman best. I'll take it upon me. If I prove honey-mouthed, let my tongue blister and never to my red-looked anger be the trumpet any more. Pray you, Emilia, commend my best obedience to the queen. If she dares trust me with her little babe, I'll show it to the king and undertake to be her advocate to the loudest. We do not know how he may soften at the sight of the child. The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails. Most worthy, madam, your honor and your goodness is so evident that your free undertaking cannot miss a thriving issue. There is no lady living so meat for this great errand. Please, your ladyship, to visit the next room. I'll presently acquaint the queen of your most noble offer, who but today hammered of this design, but durst not tempt a minister of honor, lest she should be denied. Tell her, Emilia. I'll use that tongue I have. If wit flow front as boldness from my bosom, let it not be doubted I shall do good. Now be you blessed for it. I'll to the queen. Please you, come something nearer. Madam, if you please the queen to send the babe, I know not what I shall incur to pass it, having no warrant. You need not fear it, sir. This child was prisoner to the womb, and is by law and process of great nature, thence freed and enfranchised, not a party to the anger of the king, nor guilty of, if any be, the trespass of the queen. I do believe it. Do not you fear? Upon mine honor I will stand betwixt you and danger. Exeant. Act II, Scene III. A Roman Lyonte's Palace. Enter Lyonte's. Antigonus. Lords and servants. Nor night nor day no rest. It is but weakness to bear the matter thus, mere weakness. If the cause were not in being, part of the cause she, the adulteress, for the harlot king is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blankened level of my brain, plot proof. But she, I can hook to me, say that she were gone, given to the fire, a moiety of my rest might come to me again. Who's there? My lord. How does the boy? He took good rest, tonight. Tis hoped his sickness is discharged. To see his nobleness. Conceiving the dishonor of his mother, he straight declined, drooped, took it deeply, fastened and fixed the shame on it in himself, threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, and downright languished. Leave me solely, go, see how he fares. Exit servant. Fie, fie, no thought of him. The thought of my revenge is that way recoil upon me, in himself too mighty, and in his parties his alliance. Let him be, until a time may serve, for present vengeance take it on her. Camillo and Polyxonys laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow. They should not laugh if I could reach them, nor shall she within my power. Enter Paulina with a child. You must not enter. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me. Fear you his tearless passion more, alas, than the queen's life. A gracious, innocent soul more free than he is jealous. That's enough. Madam, he hath not slept tonight. Commanded none should come at him. Not so hot, good sir. I come to bring him sleep, to such as you that creep like shadows by him and do sigh at each his needless heavings, such as you nourish the cause of his awakening. I do come with words as medicinal as true, honest as either, to purge him of that humour that presses him from sleep. What noise there, ho? No noise, my lord, but needful conference about some gossips for your highness. How? Away with that audacious lady. Antigonus, I charged thee that she should not come about me. I knew she would. I told her so, my lord. On your displeasure's peril and on mine, she should not visit you. What? Canst not rule her? From all dishonesty he can. In this, unless he take the course that you have done, commit me for committing honour, trust it, he shall not rule me. Thou, you know, you hear, when she will take the reign, I let her run, but she'll not stumble. Good my liege, I come, and I beseech you hear me, who profess myself your loyal servant, your physician, your most obedient counsellor, yet that dare less appear so in comforting your evils than such as most seem yours. I say I come from your good queen. Good queen. Good queen, my lord, good queen, I say good queen, and would by combat make her good so were I a man the worst about you. Force her hence. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes first hand me, on mine own accord I'll off, but first I'll do my errand. The good queen, for she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter. Here it is. Commends it to your blessing. Laying down the child. Out, a mankind witch, hence with her out adore, a most intelligencing bod. Not so. I am as ignorant in that as you in so entitling me, and no less honest than you are mad, which is enough I'll warrant as this world goes to pass, for honest. Traitors, will you not push her out? Give her the bastard. Thou dotered, thou art woman tired, unroosted by thy deem partlet here. Take up the bastard, take it up, I say. Give it to thy crone. For ever unvenerable be thy hands if thou takest up the princess by that forcid baseness which he has put upon it. He dreads his wife. So I would you did. Then for past all doubt you'd call your children yours. A nest of traitors. I am none but this good light. Nor I, nor any but one that's here, and that's himself, for he the sacred honour of himself, his queens, his hopeful sons, his babes, betrays to slander, whose sting is sharper than the sword's, and will not, for as the case now stands it is a curse he cannot be compelled to it, once remove the root of his opinion which is as rotten as ever oak or stone was sound. A callot of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband, and now bates me. This brat is none of mine. It is the issue of Polluxenys. Hencewith it, and together with the dam, commit them to the fire. It is yours. And might we lay the old proverb to your charge so like you, it is the worse. Behold, my lords. Although the print be little, the whole matter and copy of the father, I, nose, lip, the trick of frown, his forehead, nay, the valley, the pretty dimples of his chin and cheek, his smiles, the very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger, and thou good goddess nature which hast made it so like to him that got it. If thou hast the ordering of the mind, too, amongst all colours, there is no yellow int, lest she suspect as he does her children, not her husbands. A gross hag and lozzle thou art worthy to be hanged that will not stay her tongue. Hang all the husbands that cannot do that feat. You'll leave yourself hardly one subject. Once more take her hence. A most unworthy and unnatural lord can do no more. I'll have thee burnt. I care not. Then heretic that makes the fire not she which burns int. I'll not call you tyrant, but this most cruel usage of your queen not able to produce more accusation than your own weak hinged fancy, some things savers of tyranny and will ignoble make you, yea, scandalous to the world. On your allegiance out of the chamber with her, were I a tyrant, where were her life? She durst not call me so if she did know me one, away with her. I pray you do not push me. I'll be gone. Look to your babe, my lord. Tis yours. Jove sent her a better guiding spirit. What needs these hands? You that are thus so tender or his follies will never do him good, not one of you. So, so farewell. We are gone. Exit. Thou traitor hast set on thy wife to this. My child, away with it. Thou that hast a heart so tender or it, take it hence, and see it instantly consumed with fire. Even thou, and none but thou, take it up straight. Within this hour bring me word tis done, and by good testimony or I'll seize thy life with what thou else callest thine. If thou refuse and wilt encounter with my wrath, say so. The bastard brains with these my proper hands shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire, for thou setest on thy wife. I did not, sir. These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, can clear me in it. We can. My royal leech. He is not guilty of her coming hither. You're liars all. Beset, your highness, give us better credit. We have always truly served you, and beset you so to esteem of us, and on our knees we beg, as recompense of our dear services past and to come, that you do change this purpose, which being so horrible, so bloody, must lead on to some foul issue. We all kneel. I am a feather for each wind that blows. Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel and call me father? Better burn it now than curse it then. But be it. Let it live. It shall not neither. You, sir, come you hither. You that have been so tenderly officious with Lady Marjorie, your midwife there, to save this bastard's life, for tis a bastard as sure as this beard's grey, what will you adventure to save this brat's life? Anything, my lord, that my ability may undergo and nobleness impose, at least thus much, our pawn and little blood which I have left to save the innocent, anything possible. It shall be possible. Swear by this sword thou wilt perform my bidding. I will, my lord. Mark and perform it, seeest thou, for the fail of any point in it shall not only be death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongued wife, whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee, as thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry this female bastard hence, and that thou bear it to some remote and desert place quite out of our dominions, and that there thou leave it without more mercy to its own protection and favour of the climate. As by strange fortune it came to us, I do injustice charge thee on thy soul's peril and thy body's torture, that thou commend it strangely to some place where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up. I swear to do this. Though a present death had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe. Some powerful spirit instructs the kites and ravens to be thy nurses, wolves and bears. They say casting their savageness aside have done like officers of pity. Sir, be prosperous in more than this deed does require, and blessing against this cruelty fight on thy side, poor thing condemned to loss. Exit with the child. Oh, I'll not rear another's issue. Enter a servant. Please, Your Highness, posts from those you sent to the oracle are come an hour since. Cleomenes and Dion, being well arrived from Delphos, are off-landed hastening to the court. So please you, sir, their speed hath been beyond account. Twenty-three days they have been absent, and his good speed foretells the great Apollo suddenly will have the truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords, summon a session that we may arraign our most disloyal lady, for as she hath been publicly accused, so shall she have a just and open trial, while she lives my heart will be a-burden to me. Leave me, and think upon my bidding. Exiant. LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act III, Scene I. A seaport in Sicilia. Enter Cleomenes and Dion. The climate's delicate, the air most sweet, fertile the isle, the tempo much surpassing, the common praise it bears. I shall report, for most it caught me, the celestial habits me thinks I should so term them, and the reverence of the grave-wearers, oh, the sacrifice, how ceremonious, solemn and unearthly it was in the offering. But of all, the burst, and the ear-deafening voice of the oracle, keen to judge thunder, so surprised my sense, that I was nothing. If the event of the journey prove as successful to the queen, albeit so, as it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy, the time is worth the use aunt. Great Apollo, turn out the best, these proclamations, so forcing folds upon her mayony I little like. The violent carriage of it will clear or end the business. When the oracle, thus by Apollo's great divine sealed up, shall the contents discover, something rare even then will rush to knowledge. Go, fresh horses, and gracious be the issue. Exiant. Act III. Scene II. A Court of Justice. Enter Leontes, lords, and officers. This sessions to our great grief we pronounce even pushes against our heart. The party tried, the daughter of a king, our wife, and one of us too much beloved. Let us be cleared of being tyrannous and be so openly proceed injustice which shall have due course even to the guilt or the purgation. Produce the prisoner. It is his heinous pleasure that the queen appear in person, here in court. Silence! Enter Hermione, guarded, Paulina, and ladies attending. Read the indictment. Reads. Hermione, queen to the worthy Leontes, king of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of high treason in committing adultery with Palyxonys, king of Bohemia, and conspiring with Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign lord the king, thy royal husband, the pretense whereof being by circumstances partly laid open thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance of a true subject, dits counsel and aid them for their better safety to fly away by night. Since what I am to say must be but that which contradicts my accusation, and the testimony on my part no other but what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me to say not guilty. Mine integrity, the encountered falsehood, shall, as I express it, be so received. But thus, if powers divine behold our human actions as they do, I doubt not then, but innocence shall make false accusation blush and tyranny tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know who least will seem to do so, my past life hath been as continent, as chaste, as true, as I am now unhappy, which is more than history can pattern devised and played to take spectators. For behold me, a fellow of the royal bed which owe a moiety of the throne a great king's daughter, the mother to a hopeful prince, here standing to prait and talk for life and honour for who pleased to come and hear. For life I prize it as I weigh grief which I would spare. For honour, tis a derivative from me to mine and only that I stand for. I appeal to your own conscience, sir, before Polyxonies came to your court how I was in your grace, how merited to be so. Since he came, with what encounter so uncurrent I have strained to appear thus. If one jot beyond the bound of honour or an act or will that way inclining, hardened be the hearts of all that hear me, and my nearest of kin cry fi upon my grave. I ne'er heard yet that any of these bolder vices wanted less impudence to gain say what they did than to perform it first. That's true enough, though tis a saying, sir, not due to me. You will not own it. More than mistress of which comes to me in name of fault I must not at all acknowledge. For Polyxonies, with whom I am accused, I do confess I loved him as in honour he required, with such a kind of love as might become a lady like me, with a love even such so and no other as yourself commanded, which not to have done I think had been in me both disobedience and ingratitude to you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke even since it could speak from an infant freely that it was yours. Now for conspiracy I know not how it tastes, though it be dished for me to try how. All I know of it is that Camilla was an honest man, and why he left your court the gods themselves watching no more than I are ignorant. You knew of his departure as you know what you have undertained to do in this absence. Sir, you speak a language that I understand not. Your life stands in the level of your dreams which I'll lay down. Your actions are my dreams. You had a bastard by Polyxonies and I but dreamed it. As you were past all shame, those of your fact are so, so past all truth, which to deny concerns more than avails. For as thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself, no father owning it, which is indeed more criminal in thee than it. So thou shalt feel our justice in whose easiest passage look for no less than death. Sir, spare your threats. The bug which you would fright me with I seek. To me can life be no commodity? The crown and comfort of my life, your favour I do give lost, for I do feel it gone but know not how it went. My second joy and first fruits of my body, from his presence I am barred like one infectious. My third comfort, starred most unluckily, is from my breast, the innocent milk in its most innocent mouth hailed out to murder. Myself on every post proclaimed a strumpet, with immodest hatred the child-bed privilege denied, which longs to women of all fashion. Lastly, hurried here to this place, in open air before I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege, tell me what blessings I have here alive that I should fear to die. Therefore proceed. But yet hear this, mistake me not. No life I prize it not a straw but for mine honour, which I would free. If I shall be condemned upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else but what your jealousies awake, I tell you tis rigor and not law. Your honour's all. I do refer me to the oracle. Apollo be my judge. This year request is altogether just. Therefore bring forth, and in Apollo's name, his oracle. Exiant certain officers. The Emperor of Russia was my father. Oh, that he were alive and here beholding his daughter's trial, if he did but see the flatness of my misery, yet with eyes of pity not revenge. Reenter officers with Cleomenes and Dion. You here shall swear upon this sword of justice that you, Cleomenes and Dion, have been both at Delphos and from thence have brought the seals up oracle by the hand delivered of great Apollo's priest, and that since then you have not dared to break the holy seal, nor read the secrets in it. With Dion. All these we swear. Break up the seals and read. Read. Hermione is chaste. Polyxonese, blameless. Camilo, a true subject. Leontes, a jealous tyrant, his innocent babe truly begotten, and the king shall live without an heir, if that which is lost be not found. Now, blessed be the great Apollo. Praised. Has thou read truth? Aye, my lord. Even so, as it is here set down. There is no truth at all in the oracle. The sessions shall proceed. This is mere falsehood. Enter servant. My lord, the king, the king. What is the business? Oh, sir, I shall be hated to report it. The prince, your son, with mere conceit fear of the queen's speed, is gone. How? Gone? Is dead. Apollo's angry, and the heavens themselves do strike at my injustice. Hermione swarms. How now there? This news is mortal to the queen. Look down and see what death is doing. Take her hence. Her heart is but orchardged. She will recover. I have too much believed my own suspicion. Beseech you tenderly apply to her some remedies for life. Exiant Paulina, and ladies with Hermione. Apollo, pardon my great profaneness against thine oracle. I'll reconcile me to Polyxonies. New Wu, my queen. Recall the good Camillo whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy. For being transported by my jealousies to bloody thoughts and to revenge I chose Camillo for the minister to poison my friend Polyxonies, which had been done but that the good mind of Camillo tardied my swift command. Though I with death and with reward did threaten and encourage him, not doing it and being done, he, most humane and filled with honour, to my kingly guest, unclasped my practice, quit his fortunes here which you knew great and to the hazard of all uncertainties himself commended, no richer than his honour. How he glisters through my rust and how his pity does my deeds make the blacker. Re-enter Paulina. Whoa, the while! Oh, cut my lace, lest my heart cracking it break too! What fit is this, good lady? What studied torments tyrant haste for me? What wheels, racks, fires? What flaying, boiling in leads or oils? What old or newer torture must I receive whose every word deserves to taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny, together working with thy jealousies, fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle for girls of nine? Oh, think what they have done and then run mad indeed, stark mad! For all thy bygone foolories were but spices of it. That thou betraised Palyx and East was nothing. That did but show thee of a fool, inconstant and damnable and grateful. Nor was to much that thou wouldst have poisoned good Camillo's honour to have him kill a king. Poor trespasses, more monstrous standing by. Whereof I reckon the casting forth to crow's thy baby daughter to be none or little. Though a devil would have shed water out of fire ere done it. Nor is directly laid to thee the death of the young prince, whose honourable thoughts, thoughts high for one so tender, cleft the heart that could conceive a gross and foolish sire blemished his gracious dam. This is not, no, laid to thy answer. But the last. O lords, when I have said cry woe, the queen, the queen, the sweetest, dearest creature's dead, and vengeance for it not dropped down yet. The higher powers forbid. I say she's dead. I'll swear it. If word nor oath prevail not go and see. If you can bring tincture or lustre in her lip, her eye, heat outwardly your breath within, I'll serve you as I would do the gods. But, O thou tyrant, do not repent these things. For they are heavier than all thy woes can stir. Therefore be take thee to nothing but to spare. A thousand knees, ten thousand years together, naked, fasting upon a barren mountain, and still winter in storm perpetual could not move the gods to look that way thou wert. Go on. Go on. Thou canst not speak too much. I have deserved all tongues to talk their bitterest. Say no more. How ere the business goes, made fault in the boldness of your speech. Oh, I am sorry, Fort. All faults I make when I shall come to know them I do repent. Alas, I have showed too much the rashness of a woman. He is touched to the noble heart. What's gone and what's passed help should be past grief. Do not receive affliction at my petition. I beseech you rather let me be punished, let have minded you of what you should forget. And my liege, sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman. The love I bore your queen, lo, fooled 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. 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 unto these sorrows. Exiant. Act III, Scene III, Bohemia, a desert country near the sea. Enter Antigonus with a child and a mariner. Thou art perfect then. Our ship hath touched upon the deserts of Bohemia. I, my lord, in 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 frowned uponst. Their sacred wills be done. Go get aboard. Look to thy bark. I'll not be long before I call upon thee. Make your best haste, and go not too far in the land, cause like to be loud weather. Besides, this place is famous for the creatures of prey that keep on't. Go thou away. I'll follow instantly. I am glad at heart to be so rid of the business. Exit. Come, poor babe. I have heard but not believed. The spirits of the dead may walk again. Is such things be thy mother appeared to me last night, for near was the dream so like a waking. To me comes a creature, sometimes a head on one side, some another. I never saw a vessel of like sorrow, so field and so becoming, in pure white robes like very sanctity she did approach my cabin where I lay. Thrice bowed before me and gasping to begin some speech. Her eyes became two spouts. The fury spent anon. Did this break from her? Good Antigonus. Since fate against thy better disposition hath made thy person for the thrower out. Of my poor babe, according to thine oath, places remote enough are in Bohemia. There weep and leave it crying, and for the babe is counted lost for ever. Perditor, thy prithee call it. For this ungentle business, put on thee by my lord. Thou ne'er shalt see thy wife. Polina, more. And so with shrieks she mouthed into air a frightened much. I did in time collect myself and thought, this was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys yet. For this once, yay superstitiously, I would be squared by this. I do believe Hermione has suffered death. And that Apollo would this being indeed the issue of King Palach's knees? It should here be laid, either for life or death, upon the earth of its right father. Blossom speed thee well, there lie and there thy character. There these which may, fortune please, both breathe thee pretty, and still rest thine. The storm begins, poor wretch, that for thy mother's fault art thus exposed a loss and what may follow. Weep, I cannot but my heart bleeds, and most accursed am I to be by oath enjoined to this. Farewell, the day frowns more and more. Aaron liked to have a lullaby too rough. I never saw the heavens so dim by day, a savage clamour. Well, may I get aboard? This is a chase. I am gone for ever. Exit pursued by a bear. Enter a shepherd. I heard there are no age between 16 and 3 am 20, or that you would slip out the rest. For there is nothing in the between but getting wedges with child, wronging the n-century, stilling, fighting. Hark you now. O'd any but this bald brains of 19 and 2 and 20 hunt this weather. They have scared away two of my best ship, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the muster. If anywhere I have them, it is by the seaside, browsing of Ivy. Good luck. And bid I will what have we here? Won't see yonies. A bear. A very pretty bear. A boy or a child I wonder. A pretty one. A very pretty one. So you are some scape. Though I am not bookish yet I can read, waiting gentle woman in the scape. This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work. We were warm and had got this, then the poor thing is here. I'll take it a for pity, yet I will tarry till my son come. He hallowed but even now. Wah-ho-wah. Enter clown. Hello. Hello. What arsonia. If thou'll see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. 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. Why, boy, how is it? I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore, but that's not the point. Oh, the most piteous cry of the poor souls, sometimes to see'em and not to see'em. Now the ship boring the moon with a main mast and a non, swallowed with jest and froth, as you thrust a cork into a hog's head, and then for the land service to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone and how he cried to me for help and said his name was Antigonus a nobleman, but to make an end of the ship to see how the sea flap-dragged it, but first how the poor souls roared and the sea mocked them and how the poor gentlemen roared and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea or weather. Name of Marcy. When was this, boy? 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 gentlemen. He's at it now. O'dire had been by to have helped the old man. I would you had been by the ship-side to have helped her, there your charity would have lacked footing. Have he matters? Have he matters? But look thee here, boy. Now, bless thyself. Thou met us with things dying. I with things newborn. Here's your sight for thee. Look thee, a bearing-cloud for a square's child. Look thee here. Take up, take up, boy. Open't. So, let us see. It was told me I should be rich by the fairies. This is some changeling. Open't. What is we doing, boy? You're a maid, old man. If the sins of your youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! All gold! This is fairy-gold, boy, and it'll prove so. Up with it, keep it close. Home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy, and to be so still requires nothing but secrecy. Let my ship go. Come, good boy, the next way home. Go you the next way with your findings. I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman and how much he has eaten. They are never cursed, but when they are hungry. If there be any of him left, I'll bury it. That is a good deed. If thou mayst discern by that which is left of him what he is, fetch me to the side of him. Marry, will I, and you shall help put him in the ground. It is a lucky day, boy, and we'll do good deeds on it. Exean.