Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo! Her. Praised! Ay, my lord; even so Leon. Hast thou read truth? Offi. As it is here set down. Leon. There is no truth at all i'the oracle: The sessions shall proceed; this is mere falsehood. Enter a Servant, hastily. Ser. My lord the king, the king! Leon. What is the business? Ser. O sir, I shall be hated to report it: The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear Of the queen's speed 31, is gone. Leon. Ser. How! gone? Is dead. Leon. Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves Do strike at my injustice. [Hermione faints.] How now there? Paul. This news is mortal to the queen:-Look down, And see what death is doing. Leon. Take her hence: Her heart is but o'ercharg'd; she will recover.I have too much believ'd mine own suspicion:'Beseech you, tenderly apply to her Some remedies for life.-Apollo, pardon [Exeunt Paulina and Ladies, with Hermione. My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle!I'll reconcile me to Polixenes; New woo my queen: recall the good Camillo; My friend Polixenes: which had been done, No richer than his honour:-How he glisters Does my deeds make the blacker 32! Paul. Re-enter PAULINA. Woe the while! O, cut my lace; lest my heart, cracking it, Break too! 1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady? Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? What wheels? racks? fires? What flaying? boiling, In leads, or oils? what old, or newer torture For girls of nine!-O, think, what they have done, Of the young prince; whose honourable thoughts Not dropp'd down yet. 1 Lord. The higher powers forbid! Paul. I say, she's dead; I'll swear't: if word, nor oath, Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring Tincture, or lustre, in her lip, her eye, Than all thy woes can stir: therefore betake thee Leon. Go on, go on: Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserv'd 1 Lord. Say no more; Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault Paul. I am sorry for't 34; All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, I do repent: Alas, I have show'd too much The rashness of a woman: he is touch'd To the noble heart,-What's gone, and what's past help, Should be past grief: Do not receive affliction At my petition, I beseech you; rather Let me be punish'd, that have minded you Of what you should forget. Now, my good liege, The love I bore your queen,-lo, fool again!— Leon. Thou didst speak but well, When most the truth; which I receive much better Than to be pitied of thee. Pr'ythee, bring me To the dead bodies of my queen, and son: One grave shall be for both; upon them shall Our shame perpetual: Once a day I'll visit Nature will bear up with this exercise, So long I daily vow to use it. Come, [Exeunt. SCENE III. Bohemia. A desert Country near the sea. Enter ANTIGONUS, with the Child; and a Mariner. Ant. Thou art perfect then The deserts of Bohemia? Mar. Ay, my Lord; and 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 frown upon us. Ant. Their sacred wills be done!-Go, get aboard; Look to thy bark; I'll not be long, before I call upon thee. Mar. Make your best haste; and go not Too far in the land; 'tis like to be loud weather; |