I pr'ythee call 't. For this ungentle business,
Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see
Thy wife Paulina more: and so, with shrieks,
She melted into air. Affrighted much,

I did in time collect myself; and thought
This was so, and no slumber. Dreams are toys;
Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously,

I will be squar'd by this. I do believe
Hermione hath suffer'd death; and that
Apollo would, this being indeed the issue
Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid,
Either for life or death, upon the earth
Of it's right father. Blossom, speed thee well.

[Laying down the babe.

There lie; and there thy character: there these;

[Laying down a bundle.

Which may, if Fortune please, both breed thee pretty,
And still rest thine. -The storm begins. — Poor
wretch,

That, for thy mother's fault, art thus expos'd
To loss, and what may follow!- Weep I cannot,
But my heart bleeds: - and most accurs'd am I,

:

To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell!

The day frowns more and more; thou 'rt like to have
A lullaby too rough: I never saw
The heavens so dim by day.

Well may I get aboard!

I am gone for ever.

A savage clamour!

This is the chase;

[Exit, pursued by a bear.

Enter an old Shepherd.

Shepherd. I would there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting. Hark you now! Would any

but these boil'd brains of nineteen and two-andtwenty hunt this weather? They have scar'd away two of my best sheep, which, I fear, the wolf will sooner find than the master; if any where I have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an 't be thy will! what have we here? Mercy on's, a barne; a very pretty barne! A god, or a child, I wonder? A pretty one; a very pretty one. Sure, some scape: though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behinddoor work; they were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity: yet I'll tarry till my son come; he holla'd but even now. Whoa, ho hoa!

Shep. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail'st thou, man?

Clo. 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.

Shep. Why, boy, how is it?

Clo. I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore! but that's not to the point: O, the most piteous cry of the poor souls! sometimes to see 'em, and not to see 'em: now the ship boring the moon with her main-mast, and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land-service : - to see how the bear tore out his shoulderbone; how he cri'd 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-dragon'd it:

- but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mock'd them; and how the poor gentleman roared, and the bear mock'd him, both roaring louder than the sea or weather.

Shep. Name of mercy, when was this, boy? Clo. Now, now; I have not wink'd since I saw these sights: the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half-din'd 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 side, to have help'd her; there your charity would have lack'd footing.

Shep. Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself; thou met'st with things dying, I with things new born. Here's a sight for thee look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's child! look thee here! take up, take up, boy; open 't. So; let's see. It was told me I should be rich by the fairies: this is some changeling. Open 't; what's

within, boy?

Clo. You're a made old man; if the sins of your youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold!

Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so: up with 't, keep it close; home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy, and to be so still requires nothing but secrecy. - Let my sheep go. Come, good boy, the next way home.

Clo. Go you the next way with your findings; I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten they are never curst but when they are hungry: if there be any of him left, I'll bury it.

Shep. That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern, by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to th' sight 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 on 't.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

Enter Time, as Chorus.

TIME.

I

THAT please some, try all, both joy and ter

15

ror

19

Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error,
Now take upon me, in the name of Time,
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime
To me, or my swift passage, that I slide
O'er sixteen years, and leave the growth untri'd
Of that wide gap; since it is in my power
To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour
To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass
The same I am, ere ancient'st order was,

Or what is now receiv'd: I witness to

The times that brought them in: so shall I do

To th' freshest things now reigning; and make stale
The glistering of this present, as my tale
Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing,
I turn my glass, and give my scene such growing
As you had slept between. Leontes leaving
Th' effects of his fond jealousies, so grieving

That he shuts up himself, imagine me,
Gentle spectators, that I now may be
In fair Bohemia; and remember well,

I mentioned a son o' th' King's, which Florizel
I now name to you; and with speed so pace
To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace
Equal with wond'ring. What of her ensues
I list not prophesy; 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 worse ere now;
If never yet, that Time himself doth say,
He wishes earnestly you never may.

[Exit.

SCENE I.

Bohemia. A Room in the Palace of POLIXENES.

Enter POLIXENES and CAMILLO.

Pol. I pray thee, good Camillo, be no more importunate: 'tis a sickness denying thee any thing; a death to grant this.

Cam. It is fifteen years since I saw my country. Though I have, for the most part, been aired abroad, I desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent King, my master, hath sent for me; to whose feeling sorrows I might be some allay, or I o'erween to think so; which is another spur to my departure.

Pol. As thou lov'st me, Camillo, wipe not out the rest of thy services by leaving me now: the need I have of thee, thine own goodness hath made: better not to have had thee than thus to want thee: thou, hav