Part 212

HIPPOLYTA. Farewell, sister. I am like to know your husband ’fore yourself By some small start of time. He whom the gods Do of the two know best, I pray them he Be made your lot.

[_Exeunt all but Emilia._]

EMILIA. Arcite is gently visaged, yet his eye Is like an engine bent, or a sharp weapon In a soft sheath; mercy and manly courage Are bedfellows in his visage. Palamon Has a most menacing aspect; his brow Is graved, and seems to bury what it frowns on; Yet sometimes ’tis not so, but alters to The quality of his thoughts. Long time his eye Will dwell upon his object. Melancholy Becomes him nobly; so does Arcite’s mirth; But Palamon’s sadness is a kind of mirth, So mingled as if mirth did make him sad And sadness merry. Those darker humours that Stick misbecomingly on others, on them Live in fair dwelling.

[_Cornets. Trumpets sound as to a charge._]

Hark how yon spurs to spirit do incite The princes to their proof! Arcite may win me And yet may Palamon wound Arcite to The spoiling of his figure. O, what pity Enough for such a chance? If I were by, I might do hurt, for they would glance their eyes Towards my seat, and in that motion might Omit a ward or forfeit an offence Which craved that very time. It is much better I am not there.

[_Cornets. A great cry and noise within crying “À Palamon!”_]

Oh better never born Than minister to such harm.

Enter Servant.

What is the chance?

SERVANT. The cry’s “À Palamon.”

EMILIA. Then he has won. ’Twas ever likely. He looked all grace and success, and he is Doubtless the prim’st of men. I prithee run And tell me how it goes.

[_Shout and cornets, crying “À Palamon!”_]

SERVANT. Still “Palamon.”

EMILIA. Run and enquire.

[_Exit Servant._]

Poor servant, thou hast lost. Upon my right side still I wore thy picture, Palamon’s on the left. Why so, I know not. I had no end in ’t else; chance would have it so. On the sinister side the heart lies; Palamon Had the best-boding chance.

[_Another cry and shout within, and cornets._]

This burst of clamour Is sure th’ end o’ th’ combat.

Enter Servant.

SERVANT. They said that Palamon had Arcite’s body Within an inch o’ th’ pyramid, that the cry Was general “À Palamon.” But anon, Th’ assistants made a brave redemption, and The two bold titlers at this instant are Hand to hand at it.

EMILIA. Were they metamorphosed Both into one—O, why? There were no woman Worth so composed a man! Their single share, Their nobleness peculiar to them, gives The prejudice of disparity, value’s shortness, To any lady breathing.

[_Cornets. Cry within, “Arcite, Arcite.”_]

More exulting? “Palamon” still?

SERVANT. Nay, now the sound is “Arcite.”

EMILIA. I prithee, lay attention to the cry; Set both thine ears to th’ business.

[_Cornets. A great shout and cry “Arcite, victory!”_]

SERVANT. The cry is “Arcite”, and “Victory!” Hark, “Arcite, victory!” The combat’s consummation is proclaimed By the wind instruments.

EMILIA. Half-sights saw That Arcite was no babe. God’s lid, his richness And costliness of spirit looked through him; it could No more be hid in him than fire in flax, Than humble banks can go to law with waters That drift-winds force to raging. I did think Good Palamon would miscarry, yet I knew not Why I did think so. Our reasons are not prophets When oft our fancies are. They are coming off. Alas, poor Palamon!

Cornets. Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Pirithous, Arcite as victor, and Attendants.

THESEUS. Lo, where our sister is in expectation, Yet quaking and unsettled.—Fairest Emily, The gods by their divine arbitrament Have given you this knight; he is a good one As ever struck at head. Give me your hands. Receive you her, you him; be plighted with A love that grows as you decay.

ARCITE. Emily, To buy you, I have lost what’s dearest to me, Save what is bought; and yet I purchase cheaply, As I do rate your value.

THESEUS. O loved sister, He speaks now of as brave a knight as e’er Did spur a noble steed. Surely the gods Would have him die a bachelor, lest his race Should show i’ th’ world too godlike. His behaviour So charmed me that methought Alcides was To him a sow of lead. If I could praise Each part of him to th’ all I have spoke, your Arcite Did not lose by ’t, for he that was thus good Encountered yet his better. I have heard Two emulous Philomels beat the ear o’ th’ night With their contentious throats, now one the higher, Anon the other, then again the first, And by-and-by out-breasted, that the sense Could not be judge between ’em. So it fared Good space between these kinsmen, till heavens did Make hardly one the winner.—Wear the garland With joy that you have won.—For the subdued, Give them our present justice, since I know Their lives but pinch ’em. Let it here be done. The scene’s not for our seeing. Go we hence Right joyful, with some sorrow.—Arm your prize; I know you will not lose her.—Hippolyta, I see one eye of yours conceives a tear, The which it will deliver.

[_Flourish._]

EMILIA. Is this winning? O all you heavenly powers, where is your mercy? But that your wills have said it must be so, And charge me live to comfort this unfriended, This miserable prince, that cuts away A life more worthy from him than all women, I should and would die too.

HIPPOLYTA. Infinite pity That four such eyes should be so fixed on one That two must needs be blind for ’t.

THESEUS. So it is.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE IV. The same; a Block prepared

Enter Palamon and his Knights pinioned; Jailer, Executioner and Guard.

PALAMON. There’s many a man alive that hath outlived The love o’ th’ people; yea, i’ th’ selfsame state Stands many a father with his child. Some comfort We have by so considering. We expire, And not without men’s pity; to live still, Have their good wishes; we prevent The loathsome misery of age, beguile The gout and rheum that in lag hours attend For gray approachers; we come towards the gods Young and unwappered, not halting under crimes Many and stale. That sure shall please the gods Sooner than such, to give us nectar with ’em, For we are more clear spirits. My dear kinsmen, Whose lives for this poor comfort are laid down, You have sold ’em too too cheap.

FIRST KNIGHT. What ending could be Of more content? O’er us the victors have Fortune, whose title is as momentary, As to us death is certain. A grain of honour They not o’erweigh us.

SECOND KNIGHT. Let us bid farewell; And with our patience anger tottering Fortune, Who at her certain’st reels.

THIRD KNIGHT. Come; who begins?

PALAMON. E’en he that led you to this banquet shall Taste to you all.—Ah ha, my friend, my friend, Your gentle daughter gave me freedom once; You’ll see ’t done now for ever. Pray, how does she? I heard she was not well; her kind of ill Gave me some sorrow.

JAILER. Sir, she’s well restored, And to be married shortly.

PALAMON. By my short life, I am most glad on’t. ’Tis the latest thing I shall be glad of; prithee, tell her so. Commend me to her, and, to piece her portion, Tender her this.

[_Gives him his purse._]

FIRST KNIGHT. Nay let’s be offerers all.

SECOND KNIGHT. Is it a maid?

PALAMON. Verily, I think so. A right good creature, more to me deserving Then I can ’quite or speak of.

ALL KNIGHTS. Commend us to her.

[_They give their purses._]

JAILER. The gods requite you all, and make her thankful.

PALAMON. Adieu; and let my life be now as short As my leave-taking.

[_Lays his head on the block._]

FIRST KNIGHT. Lead, courageous cousin.

SECOND AND THIRD KNIGHT. We’ll follow cheerfully.

[_A great noise within crying “Run!” “Save!” “Hold!”_]

Enter in haste a Messenger.

MESSENGER. Hold, hold! O hold, hold, hold!

Enter Pirithous in haste.

PIRITHOUS. Hold, ho! It is a cursed haste you made If you have done so quickly!—Noble Palamon, The gods will show their glory in a life That thou art yet to lead.

PALAMON. Can that be, When Venus, I have said, is false? How do things fare?

PIRITHOUS. Arise, great sir, and give the tidings ear That are most dearly sweet and bitter.

PALAMON. What Hath waked us from our dream?

PIRITHOUS. List, then. Your cousin, Mounted upon a steed that Emily Did first bestow on him, a black one, owing Not a hair-worth of white, which some will say Weakens his price, and many will not buy His goodness with this note, which superstition Here finds allowance—on this horse is Arcite Trotting the stones of Athens, which the calkins Did rather tell than trample; for the horse Would make his length a mile, if ’t pleased his rider To put pride in him. As he thus went counting The flinty pavement, dancing, as ’twere, to th’ music His own hooves made—for, as they say, from iron Came music’s origin—what envious flint, Cold as old Saturn, and like him possessed With fire malevolent, darted a spark, Or what fierce sulphur else, to this end made, I comment not; the hot horse, hot as fire, Took toy at this and fell to what disorder His power could give his will; bounds, comes on end, Forgets school-doing, being therein trained And of kind manage. Pig-like he whines At the sharp rowel, which he frets at rather Than any jot obeys; seeks all foul means Of boist’rous and rough jad’ry to disseat His lord that kept it bravely. When naught served, When neither curb would crack, girth break, nor diff’ring plunges Disroot his rider whence he grew, but that He kept him ’tween his legs, on his hind hoofs On end he stands That Arcite’s legs, being higher than his head, Seemed with strange art to hang. His victor’s wreath Even then fell off his head and presently Backward the jade comes o’er, and his full poise Becomes the rider’s load. Yet is he living, But such a vessel ’tis that floats but for The surge that next approaches. He much desires To have some speech with you. Lo, he appears.

Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Emilia, Arcite in a chair.

PALAMON. O miserable end of our alliance! The gods are mighty. Arcite, if thy heart, Thy worthy, manly heart, be yet unbroken, Give me thy last words. I am Palamon, One that yet loves thee dying.

ARCITE. Take Emilia And with her all the world’s joy. Reach thy hand; Farewell. I have told my last hour. I was false, Yet never treacherous. Forgive me, cousin. One kiss from fair Emilia.

[_Emilia kisses Arcite._]

’Tis done. Take her. I die.

PALAMON. Thy brave soul seek Elysium!

[_Arcite dies._]

EMILIA. I’ll close thine eyes, Prince; blessed souls be with thee! Thou art a right good man, and, while I live, This day I give to tears.

PALAMON. And I to honour.

THESEUS. In this place first you fought; e’en very here I sundered you. Acknowledge to the gods Our thanks that you are living. His part is played, and, though it were too short, He did it well; your day is lengthened, and The blissful dew of heaven does arrose you. The powerful Venus well hath graced her altar, And given you your love. Our master Mars, Hath vouched his oracle, and to Arcite gave The grace of the contention. So the deities Have showed due justice.—Bear this hence.

PALAMON. O cousin, That we should things desire, which do cost us The loss of our desire! That naught could buy Dear love, but loss of dear love!

[_Arcite’s body is carried out._]

THESEUS. Never Fortune Did play a subtler game. The conquered triumphs; The victor has the loss; yet in the passage The gods have been most equal. Palamon, Your kinsman hath confessed the right o’ th’ lady Did lie in you, for you first saw her and Even then proclaimed your fancy. He restored her As your stol’n jewel and desired your spirit To send him hence forgiven. The gods my justice Take from my hand and they themselves become The executioners. Lead your lady off And call your lovers from the stage of death, Whom I adopt my friends. A day or two Let us look sadly, and give grace unto The funeral of Arcite, in whose end The visages of bridegrooms we’ll put on And smile with Palamon; for whom an hour, But one hour since, I was as dearly sorry As glad of Arcite, and am now as glad As for him sorry. O you heavenly charmers, What things you make of us! For what we lack We laugh, for what we have are sorry, still Are children in some kind. Let us be thankful For that which is, and with you leave dispute That are above our question. Let’s go off And bear us like the time.

[_Flourish. Exeunt._]

EPILOGUE

Enter Epilogue.

EPILOGUE I would now ask ye how you like the play, But, as it is with schoolboys, cannot say. I am cruel fearful! Pray yet, stay a while, And let me look upon ye. No man smile? Then it goes hard, I see. He that has Loved a young handsome wench, then, show his face— ’Tis strange if none be here—and, if he will, Against his conscience let him hiss, and kill Our market. ’Tis in vain, I see, to stay ye. Have at the worst can come, then! Now what say ye? And yet mistake me not: I am not bold; We have no such cause. If the tale we have told For ’tis no other—any way content ye— For to that honest purpose it was meant ye— We have our end; and you shall have ere long, I dare say, many a better, to prolong Your old loves to us. We, and all our might, Rest at your service. Gentlemen, good night.

[_Flourish. Exit._]

FINIS

THE WINTER’S TALE

Contents

ACT I Scene I. Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes’ Palace. Scene II. The same. A Room of State in the Palace.

ACT II Scene I. Sicilia. A Room in the Palace. Scene II. The same. The outer Room of a Prison. Scene III. The same. A Room in the Palace.

ACT III Scene I. Sicilia. A Street in some Town. Scene II. The same. A Court of Justice. Scene III. Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea.

ACT IV Scene I. Prologue. Scene II. Bohemia. A Room in the palace of Polixenes. Scene III. The same. A Road near the Shepherd’s cottage. Scene IV. The same. A Shepherd’s Cottage.

ACT V Scene I. Sicilia. A Room in the palace of Leontes. Scene II. The same. Before the Palace. Scene III. The same. A Room in Paulina’s house.

Dramatis Personæ

LEONTES, King of Sicilia MAMILLIUS, his son CAMILLO, Sicilian Lord ANTIGONUS, Sicilian Lord CLEOMENES, Sicilian Lord DION, Sicilian Lord POLIXENES, King of Bohemia FLORIZEL, his son ARCHIDAMUS, a Bohemian Lord An Old Shepherd, reputed father of Perdita CLOWN, his son AUTOLYCUS, a rogue A Mariner A Gaoler Servant to the Old Shepherd Other Sicilian Lords Sicilian Gentlemen Officers of a Court of Judicature

HERMIONE, Queen to Leontes PERDITA, daughter to Leontes and Hermione PAULINA, wife to Antigonus EMILIA, a lady attending on the Queen MOPSA, shepherdess DORCAS, shepherdess Other Ladies, attending on the Queen

Lords, Ladies, and Attendants; Satyrs for a Dance; Shepherds, Shepherdesses, Guards, &c.

TIME, as Chorus

Scene: Sometimes in Sicilia; sometimes in Bohemia.

ACT I

SCENE I. Sicilia. An Antechamber in Leontes’ Palace.

Enter Camillo and Archidamus.

ARCHIDAMUS. If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion whereon my services are now on foot, you shall see, as I have said, great difference betwixt our Bohemia and your Sicilia.

CAMILLO. I think this coming summer the King of Sicilia means to pay Bohemia the visitation which he justly owes him.

ARCHIDAMUS. Wherein our entertainment shall shame us; we will be justified in our loves. For indeed,—

CAMILLO. Beseech you—

ARCHIDAMUS. 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 insufficience, may, though they cannot praise us, as little accuse us.

CAMILLO. You pay a great deal too dear for what’s given freely.

ARCHIDAMUS. Believe me, I speak as my understanding instructs me and as mine honesty puts it to utterance.

CAMILLO. Sicilia cannot show himself over-kind to Bohemia. They were trained together in their childhoods, and there 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 opposed winds. The heavens continue their loves!

ARCHIDAMUS. I think there is not in the world either malice or matter to alter it. You have an unspeakable comfort of your young Prince Mamillius. It is a gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into my note.

CAMILLO. 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.

ARCHIDAMUS. Would they else be content to die?

CAMILLO. Yes, if there were no other excuse why they should desire to live.

ARCHIDAMUS. If the king had no son, they would desire to live on crutches till he had one.

[_Exeunt._]

SCENE II. The same. A Room of State in the Palace.

Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamillius, Camillo and Attendants.

POLIXENES. Nine changes of the watery star hath been The shepherd’s note since we have left our throne Without a burden. Time as long again Would be fill’d up, my brother, with our thanks; And yet we should, for perpetuity, Go hence in debt: and therefore, like a cipher, Yet standing in rich place, I multiply With one “we thank you” many thousands more That go before it.

LEONTES. Stay your thanks a while, And pay them when you part.

POLIXENES. Sir, that’s tomorrow. I am question’d by my fears, of what may chance Or breed upon our absence; that may blow No sneaping winds at home, to make us say “This is put forth too truly.” Besides, I have stay’d To tire your royalty.

LEONTES. We are tougher, brother, Than you can put us to ’t.

POLIXENES. No longer stay.

LEONTES. One seve’night longer.

POLIXENES. Very sooth, tomorrow.

LEONTES. We’ll part the time between ’s then: and in that I’ll no gainsaying.

POLIXENES. Press me not, beseech you, so, There is no tongue that moves, none, none i’ th’ world, So soon as yours, could win me: so it should now, Were there necessity in your request, although ’Twere needful I denied it. My affairs Do even drag me homeward: which to hinder Were, in your love a whip to me; my stay To you a charge and trouble: to save both, Farewell, our brother.

LEONTES. Tongue-tied, our queen? Speak you.

HERMIONE. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace until You had 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 by-gone day proclaimed. Say this to him, He’s beat from his best ward.

LEONTES. Well said, Hermione.

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, We’ll thwack him hence with distaffs. [_To Polixenes._] Yet of your royal presence I’ll adventure The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia You take my lord, I’ll give him my commission To let him there a month behind the gest Prefix’d for’s parting:—yet, good deed, Leontes, I love thee not a jar of th’ clock behind What lady she her lord. You’ll stay?

POLIXENES. No, madam.

HERMIONE. Nay, but you will?

POLIXENES. I may not, verily.

HERMIONE. Verily! You put me off with limber vows; but I, Though you would seek t’ unsphere the stars with oaths, Should yet say “Sir, no going.” Verily, You shall not go. A lady’s verily is As potent as a lord’s. Will 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.

POLIXENES. Your guest, then, madam. To be your prisoner should import offending; Which is for me less easy to commit Than you to punish.

HERMIONE. Not your gaoler 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.

POLIXENES. We were, fair queen, Two lads that thought there was no more behind But such a day tomorrow as today, And to be boy eternal.

HERMIONE. Was not my lord The verier wag o’ th’ two?

POLIXENES. We were as twinn’d lambs that did frisk i’ th’ sun And bleat the one at th’ other. What we chang’d Was innocence for innocence; we knew not The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream’d That any did. Had we pursu’d that life, And our weak spirits ne’er been higher rear’d With stronger blood, we should have answer’d heaven Boldly “Not guilty,” the imposition clear’d Hereditary ours.

HERMIONE. By this we gather You have tripp’d since.

POLIXENES. O my most sacred lady, Temptations have since then been born to ’s! for In those unfledg’d days was my wife a girl; Your precious self had then not cross’d the eyes Of my young play-fellow.

HERMIONE. Grace to boot! Of this make no conclusion, lest you say Your queen and I are devils. Yet go on; Th’ offences we have made you do we’ll answer, If you first sinn’d with us, and that with us You did continue fault, and that you slipp’d not With any but with us.

LEONTES. Is he won yet?

HERMIONE. He’ll stay, my lord.

LEONTES. At my request he would not. Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok’st To better purpose.

HERMIONE. Never?

LEONTES. Never but once.

HERMIONE. What! have I twice said well? when was’t before? I prithee tell me. Cram ’s with praise, and make ’s As fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages. You may ride ’s With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere With spur we heat an acre. But to th’ goal: My last good deed was to entreat his stay. What was my first? It has an elder sister, Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace! But once before I spoke to the purpose—when? Nay, let me have’t; I long.

LEONTES. Why, that was when Three crabbed months had sour’d themselves to death, Ere I could make thee open thy white hand And clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter “I am yours for ever.”

HERMIONE. ’Tis Grace indeed. Why, lo you now, I have spoke to th’ purpose twice. The one for ever earn’d a royal husband; Th’ other for some while a friend.

[_Giving her hand to Polixenes._]

LEONTES. [_Aside._] Too hot, too hot! To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods. I have _tremor cordis_ 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: ’t may, I grant: But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers, As now they are, and making practis’d smiles As in a looking-glass; and then to sigh, as ’twere The mort o’ th’ deer. O, that is entertainment My bosom likes not, nor my brows. Mamillius, Art thou my boy?

MAMILLIUS. Ay, my good lord.

LEONTES. I’ fecks! Why, that’s my bawcock. What! hast smutch’d 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 call’d neat.—Still virginalling Upon his palm?—How now, you wanton calf! Art thou my calf?

MAMILLIUS. Yes, if you will, my lord.

LEONTES. Thou want’st 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 will say anything. But were they false As o’er-dy’d blacks, as wind, as waters, false As dice are to be wish’d by one that fixes No bourn ’twixt his and 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 dear’st! my collop! Can thy dam?—may’t be? Affection! thy intention stabs the centre: Thou dost make possible things not so held, Communicat’st with dreams;—how can this be?— With what’s unreal thou coactive art, And fellow’st nothing: then ’tis very credent Thou may’st co-join with something; and thou dost, And that beyond commission, and I find it, And that to the infection of my brains And hardening of my brows.