The Winter's Tale Act 2

ACT II. SCENE I. A ROMAN LEONTE'S PALACE. Enter Hermione, Mammilius, and Laedice.

Take the boy to you, he so troubles me, tis 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 learnt it out of women's faces. Pray now, what colour 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.

Hark ye, the queen your mother rounds apace.

We shall present our services to a fine new prince one of these days.

And then you'd wanton with us if we would have you.

She is spread of late into a goodly box.

Good times encounter her.

What wisdom stirs amongst you. Come, sir, now I am for you again. Pray you sit by us and tell us a tale.

Merry or sad shall't be.

As merry 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 gift.

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 never 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! Alack for lesser knowledge! How accursed in being so blessed! There may be in the cup a spider steeped, and one may drink, depart, and yet partake no venom, for his knowledge is not infected. But if one present the abhorred ingredient to his eye, make known how he hath 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 yea a very trick for them to play at will How came the posterns 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. He shall not come about her. Away with him, and let her sport herself with that she's big with. for tis Polixenes has made thee swell thus.

But I'll say he had not, and I'll be sworn you would believe my saying howe'er you lean to the nay-word.

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 thereto 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 adulteress.

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, Polixenes 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 used to all degrees, and mannerly distinguishment leave out betwixt the prince and beggar. I have said she's an adulteress. 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 principle, that she's a bedswerver. Even as bad as those that vulgars give boldest titles, I am 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 clearer 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 centre is not big enough to bear a schoolboy'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 vain Jew perchance shall dry your pities. But I have that honorable grief lodged here which burns worse than tears drown. Beseech you all, my lords, with thoughts so qualified as your charity shall best instruct you, measure me. and so the king's will be performed.

Shall I be heard?

Who is that goes with me? Beseech 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. Adieu, 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.

Beseech 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 no farther 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 will be damned for. Would I knew the villain, I would land damn him. Be sure, honoured, flawed. I have three daughters. The eldest is eleven, the second and the third nine, and some five. If this prove true, they'll pay for it.

By mine honour.

Our gilding, 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 counsels. 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 judgment tried it without more overture.

How could that be? Either thou art most ignorant by age, or thou wert born a fool.

Commitment.

Flight added to their familiarity, which was as gross as ever touched conjecture, that lacked sight only, not for approbation, but only seeing. All 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 counsel 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, for this business will raise us all.

ASIDE Till after, as I take it, if the good truth were known— Exeunt.

Act II, Scene II. 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. What dost 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 whom much I honour.

Pray you, then, conduct me to the queen.

I may not, madam. To the contrary, I have express commandment.

Here's a due 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 Amelia forth.

I pray you now call her. Withdraw yourselves.

Exeunt, gentlemen and attendants.

And, madam, I must be present at your conference.

Well be it so, prithee.

Exit jailer.

Here's such ado to make no stain a stain as passes colouring.

Re-enter jailer with Amelia.

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 o the king beshrew 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, Amelia, 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, madame. Your honour and your goodness is so evident that your free undertaking cannot miss a thriving issue. There is no lady living so meet 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 to-day hammered of this design, but durst not tempt a minister of honour, lest she should be denied.

Tell her, Amelia. I'll use that tongue I have. If wit flow frumped as baldness 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 it 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 honour I will stand betwixt you and danger.

Exeunt.

Act II, Scene III. A Room in Leontes' Palace. Entered Leontes, 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 blank and 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 to-night tis hoped his sickness is discharged to.

See his nobleness Conceiving the dishonour 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 the time may serve, for present vengeance take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes 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 tyrannous 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 to-night. Commanded none should come at him.

Not so hot, good sir. I come to bring him sleep. Tis 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 awaking. 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 shall 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 tis, commends it to your blessing.

Laying down the child.

Out, a mankind which, hence with her out a door, 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, dotard, thou art woman-tired, Unroasted by thy dame partlet here. Take up the bastard, take it up, I say, Give it to thy crone.

Forever unvenerable be thy hands If thou takest up the princess By that forced 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 callet of boundless tongue who late hath beat her husband and now baits me this brat is none of mine it is the issue of polixenes hence with 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, tis the worse. Behold, my lords, although the print be little, The whole matter and copy of the father, Eye, nose, lip, the trick of s'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 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 wilt 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 ye burnt.

I care not. It is an heretic that makes the fire, not she which burns it. 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, something savours 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 send her a better guiding spirit. What needs these hands? You that are thus so tender o'er 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 even thou that hast a heart so tender o'er 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 settest 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.

Beseech your highness, give us better credit. We have always truly served you, and beseech 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 Margery, 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. I'll pawn the 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 seest 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 liege-man 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 in justice 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 No, 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 both landed, hastening.

To the court.

So please you, sir. Their speed hath been beyond account.

Twenty-three days they have been absent. Tis 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 burthen to me.

Leave me, and think upon my bidding.

EXIANT END OF ACT II

The Winter's Tale Act 2

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