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her ape: he so near to Hermione hath done Hermione, that, they say, one would speak to her, and stand in hope of answer: thither with all greediness of affection, are they gone; and there they intend to sup.

1 Gent. I thought, she had some great matter there in hand; for she hath privately, twice or thrice a day, ever since the death of Hermione, visited that removed house. Shall we thither, and with our company piece the rejoicing?

3 Gent. Who would be thence, that has the benefit of access? every wink of an eye, some new grace will be born: our absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along.

[Exeunt Gentlemen.

Aut. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his son aboard the prince; told him, I heard him talk of a fardel, and I know not what: but he at that time, overfond of the shepherd's daughter, (so he then took her to be,) who began to be much sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of weather continuing, this mystery remained undiscovered. But 'tis all one to me: for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not have relished among my other discredits.

Enter Shepherd and Clown.

Here come those I have done good to against my will, and already appearing in the blossoms of their fortune.

Shep. Come, boy; I am past more children; but thy sons and daughters will be all gentle

men born.

Clo. You are well met, sir: You denied to fight with me this other day, because I was no gentleman born: See you these clothes? say, you see them not, and think me still no gentleman born: you were best say, these robes are not gentlemen born. Give me the lie; do; and try whether I am not now a gentleman born.

Aut. I know, you are now, sir, a gentleman born.

Clo. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours.

Shep. And so have I, boy.

Clo. So you have:-but I was a gentleman born before my father: for the king's son took me by the hand, and called me, brother; and then the two kings called my father, brother : and then the prince, my brother, and the princess, my sister, called my father, father; and so we wept; and there was the first gentlemanlike tears that ever we shed.

Shep. We may live, son, to shed many more. Clo. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we are.

ship, and to give me your good report to the prince my master.

Shep. Pr'ythee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen.

Clo. Thou wilt amend thy life?

Aut. Ay, an it like your good worship.

Clo. Give me thy hand: I will swear to the prince thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia.

Shep. You may say it, but not swear it. Clo. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it, I'll swear it. Shep. How if it be false, son ?

Clo. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of his friend :-And I'll swear to the prince, thou art a tall fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know, thou art no tall fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt be drunk; but I'll swear it: and I would, thou would'st be a tall fellow of thy hands.

Aut. I will prove so, sir, to my power.

Clo. Ay, by any means prove a tall fellow: If I do not wonder, how thou darest venture to be drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not.Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the queen's picture. Come, follow us: we'll be thy good masters. Ereunt.

SCENE III.-The same. A Room in Paulina's house.

Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PERDITA, CAMILLO, PAULINA, Lords, and Attendants.

Leon. O, grave and good Paulina, the great comfort

That I have had of thee !

Paul. What, sovereign sir, I did not well, I meant well: All my services, You have paid home: but that you have vouchsaf'd,

With your crown'd brother, and these your contracted

Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,
It is a surplus of your grace, which never
My life may last to answer.

Leon. O Paulina,

We honour you with trouble: But we came
To see the statue of our queen; your gallery
Have we pass'd through, not without much con-

tent

In many singularities; but we saw not
That which my daughter came to look upon,
The statue of her mother.

Paul. As she liv'd peerless,
So her dead likeness, I do well believe,
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon,
Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it
Lonely apart: But here it is: prepare

Aut. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon
me all the faults I have committed to your wor-To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever

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Did verily bear blood?.
Pol. Masterly done :

liege,

Your wonder: But yet speak ;-first, you, my

Comes it not something near ?

Leon. Her natural posture !

Chide me, dear stone; that I may say, indeed,
Thou art Hermione: or, rather, thou art she,
In thy not chiding; for she was as tender,
As infancy, and grace. But yet, Paulina,
Hermione was not so much wrinkled; nothing
So aged, as this seems.

Pol. O, not by much.

Paul. So much the more our carver's excel

lence;

The very life seems warm upon her lip.

Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in't,

As we are mock'd with art.

Paul. I'll draw the curtain;

My lord's almost so far transported, that
He'll think anon, it lives.

Leon. O sweet Paulina,

Make me to think so twenty years together;
No settled senses of the world can match
The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone.

Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd
you: but

Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes I could afflict you further.

her

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Leon. Do, Paulina;

For this affliction has a taste as sweet
As any cordial comfort. Still, methinks,
There is an air comes from her: What fine

chizzel

Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man, mock

me,

For I will kiss her.

Paul. Good, my lord, forbear:
The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;
You'll mar it, if you kiss it; stain your own
With oily painting: Shall I draw the curtain?

Leon. No, not these twenty years.

Per. So long could. I

Paul. Either forbear,

Quit presently the chapel; or resolve you

From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
Standing like stone with thee!

Per. And give me leave;

And do not say, 'tis superstition, that

Stand by, a looker on.

I kneel, and then implore her blessing.-Lady,

Dear queen, that ended when I but began,
Give me that hand of yours, to kiss.

Paul. O patience;

For more amazement: If you can behold it,
I'll make the statue move indeed; descend,

The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's

And take you by the hand: but then you'll

Not dry.

think,

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Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid (Which I protest against,) I am assisted

Which sixteen w_inters cannot blow away,

So many summers, dry: scarce any joy

Did ever so long live; no sorrow,

But kill'd itself much sooner.

Pol. Dear my brother,

Let him that was the cause of this have power

To take off so much grief from you, as he

Will piece up in himself.

Paul. Indeed, my lord,

If I had thought the sight of my poor image
Would thus have wrought you, (for the stone

is mine,)

I'd not have show'd it.

Leon. Do not draw the curtain.

I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy

You do awake your faith: Then, all stand still;

Or those, that think it is unlawful business
I am about, let them depart.

Leon. Proceed;

No foot shall stir.

Paul. Music; awake her; strike.-[Music. 'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; ap

Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't; lest I'll fill your grave up: stir; nay, come away;

proach;

Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come;

your fancy

May think anon, it moves.

Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him
Dear life redeems you. You perceive, she stirs:

Leon. Let be, let be.

[Hermione comes down from the pedestal.

Would I were dead, but that, methinks, al- Start not: her actions shall be holy, as,

ready

You hear, my spell is lawful: do not shun her,

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If this be magic, let it be an art
Lawful as eating.

Pol. She embraces him.

Cam. She hangs about his neck;

If she pertain to life, let her speak too.

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My mate, that's never to be found again,
Lament, till I am lost.

Leon. O peace, Paulina:
Thou should'st a husband take by my consent,
As I by thine, a wife: this is a match,

Pol. Ay, and make't manifest where she has And made between's by vows. Thou hast found

liv'd,

Or, how stolen from the dead?

Paul. That she is living,

Were it but told you, should be hooted at

Like an old tale; but it appears, she lives, Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.

Please you to interpose, fair madam; kneel, And pray your mother's blessing.-Turn, good

lady;

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For, since the mortal and intestine jars
'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us,
It hath in solemn synods been decreed,
Both by the Syracusans and ourselves,
To admit no traffic to our adverse towns:
Nay, more,

If any, born at Ephesus, be seen
At any Syracusan marts and fairs;
Again, If any Syracusan born
Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,
His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose;
Unless a thousand marks be levied,
To quit the penalty, and to ransome him.
Thy substance, valued at
the highest rate,
Cannot amount unto a hundred marks;
Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to die.

Æge. Yet this my comfort; when your words | Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd,

are done, My woes end likewise with the evening sun. Duke. Well, Syracusan, say, in brief, the

cause

Why thou departedst from thy native home; And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.

Æge. A heavier task could not have been impos'd,

Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable:
Yet that the world may witness, that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave.
In Syracusa was I born; and wed
Unto a woman, happy but for me,
And by me too, had not our hap been bad.
With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd,
By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum, 'till my factor's death;
And he (great care of goods at random left)
Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:
From whom my absence was not six months old,
Before herself (almost at fainting under
The pleasing punishment that women bear,)
Had made provision for her following me,
And soon, and safe, arrived where I was.
There she had not been long, but she became
A joyful mother of two goodly sons;
And, which was strange, the one so like the
other,

As could not be distinguish'd but by names.
That very hour, and in the selfsame inn,
A poor mean woman was delivered
Of such a burden, male twins, both alike:
Those, for their parents were exceeding poor,
I bought, and brought up to attend my sons.
My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,
Made daily motions for our home return:
Unwilling I agreed; alas, too soon.
We came aboard:

A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,
Before the always-wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragic instance of our harm :
But longer did we not retain much hope;

For what obscured light the heavens did grant,
Did but convey unto our fearful minds

A doubtful warrant of immediate death;

Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;
And floating straight, obedient to the stream,
Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispers'd those vapours that offended us;
And, by the benefit of his wish'd light,
The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered
Two ships from far making amain to us,
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:
But ere they came,-0, let me say no more!
Gather the sequel by that went before.

Duke. Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so:

For we may pity, though not pardon thee.
Æge. O, had the gods done so, I had not now
Worthily term'd them merciless to us!
For, ere the ships could meet by twice five
leagues,

We were encounter'd by a mighty rock;
Which being violently borne upon,
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst,
So that, in this unjust divorce of us,
Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened
With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe,
Was carried with more speed before the wind;
And in our sight they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length, another ship had seiz'd on us;
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave helpful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests;
And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark been very slow of sail,

And therefore homeward did they bend their

course.

Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss; That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd, To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.

Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sorrowest for,

Do me the favour to dilate at full
What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now.
Ege. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest

care,

Which, though myself would gladly have em- After his brother; and impórtun'd me,

brac'd,
Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,
Weeping before for what she saw must come,
And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,
Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me.
And this it was, for other means was none.
The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us:
My wife, more careful for the latter-born,
Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,
Such as sea-faring men provide for storms;
To him one of the other twins was bound,
Whilst I had been like heedful of the other.
The children, thus dispos'd, my wife and I,

At eighteen years became inquisitive

That his attendant, (for his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name,)
Might bear him company in the quest of him:
Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I lov'd.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought,
Or that, or any place that harbours men.
But here must end the story of my life;
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my travels warrant me they live.
Duke. Hapless Ægeon, whom the fates have
mark'd

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