ACT 1
Scene 2

...he had one.
Enter Leontes, Hermione, Mamillius, Polixenes, Camillo, and Attendants.

...go before it.
Stay your thanks awhile,
And pay them when you part.

...tire your Royalty.
We are tougher, brother,
Than you can put us to ’t.

...No longer stay.
One sev’nnight longer.

...Very sooth, tomorrow.
We’ll part the time between ’s, then, and in that
I’ll no gainsaying.

...Farewell, our brother.
Tongue-tied, our queen? Speak you.

...his best ward.
Well said, Hermione.

...but with us.
Is he won yet?

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

... Never?
Never but once.

...’t; I long.
Why, that was when
Three crabbèd months had soured themselves to death
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand
And clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter
“I am yours forever.”

...Polixenes her hand.
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 practiced 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?

...my good lord.
I’ fecks!
Why, that’s my bawcock. What, hast smutched 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 called neat.—Still virginalling
Upon his palm?—How now, you wanton calf?
Art thou my calf?

...will, my lord.
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’erdyed blacks, as wind, as waters, false
As dice are to be wished 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 center.
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 hard’ning of my brows.

...How, my lord?
What cheer? How is ’t with you, best brother?

...moved, my lord?
No, in good earnest.
How sometimes nature will betray its folly,
Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime
To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines
Of my boy’s face, methoughts I did recoil
Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreeched,
In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled
Lest it should bite its master and so prove,
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous.
How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,
This squash, this gentleman.—Mine honest friend,
Will you take eggs for money?

...lord, I’ll fight.
You will? Why, happy man be ’s dole!—My brother,
Are you so fond of your young prince as we
Do seem to be of ours?

...thick my blood.
So stands this squire
Officed with me. We two will walk, my lord,
And leave you to your graver steps.—Hermione,
How thou lov’st us show in our brother’s welcome.
Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap.
Next to thyself and my young rover, he’s
Apparent to my heart.

...attend you there?
To your own bents dispose you. You’ll be found,
Be you beneath the sky. Aside.
I am angling now,
Though you perceive me not how I give line.
Go to, go to!
How she holds up the neb, the bill to him,
And arms her with the boldness of a wife
To her allowing husband! Gone already.
Inch thick, knee-deep, o’er head and ears a forked one!—
Go play, boy, play. Thy mother plays, and I
Play too, but so disgraced a part, whose issue
Will hiss me to my grave. Contempt and clamor
Will be my knell. Go play, boy, play.—There have been,
Or I am much deceived, cuckolds ere now;
And many a man there is, even at this present,
Now while I speak this, holds his wife by th’ arm,
That little thinks she has been sluiced in ’s absence,
And his pond fished by his next neighbor, by
Sir Smile, his neighbor. Nay, there’s comfort in ’t
Whiles other men have gates and those gates opened,
As mine, against their will. Should all despair
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
Would hang themselves. Physic for ’t there’s none.
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike
Where ’tis predominant; and ’tis powerful, think it,
From east, west, north, and south. Be it concluded,
No barricado for a belly. Know ’t,
It will let in and out the enemy
With bag and baggage. Many thousand on ’s
Have the disease and feel ’t not.—How now, boy?

...you, they say.
Why, that’s some comfort.—
What, Camillo there?

...my good lord.
Go play, Mamillius. Thou ’rt an honest man.
Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.

...still came home.
Didst note it?

...business more material.
Didst perceive it?
Aside.
They’re here with me already, whisp’ring, rounding:
“Sicilia is a so-forth.” ’Tis far gone
When I shall gust it last.—How came ’t, Camillo,
That he did stay?

...good queen’s entreaty.
“At the queen’s” be ’t. “Good” should be pertinent,
But so it is, it is not. Was this taken
By any understanding pate but thine?
For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in
More than the common blocks. Not noted, is ’t,
But of the finer natures, by some severals
Of headpiece extraordinary? Lower messes
Perchance are to this business purblind? Say.

...stays here longer.
Ha?

...Stays here longer.
Ay, but why?

...most gracious mistress.
Satisfy?
Th’ entreaties of your mistress? Satisfy?
Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,
With all the nearest things to my heart, as well
My chamber-counsels, wherein, priestlike, thou
Hast cleansed my bosom; I from thee departed
Thy penitent reformed. But we have been
Deceived in thy integrity, deceived
In that which seems so.

...forbid, my lord!
To bide upon ’t: thou art not honest; or,
If thou inclin’st that way, thou art a coward,
Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining
From course required; or else thou must be counted
A servant grafted in my serious trust
And therein negligent; or else a fool
That seest a game played home, the rich stake drawn,
And tak’st it all for jest.

...none of mine.
Ha’ not you seen, Camillo—
But that’s past doubt; you have, or your eyeglass
Is thicker than a cuckold’s horn—or heard—
For to a vision so apparent, rumor
Cannot be mute—or thought—for cogitation
Resides not in that man that does not think—
My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess—
Or else be impudently negative
To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought—then say
My wife’s a hobby-horse, deserves a name
As rank as any flax-wench that puts to
Before her troth-plight. Say ’t, and justify ’t.

...that, though true.
Is whispering nothing?
Is leaning cheek to cheek? Is meeting noses?
Kissing with inside lip? Stopping the career
Of laughter with a sigh?—a note infallible
Of breaking honesty. Horsing foot on foot?
Skulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift?
Hours minutes? Noon midnight? And all eyes
Blind with the pin and web but theirs, theirs only,
That would unseen be wicked? Is this nothing?
Why, then the world and all that’s in ’t is nothing,
The covering sky is nothing, Bohemia nothing,
My wife is nothing, nor nothing have these nothings,
If this be nothing.

...’tis most dangerous.
Say it be, ’tis true.

...no, my lord.
It is. You lie, you lie.
I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee,
Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave,
Or else a hovering temporizer that
Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,
Inclining to them both. Were my wife’s liver
Infected as her life, she would not live
The running of one glass.

...does infect her?
Why, he that wears her like her medal, hanging
About his neck—Bohemia, who, if I
Had servants true about me, that bare eyes
To see alike mine honor as their profits,
Their own particular thrifts, they would do that
Which should undo more doing. Ay, and thou,
His cupbearer—whom I from meaner form
Have benched and reared to worship, who mayst see
Plainly as heaven sees Earth and Earth sees heaven
How I am galled—mightst bespice a cup
To give mine enemy a lasting wink,
Which draft to me were cordial.

...have loved thee—
Make that thy question, and go rot!
Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled,
To appoint myself in this vexation, sully
The purity and whiteness of my sheets—
Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps—
Give scandal to the blood o’ th’ Prince, my son,
Who I do think is mine and love as mine,
Without ripe moving to ’t? Would I do this?
Could man so blench?

...allied to yours.
Thou dost advise me
Even so as I mine own course have set down.
I’ll give no blemish to her honor, none.

...not your servant.
This is all.
Do ’t and thou hast the one half of my heart;
Do ’t not, thou splitt’st thine own.

...’t, my lord.
I will seem friendly, as thou hast advised me.
He exits.

ACT 2
Scene 1

...They talk privately.
Enter Leontes, Antigonus, and Lords.
Was he met there? His train? Camillo with him?

...to their ships.
How blest am I
In my just censure, in my true opinion!
Alack, for lesser knowledge! How accursed
In being so blest! 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
Th’ 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?

...On your command.
I know ’t too well.
To Hermione.
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.

...is this? Sport?
to the Ladies
Bear the boy hence. He shall not come about her.
Away with him, and let her sport herself
With that she’s big with, (to Hermione)
for ’tis Polixenes
Has made thee swell thus.

...to th’ nayward.
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, honorable.”
Praise her but for this her without-door form,
Which on my faith deserves high speech, and straight
The shrug, the “hum,” or “ha,” these petty brands
That calumny doth use—O, I am out,
That mercy does, for calumny will sear
Virtue itself—these shrugs, these s‘” and s‘”,
When you have said she’s goodly, come between
Ere you can say she’s honest. But be ’t known,
From him that has most cause to grieve it should be,
She’s an adult’ress.

...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 use to all degrees,
And mannerly distinguishment leave out
Betwixt the prince and beggar.—I have said
She’s an adult’ress; 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 principal: that she’s
A bed-swerver, even as bad as those
That vulgars give bold’st titles; ay, and privy
To this their late escape.

...You did mistake.
No. If I mistake
In those foundations which I build upon,
The center is not big enough to bear
A schoolboy’s top.—Away with her to prison.
He who shall speak for her is afar off guilty
But that he speaks.

...will be performed.
Shall I be heard?

...you have leave.
Go, do our bidding. Hence!

...If she be.
Hold your peaces.

...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 ’t and feel ’t,
As you feel doing thus, and see withal
The instruments that feel.

...whole dungy Earth.
What? Lack I credit?

...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 ord’ring on ’t is all
Properly ours.

...Without more overture.
How could that be?
Either thou art most ignorant by age,
Or thou wert born a fool. Camillo’s flight,
Added to their familiarity—
Which was as gross as ever touched conjecture,
That lacked sight only, naught for approbation
But only seeing, all other circumstances
Made up to th’ deed—doth push on this proceeding.
Yet, for a greater confirmation—
For in an act of this importance ’twere
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?

... my lord.
Though I am satisfied and need no more
Than what I know, yet shall the oracle
Give rest to th’ minds of others, such as he
Whose ignorant credulity will not
Come up to th’ 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.

...truth were known.
They exit.

Scene 3

...you and danger.
Enter Leontes.
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 o’ th’ cause,
She th’ adult’ress, 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?

...sickness is discharged.
To see his nobleness,
Conceiving the dishonor of his mother.
He straight declined, drooped, took it deeply,
Fastened and fixed the shame on ’t in himself,
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,
And downright languished. Leave me solely. Go,
See how he fares. Fie, fie, no thought of him.
The very thought of my revenges that way
Recoil upon me—in himself too mighty,
And in his parties, his alliance. Let him be
Until a 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.

...him from sleep.
What noise there, ho?

...for your Highness.
How?—
Away with that audacious lady. Antigonus,
I charged thee that she should not come about me.
I knew she would.

...not visit you.
What, canst not rule her?

...your good queen.
Good queen?

...worst about you.
Force her hence.

...down the baby.
Out!
A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o’ door.
A most intelligencing bawd.

...pass for honest.
Traitors,
Will you not push her out? To Antigonus.
Give her the bastard,
Thou dotard; thou art woman-tired, unroosted
By thy Dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard,
Take ’t up, I say. Give ’t to thy crone.

...put upon ’t.
He dreads his wife.

...your children yours.
A nest of traitors!

...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.

...not her husband’s.
A gross hag!—
And, losel, thou art worthy to be hanged
That wilt not stay her tongue.

...Hardly one subject.
Once more, take her hence.

...do no more.
I’ll ha’ thee burnt.

...to the world.
to Antigonus
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!

...we are gone.
to Antigonus
Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.
My child? Away with ’t! 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 call’st 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 sett’st on thy wife.

...her coming hither.
You’re liars all.

...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. To Antigonus.
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,
So sure as this beard’s gray. What will you adventure
To save this brat’s life?

...innocent. Anything possible.
It shall be possible. Swear by this sword
Thou wilt perform my bidding.

...will, my lord.
Mark, and perform it, seest thou; for the fail
Of any point in ’t 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 liegeman 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 it own protection
And favor 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.

...condemned to loss.
No, I’ll not rear
Another’s issue.

...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 burden to me. Leave me,
And think upon my bidding.
They exit.

ACT 3
Scene 2

...be the issue.
Enter Leontes, Lords, and Officers.
This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce,
Even pushes ’gainst our heart: the party tried
The daughter of a king, our wife, and one
Of us too much beloved. Let us be cleared
Of being tyrannous, since we so openly
Proceed in justice, which shall have due course
Even to the guilt or the purgation.
Produce the prisoner.

... Silence!
Read the indictment.

...upon my grave.
I ne’er heard yet
That any of these bolder vices wanted
Less impudence to gainsay what they did
Than to perform it first.

...due to me.
You will not own it.

...I, are ignorant.
You knew of his departure, as you know
What you have underta’en to do in ’s absence.

...I’ll lay down.
Your actions are my dreams.
You had a bastard by Polixenes,
And I but dreamed it. As you were past all shame—
Those of your fact are so—so past all truth,
Which to deny concerns more than avails; for as
Thy brat hath been cast out, like to itself,
No father owning it—which is indeed
More criminal in thee than it—so thou
Shalt feel our justice, in whose easiest passage
Look for no less than death.

...this we swear.
Break up the seals and read.

...Apollo! Praised!
Hast thou read truth?

...here set down.
There is no truth at all i’ th’ oracle.
The sessions shall proceed. This is mere falsehood.

...King, the King!
What is the business?

...speed, is gone.
How? Gone?

... Is dead.
Apollo’s angry, and the heavens themselves
Do strike at my injustice.

Hermione falls.
How now there?

...death is doing.
Take her hence.
Her heart is but o’ercharged. She will recover.
I have too much believed mine own suspicion.
Beseech you, tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life. Apollo, pardon
My great profaneness ’gainst thine oracle.
I’ll reconcile me to Polixenes,
New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo,
Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;
For, being transported by my jealousies
To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose
Camillo for the minister to poison
My friend Polixenes, which had been done
But that the good mind of Camillo tardied
My swift command, though I with death and with
Reward did threaten and encourage him,
Not doing it and being done. He, most humane
And filled with honor, to my kingly guest
Unclasped my practice, quit his fortunes here,
Which you knew great, and to the hazard
Of all incertainties himself commended,
No richer than his honor. How he glisters
Through my rust, and how his piety
Does my deeds make the blacker!

...way thou wert.
Go on, go on.
Thou canst not speak too much. I have deserved
All tongues to talk their bitt’rest.

...I’ll say nothing.
Thou didst speak but well
When most the truth, which I receive much better
Than to be pitied of thee. Prithee, bring me
To the dead bodies of my queen and son.
One grave shall be for both. Upon them shall
The causes of their death appear, unto
Our shame perpetual. Once a day I’ll visit
The chapel where they lie, and tears shed there
Shall be my recreation. So long as nature
Will bear up with this exercise, so long
I daily vow to use it. Come, and lead me
To these sorrows.
They exit.

ACT 5
Scene 1

...matter in it.
Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina, and Servants.

...them forgive yourself.
Whilst I remember
Her and her virtues, I cannot forget
My blemishes in them, and so still think of
The wrong I did myself, which was so much
That heirless it hath made my kingdom and
Destroyed the sweet’st companion that e’er man
Bred his hopes out of.

...Would be unparalleled.
I think so. Killed?
She I killed? I did so, but thou strik’st me
Sorely to say I did. It is as bitter
Upon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now,
Say so but seldom.

...be the best.
Good Paulina,
Who hast the memory of Hermione,
I know, in honor, O, that ever I
Had squared me to thy counsel! Then even now
I might have looked upon my queen’s full eyes,
Have taken treasure from her lips—

...what they yielded.
Thou speak’st truth.
No more such wives, therefore no wife. One worse,
And better used, would make her sainted spirit
Again possess her corpse, and on this stage,
Where we offenders now appear, soul-vexed,
And begin “Why to me?”

...had just cause.
She had, and would incense me
To murder her I married.

...be “Remember mine.”
Stars, stars,
And all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife;
I’ll have no wife, Paulina.

...my free leave?
Never, Paulina, so be blest my spirit.

...in your arms.
My true Paulina,
We shall not marry till thou bid’st us.

...your high presence.
What with him? He comes not
Like to his father’s greatness. His approach,
So out of circumstance and sudden, tells us
’Tis not a visitation framed, but forced
By need and accident. What train?

...those but mean.
His princess, say you, with him?

...of all women.
Go, Cleomenes.
Yourself, assisted with your honored friends,
Bring them to our embracement. Still, ’tis strange
He thus should steal upon us.

...Between their births.
Prithee, no more; cease. Thou know’st
He dies to me again when talked of. Sure,
When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches
Will bring me to consider that which may
Unfurnish me of reason. They are come.

Enter Florizell, Perdita, Cleomenes, and others.
Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince,
For she did print your royal father off,
Conceiving you. Were I but twenty-one,
Your father’s image is so hit in you,
His very air, that I should call you brother,
As I did him, and speak of something wildly
By us performed before. Most dearly welcome,
And your fair princess—goddess! O, alas,
I lost a couple that ’twixt heaven and Earth
Might thus have stood, begetting wonder, as
You, gracious couple, do. And then I lost—
All mine own folly—the society,
Amity too, of your brave father, whom,
Though bearing misery, I desire my life
Once more to look on him.

...bear them living.
O my brother,
Good gentleman, the wrongs I have done thee stir
Afresh within me, and these thy offices,
So rarely kind, are as interpreters
Of my behindhand slackness. Welcome hither,
As is the spring to th’ earth. And hath he too
Exposed this paragon to th’ fearful usage,
At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune,
To greet a man not worth her pains, much less
Th’ adventure of her person?

...came from Libya.
Where the warlike Smalus,
That noble honored lord, is feared and loved?

...where we are.
The blessèd gods
Purge all infection from our air whilst you
Do climate here! You have a holy father,
A graceful gentleman, against whose person,
So sacred as it is, I have done sin,
For which the heavens, taking angry note,
Have left me issueless. And your father’s blest,
As he from heaven merits it, with you,
Worthy his goodness. What might I have been
Might I a son and daughter now have looked on,
Such goodly things as you?

...A shepherd’s daughter.
Where’s Bohemia? Speak.

...King your father.
Who? Camillo?

...Our contract celebrated.
You are married?

...and low’s alike.
My lord,
Is this the daughter of a king?

...is my wife.
That “once,” I see, by your good father’s speed
Will come on very slowly. I am sorry,
Most sorry, you have broken from his liking,
Where you were tied in duty, and as sorry
Your choice is not so rich in worth as beauty,
That you might well enjoy her.

...things as trifles.
Would he do so, I’d beg your precious mistress,
Which he counts but a trifle.

...look on now.
I thought of her
Even in these looks I made. To Florizell.
But your petition
Is yet unanswered. I will to your father.
Your honor not o’erthrown by your desires,
I am friend to them and you. Upon which errand
I now go toward him. Therefore follow me,
And mark what way I make. Come, good my lord.
They exit.

Scene 3

...thy good masters.
Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Florizell, Perdita, Camillo, Paulina, and Lords.
O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort
That I have had of thee!

...last to answer.
O Paulina,
We honor you with trouble. But we came
To see the statue of our queen. Your gallery
Have we passed through, not without much content
In many singularities; but we saw not
That which my daughter came to look upon,
The statue of her mother.

...not something near?
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 agèd as this seems.

...she lived now.
As now she might have done,
So much to my good comfort as it is
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,
Even with such life of majesty—warm life,
As now it coldly stands—when first I wooed her.
I am ashamed. Does not the stone rebuke me
For being more stone than it?—O royal piece,
There’s magic in thy majesty, which has
My evils conjured to remembrance and
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
Standing like stone with thee.

...color’s Not dry.
CAMILLO, who weeps

...have showed it.
Do not draw the curtain.

...anon it moves.
Let be, let be.
Would I were dead but that methinks already—
What was he that did make it?—See, my lord,
Would you not deem it breathed? And that those veins
Did verily bear blood?

...upon her lip.
The fixture of her eye has motion in ’t,
As we are mocked with art.

...anon it lives.
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.

...afflict you farther.
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 chisel
Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,
For I will kiss her.

...draw the curtain?
No, not these twenty years.

...By wicked powers.
What you can make her do
I am content to look on; what to speak,
I am content to hear, for ’tis as easy
To make her speak as move.

...let them depart.
Proceed.
No foot shall stir.

...become the suitor?
O, she’s warm!
If this be magic, let it be an art
Lawful as eating.

...I am lost.
O peace, Paulina.
Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent,
As I by thine a wife. This is a match,
And made between ’s by vows. Thou hast found mine—
But how is to be questioned, for I saw her,
As I thought, dead, and have in vain said many
A prayer upon her grave. I’ll not seek far—
For him, I partly know his mind—to find thee
An honorable husband.—Come, Camillo,
And take her by the hand, whose worth and honesty
Is richly noted and here justified
By us, a pair of kings. Let’s from this place.
To Hermione.
What, look upon my brother! Both your pardons
That e’er I put between your holy looks
My ill suspicion. This your son-in-law
And son unto the King, whom heavens directing,
Is troth-plight to your daughter.—Good Paulina,
Lead us from hence, where we may leisurely
Each one demand and answer to his part
Performed in this wide gap of time since first
We were dissevered. Hastily lead away.
They exit.