Act four of The Winter's Tale by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act four, Scene One. Chorus as Time Speaks. Enter Time, the Chorus. I that please some try all, both joy and terror 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, or sixteen years, and leave the growth untried of that wide gap, since it is in my power to, oh, throw law, and in one self-born hour, to plant and are well and custom. Let me pass, the same I am, ere ancient'st order was, or what is now received. I witness to the times that brought them in. So shall I do to the 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. Leonty's leaving, the effect of his formed 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 of the kings, which Slorizel I now name to you, and with speed so pace to speak of Perditor now grown in grace equal with wondering. 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 the 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. Act four, scene two. Bohemia, the palace of Polyxonies. Enter Polyxonies and Camillo. I pray thee good Camillo, be no more importunate, tis a sickness denying thee anything, a death to grant this. It is fifteen years since I saw my country, though I have for the most part been a broad-eyed desire to lay my bones there. Besides, the penitent king my master has 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. As thou lovest 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, having made me businesses which none without thee can sufficiently manage, must either stay to execute them thyself, or take away with thee the very services thou hast done, which, if I have not enough considered as too much I cannot, to be more thankful to thee shall be my study, and my profit therein the heaping friendships.  Say to me, when sawest thou the Prince Florizel, my son? Kings are no less unhappy their issue not being gracious, than they are in losing them when they have approved their virtues. Sir, it is three days since I saw the Prince. What his happier affairs may be are to me unknown. But I have missingly noted he is of late much retired from court, and is less frequent to his princely exercises than formerly he hath appeared. I have considered so much Camillo, and with some care, so far that I have eyes under my service which look upon his removeness, from whom I have this intelligence, that he is seldom from the house of a most homely shepherd, a man they say that from very nothing and beyond the imagination of his neighbors is grown unto an unspeakable estate. I have heard, sir, of such a man who hath a daughter of most rare note. The report of her is extended more than can be thought to begin from such a cottage. That's likewise part of my intelligence, but I fear the angle that plucks our son thither. I shall accompany us to that place, where we will, not appearing what we are, have some question with the shepherd, from whose simplicity I think it not uneasy to get the cause of my son's resort thither. Grithy, be my present partner in this business, and lay aside the thoughts of Cecilia. I willingly obey your command. My best, Camillo. We must disguise ourselves. Act IV, Scene III A Road Near the Shepherd's Cottage Enter Autulacus singing. Wide sheet bleaching on the hedge, With hay the sweet birds of how they sing. Doth set my pugging tooth on edge, For a quart of veal is a dish for a king. The lark, the tear, a little chance, With hay, with hay, the thrash and the jay. There are some songs for me in my arms, While we lie tumbling in the air. I have served Prince Florezelle, and in my time warth-free Pyle. But now I am out of service. But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? The pale moon shines by night. And when I wander here and there, I then do most go right. If tinkers may have left to live, And bear the sowskin budget, Then my account I well may give, And in the stocks avouch it. My traffic is sheets. When the kite builds, look to the lesser linen. My father named me Autolicus, who, being as I am, Litted under mercury, was likewise A snapper up of unconsidered trifles. With dye and drab, I purchased this comparison, And my revenue is the silly cheat. Gallows and docker too powerful on the highway, Who, beating and hanging, are terrors to me? For the life to come, I sleep out the thought of it. A prize, a prize! Enter clown. Let me see. Every leaven weathered toads, Every toad yields pound and odd shilling. Fifteen hundred shorn. What comes the wool to? A sigh. If the fringe old, the cocks mine. I cannot do it without counters. Let me see. What am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pounds of sugar, five pounds of currents, rice. What will this sister of mine do with rice? But my father have made her mistress of the feast, And she lays it on. She hath made me four-and-twenty nose-gaze for the shearers, Three man's song-men all, And very good ones, But they are most of them means and bases, But one Puritan amongst them, And he sings psalms to horn-pipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden-pies, Mace, dates, none, that's out of my note, Nutmegs, seven, a race or two of ginger, But that I may beg, four pounds of prunes, And as many of raisins of the sun. O, that ever I was born! Grovelling on the ground. In the name of me! O, help me, help me, plait but off these rags, And then death, death! Alack, poor soul, thou hast need of more rags To lay on thee rather than have these off. O, sir, the loathomness of them offends me more Than the stripes I have received, Which are mighty ones and millions. Alas, poor man, a million of beating May come to a great matter. I have robbed, sir, and have beaten My money and apparel tamed from me, And these detestable things put upon me. What, by a horseman or a footman? A footman, sweet sir, a footman. Indeed, he should be a footman By the garments he has left with thee. If this be a horseman's coat, It has seen very hot service. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee. Come, lend me thy hand. O, good sir, tenderly, O! Alas, poor soul! O, good sir, softly, good sir, I fear, sir, My shoulder blade is out. How now? Can't stand? Picking his pocket. Softly, dear sir, good sir, softly, You have done me a charitable office. Dusts lack any money? I have a little money for thee.  I shall there have money, or anything I want. Offer me no money, I pray you, that kills my art. What manner of fellow was he that robbed you? A fellow, sir, that I have known to go about With troll my dames. I knew him once a servant of the prince. I cannot tell, good sir, for which of his virtues it was, But he was certainly whipped out of the court. His vices, you would say, there's no virtue whipped out of the court. They cherish it to make it stay there, And yet it will no more but abide. Vices, I would say, sir, I know this man well. He hath been since an ape-beerer. Then a process-server, a bailiff, Then he compassed a motion of the prodigal son, And married a tinker's wife within a mile Of where my land and living lies. And, having flown over many navies professions, He settled only in rogue. Some call him Autolicus. Out upon him, preg, for my life, preg, He haunts, wakes, fares, and bear-beatings. Very true, sir, he, sir, he, That's the rogue that put me into this apparel. Not a more cowardly rogue in all bohemia, If you had but looked big and spit at him, he'd have run. I must confess to you, sir, I am no fighter. I am false of heart that way, And that he knew I warrant him. How do you know? Sweet, sir, much better than I was. I can stand and walk.  Shall I bring thee on the way? No good face, sir, no, sweet, sir. Then fare thee well. I must go buy spices for our sheep shearing. Prosper you, sweet, sir? Exit clown.  I'll be with you at your sheep shearing, too. And if I make not this sheep, bring out another. And the shearers prove it sheep. Let me be unrolled, And my name put in the book of virtue. Jog on, jog on the footpath way, And merrily hint the stylé. A merry heart goes all the day. Your said tie is in a miley. Exit. Act four, scene four, The Shepherd's Cottage. Enter Florazelle and Perdita.  No shepherdess, but flora peering in April's front. This your sheep shearing is as a meeting of the petty gods, and you the queen on it. Sir, my gracious lord, to chide at your extremes it not becomes me, pardon that I name them. Your high self, the gracious mark of the land you have obscured with a swain's wearing, and me, poor lowly maid, most goddess-like, pranked up. But that our feasts in every mess have folly, and the feeders digest it with a custom, and should blush to see you so attired, sworn, I think, to show myself a glass. I blessed the time when my good falcon made her flight across thy father's ground.  To me the difference forges dread. Your greatness hath not been used to fear. Even now I tremble to think your father by some accident should pass this way as you did. Oh, the fates! How would he look to see his work so noble, vilely bound up? Today. Or how should I, in these my borrowed flaunts, behold the sternness of his presence? Abraham, nothing but jollity. The gods themselves, humbling their deities to love, have taken the shape of beasts upon them. Jupiter became a bull and bellowed. The green Neptune, a ram, and bleated. And the fire-robed god, golden Apollo, a poor humble swain, as I seem now. These transformations were never for a piece of beauty rarer, nor in a way so chaste, since my desires run not before my honor, nor my lusts burn hotter than my faith. Oh, but sir, your resolution cannot hold when it is opposed as it must be by the power of the king. One of these two must be necessities, which then will speak that you must change this purpose, or I my life. Thou, dearest Pertita, with these forceful thoughts I prithee, darken not the mirth of the feast. Or I'll be thine, my fair, or not my father's, for I cannot be mine own, nor anything to any if I be not thine. To this I am most constant, though destinies say no. Be merry, gentle. Strangle such thoughts as these with anything that you behold the while. Your guests are coming. Lift up your countenance, as it were the day of celebration of that nuptial which we too have sworn shall come. Oh, Lady Fortune, stand you auspicious. See, your guests' approach. Address yourself to entertain them sprightly, and let's be red with mirth. Enter Shepard, Clown, Mopsa, Dorcas, and others, with Polyxonies and Camillo disguised. Fire, daughter, when my old wife lived, upon these days he was but a pantler, butler, cook.  Now here, at upper and odd table, now in the middle, on his shoulder and his, her face of fire, with Leyva and the things he took to quench it. See, you two each one see. You were it, dad, as if you were a fisted one, and not the hostess of the meeting. Pray you, be these unknown friends, to us welcome. For he is a way to make us better friends, more known. Come, quench your blushes, and present to yourself, that which you are, mistress of the fist. Come on, and bid us welcome to your ship-shearing, as your good flock shall prosper. To Polyxonies. Sir, welcome. It is my father's will that I should take on me the hostess' ship of the day. To Camillo. You're welcome, sir. Give me those flowers here, Dorcas. Reverent sirs, for you there's Rosemary and Rue. These keep seeming and savor all the winter long. Grace and remembrance be to you both, and welcome to our shearing. Shepherdess, a fair one are you. Well, you fit our ages with flowers of winter. Sir, the year-growing ancient not yet on summer's death, nor on the birth of trembling winter, the fairest flowers of the season are our carnations, and streaked ghillivores, which some called nature's bastards. Of that kind are rustic gardens barren, and I care not to get slips of them. Wherefore, gentle maiden, do you neglect them? For I have heard it said there is an art which in their piousness shares with great creating nature. Say there be. Yet nature is made better by no mean, but nature makes that mean. So over that art, which you say adds to nature, is an art that nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry a gentler scion to the wildest stock, and make conceive a bark of bacer kind by bud of noble race. This is an art which does mend nature, change it rather, but the art itself is nature. So it is. Then make your garden rich in ghillivores, and do not call them bastards. I'll not put the dibble in the earth to set one slip of them. No more than where I painted I would wish this youth should say, to a well, and only therefore desire to breed by me. Here's flowers for you. Hot lavender, mince, savoury, marjoram, the marigold that goes to bed with the sun, and with him rises weeping. These are flowers of middle summer, and I think they are given to men of middle age. You're very welcome. I should leave grazing where I have your flock and only live by gazing. Outer lass, you'd be so lean that blasts of January would blow you through and through. Now, my fairest friend, I would I had some flowers of the spring that might become your time of day and yours and yours that were upon your virgin branches yet your maiden heads growing. Oh, prosopina, for the flowers now that frighted thou letst fall from Disse's wagon, daffodils that come before the swallow-dares and take the winds of March with beauty, violets dim but sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes or Zitheria's breath, pale primroses that Diane married ere they can behold bright fevers in his strength, a malady most incident to maids. Bold oxlips and the crown imperial, lilies of all kinds, the flower de luce being one. Oh, these I lack to make you garlands of and my sweet friend to strew him o'er and o'er. What, like a course? No, like a bank for love to lie and play on, not like a corpse, or if not to be buried but quick and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers. Methinks I play as I have seen them do in wits and pastorals. Sure, this robe of mine does change my disposition. What you do still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, I'll have you do it ever. When you sing, I'll have you buy and sell so, so give alms, pray so. And for the ordering your affairs, to sing them too. When you do dance, I wish you a wave of the sea, that you might ever do nothing but that. Move still, still so.  Each you're doing, so singular in each particular, crowns what you are doing in the present deed, that all your acts are queens.   With wisdom, I fear my Dorocles, you would me the false way. I think you have as little skill to fear as I have purpose to put you to it. But come, our dance, I pray. Your hand, my Perdita, so turtles pair that never mean to part. I'll swear for him. This is the prettiest low-born lass that ever ran on the Greensward. Nothing she does or seems but smacks of something greater than herself. Too noble for this place. He tells her something that makes her blood look out. Good Sooth, she is the queen of curds and cream.  Mopsa must be your mistress. Mary, garlic, to mend her kissing with. Now, in good time. Not a word, a word, we stand upon our manners. Come, strike up! Music, hear a dance of shepherds and shepherdesses. Pray, good shepherd, what fair swain is this which dances with your daughter? They call him Dorocles, and boasts himself to have a woody feeling. But I have it up on his own report, and I believe it. It looks like Sood. He says he loves my daughter. I think so too, for never gaze the moon upon the water as he will stand and read, as it were my daughter's eyes. And to be plain, I think there is not half a kiss to choose who loves another best. She dances feely. So she does anything, though I report it. That should be silent if young Dorocles, to light upon her, she shall bring him that which he not dreams of. Enter servant. Oh, master, if you did but hear the peddler at the door, you would never dance again after a tabern pipe. No, the bagpipe could not move you. He sings several tunes faster than you'll tell money. He utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grew to his tunes. He could never come better. He shall come in. I love a ballad, but even too well. If it be doleful matter merrily set down, or a very pleasant thing indeed, and sung lamentably. He hath songs for man or woman. Of all sizes, no milliner can so fit his customers with gloves. He has the prettiest love songs for maids. So without bodry, which is strange, but such delicate birthings of dildos and fadings, jumper and thumper, and where some stretch-mouthed rascal would, or mean mischief, and break a foul gap into the matter, he makes the maid to answer, whoop, do me no harm, good man, puts him off, slates him with, whoop, do me no harm, good man. This is a brave fellow. Believe me, thou talks of an admirable conceited fellow. Has he any unbraided wares? He hath ribbons of all the colors of the rainbow. Points more than all the lawyers in Bohemia can learnedly handle. Though they come to him by the gross. Inkles, catecheses, cambricks, lawns, while he sings them over as they were gods or goddesses. You would think a smock were a sheen angel. He's so chanced to the sleeve-hand in the work about the square-ont. Prithee, bring him in, and let him approach singing. Forewarn him that he use no scurrilous words in his tunes. Exit, servant. You have of these peddlers that have more in them than you'd think, sister. I, good brother, or go about to think. Enter a tulikus singing. Lawn as white as driven snow, Cypress black as hair was grown, Gloves as sweet as damask roses, Masks for faces and for noses, Bugle bracelet, necklace hammer, Perfume for a lady's chamber, Golden quaffs and stomachers, For my lads to give their deals. Pins and poking sticks of steel, What mates lack from head to heel. Come by of me, come, come by, Come by, by lads, or else your lasses cry. Come by, come by. If I were not in love with Mopsa, Thou should take no money of me, But being enthralled as I am, It will also be the bondage Of certain ribbons and gloves. I was promised them against a feast, But they come not too late now. He hath promised you more than that, Or there be liars. He hath paid you all he promised you. Maybe he has paid you more, Which will shame you to give him again. Is there no manners left among mates? Will they wear their plackets, Where they should bear their faces? Is there not milking time, When you are going to bed, Or kiln-hole, to whistle off these secrets? But you must be tittle-tattling Before all our guests. Tis well they are whispering. Clamour your tongues, and not a word more. I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace And a pair of sweet gloves. Have I not told thee how I was Cossoned by the way, And lost all my money? And indeed, sir, There are coseners abroad. Therefore it behoves men to be wary. Fear not, thou man, Thou shalt lose nothing here. I hope so, sir, For I have about me many parcels of charge. What hast here? Ballads? Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in printer life, For then we are sure they are true. Here's one to a very dullful tune. How a user's wife was brought to bed Of twenty money bags at a burden. And how she longed to eat at his ends And toads carbonadoed. Is it true, thank you? Very true, and but a month old. Bless me for marrying a user. Here's the midwife's name for a toot. One mistress tale porter. And in five or six honest wives That were present. Why should I carry lies abroad? Pray you now, buy it. Come on, lay it by, And let's first see more ballads. We'll buy the other things and on. Here's another ballad of a fish That appeared upon the coast on Wednesday, The forescore of April, Forty thousand pheas'n above water, And sung this ballad Against the hard hearts of minds. It was thought she was a woman And was turned into a cold fish, For she would not exchange fresh with one love to. The ballad is very pitiful and as true. Is it true too, thank you? Five justices hands at it, And witnesses more than my pack will hold. Lay it by to another. This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one. Let's have some merry ones. Why, this is a passing merry one And goes to the tune of Two maids wooing a man. The scarce are made westward, But she sings it. Tis in request, I can tell you. We can both sing it. If thou'd bear a part, thou shalt hear. Tis in three parts. We had the tune on two months ago. I can bear my part. You must know, tis my occupation. Have at it with you. Song. Get you hints, for I must go Where it fits not you to know. Wither. Oh, wither. Wither. It becomes thy oathful well, Thou to me thy secrets tell. Me too, let me go wither. Or thou goest to the orange or meal. If to either thou dost ill. Neither. What, neither? Neither. Thou hast sworn my love to be. Thou hast sworn it more to me Than wither goest, say, wither. We'll have this song out and on by ourselves. My father and the gentlemen are in sad talk And will not trouble them. Come, bring away thy pack after me. Wenches, I'll buy for you both. Peddler, let's have the first choice. Follow me, girls. Exit with Dorcas and Mopsa. And you shall pay well for him. Follow, singing. Will you buy any tape? Or lace for your cape? My dainty duck, my dear eh? Any silk, any thread? Any toys for your hand? Of the newest and finest, finest wear eh? Come to the peddler, my dear medler, That thou thought the woman's wear eh? Exit. Re-enter servant. Master, there is three carters, three shepherds, Three neat-herds, three swine-herds, That have made themselves all men of hair. They call themselves saltiers, And they have a dance which the wenches say Is a gallimoffery of gambles, because they are not in it. But they themselves are of the mind Not too rough, for some that know little but bowling It will please plentifully. Away, we will none on it. Here has been too much homely fullery already. I know, sir, we weary ear. You weary those that refresh us, Pray let's see these four threes of herdsmen. One three of them, by their own reports, Have danced before the king, And not the worst of the three, But jumped twelve foot and a half by the squire. Leave your pradding. Since these good men have pleased, Let them come in, but quickly now. Why, they stay at the door, sir. Exit. Here a dance of twelve satyrs. O father, you'll know more of that hereafter. To Camilo. Is it not too far gone? Tis time to part them. He's simple and tells much. To Florizel. Now now, fair shepherd, Your heart is full of something that does take your mind from feasting. Sooth, when I was young and handed love as you do, I was want to load my she with necks. I would have ransacked the peddler's silken treasury And have poured it to her acceptance. You have let him go, and nothing martyred with him. If your lass interpretation should abuse And call this your lack of love or bounty, You were straightened for a reply, Or at least if you make a care of happy holding her. I know she prizes not such trifles as these are. The gifts she looks from me are packed And locked up in my heart, Which I have given already, but not delivered. O hear me breathe my life before this ancient sir, Who it should seem hath some time loved. I take thy hand, this hand, As soft as doves down and as white as it, Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fanced snow That's bolted by the northern blast twice o'er. What follows this? How prettily the young swain seems to wash the hand Was fair before. I have put you out. But to your protestation Let me hear what you profess. Do, and be a witness to it. And this my neighbor too? And he, and more than he, And men, the earth, the heavens, and all, That, where I crown the most imperial monarch, Thereof most worthy, were I the fairest youth That ever made I swerve, Had force and knowledge more than was ever man's? I would not prize them without her love, As her employ them all, Command them and condemn them to her service, Or to their own perdition. Fairly offered. This shows a sound affection. But my daughter, say you the like to him. I cannot speak so well, nothing so well, No, nor mean better.  Take hands, a bargain, And friends unknown, you shall be a witness to it. I give my daughter to him, And will make her potion equal he is. Oh, that must be in the virtue of your daughter. One being dead, I shall have more than you can dream of yet. Enough then for your wonder. But come on, contract us for these witnesses. Come, your hand, and order yours. Soft swain awhile beseech you. Have you a father? I have, but what of him? Knows he of this? He neither does nor shall. Me thinks a father is at the nuptial of his son A guest that best becomes the table. Pray you once more. Is not your father grown incapable of reasonable affairs?  Can he speak, hear, No man from man, dispute his own estate. Lies he not bed-rid and again does nothing but what he did being childish? No good, sir. He has his health and ample strength indeed than most have of his age. By my white beard, You offer him, if this be so, a wrong something unfilial. Reason my son should choose himself a wife, But as good reason the father, All whose joy is nothing else but fair posterity, Should hold some counsel in such a business. I yield all this, But for some other reasons my grave, sir, Which does not fit you know, I not acquaint my father of this business. Let him note. He shall not. Prithee, let him. No, he must not. Let him, my son. He shall not need to grieve at knowing of thy choice. Come, come, he must not. Mark our contract. Mark your divorce, young sir. Discovering himself. Whom, son, I dare not call, Thou art too base to be acknowledged, Thou a scepter's heir that thus affects to sheep-hook. Thou, old traitor, I am sorry that by hanging thee I can but shorten thy life one week, And thou, fresh piece of excellent witchcraft, Who a force must know the royal fool thou copest with. Oh, my heart. I'll have thy beauty scratched with briars, And made more homely than thy state, For thee fond boy. If I may ever know thou dust but sigh, That no more shall see this knack, As never I mean thou shalt. We'll bar thee from succession, Not hold thee of our blood, No, not our kin, far than do callion off. Mark thou my words. Follow us to the court.  If ever henceforth thou these rural latches, To his entrance open, or hoop his body more with thy embraces, I will devise a death as cruel for thee As thou art tender to it. Exit. Even here, undone, I was not much afraid. For once or twice I was about to speak, Plainly the self-same son that shines upon his court, Hides not its visage from our cottage, But looks on alike. We'll please you, sir, be gone. I told you what would come of this. Besiege you of your own state, take care. This dream of mine being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther, But milk my use and weep. Why, how now, father? Speak, ere thou dyest. I cannot speak, not think. Nor dare to know that which I know. Oh, sir, you have undone a man of four-score-tree, That thought to fill his grave in quiet, Yet to die upon the bed of my father died, To lie close by his honest bones. But now some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me, Where no prist shovels in dust. Oh, castor Raj, That knew as to this was the prince, And ought to adventure to mingle fate with him. Undone, undone.  Exit. Why look you so upon me? I am but sorry, not afeard. Delayed, but nothing altered. What I was, I am. More straining on for plucking back, Not following my leash unwillingly. Gracious my lord, you know your father's temper. At this time he will allow no speech, Which I do guess you do not propose to him. And as hardly will he endure your sight as yet, I fear. Then till the fury of his highness settle, Come not before him. I not purpose it, I think, Camillo. Even he, my lord. How often have I told you to be thus? How often said my dignity would last but till to unknown? It cannot fail but by the violation of my faith, And then let nature crush the sides of the earth together, And mar the seeds within. Lift up thy looks. From my succession wipe me, father. I am heir to my affection. Be advised. I am. And by my fancy, if my reason will there to be obedient, I have reason. If not, my senses, better please with madness, Do bid it welcome. This is desperate, sir. So call it, but it does fulfill my vow. I needs must think it honesty. Camillo, not for Bohemia, Nor the pop that may be there at gleaned, For all the sun's seas or the close earth's wombs, Or the profound sea hides and unknown fathoms, Will I break my oath to this my fair beloved? Therefore I pray you, As you have ever been my father's honored friend, When he shall miss me, As, in faith, I mean not to see him any more. Cast your good counsels upon his passion, Let myself in fortune tug for the time to come. This you may know and so deliver. I am put to see with her whom here I cannot hold on sure. And most opportune to our need I have, A vessel rides fast by, But not prepared for this design. What course I mean to hold, Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, Concern me the reporting. Oh, my lord, I would your spirit were easier for advice, Or stronger for your need. Hark, partida! Drawing her aside. I'll hear you by and by. He's irremovable. Resolved for flight. Now were I happy, If he's going I could frame to serve my turn. Save him from danger, Do him love and honor.  Now, good Camillo, I am so fraught with curious business that I leave out ceremony. Sir, I think you have heard of my poor services In the love that I have borne your father. Very nobly have you deserved. It is my father's music to speak your deeds. Not little of his care to have them recompensed as thought on. Well, my lord, if you may please to think I love the king And through him what is nearest to him, Which is your gracious self, Embrace but my direction. If your more ponderous and settled project May suffer alteration, On mine honor I'll point you where you shall have Such receiving as shall become your highness. Where you may enjoy your mistress from whom I see There's no disjunction to be made but by As heavens forfend Your ruin marry her And with my best endeavors in your absence Your discontenting father strived to qualify And bring him up to like it. How, Camillo, may this almost a miracle be done That I may call thee something more than man And after that trust to thee.  Not any yet, but as the unthought on accident Is guilty to what we wildly do, So we profess ourselves to be the slaves of chance And flies of every wind that blows. Then list to me. This follows, if you will not change your purpose But undergo this flight, make for Cecilia And there present yourself and your fair princess For so I see she must be for Leontes. She shall be habited as it becomes the partner of your bed. In the things I see Leontes opening his free arms And weeping his welcomes forth. Asks thee the son, forgiveness, As twerk in the father's person, Kisses the hands of your fresh princess. O'er and o'er divides him, Twixed his unkindness and his kindness. The one he chides to hell And bids the other grow faster than thought or time. Worthy, Camillo. What color for my visitation shall I hold up before him? Sent by the king, your father, to greet him And to give him comforts. Sir, the manner of your bearing towards him With what you as from your father shall deliver Things known betwixt us three I'll write you down. The witch shall point you forth at every sitting What you must say. That he shall not perceive But that you have your father's bosom there And speak his very heart. I am bound to you. There is some sap in this. A cause more promising than a wild Dedication of yourselves to unpathed waters, Undreamed shores, most certain to miseries enough. No hope to help you, but as you shake off one To take another. Nothing so certain as your anchors Who do their best office If they can but stay you where you'll be loathed to be. Besides, you know, prosperity is the very bond of love Whose fresh complexion induces heart together, Affliction alters. One of these is true. I think affliction may subdue the cheek, But not take in the mind. Yea, say you so. There shall not of your father's house These seven years be born another such. My good Camelo, she is as forward of her breeding As she is in the rear our birth. I cannot say to his pity she lacks instructions But she seems a mistress to most that teach. Your pardon, sir, for this I'll blush you thanks. My prettiest Perdita. Oh, but oh, the thorns we stand upon. Camelo, preserver of my father, now of me, The medicine of our house, how shall we do? We are not furnished like Bohemia's son, Nor shall appear in Cecilia. My lord, fear none of this. I think you know my fortunes do all lie there. It shall be so my care to have you royally appointed As if the scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, that you may know you shall not want. One word. They talk aside. Re-enter Artulicus. Ha, ha, ha, ha! What a full honesty is, and trust, His sworn brother, a very simple gentleman. I have sold all my trumpery, Not a counterfeit stone, Not a ribbon, glass, pomanda, brooch, Table book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, Shoe tie, bracelet, horn ring, To keep my pack from fasting. They throng who should buy first, As if my trinkets had been hallowed, And brought a benediction to the buyer. By which means I saw whose purse was best in picture, And what I saw for my good use I remembered. My clown, who wants but something to be a reasonable man, Grew so in love with the wench's song That he would not stir his petty toes Until he had both tune and words, Which so drew the rest of the herd to me That their other senses stuck in ears. You might have pinched a placard. It was senseless, cause nothing to gild A codpiece of a purse. I could have filed keys off that hung in chains. No earing, no feeling, but my sir's song And admiring the nothing of it. So that in this time of lethargy I picked and cut most of their festival purses. And had not the old man come in With a hoo-bub against his daughter And the king's son, and scared my chuffs From the chaff, I had not left a purse Alive in the whole army. Camilo, Floresel, and Perdita come forward. Nay, but my letters, by this means being there So soon as you arrive shall clear that doubt. And those that you'll procure from King Leontes Shall satisfy your father. Happy be you, all that you speak shows fair. Who have we here? Seeing autulacus. We'll make an instrument of this. Omit, nothing may give us aid. If they have overheard me now, why, hanging? How now, good fellow? Why shake us though so? Fear not, man. Here's no harm intended to be. I am a poor fellow, sir. Why, be so still, there's nobody will steal that from me. Yet, for the outside of thy poverty We must make an exchange. Therefore, displace thee instantly. Thou must think there's a necessity in it. And change garments with this gentleman. Though the penny-worth on his side be the worst, Yet hold thee, there's some boot. I am a poor fellow, sir. Aside. I know ye well enough. Nay, prithee, dispatch! The gentleman has half fled already. Are you an earnest, sir? Aside. I smell a trick on'd. Dispatch, I prithee. Indeed, I have had earnest. But I cannot with conscience take it. Unbuckle, unbuckle! Floresel and Atulicus exchange garments. Fortunate mistress, let my prophecy come home to thee. You must retire yourself into some covert.  That you may, for I do fear, eyes over, To shipboard get undescribed. I see the place so lies that I must bear apart. No remedy. Have you done there? Should I now meet my father, he would not call me son. Nay, you shall have no hat. Giving it to Perdita. Come, lady, come. Farewell, my friend. Adieu, sir. O Perdita, what have we twain forgot? Pray you a word. Aside. What I do next shall be to tell the king of this escape And whither they are bound. Wherein my hope is I shall so prevail To force him after, In whose company I shall review Cecilia, For whose sight I have a woman's longing. Fortune speed us. Thus we set on Camillo to the seaside. The swifter speed the better. Eggsy and Floresel, Perdita and Camillo. I understand the business. I hear ye. To have an open ear, a quick eye, And a nimble hand is necessary for a cut purse. A good nose is requisite also To smell out work for the other senses. I see this is the time that the unjust man doth thrive. What an exchange had this been without boot. What a boot is here with this exchange. Sure, the gods do this year. Connaught at us. And we may do anything extemporee. The prince himself is about a piece of iniquity, Stealing away from his father with his clogged heels. If I thought it were a piece of honesty To acquaint the king with all, I would not do it. I hold it the more navery to conceal it. And therein am I constant to my profession. Re-enter Clown and Shepard. Aside, here is more matter for a ought brain. Every lane's end, every shop, church, session, Hanging yields a careful man work. See, see what a man you are now. There is no other way but to tell the king She's a changeling and none of your flesh and blood. Nay, but hear me. Nay, but hear me. Go to them. She, being none of your flesh and blood, Your flesh and blood has not offended the king. And so your flesh and blood is not to be punished by him. Show those things you found about her, Those secret things, all but what she has with her. This being done, let the law go whistle. I warrant you. I will tell the king all, every word here. And his son's pranks too. Who I may say is no honest man. Neither to his father, nor to me, To go about to make me the king's brother-in-law.  Aside. Very wisely, puppies. Well, let us to the king. There is that in this foddle Will make him scratch his beard. Aside. I know not what impediment this complaint may be To the flight of my master. Pray heartily, he be at palace. Aside. Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance. Let me pocket up my peddler's excrement. Takes off his false beard. And now rustics, where are you bound? To the palace. And it like your worship.  We are but plain fellows, sir. A lie. You are rough and hairy. Let me have no lying. It becomes none but tradesmen, And they often give us soldiers the lie. But we pay them for it with stamped coin, Not stabbing steel. Therefore, they do not give us the lie. Your worship had like to have given us one If you had not taken yourself with the manner. Are we courtier?  Whether it like me or no, I am a courtier. Since they are not the bearer of the court In these infoldings, Hath not my gate in it the measure of the court? Receive not thy nose caught odour from me? Reflect thy knot on thy baseness caught contempt? Thinkest thou for that I insinuate Or toes from thee thy business? I am therefore no courtier. I am courtier cap-a-pay, A one that will either push on Or pluck back thy business there, Whereupon I command thee to open thy affair. My business, sir, is to the king. What advocate hast thou to him? I know not.  Advocates the court word for a pheasant. Say, you have none. None, sir.  How blessed are we that are not simple men. Yet nature might have made me as these are. Therefore, I will not disdain. This cannot be but a great courtier.  He seems to be the more noble in being fantastical. A great man, I'll warrant. I know by the picking on's teeth. The faddle there, what in the faddle? Wherefore that box? Sir, there lies such secret in this faddle and box, Which none must know but the king, And which he shall know within this hour. If I may come to the speech of him. Age, thou hast lost thy labour. Why, sir? The king is not at the palace. He has gone aboard a new ship To purge melancholy and ear himself. For, if thou beest capable of things serious, Thou must know the king is full of grief. So it is said, sir, about his son, That should have married a Sefford's daughter. If that Seppard be not in handfast, let him fly. The curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, Will break the back of man the heart of monster. Think you so, sir? Not he alone shall suffer what wit can make heavy And vengeance bitter. But those that are germane to him, Though removed fifty times, shall all come under the hangman. Which though it be great pity, Yet it is necessary. An old ship whistling rogue, a ram tender, To offer to have his daughter come into grace, Some say he shall be stoned. But that death is too soft for him, say I. Draw our throat into a sheepcoat. All deaths are too few, the sharpest, too easy. Has the old man heir a son, sir?  He has a son who shall be flayed alive, Then knighted over with honey, Set on the head of a wasp's nest. Then stand till he be three quarters and a ram dead. Then recovered again with aqua vitae, Or some other hot infusion. Then, raw as he is, And in the hottest day prognostication proclaims, Shall be set against a brick wall, A son looking with a southward eye upon him, Where he is to behold him with flies blown to death. But what talk we of these traite-ully rascals, Whose miseries are to be smiled at, Their offences being so capital? Tell me, for you seem to be honest plain men, What have you to the king?  And if it be in man, besides the king, To effect your suits, here is man shall do it. He seems to be of great authority, Close with him, give him gold, And though authority be a stubborn bear, Yet he is oft led by the nose with gold. Show the inside of your purse To the outside of his hand, And no more ado. Remember, stoned and flayed alive? And please you, sir, To undertake the business for us. Here is that gold I have. I'll make it as much more And leave this young man in pawn Till I bring it to you. After I've done what I promised? Aye, sir. Well, give me the moiety. Are you a party in this business? In some sort, sir, But though my case be a pitiful one, I hope I shall not be flayed out of it. Oh, that's the case of the shepherd's son. Hang him. He shall be made an example. Comfort. Good comfort. We must to the king and show our strange sights. He must know, It is none of your daughter nor my sister. We are gone else. Sir, I will give you as much as this old man does, When the business is performed, And remain, as he says, Your pawn till it be brought to you. I will trust you. Walk before toward the seaside. Go on the right hand. I will but look upon the hedge, And follow you. We are blessed in this man, As I may say, even blessed. Let us before as he beats us. He was provided to do us good. Exiant shepherd and clown. If I had a mind, to be honest, I see fortune would not suffer me. She drops booties in my mouth. I am caught now with a double occasion. Gold, And amends to the prince, my master, good. Which, who knows, How that may turn back to my advancement. I will bring these two moles, These blind ones, aboard him. If he think it fit to shore them again, And that the complaint they have to the king Concerns him nothing, Let him call me rogue for being so far a-fishous. For I am proof against that title, And what shame belongs to it. To him will I present them. There may be matter in it. Exit. End of Act Four. Act Five of the Winter's Tale by William Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Act Five, Scene One. A Room in Leonte's Palace. Enter Leonte's, Clemenes, Dionne, Paulina, and Servants.  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 airless it hath made my kingdom, And destroyed the sweetest companion, That ere man bred his hopes out of. True. Too true, my lord. If one by one you wedded all the world, Or from the all that are took something good To make a perfect woman, She you killed would be unparalleled. I think so. Killed. She I killed. I did so. But thou strikeest me sorely to say I did. It is as bitter upon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now, say so, but seldom. Not at all, good lady. You might have spoken a thousand things That would have done the time more benefit And graced your kindness better. You are one of those would have him wed again. If you were not so, you pity not the state, Nor the remembrance of his most sovereign name. Consider little what dangers by his heinous Fail of issue may drop upon his kingdom And devour in certain lookers on. What were more holy than to rejoice The former queen is well. What holier than for royalty's repair, For present comfort and for future good To bless the bed of majesty again With a sweet fellow to it. There is none worthy respecting her that's gone. Besides, the gods would have fulfilled Their secret purposes. For has not the divine Apollo said, Is not the tenor of his oracle That King Leonti shall not have an heir Till his lost child be found? Which that it shall Is all as monstrous to our human reason As my antigonus to break his grave And come again to me, Who on my life did perish with the infant. Tis your counsel, my lord, Should to the heavens be contrary, Oppose against their wills. To Leonti's. Care not for issue. The crown will find an heir. Great Alexander left his to the worthiest, So his successor was like to be the best. Good Paulina, who hest the memory of Hermione, I know, in honour, Ho, 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. And left them more rich for what they yielded. Thou speakest truth, No more such wise therefore no wife. One worse and better used Would make her sainted spirit again possess her corpse, And on this stage where we're offenders now Appear, soul vexed, And begin, why to me? Had she such power she had just cause. She had, and would incense me To murder her I married. I should so. Were I the ghost that walked I'll bid you mark her eye, And tell me for what dull partin' you chose her, Then I'd shriek that even your ears Should rift to hear me, And the words that followed should be Remember mine.  Will you swear never to marry but by my free leave? Never, Paulina, so be blessed my spirit. Then good my lords bear witness to his oath. You tempt him over much. Unless another as like Hermione As is her picture affront his eye. Good, madame. I have done. Yet if my lord will marry, If you will, sir, no remedy, but you will, Give me the office to choose you a queen. She shall not be so young as was your former, But she shall be such as Walked your first queen's ghost. It should take joy to see her in your arms. My true Paulina, we shall not marry till thou bidest us. That shall be when your first queen's again in breath, Never till then. Enter a gentleman, One that gives out himself Prince Florazelle, Son of Polyxonies, with his princess. She the fairest I have yet beheld. Desires access to 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 his not a visitation framed, But forced by need and accident. What train! But few, and those but mean. His princess, say you, with him? I, the most peerless piece of earth, That ere the sun shone bright on. Oh Hermione, as every present time Doth boast itself above a better gone, So must thy grave give way to what's seen now. Sir, you yourself have said and writ so. But your writing now is colder than that theme. She had not been nor was not to be equaled. Thus your verse flowed with her beauty once. Tis shrewdly ebbed to say you have seen a better. Pardon, madam. The one I have almost forgot. Your pardon. The other, when she has obtained your eye, Will have your tongue, too. This is a creature when she begin a sect Might quench the zeal of all professors Else make proselytes of who she but bid follow. How? Not women. Women will love her, That she is a woman more worth than any man. Men, that she is the rarest of all women. Go, Cleomenes, you're self-assisted with your honoured friends. Bring them to our embracement. Exiant Cleomenes and others. Still, to strange she thus should steal upon us. Had our prince, jewel of children seen this hour, He had paired well with this lord. There was not full a month between their births. Prithee no more. Cease. Thou knowest 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. Re-enter, Cleomenes, and others, With Floresel and Perdita.  Were I but twenty-one, your father's image 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. Oh, alas! I lost a couple that twixed heaven and earth Might thus have stood be getting 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. By his command have I here touch Cecilia, And from him give you all greetings that a king, At friend, can send his brother.   He bade me say so. More than all the sceptres, And those that bear them living. Oh, 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 the earth. And hath he, too, exposed this paragon To the fearful usage, at least ungentle Of the dreadful Neptune, to greet a man Not worth her pains, much less the adventure Of her person? Good, my lord, she came from Libya, Where the war-like smallest that noble-honored lord Is feared and loved. Most royal, sir, from thence, From him whose daughter his tears proclaimed his Parting with her. Thence, a prosperous south wind friendly we have Crossed to execute the charge my father gave me For visiting your highness. My best train I have from your Sicilian shores Dismissed, who for Bohemia bend To signify not only my success in Libya, sir, But my arrival and my wife's in safety Here where we are. Would 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 thin, for which the heavens Taking angry note have left me issueless And your father's blessed 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? Enter a lord. Most noble, sir, that which I shall report Will bear no credit were not the proof so nigh. Please, you great sir, Bohemia greets you From himself by me. Desires you to attach his son, who has His dignity and duty both cast off, Fled from his father, from his hopes, And with a shepherd's daughter. Where's Bohemia? Speak. Here in your city, I now came from him. I speak amazingly, and it becomes My marvel and my message. To your court whilst he was hastening In the chase it seems of this fair couple Meets he on the way the father of this Seeming lady and her brother, having Both their country quitted with this young prince. Camillo has betrayed me, whose honor And whose honesty till now endured all weathers. Late so to his charge. He's with the king, your father. Who, Camillo? Camillo, sir, I spake with him, who now Has these poor men in question. Never saw I a wretches so quake. They kneel, they kiss the earth, Forswear themselves as often as they speak. Bohemia stops his ears and threatens Them with diverse deaths in death. Oh, my poor father, the heavens Set spies upon us will not have Our contracts celebrated. You are married? We are not, sir, nor are we like to be. The stars I see will kiss the valleys First, the odds for high and lows alike. My lord, is this the daughter of a king? She is, when once she 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. Dear, look up. Though fortune, visible an enemy Should chase us with my father, Power no joth hath she to change our loves. Be seat you, sir. Remember since you owed no more to time Than I do now. With thought of such affections, Step forth, mine advocate. At your request my father will grant Precious things as trifles. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious mistress, Which he counts but a trifle. My liege, your eye hath too much euthent. Not a month for your queen died She was more worth such gazes Than what you look on now. I thought of her, even in these looks I made. To Florizel. But your petition is yet unanswered. I will to your father. Your honour not or thrown 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. Exiant. Act five, scene two, Before Lyonte's palace. Enter Artulicus and a gentleman. Be seat you, sir. Weren't you present at this relation? I was by at the opening of the faddle. Heard the old shepherd deliver the manner how he found it. Were upon after a little amazin'ness We were all commanded out of the chamber. Only this me thought I heard the shepherd say He found the child. Or must gladly know the issue of it. I make a broken delivery of the business But the changes I perceived in the king and Camilla Were very notes of admiration. They seemed almost with staring on one another To tear the cases of their eyes. There was speech in their dumbness. Language in their very gesture. They looked as they had heard of a world ransomed Or one destroyed. A notable passion of wonder appeared in them But the wisest beholder that knew no more But seeing could not say if the importance Were joy or sorrow. But in the extremity of the one it must need to be. Enter another gentleman. Here comes a gentleman that happily knows more. The news, Rohera? Nothing but bonfires. The oracle is fulfilled. The king's daughter is found. Such a deal of wonder is broken out Within this hour that ballad-makers Cannot be able to express it. Enter a third gentleman. Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward. He can deliver you more. How goes it now, sir? This news which is called true Is so like an old tale That the verity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the king found his heir? Most true if ever truth were pregnant by circumstance. That which you hear you'll swear you see There is such unity in the proofs. The mantle of Queen Hermione's her jewel about the neck of it The letters of Antigonus found with it Which they know to be his character The majesty of the creature and resemblance of the mother The affection of nobleness which nature shows above her breeding And many other evidences proclaim her with all certainty To be the king's daughter. Did you see the meeting of the two kings? No. Then you have lost a sight which was to be seen. Cannot be spoken of. There might you have beheld one joy crown another So and in such manner that it seems sorrow wept To take leave of them for their joy waited in tears. There was casting up of eyes holding up of hands With countenances of such distraction that they were to be known By garment not by favor.  Then asks Bohemia forgiveness then embraces his son-in-law Then again worries he his daughter with clipping her. Now he thanks the old shepherd which stands by Like a weather-bitten conduit of many king's reigns. I never heard of such another encounter Which lambs report to follow it and undoes description to do it. What prey you became of Antigonus that carried hence the child? Like an old tale still which will have matter to rehearse Though credit be asleep and not an ear open. He was torn to pieces with a bear. This avouches the shepherd's son who has not only his innocence Which seems much to justify him but a handkerchief In rings of his that Palina knows. What became of his bark and his followers? Wrecked the same instant of their master's death And in the view of the shepherd so that all the instruments Which aided to expose the child were even then lost When it was found. But oh the noble combat that Twix, Joy, and Sara Was fought in Palina. She had one eye declined for the loss of her husband Another elevated that the oracle was fulfilled. She lifted the princess from the earth And so locks her in embracing as if she would pin her to her heart That she might no more be in danger of losing. The dignity of this act was worth the audience of kings and princes For by such was it acted. One of the prettiest touches of all and that which angled for mine eyes Caught the water though not the fish Was when, at the relation of the queen's death With the manner how she came to it bravely confessed And lamented by the king How attentiveness wounded his daughter Tilt from one sign of dollar to another she did with an Alas, I would faint say, bleed tears For I am sure my heart wept blood. Who was most marble there changed color Some swooned all sorrowed If all the worlds could have seen it The woe had been universal. Are they returned to the court? No, the princess hearing of her mother's statue Which is in the keeping of Polina A piece many years in doing and now newly performed By that rare Italian master, Giulia Romano Who, had he himself eternity and could put breath into his work Would beguile nature of her custom so perfectly he is her ape He so near to Hermione, hath done Hermione That they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of answer That there with all greediness of affection are they gone And there they intend to sup. 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 Peace the rejoicing 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 That's along Exiant gentlemen Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me Would prefer a drop on my head I brought the old man and his son aboard the prince Told him I heard them talk of a faddle And I know not what But he at that time over fond of the shepherd's door So he then took her to be Who began to be much seasick And himself little better Extremity of where they're continuing This mystery remained undiscovered But is all one to me For had I been the finder heir 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 Come, boy, I am first to more children But thy sons and daughters will be all gentlemen born 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 I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born I, and have been so any time these four hours And so have I, boy 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 gentleman like tears that ever we shed We believe, son, to shed many more I, or else to a hard luck Being in so preposterous estate as we are Humbly beseech you, sir To pardon all the faults I have committed to your worship And to give me your good report to the prince my master Pretty, son, do For we must be gentle Now, your gentleman Thou wilt amend thy life I, I need like your good worship Give me thy hand I will swear to the prince Thou art as honest a true fellow As any is in Bohemia You may say it, but not swear it Not swear it? Now I am a gentleman Let Boas and Franklin say it I'll swear it How if it be false, son? If it be near 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 be a tall fellow of thy hands I will prove so, sir, to my power I, 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 Exiant Act five, scene three A chapel in Paulina's house Enter Leontes, Polyxonies, Florizel, Perdita, Camilo, Paulina, Lourdes, and Attendance O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort that I have had of thee What sovereign, sir, I did not well, I meant well All my services you have paid home But that you have vouchsafed with your crowned 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 O Paulina, we honour 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 As she lived peerless, so her dead likeness I do well believe excels whatever yet you looked upon Or hand of man hath done Therefore I keep it lonely Apart But here it is Prepare to see the life as lively mocked As ever still sleep mocked death Behold, and say it is well Paulina draws a curtain and discovers Hermione Standing like a statue I like your silence It the more shows off your wonder But yet speak First to you, my liege Comes it 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 aged as this seems Oh, not by much So much the more our carvers' excellence Which lets go by some sixteen years And makes her as she lived now As now she might have done so much to my good comfort As it is now piercing to my soul Oh, thus she stood even with such life of majesty Warm life as now it coldly stands When first I wooed her I am ashamed Not the stone rebuke me for being more stone than it How royal peace 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 And give me leave and do not say to superstition That I kneel and then implore her blessing Lady, dear queen that ended when I but began Give me that hand of yours to kiss Oh, patience, the statue is but newly fixed The color's not dry My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on Which sixteen winters cannot blow away So many summers dry Scarce any joy did ever so long live No sorrow but killed itself much sooner Dear my brother, let him that was the cause of this Have power to take off so much grief from you As he will peace up in himself 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 showed it Do not draw the curtain No longer shall you gaze on Lest your fancy may think anon it moves Let be, let be Would I were dead but that me thinks already What was he that did make it? See, my lord, would you not deem it breathed?  No, not these twenty years So long could I stand by a looker on Either forbear, quit presently the chapel Or resolve you for more amazement If you can behold it I'll make the statue move indeed Descend and take you by the hand But then you'll think which I protest against I am assisted by wicked powers What you can make her do I am content to look on What to speak I am content to hear For it is as easy to make her speak as move It is required you do awake your faith Then all stand still on Those that think it is unlawful business I am about Let them depart Proceed, no foot shall stir Music, awake her, strike Music Tis time Descend, be stone no more Approach, strike all that look upon with marvel Come, I'll fill your grave up Nay, stir, come away, bequeath to death your numbness For from him dear life redeems you You perceive she stirs Hermione comes down Start not, her actions shall be holy As you hear my spell is lawful Do not shun her until you see her die again For then you kill her double Nay, present your hand When she was young you wooed her Now in age as she become the suitor Oh, she's warm If this be magic let it be an art lawful as eating She embraces him She hangs about his neck If she pertain to life let her speak too I and Mick manifest where she has lived Or how stolen from the dead 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, our perdita is found You gods, look down And from your sacred vials pour your graces upon my daughter's head Tell me mine own Where has thou been preserved? Where lived? How found thy father's court? For thou shalt hear that I, Knowing by Paulina that the oracle gave hope thou wastin' being Have preserved myself to see the issue There's time enough for that Lest they desire upon this push To trouble your joys with like relation Go together You precious winners all Your exultation partake to everyone I, an old turtle, will wing me to some withered bow And there my mate that's never to be found again Lament till 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 us 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 honourable 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 what Look upon my brother, both your pardons, That ere I put between your holy looks My ill suspicion This is your son-in-law and son unto the king Who, heavens directing, is troth plight to your daughter And Paulina, lead us from hence Where we may leisurely each one demand an answer To his part performed in this wide gap of time Since first we were dissevered, hastily lead away Exiant End of Act Five End of The Winter's Tale by William Shakespeare