No More Learning

PAULINA. That
Shall be when your first queen's again in breath;
Never till then.

Enter a GENTLEMAN

GENTLEMAN. One that gives out himself Prince Florizel,
Son of Polixenes, with his princess- she
The fairest I have yet beheld- desires access
To your high presence.
LEONTES. 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 fram'd, but forc'd
By need and accident. What train?
GENTLEMAN. But few,
And those but mean.
LEONTES. His princess, say you, with him?
GENTLEMAN. Ay; the most peerless piece of earth, I think,
That e'er the sun shone bright on.
PAULINA. O 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 equall'd. ' Thus your verse
Flow'd with her beauty once; 'tis shrewdly ebb'd,
To say you have seen a better.
GENTLEMAN. Pardon, madam.
The one I have almost forgot- your pardon;
The other, when she has obtain'd your eye,
Will have your tongue too. This is a creature,
Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal
Of all professors else, make proselytes
Of who she but bid follow.
PAULINA. How! not women?
GENTLEMAN. Women will love her that she is a woman
More worth than any man; men, that she is
The rarest of all women.
LEONTES. Go, Cleomenes;
Yourself, assisted with your honour'd friends,
Bring them to our embracement. Exeunt
Still, 'tis strange
He thus should steal upon us.
PAULINA. Had our prince,
Jewel of children, seen this hour, he had pair'd
Well with this lord; there was not full a month
Between their births.
LEONTES. Prithee no more; cease. Thou know'st
He dies to me again when talk'd of. Sure,
When I shall see this gentleman, thy speeches
Will bring me to consider that which may
Unfurnish me of reason.

Re-enter CLEOMENES, with FLORIZEL, PERDITA, and
ATTENDANTS

They are come.
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 perform'd 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.
FLORIZEL. By his command
Have I here touch'd Sicilia, and from him
Give you all greetings that a king, at friend,
Can send his brother; and, but infirmity,
Which waits upon worn times, hath something seiz'd
His wish'd ability, he had himself
The lands and waters 'twixt your throne and his
Measur'd, to look upon you; whom he loves,
He bade me say so, more than all the sceptres
And those that bear them living.
LEONTES. 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 behind-hand slackness! Welcome hither,
As is the spring to th' earth. And hath he too
Expos'd 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?
FLORIZEL. Good, my lord,
She came from Libya.
LEONTES. Where the warlike Smalus,
That noble honour'd lord, is fear'd and lov'd?
FLORIZEL. Most royal sir, from thence; from him whose daughter
His tears proclaim'd his, parting with her; thence,
A prosperous south-wind friendly, we have cross'd,
To execute the charge my father gave me
For visiting your Highness. My best train
I have from your Sicilian shores dismiss'd;
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.
LEONTES. The blessed 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 look'd on,
Such goodly things as you!

Enter a LORD

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.
LEONTES. Where's Bohemia? Speak.
LORD. Here in your city; I now came from him.
I speak amazedly; and it becomes
My marvel and my message. To your court
Whiles he was hast'ning- 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.
FLORIZEL. Camillo has betray'd me;
Whose honour and whose honesty till now
Endur'd all weathers.
LORD. Lay't so to his charge;
He's with the King your father.
LEONTES. Who? Camillo?
LORD. Camillo, sir; I spake with him; who now
Has these poor men in question. Never saw I
Wretches so quake. They kneel, they kiss the earth;
Forswear themselves as often as they speak.
Bohemia stops his ears, and threatens them
With divers deaths in death.
PERDITA. O my poor father!
The heaven sets spies upon us, will not have
Our contract celebrated.
LEONTES. You are married?
FLORIZEL. We are not, sir, nor are we like to be;
The stars, I see, will kiss the valleys first.
The odds for high and low's alike.
LEONTES. My lord,
Is this the daughter of a king?
FLORIZEL. She is,
When once she is my wife.
LEONTES. 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.
FLORIZEL. Dear, look up.
Though Fortune, visible an enemy,
Should chase us with my father, pow'r no jot
Hath she to change our loves. Beseech you, sir,
Remember since you ow'd 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.
LEONTES. Would he do so, I'd beg your precious mistress,
Which he counts but a trifle.
PAULINA. Sir, my liege,
Your eye hath too much youth in't. Not a month
Fore your queen died, she was more worth such gazes
Than what you look on now.
LEONTES. I thought of her
Even in these looks I made. [To FLORIZEL] But your petition
Is yet unanswer'd. I will to your father.
Your honour 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. Exeunt




SCENE II.
Sicilia. Before the palace of LEONTES

Enter AUTOLYCUS and a GENTLEMAN

AUTOLYCUS. Beseech you, sir, were you present at this relation?
FIRST GENTLEMAN. I was by at the opening of the fardel, heard the
old shepherd deliver the manner how he found it; whereupon, after
a little amazedness, we were all commanded out of the chamber;
only this, methought I heard the shepherd say he found the child.
AUTOLYCUS. I would most gladly know the issue of it.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. I make a broken delivery of the business; but the
changes I perceived in the King and Camillo were very notes of
admiration. They seem'd 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 look'd as they had heard of
a world ransom'd, 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 th' importance were joy or sorrow- but in
the extremity of the one it must needs be.

Enter another GENTLEMAN

Here comes a gentleman that happily knows more. The news, Rogero?
SECOND GENTLEMAN. Nothing but bonfires. The oracle is fulfill'd:
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 another GENTLEMAN

Here comes the Lady Paulina's steward; he can deliver you more.
How goes it now, sir? This news, which is call'd true, is so like
an old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion. Has the
King found his heir?
THIRD GENTLEMAN. 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 in 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?
SECOND GENTLEMAN. No.
THIRD GENTLEMAN. 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 seem'd sorrow wept to take
leave of them; for their joy waded in tears. There was casting up
of eyes, holding up of hands, with countenance of such
distraction that they were to be known by garment, not by favour.
Our king, being ready to leap out of himself for joy of his found
daughter, as if that joy were now become a loss, cries 'O, thy
mother, thy mother! ' 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 kings' reigns. I never heard of
such another encounter, which lames report to follow it and
undoes description to do it.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. What, pray you, became of Antigonus, that carried
hence the child?
THIRD GENTLEMAN. 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 and rings of his that Paulina knows.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. What became of his bark and his followers?
THIRD GENTLEMAN. Wreck'd 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, O, the noble combat that 'twixt joy and sorrow was
fought in Paulina! She had one eye declin'd for the loss of her
husband, another elevated that the oracle was fulfill'd. 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.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. The dignity of this act was worth the audience of
kings and princes; for by such was it acted.
THIRD GENTLEMAN. One of the prettiest touches of all, and that
which angl'd 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't bravely confess'd and lamented by the
King, how attentivenes wounded his daughter; till, from one sign
of dolour to another, she did with an 'Alas! '- I would fain say-
bleed tears; for I am sure my heart wept blood. Who was most
marble there changed colour; some swooned, all sorrowed. If all
the world could have seen't, the woe had been universal.
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Are they returned to the court?
THIRD GENTLEMAN. No. The Princess hearing of her mother's statue,
which is in the keeping of Paulina- a piece many years in doing
and now newly perform'd by that rare Italian master, Julio
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- thither with
all greediness of affection are they gone, and there they intend
to sup.
SECOND GENTLEMAN. I thought she had some great matter there in
hand; for she hath privately twice or thrice a day, ever since
the death of Hermione, visited that removed house. Shall we
thither, and with our company piece the rejoicing?
FIRST GENTLEMAN. Who would be thence that has the benefit of
access? Every wink of an eye some new grace will be born. Our
absence makes us unthrifty to our knowledge. Let's along.
Exeunt GENTLEMEN
AUTOLYCUS. Now, had I not the dash of my former life in me, would
preferment drop on my head. I brought the old man and his son
aboard the Prince; told him I heard them talk of a fardel and I
know not what; but he at that time over-fond of the shepherd's
daughter- so he then took her to be- who began to be much
sea-sick, and himself little better, extremity of weather
continuing, this mystery remained undiscover'd. But 'tis all one
to me; for had I been the finder-out of this secret, it would not
have relish'd 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.
SHEPHERD. Come, boy; I am past moe children, but thy sons and
daughters will be all gentlemen born.
CLOWN. 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.
AUTOLYCUS. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born.
CLOWN. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours.
SHEPHERD. And so have I, boy.
CLOWN. So you have; but I was a gentleman born before my father;
for the King's son took me by the hand and call'd me brother; and
then the two kings call'd my father brother; and then the Prince,
my brother, and the Princess, my sister, call'd my father father.
And so we wept; and there was the first gentleman-like tears that
ever we shed.
SHEPHERD. We may live, son, to shed many more.
CLOWN. Ay; or else 'twere hard luck, being in so preposterous
estate as we are.
AUTOLYCUS. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I
have committed to your worship, and to give me your good report
to the Prince my master.
SHEPHERD. Prithee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are
gentlemen.
CLOWN. Thou wilt amend thy life?
AUTOLYCUS. Ay, an it like your good worship.
CLOWN. Give me thy hand. I will swear to the Prince thou art as
honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia.
SHEPHERD. You may say it, but not swear it.
CLOWN. Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins
say it: I'll swear it.
SHEPHERD. How if it be false, son?
CLOWN. If it be ne'er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in
the behalf of his friend. And I'll swear to the Prince thou art a
tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I
know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be
drunk. But I'll swear it; and I would thou wouldst be a tall
fellow of thy hands.
AUTOLYCUS. I will prove so, sir, to my power.
CLOWN. Ay, by any means, prove a tall fellow. If I do not wonder
how thou dar'st 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. Exeunt




SCENE III.
Sicilia. A chapel in PAULINA's house

Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PERDITA, CAMILLO, PAULINA,
LORDS and ATTENDANTS

LEONTES. O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort
That I have had of thee!
PAULINA. What, sovereign sir,
I did not well, I meant well. All my services
You have paid home; but that you have vouchsaf'd,
With your crown'd brother and these your contracted
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,
It is a surplus of your grace, which never
My life may last to answer.
LEONTES. O Paulina,
We honour you with trouble; but we came
To see the statue of our queen. Your gallery
Have we pass'd through, not without much content
In many singularities; but we saw not
That which my daughter came to look upon,
The statue of her mother.
PAULINA. As she liv'd peerless,
So her dead likeness, I do well believe,
Excels whatever yet you look'd upon
Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it
Lonely, apart. But here it is. Prepare
To see the life as lively mock'd as ever
Still sleep mock'd death. Behold; and say 'tis 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, you, my liege.
Comes it not something near?
LEONTES. 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.
POLIXENES. O, not by much!
PAULINA. So much the more our carver's excellence,
Which lets go by some sixteen years and makes her
As she liv'd now.
LEONTES. 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 woo'd her!
I am asham'd. 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 conjur'd to remembrance, and
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
Standing like stone with thee!
PERDITA. And give me leave,
And do not say 'tis 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.
PAULINA. O, patience!
The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's
Not dry.
CAMILLO. 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 kill'd itself much sooner.
POLIXENES. Dear my brother,
Let him that was the cause of this have pow'r
To take off so much grief from you as he
Will piece up in himself.
PAULINA. Indeed, my lord,
If I had thought the sight of my poor image
Would thus have wrought you- for the stone is mine-
I'd not have show'd it.
LEONTES. Do not draw the curtain.
PAULINA. No longer shall you gaze on't, lest your fancy
May think anon it moves.
LEONTES. 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 breath'd, and that those veins
Did verily bear blood?
POLIXENES. Masterly done!
The very life seems warm upon her lip.
LEONTES. The fixture of her eye has motion in't,
As we are mock'd with art.
PAULINA. I'll draw the curtain.
My lord's almost so far transported that
He'll think anon it lives.
LEONTES. 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.
PAULINA. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you; but
I could afflict you farther.
LEONTES. 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.
PAULINA. Good my lord, forbear.
The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;
You'll mar it if you kiss it; stain your own
With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?
LEONTES. No, not these twenty years.
PERDITA. So long could I
Stand by, a looker-on.
PAULINA. 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.
LEONTES. 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.
PAULINA. It is requir'd
You do awake your faith. Then all stand still;
Or those that think it is unlawful business
I am about, let them depart.
LEONTES. Proceed.
No foot shall stir.
PAULINA. 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. Stir; nay, come away.
Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him
Dear life redeems you. You perceive she stirs.
[HERMIONE comes down from the pedestal]
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 woo'd her; now in age
Is she become the suitor?
LEONTES. O, she's warm!
If this be magic, let it be an art
Lawful as eating.
POLIXENES. She embraces him.
CAMILLO. She hangs about his neck.
If she pertain to life, let her speak too.
POLIXENES. Ay, and make it manifest where she has liv'd,
Or how stol'n from the dead.
PAULINA. 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.
HERMIONE. You gods, look down,
And from your sacred vials pour your graces
Upon my daughter's head! Tell me, mine own,
Where hast thou been preserv'd? Where liv'd? How found
Thy father's court? For thou shalt hear that I,
Knowing by Paulina that the oracle
Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserv'd
Myself to see the issue.
PAULINA. 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 every one. I, an old turtle,
Will wing me to some wither'd bough, and there
My mate, that's never to be found again,
Lament till I am lost.
LEONTES. 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 question'd; 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 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
Perform'd in this wide gap of time since first
We were dissever'd. Hastily lead away. Exeunt

THE END



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1609

A LOVER'S COMPLAINT

by William Shakespeare



From off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a sist'ring vale,
My spirits t'attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale,
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings atwain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.

Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which fortified her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw
The carcase of a beauty spent and done.
Time had not scythed all that youth begun,
Nor youth all quit, but spite of heaven's fell rage
Some beauty peeped through lattice of seared age.

Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters,
Laund'ring the silken figures in the brine
That seasoned woe had pelleted in tears,
And often reading what contents it bears;
As often shrieking undistinguished woe,
In clamours of all size, both high and low.

Sometimes her levelled eyes their carriage ride,
As they did batt'ry to the spheres intend;
Sometime diverted their poor balls are tied
To th' orbed earth; sometimes they do extend
Their view right on; anon their gazes lend
To every place at once, and nowhere fixed,
The mind and sight distractedly commixed.

Her hair, nor loose nor tied in formal plat,
Proclaimed in her a careless hand of pride;
For some, untucked, descended her sheaved hat,
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside;
Some in her threaden fillet still did bide,
And, true to bondage, would not break from thence,
Though slackly braided in loose negligence.

A thousand favours from a maund she drew
Of amber, crystal, and of beaded jet,
Which one by one she in a river threw,
Upon whose weeping margent she was set;
Like usury applying wet to wet,
Or monarchs' hands that lets not bounty fall
Where want cries some, but where excess begs all.

Of folded schedules had she many a one,
Which she perused, sighed, tore, and gave the flood;
Cracked many a ring of posied gold and bone,
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;
Found yet moe letters sadly penned in blood,
With sleided silk feat and affectedly
Enswathed and sealed to curious secrecy.

These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes,
And often kissed, and often 'gan to tear;
Cried, 'O false blood, thou register of lies,
What unapproved witness dost thou bear!
Ink would have seemed more black and damned here!
This said, in top of rage the lines she rents,
Big discontents so breaking their contents.