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Enter Leontes, Cleomenes, Dion, Paulina and others.
CLEOMENES
Sir, you have done enough, and have perform’d
A saint-like sorrow: no fault could you make
Which you have not redeem’d; indeed, paid down
More penitence than done trespass: at the last,
Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil;
With them, forgive yourself.
LEONTES.
Whilst I remember
Her and her virtues, I cannot forget
My blemishes in them; and so still think of
The wrong I did myself: which was so much
That heirless it hath made my kingdom, and
Destroy’d the sweet’st companion that e’er man
Bred his hopes out of.
PAULINA.
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 kill’d
Would be unparallel’d.
LEONTES.
I think so. Kill’d!
She I kill’d! I did so: but thou strik’st me
Sorely, to say I did: it is as bitter
Upon thy tongue as in my thought. Now, good now,
Say so but seldom.
CLEOMENES
Not at all, good lady.
You might have spoken a thousand things that would
Have done the time more benefit and grac’d
Your kindness better.
PAULINA.
You are one of those
Would have him wed again.
DION.
If you would not so,
You pity not the state, nor the remembrance
Of his most sovereign name; consider little
What dangers, by his highness’ fail of issue,
May drop upon his kingdom, and devour
Incertain 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 ’t?
PAULINA.
There is none worthy,
Respecting her that’s gone. Besides, the gods
Will have fulfill’d their secret purposes;
For has not the divine Apollo said,
Is ’t not the tenor of his oracle,
That king Leontes 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 Leontes.] Care not for issue;
The crown will find an heir. Great Alexander
Left his to th’ worthiest; so his successor
Was like to be the best.
LEONTES.
Good Paulina,
Who hast the memory of Hermione,
I know, in honour, O that ever I
Had squar’d me to thy counsel! Then, even now,
I might have look’d upon my queen’s full eyes,
Have taken treasure from her lips,—
PAULINA.
And left them
More rich for what they yielded.
LEONTES.
Thou speak’st truth.
No more such wives; therefore, no wife: one worse,
And better us’d, would make her sainted spirit
Again possess her corpse, and on this stage,
(Where we offenders now appear) soul-vexed,
And begin “Why to me?”
PAULINA.
Had she such power,
She had just cause.
LEONTES.
She had; and would incense me
To murder her I married.
PAULINA.
I should so.
Were I the ghost that walk’d, I’d bid you mark
Her eye, and tell me for what dull part in ’t
You chose her: then I’d shriek, that even your ears
Should rift to hear me; and the words that follow’d
Should be “Remember mine.”
LEONTES.
Stars, stars,
And all eyes else dead coals! Fear thou no wife;
I’ll have no wife, Paulina.
PAULINA.
Will you swear
Never to marry but by my free leave?
LEONTES.
Never, Paulina; so be bless’d my spirit!
PAULINA.
Then, good my lords, bear witness to his oath.
CLEOMENES
You tempt him over-much.
PAULINA.
Unless another,
As like Hermione as is her picture,
Affront his eye.
CLEOMENES
Good madam,—
PAULINA.
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, walk’d your first queen’s ghost, it should take joy
To see her in your arms.
LEONTES.
My true Paulina,
We shall not marry till thou bid’st us.
PAULINA.
That
Shall be when your first queen’s again in breath;
Never till then.
Enter a Servant.
SERVANT.
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?
SERVANT.
But few,
And those but mean.
LEONTES.
His princess, say you, with him?
SERVANT.
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.
SERVANT.
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?
SERVANT.
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 Cleomenes and others.]
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. They are come.
Enter Florizel, Perdita, Cleomenes and others.
Your mother was most true to wedlock, prince;
For she did print your royal father off,
Conceiving you. Were I but twenty-one,
Your father’s image is so hit in you,
His very air, that I should call you brother,
As I did him, and speak of something wildly
By us 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 the earth. And hath he too
Expos’d this paragon to the 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 bless’d,
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, power 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.]
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 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
th’ importance were joy or sorrow; but in the extremity of the one, it
must needs be. Here comes a gentleman that happily knows more.
Enter a Gentleman.
The news, Rogero?
SECOND GENTLEMAN.
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. Here comes the Lady Paulina’s steward: he
can deliver you more.
Enter a third Gentleman.
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?
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
seemed 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.
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 O, the noble combat that ’twixt joy and
sorrow was fought in Paulina! 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.
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 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 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
it, 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 performed 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 more 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 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.
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.]
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 undraws a curtain, and discovers Hermione standing as 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 power
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 further.
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.
[Embracing her.] 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.
[Presenting Perdita who kneels to Hermione.]
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 everyone. 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.]
