The Winter’s Tale by William Shakespeare, 1564-1616

Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband

And now baits me! This brat is none of mine;

It is the issue of Polixenes:

Hence with it, and together with the dam

Commit them to the fire!

PAULINA It is yours;

And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge,

So like you, ’tis the worse. Behold, my lords,

Although the print be little, the whole matter

And copy of the father, eye, nose, lip,

The trick of’s frown, his forehead, nay, the valley,

The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek,

His smiles,

The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger:

And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it

So like to him that got it, if thou hast

The ordering of the mind too, ‘mongst all colours

No yellow in’t, lest she suspect, as he does,

Her children not her husband’s!

LEONTES A gross hag

And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang’d,

That wilt not stay her tongue.

ANTIGONUS Hang all the husbands

That cannot do that feat, you’ll leave yourself

Hardly one subject.

LEONTES Once more, take her hence.

PAULINA A most unworthy and unnatural lord

Can do no more.

LEONTES I’ll ha’ thee burnt.

PAULINA I care not:

It is an heretic that makes the fire,

Not she which burns in’t. I’ll not call you tyrant;

But this most cruel usage of your queen,

Not able to produce more accusation

Than your own weak-hinged fancy, something savours

Of tyranny and will ignoble make you,

Yea, scandalous to the world.

LEONTES On your allegiance,

Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant,

Where were her life? she durst not call me so,

If she did know me one. Away with her!

PAULINA I pray you, do not push me; I’ll be gone.

Look to your babe, my lord; ’tis yours:

Jove send her

A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands?

You, that are thus so tender o’er his follies,

Will never do him good, not one of you.

So, so: farewell; we are gone.

Exit

LEONTES Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.

My child? away with’t! Even thou, that hast

A heart so tender o’er it, take it hence

And see it instantly consumed with fire;

Even thou and none but thou. Take it up straight:

Within this hour bring me word ’tis done,

And by good testimony, or I’ll seize thy life,

With what thou else call’st thine. If thou refuse

And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so;

The bastard brains with these my proper hands

Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire;

For thou set’st on thy wife.

ANTIGONUS I did not, sir:

These lords, my noble fellows, if they please,

Can clear me in’t.

Lords We can: my royal liege,

He is not guilty of her coming hither.

LEONTES You’re liars all.

First Lord Beseech your highness, give us better credit:

We have always truly served you, and beseech you

So to esteem of us, and on our knees we beg,

As recompense of our dear services

Past and to come, that you do change this purpose,

Which being so horrible, so bloody, must

Lead on to some foul issue: we all kneel.

LEONTES I am a feather for each wind that blows:

Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel

And call me father? better burn it now

Than curse it then. But be it; let it live.

It shall not neither. You, sir, come you hither;

You that have been so tenderly officious

With Lady Margery, your midwife there,

To save this bastard’s life,–for ’tis a bastard,

So sure as this beard’s grey,

–what will you adventure

To save this brat’s life?

ANTIGONUS Any thing, my lord,

That my ability may undergo

And nobleness impose: at least thus much:

I’ll pawn the little blood which I have left

To save the innocent: any thing possible.

LEONTES It shall be possible. Swear by this sword

Thou wilt perform my bidding.

ANTIGONUS I will, my lord.

LEONTES Mark and perform it, see’st thou! for the fail

Of any point in’t shall not only be

Death to thyself but to thy lewd-tongued wife,

Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,

As thou art liege-man to us, that thou carry

This female bastard hence and that thou bear it

To some remote and desert place quite out

Of our dominions, and that there thou leave it,

Without more mercy, to its own protection

And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune

It came to us, I do in justice charge thee,

On thy soul’s peril and thy body’s torture,

That thou commend it strangely to some place

Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up.

ANTIGONUS I swear to do this, though a present death

Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe:

Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens

To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say

Casting their savageness aside have done

Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous

In more than this deed does require! And blessing

Against this cruelty fight on thy side,

Poor thing, condemn’d to loss!

Exit with the child

LEONTES No, I’ll not rear

Another’s issue.

Enter a Servant

Servant Please your highness, posts

From those you sent to the oracle are come

An hour since: Cleomenes and Dion,

Being well arrived from Delphos, are both landed,

Hasting to the court.

First Lord So please you, sir, their speed

Hath been beyond account.

LEONTES Twenty-three days

They have been absent: ’tis good speed; foretells

The great Apollo suddenly will have

The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords;

Summon a session, that we may arraign

Our most disloyal lady, for, as she hath

Been publicly accused, so shall she have

A just and open trial. While she lives

My heart will be a burthen to me. Leave me,

And think upon my bidding.

Exeunt

Act 3

Scene 1

A sea-port in Sicilia.

Enter CLEOMENES and DION

CLEOMENES The climate’s delicate, the air most sweet,

Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing

The common praise it bears.

DION I shall report,

For most it caught me, the celestial habits,

Methinks I so should term them, and the reverence

Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!

How ceremonious, solemn and unearthly

It was i’ the offering!

CLEOMENES But of all, the burst

And the ear-deafening voice o’ the oracle,

Kin to Jove’s thunder, so surprised my sense.

That I was nothing.

DION If the event o’ the journey

Prove as successful to the queen,–O be’t so!–

As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,

The time is worth the use on’t.

CLEOMENES Great Apollo

Turn all to the best! These proclamations,

So forcing faults upon Hermione,

I little like.

DION The violent carriage of it

Will clear or end the business: when the oracle,

Thus by Apollo’s great divine seal’d up,

Shall the contents discover, something rare

Even then will rush to knowledge. Go: fresh horses!

And gracious be the issue!

Exeunt

Scene 2

A court of Justice.

Enter LEONTES, Lords, and Officers

LEONTES This sessions, to our great grief we pronounce,

Even pushes ‘gainst our heart: the party tried

The daughter of a king, our wife, and one

Of us too much beloved. Let us be clear’d

Of being tyrannous, since we so openly

Proceed in justice, which shall have due course,

Even to the guilt or the purgation.

Produce the prisoner.

Officer It is his highness’ pleasure that the queen

Appear in person here in court. Silence!

Enter HERMIONE guarded; PAULINA and Ladies attending

LEONTES Read the indictment.

Officer [Reads]

Hermione, queen to the worthy

Leontes, king of Sicilia, thou art here accused and

arraigned of high treason, in committing adultery

with Polixenes, king of Bohemia, and conspiring

with Camillo to take away the life of our sovereign

lord the king, thy royal husband: the pretence

whereof being by circumstances partly laid open,

thou, Hermione, contrary to the faith and allegiance

of a true subject, didst counsel and aid them, for

their better safety, to fly away by night.

HERMIONE Since what I am to say must be but that

Which contradicts my accusation and

The testimony on my part no other

But what comes from myself, it shall scarce boot me

To say ‘not guilty:’ mine integrity

Being counted falsehood, shall, as I express it,

Be so received. But thus: if powers divine

Behold our human actions, as they do,

I doubt not then but innocence shall make

False accusation blush and tyranny

Tremble at patience. You, my lord, best know,

Who least will seem to do so, my past life

Hath been as continent, as chaste, as true,

As I am now unhappy; which is more

Than history can pattern, though devised

And play’d to take spectators. For behold me

A fellow of the royal bed, which owe

A moiety of the throne a great king’s daughter,

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