Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/The Winters Tale/Act 3 Scene 2

Scœna Secunda.


Enter Leontes, Lords, Officers: Hermione (as to herTriall) Ladies: Cleomines, Dion.
Leo. This Sessions (to our great griefe we pronounce)Euen pushes 'gainst our heart. The partie try'd,The Daughter of a King, our Wife, and oneOf vs too much belou'd. Let vs be clear'dOf being tyrannous, since we so openlyProceed in Iustice, which shall haue due course,Euen to the Guilt, or the Purgation:Produce the Prisoner.
Officer. It is his Highnesse pleasure, that the QueeneSilence.Appeare in person, here in Court.
Leo. Reade the Indictment.
Officer. Hermione, Queene to the worthy Leontes, King of Sicilia, thou art here accused and arraigned of HighTreason, in committing Adultery with Polixenes King of Bohemia,and conspiring with Camillo to take away the Life of our Soueraigne Lord the King, thy Royall Husband: the pretence whereofbeing by circumstances partly layd open, thou (Hermione)contrary to the Faith and Allegeance of a true Subiect, didst counsaile and ayde them, for their better safetie, to flye away byNight.
Her. Since what I am to say, must be but thatWhich contradicts my Accusation, andThe testimonie on my part, no otherBut what comes from my selfe, it shall scarce boot meTo say, Not guiltie: mine IntegritieBeing counted Falsehood, shall (as I expresse it)Be so receiu'd. But thus, if Powres DiuineBehold our humane Actions (as they doe)I doubt not then, but Innocence shall makeFalse Accusation blush, and TyrannieTremble at Patience. You (my Lord) best know(Whom least will seeme to doe so) my past lifeHath beene as continent, as chaste, as true,As I am now vnhappy; which is moreThen Historie can patterne, though deuis'd,And play'd, to take Spectators. For behold me,A Fellow of the Royall Bed, which oweA Moitie of the Throne: a great Kings Daughter,The Mother to a hopefull Prince, here standingTo prate and talke for Life, and Honor, foreWho please to come, and heare. For Life, I prize itAs I weigh Griefe (which I would spare:) For Honor,'Tis a deriuatiue from me to mine,And onely that I stand for. I appealeTo your owne Conscience (Sir) before PolixenesCame to your Court, how I was in your grace,How merited to be so: Since he came,With what encounter so vncurrant, IHaue strayn'd t' appeare thus; if one iot beyondThe bound of Honor, or in act, or willThat way enclining, hardned be the heartsOf all that heare me, and my neer'st of KinCry fie vpon my Graue.
Leo. I ne're heard yet,That any of these bolder Vices wantedLesse Impudence to gaine-say what they did,Then to performe it first.
Her. That's true enough,Though 'tis a saying (Sir) not due to me.
Leo. You will not owne it.
Her. More then Mistresse of,Which comes to me in name of Fault, I must notAt all acknowledge. For Polixenes(With whom I am accus'd) I doe confesseI lou'd him, as in Honor he requir'd:With such a kind of Loue, as might becomeA Lady like me; with a Loue, euen such,So, and no other, as your selfe commanded:Which, not to haue done, I thinke had been in meBoth Disobedience, and IngratitudeTo you, and toward your Friend, whose Loue had spoke,Euen since it could speake, from an Infant, freely,That it was yours. Now for Conspiracie,I know not how it tastes, though it be dish'dFor me to try how: All I know of it,Is, that Camillo was an honest man;And why he left your Court, the Gods themselues(Wotting no more then I) are ignorant.
Leo. You knew of his departure, as you knowWhat you haue vnderta'ne to doe in's absence.
Her. Sir,You speake a Language that I vnderstand not:My Life stands in the leuell of your Dreames,Which Ile lay downe.
Leo. Your Actions are my Dreames.You had a Bastard by Polixenes,And I but dream'd it: As you were past all shame,(Those of your Fact are so) so past all truth;Which to deny, concernes more then auailes: for asThy Brat hath been cast out, like to it selfe,No Father owning it (which is indeedMore criminall in thee, then it) so thouShalt feele our Iustice; in whose easiest passage,Looke for no lesse then death.
Her. Sir, spare your Threats:The Bugge which you would fright me with, I seeke:To me can Life be no commoditie;The crowne and comfort of my Life (your Fauor)I doe giue lost, for I doe feele it gone,But know not how it went. My second Ioy,And first Fruits of my body, from his presenceI am bar'd, like one infectious. My third comfort(Star'd most vnluckily) is from my breast(The innocent milke in it most innocent mouth)Hal'd out to murther. My selfe on euery PostProclaym'd a Strumpet: With immodest hatredThe Child-bed priuiledge deny'd, which longsTo Women of all fashion. Lastly, hurriedHere, to this place, i'th' open ayre, beforeI haue got strength of limit. Now (my Liege)Tell me what blessings I haue here aliue,That I should feare to die? Therefore proceed:But yet heare this: mistake me not: no Life,(I prize it not a straw) but for mine Honor,Which I would free: if I shall be condemn'dVpon surmizes (all proofes sleeping else,But what your Iealousies awake) I tell you'Tis Rigor, and not Law. Your Honors all,I doe referre me to the Oracle:Apollo be my Iudge.
Lord. This your requestIs altogether iust: therefore bring forth(And in Apollo's Name) his Oracle.
Her. The Emperor of Russia was my Father.Oh that he were aliue, and here beholdingHis Daughters Tryall: that he did but seeThe flatnesse of my miserie; yet with eyesOf Pitty, not Reuenge.
Officer. You here shal sweare vpon this Sword of Iustice,That you (Cleomines and Dion) haueBeen both at Delphos, and from thence haue broughtThis seal'd-vp Oracle, by the Hand deliuer'dOf great Apollo's Priest; and that since then,You haue not dar'd to breake the holy Seale,Nor read the Secrets in't.
Cleo. Dio. All this we sweare.
Leo. Breake vp the Seales, and read.
Officer.Hermione is chast, Polixenes blamelesse, Camilloa true Subiect, Leontes a iealous Tyrant, his innocent Babetruly begotten, and the King shall liue without an Heire, if thatwhich is lost, be not found.
Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo.
Her. Praysed.
Leo. Hast thou read truth?
Offic. I (my Lord) euen so as it is here set downe.
Leo. There is no truth at all i'th' Oracle:The Sessions shall proceed: this is meere falsehood.
Ser. My Lord the King: the King?
Leo. What is the businesse?
Ser. O Sir, I shall be hated to report it.The Prince your Sonne, with meere conceit, and feareOf the Queenes speed, is gone.
Leo. How? gone?
Ser. Is dead.
Leo. Apollo's angry, and the Heauens themseluesDoe strike at my Iniustice. How now there?
Paul. This newes is mortall to the Queene: Look downeAnd see what Death is doing.
Leo. Take her hence:Her heart is but o're-charg'd: she will recouer.I haue too much beleeu'd mine owne suspition:'Beseech you tenderly apply to herSome remedies for life. Apollo pardonMy great prophanenesse 'gainst thine Oracle.Ile reconcile me to Polixenes,New woe my Queene, recall the good Camillo(Whom I proclaime a man of Truth, of Mercy:)For being transported by my IealousiesTo bloody thoughts, and to reuenge, I choseCamillo for the minister, to poysonMy friend Polixenes: which had been done,But that the good mind of Camillo tardiedMy swift command: though I with Death, and withReward, did threaten and encourage him,Not doing it, and being done: he (most humane,And fill'd with Honor) to my Kingly GuestVnclasp'd my practise, quit his fortunes here(Which you knew great) and to the hazardOf all Incertainties, himselfe commended,No richer then his Honor: How he glistersThrough my Rust? and how his PietieDo's my deeds make the blacker?
Paul. Woe the while:O cut my Lace, least my heart (cracking it)Breake too.
Lord. What fit is this? good Lady?
Paul. What studied torments (Tyrant) hast for me?What Wheeles? Racks? Fires? What flaying? boyling?In Leads, or Oyles? What old, or newer TortureMust I receiue? whose euery word deseruesTo taste of thy most worst. Thy Tyranny(Together working with thy Iealousies,Fancies too weake for Boyes, too greene and idleFor Girles of Nine) O thinke what they haue done,And then run mad indeed: starke-mad: for allThy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.That thou betrayed'st Polixenes, 'twas nothing,(That did but shew thee, of a Foole, inconstant,And damnable ingratefull:) Nor was't much.Thou would'st haue poyson'd good Camillo's Honor,To haue him kill a King: poore Trespasses,More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckonThe casting forth to Crowes, thy Baby-daughter,To be or none, or little; though a DeuillWould haue shed water out of fire, ere don't;Nor is't directly layd to thee, the deathOf the young Prince, whose honorable thoughts(Thoughts high for one so tender) cleft the heartThat could conceiue a grosse and foolish SireBlemish'd his gracious Dam: this is not, no,Layd to thy answere: but the last: O Lords,When I haue said, cry woe: the Queene, the Queene, The sweet'st, deer'st creature's dead: & vengeance for'tNot drop'd downe yet.
Lord. The higher powres forbid.
Pau. I say she's dead: Ile swear't. If word, nor oathPreuaile not, go and see: if you can bringTincture, or lustre in her lip, her eyeHeate outwardly, or breath within, Ile serue youAs I would do the Gods. But, O thou Tyrant,Do not repent these things, for they are heauierThen all thy woes can stirre: therefore betake theeTo nothing but dispaire. A thousand knees,Ten thousand yeares together, naked, fasting,Vpon a barren Mountaine, and still WinterIn storme perpetuall, could not moue the GodsTo looke that way thou wer't.
Leo. Go on, go on:Thou canst not speake too much, I haue deseru'dAll tongues to talke their bittrest.
Lord. Say no more;How ere the businesse goes, you haue made faultI'th boldnesse of your speech.
Pau. I am sorry for't;All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,I do repent: Alas, I haue shew'd too muchThe rashnesse of a woman: he is touchtTo th' Noble heart. What's gone, and what's past helpeShould be past greefe: Do not receiue afflictionAt my petition; I beseech you, ratherLet me be punish'd, that haue minded youOf what you should forget. Now (good my Liege)Sir, Royall Sir, forgiue a foolish woman:The loue I bore your Queene (Lo, foole againe)Ile speake of her no more, nor of your Children:Ile not remember you of my owne Lord,(Who is lost too:) take your patience to you,And Ile say nothing.
Leo. Thou didst speake but well,When most the truth: which I receyue much better,Then to be pittied of thee. Prethee bring meTo the dead bodies of my Queene, and Sonne,One graue shall be for both: Vpon them shallThe causes of their death appeare (vntoOur shame perpetuall) once a day, Ile visitThe Chappell where they lye, and teares shed thereShall be my recreation. So long as NatureWill beare vp with this exercise, so longI dayly vow to vse it. Come, and leade meExeunt.To these sorrowes.