'Tis a derivative from me to mine, And only that I stand for. I appeal To your own conscience, sir, before Polixenes With what encounter so uncurrent I Have strain'd, t' appear thus: if one jot beyond Leon. I ne'er heard yet, Less impudence to gainsay what they did, Her. That's true enough; Though 'tis a saying, sir, not due to me. Leon. You will not own it. Her. More than mistress of, Which comes to me in name of fault, I must not At all acknowledge. For Polixenes, (With whom I am accus'd,) I do confess, I lov'd him, as in honour he requir'd, A lady like me; with a love, even such, To you and toward your friend, whose love had spoke, I know not how it tastes; though it be dish'd For me to try how: all I know of it Is, that Camillo was an honest man; And, why he left your Court, the gods themselves, Wotting no more than I, are ignorant. Leon. You knew of his departure, as you know What you have underta'en to do in 's absence. Her. Sir, You speak a language that I understand not: Leon. Your actions are my dreams; You had a bastard by Polixenes, And I but dream'd it. - As you were past all shame, Shalt feel our justice; in whose easiest passage Her. Sir, spare your threats; The bug which you would fright me with, I seek. To me can life be no commodity: The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, I do give lost; for I do feel it gone, But know not how it went: my second joy, And first fruits of my body, from his presence I am barr'd, like one infectious: my third comfort, The innocent milk in it most innocent mouth, I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege, I prize it not a straw: but for mine honour, (Which I would free,) if I shall be condemn'd Apollo be my judge. 1 Lord. This your request Is altogether just therefore, bring forth, [Exeunt certain Officers. Enter Officers, with CLEOMENES and DION. Offi. You here shall swear upon this sword of justice, That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have Been both at Delphos, and from thence have brought Of great Apollo's priest; and that, since then, Nor read the secrets in 't. Cleo., Dion. All this we swear. Leon. Break up the seals, and read. Officer reads. "HERMIONE IS CHASTE, POLIXENES BLAMELESS, CAMILLO A TRUE SUBJECT, LEONTES A JEALOUS TYRANT, HIS INNOCENT BABE TRULY BEGOTTEN; AND THE KING SHALL LIVE WITHOUT AN HEIR, IF THAT WHICH IS LOST BE NOT FOUND." Lords. Now blessed be the great Apollo! Her. Leon. Hast thou read truth? Offi. As it is here set down. Leon. Praised! Ay, my lord; even so There is no truth at all i' th' Oracle: The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood. Enter a Servant, hastily. Servant. My lord the King, the King! Leon. What is the business? Ser. O sir, I shall be hated to report it: Leon. Ser. How, gone? Is dead. Leon. Apollo's angry; and the Heavens them selves Do strike at my injustice. [HERMIONE faints.] How now there? Paul. This news is mortal to the Queen. -Look down, And see what death is doing. Leon. Take her hence: Her heart is but o'ercharged; she will recover. Some remedies for life. Apollo, pardon [Exeunt PAUL. and Ladies with HER. My great profaneness 'gainst thine Oracle!-I'll reconcile me to Polixenes, New woo my Queen, recall the good Camillo, Camillo for the minister, to poison My friend Polixenes: which had been done, My swift command; though I with death, and with Not doing it, and being done: he, most humane, No richer than his honour. How he glisters Paul. Enter PAULINA. Woe the while! O, cut my lace; lest my heart, cracking it, 1 Lord. What fit is this, good lady? Paul. What studied torments, tyrant, hast for me? What wheels, racks, fires? What flaying? boiling In leads, or oils? what old or newer torture Must I receive, whose every word deserves To taste of thy most worst? Thy tyranny Together working with thy jealousies,Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle For girls of nine!— O, think what they have done, And then run mad, indeed; stark mad! for all Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it. That thou betray'dst Polixenes, 'twas nothing; That did but shew thee, of a fool, inconstant, And damnable ingrateful: nor was 't much, Thou would'st have poison'd good Camillo's honour, To have him kill a king; poor trespasses, More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon |