Good queen! LEONTES. PAULINA. Good queen, my lord, good queen: I say good queen; LEONTES Force her hence. PAULINA. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes, good) hath brought you forth a daughter Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing. LEONTES. Traitors! Will you not push her out! Give her the bastard. PAULINA. Forever Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou Tak'st up the princess by that forced baseness So, I would you did; then 'twere past all doubt You'd call your children your's. LEONTES. A callat, Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband, And now baits me!-this brat is none of mine. PAULINA. It is yours, And might we lay the old proverb to your charge, * LEONTES. A gross hag! And lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd, That wilt not stay her tongue. ANTIGONES. Hang all the husbands That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself LEONTES. Once more, take her hence. PAULINA. A most unworthy and unnatural lord Can do no more. LEONTES. I'll have thee burn'd. PAULINA. I care not: It is an heretic that makes the fire, Here, while we honor her courage and her affection, we cannot help regretting her violence. We see, too, in Paulina, what we so often see in real life, that it is not those who are most susceptible in their own temper and feelings, who are most delicate and forbearing towards the feelings of others. She does not comprehend, or will not allow for the sensitive weakness of a mind less There is a reply firmly tempered than her own. of Leontes to one of her cutting speeches, which is full of feeling, and a lesson to those, who, with the best intentions in the world, force the painful truth, like a knife, into the already lacerated heart. PAULINA. If, one by one, you wedded all the world, 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. Not at all, good lady: CLEOMENES. You might have spoken a thousand things that would Have done the time more benefit, and grac'd Your kindness better. We can only excuse Paulina by recollecting that it is a part of her purpose to keep alive in the heart of Leontes the remembrance of his queen's perfections, and of his own cruel injustice. It is admirable, too, that Hermione and Paulina, while sufficiently approximated to afford all the pleasure of contrast, are never brought too nearly in contact on the scene or in the dialogue ;* for this would * Only in the last scene, when, with solemnity befitting the occasion, Paulina invokes the majestic figure to "descend, and be stone no more," and where she presents her daughter to her, "Turn, gooi lady! our Perdita is found.' have been a fault in taste, and have necessarily weakened the effect of both characters :—either the serene grandeur of Hermione would have subdued and overawed the fiery spirit of Paulina, or the impetuous temper of the latter must have disturbed in some respect our impression of the calm, majestic, and somewhat melancholy beauty of Hermione. DESDEMONA. THE character of Hermione is addressed more to the imagination; that of Desdemona to the feelings. All that can render sorrow majestic is gathered round Hermione; all that can render misery heart-breaking is assembled round Desdemona. The wronged but self-sustained virtue of Hermione commands our veneration; the injured and defenceless innocence of Desdemona so wring the soul, “that all for pity we could die.” Desdemona, as a character, comes nearest to Miranda, both in herself as a woman, and in the perfect simplicity and unity of the delineation; the figures are differently draped-the proportions are the same. There is the same modesty, tenderness, and grace; the same artless devotion in the affections, the same predisposition to wonder, to pity, to admire; the same almost ethercal refinement and delicacy; but all is pure poetic nature within Miranda and around her: Desdemona is more associated with the palpable realities of everyday existence, and we see the forms and habits of society tinting her language and deportment; no two beings can be more alike in character-nor more distinct as individuals. The love of Desdemona for Othello appears at first such a violation of all probabilities, that her father at once imputes it to magic, "to spells and mixtures powerful o'er the blood." She, in spite of nature, Of years, of country, credit, every thing, To fall in love with what she feared to look on! And the devilish malignity of Iago, whose coarse mind cannot conceive an affection founded purely in sentiment, derives from her love itself a strong argument against her. Ay, there's the point, as to be bold with you, Of her own clime, complexion, and degree, Notwithstanding this disparity of age, character, country, complexion, we, who are admitted into the secret, see her love rise naturally and necessarily out of the leading propensities of her nature. At the period of the story a spirit of wild adventure had seized all Europe. The discovery of both Indies was yet recent; over the shores of the western hemisphere still fable and mystery hung, *Act iii. scene 8. |