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As boldness from my bosom, let it not be doubted
Emil. Now be you blest for it!
Keep. Madam, if’t please the queen to send the babe,
Paul. You need not fear it, sir:
Keep. I do believe it.
Paul. Do not you fear : upon
SCENE III.-The same. A Room in the Palace.
Enter Leontes, ANTIGONUS, Lords, and other Atten
dants. Leon. Nor night, nor day, no rest: It is but weakness To bear the matter thus; mere weakness, if The cause were not in being ; part o’the cause, She, the adultress ;-for the harlot king Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank And level of my brain, plot-proof: but she I can hook to me: Say, that she were gone, Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest Might come to me again.--Who's there?
1 Atten. My lord ?
[Advancing Leon. How does the boy?
| Atten. He took good rest to-night; 'Tis hop'd, his sickness is discharg’d.
Leon. To see
Enter Paulina, with a Child. i Lord. You must not enter.
Paul. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me: Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, Than the queen’s life? a gracious innocent soul; More free, than he is jealous.
Ant. That's enough. 1 Atten. Madam, he hath not slept to-night; com
manded None should come at him.
Paul. Not so hot, good sir;
Leon. What noise there, ho ?
Paul. No noise, my lord; but needful conference, About some gossips for your highness.
Leon. How ?-
Ant. I told her so, my lord,
Leon. What, canst not rule her?
Paul. From all dishonesty, he can: in this,
Ant. Lo you now; you hear!
Paul. Good my liege, I come,-
From your good queen.
Leon. Good queen!
Leon. Force her hence.
Paul. Let him, that makes but trifles of his eyes, First hand me: on mine own accord, I'll off; But, first, I'll do my errand.—The good queen, For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter; Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing.
[Laying down the child.
Paul. Not so:
Paul. For ever
Leon. He dreads his wife.
You'd call your children yours.
Leon. A nest of traitors!
Paul. Nor I; nor any,
Leon. A callat, 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.
Paul. 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 his 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!
Leon. A gross hag!
eye, head, heek,