Changes to Bohemia. A defart Country; the Sea at a

Ant. T

diftance.

Enter Antigonus with a Child, and a Mariner.

little

Hou art perfect then, our fhip hath touch'd upon
The defarts of Bohemia?

Mar. Ay, my lord, and fear

We've landed in ill time: the skies look grimly,
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,
The heav'ns with that we have in hand are angry,
And frown upon's.

Ant. Their facred wills be done; get thee aboard,
Look to thy bark, I'll not be long before

I call upon thee.

Mar. Make your best hafte, and go not

Too far i'th' land; 'tis like to be loud weather.
Befides, this place is famous for the creatures
Of prey that keep upon't.

Ant. Go thou away.

I'll follow inftantly.

Mar. I'm glad at heart

To be fo rid o'th' bufinefs.

Ant. Come, poor babe;

I have heard, but not believ'd, the spirits o'th' dead
May walk again; if fuch thing be, thy mother
Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream
So like a waking. To me comes a creature,

[Exit.

Sometimes

Sometimes her head on one fide, fome another,
I never faw a veffel of like forrow

So fill❜d, and so becoming; in pure white robes,
Like very fanctity, fhe did approach

My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me,
And, gafping to begin fome speech, her eyes
Became two spouts; the fury spent, anon
Did this break from her. Good Antigonus,
Since fate, against thy better disposition,
Hath made thy person for the thrower-out
Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,
Places remote enough are in Bohemia,

There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe
Is counted loft for ever and ever, Perdita

I pr'ythee call't. For this ungentle business
Put on thee, by my lord, thou ne'er fhalt fee
Thy wife Paulina more. And so, with fhrieks,
She melted into air. Affrighted much,
I did in time collect my felf, and thought
This was fo, and no flumber: dreams are toys,
Yet for this once, yea superstitiously,
I will be squar'd by this. I do believe
Hermione hath fuffer'd death, and that
Apollo would, this being indeed the iffue
Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid,
Either for life or death, upon the earth
Of its right father. Bloffom, speed thee well,

[Laying down the Child.

There lye, and there thy character: there these,
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty one,
And still reft thine. The storm begins; poor wretch,
That for thy mother's fault art thus expos'd

To loss, and what may follow. Weep I cannot,

But

But my heart bleeds: and most accurst am I

Farewel.

thou art like to have

To be by oath enjoin'd to this.
The day frowns more and more;
A lullaby too rough: I never faw
The heav'ns fo dim by day. A favage clamour!
Well may I get aboard: this is the chace,

I am gone for ever.

SCENE

[Exit pursued by a bear.

VII.

Enter an old Shepherd.

Shep. I would there were no age between ten and three and twenty, or that youth would fleep out the reft: for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting--- hark you now---- would any but these boil'd brains of nineteen and two and twenty hunt this weather? they have fcar'd away two of my beft sheep, which I fear the wolf will fooner find than the mafter; if any where I have them, 'tis by the fea-fide, brouzing of ivy. Good luck, and't be thy will, what have we here? [Taking up the child] Mercy on's, a barne! a very pretty barne! a boy or a child, I wonder! a pretty one, a very pretty one, fure fome 'scape: tho' I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the 'fcape. This has been some stair-work, fome trunk-work, fome behind-doorwork: they were warmer that got this, than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up for pity, yet I'll tarry 'till my fon come: he hollow'd but even now. Whoa, ho-hoa

Clo. Hilloa, loa.

Enter Clown.

Shep. What, art fo near? if thou'lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail'ft thou, man? Clo. I have seen two fuch fights, by sea and by land; but I

am

am not to say it is a fea, for it is now the sky; betwixt the firmament and it you cannot thrust a bodkin's point.

Shep. Why boy, how is it?

Clo. I would you did but fee how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the fhore; but that's not to the point; oh the most piteous cry of the poor fouls, fometimes to fee 'em, and not to fee 'em: now the fhip boring the moon with her main-mast, and anon swallow'd with yeft and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a hogfhead. And then the land-fervice, to see how the bear tore out his fhoulder-bone, how he cry'd to me for help, and faid his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to make an end of the ship, to see how the fea flap-dragon'd it. how the poor fouls roar'd, and the fea mock'd them. and the bear mock'd him,

the poor gentleman roar'd,

ing louder than the sea, or weather.

Shep. Name of mercy, when was this, boy?

But first,

And how

both roar

Clo. Now, now, I have not winked fince I saw these fights, the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman; he's at it now.

Shep. Would I had been by to have help'd the old man. Clo. I would you had been by the ship-fide, to have help'd her, there your charity would have lack'd footing.

Shep. Heavy matters, heavy matters! but look thee here, boy. Now bless thy felf; thou meet'st with things dying, I with things new born. Here's a fight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire's child! look thee here; take up, take up, boy, open't; fo, let's fee: it was told me I should be rich by the fairies. This is fome changling; open't; what's within, boy?

Clo. You're a mad old man; if the fins of your youth are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold, all gold. Shep. This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove fo. Up with it, keep it close: home, home, the next way.

We are lucky,

boy,

boy, and to be so still requires nothing but fecrefie.
fheep go: come, good boy, the next way home.

Let my

Clo. Go you the next way with your findings, I'll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten: they are never curst, but when they are hungry : if there be any of him left, I'll bury it.

Shep. That's a good deed. If thou may'st discern by that which is left of him, what he is, fetch me to th' fight of him. Clo. Marry will I, and you shall help to put him i̇’th' ground.

Shep. 'Tis a lucky day, boy, and we'll do good deeds on't. [Exeunt.

I

A C T IV.

SCENE I

Enter Time. The Chorus.

TIM F.

That please fome, try all, both joy and terror

Of good and bad,

that make and unfold error;

Now take upon me, in the name of Time,
To use my wings. Impute it not a crime
To me, or my swift paffage, that I slide
O'er fixteen years, and leave the growth untry'd
Of that wide gap; fince it is in my power
To o'erthrow law, and in one self-born hour
To plant and o'er-whelm custom. Let me pass
The fame I am, ere ancient'ft order was,
Or what is now receiv'd. I witness to

The times that brought them in, fo fhall I do

To th' freshest things now reigning, and make stale
The gliftering of this prefent, as my tale

VOL. II.

Gggg

Now