SCENE III. PAULINA'S House. [Trumpets sound.] Enter POLIXENES, CAMILLO, PAULINA, LEONtes, PERDITA, FLORIZEL, ARCHIDAMUS, EMILIA, PHOCION, HERO, CLEOMENES, LAMIA, DION, and THASIUS. Paul. What, sovereign sir, I did not well, I meant well: All my services Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit, Leon. O, Paulina, We honour you with trouble: But we came To see the statue of our queen: your gallery Have we pass'd through, not without much content In many singularities: But we saw not Paul. As she liv'd peerless, So her dead likeness, I do well believe, To see the life as lively mock'd as ever Still sleep mock'd death:-Behold, and say, 'tis well. PAULINA undraws a Curtain, and discovers a Statue. I like your silence; it the more shows off Your wonder: But yet speak; first, you, my liege :Comes it not something near? Leon. Her natural posture! Chide me, dear stone; that I may say, indeed, O, thus she stood, Even with such life of majesty, When first I woo'd her! I am asham'd.— O, royal piece, There's magic in thy majesty; which has Per. And give me leave; And do not say, 'tis superstition, that Leon. O, masterpiece of art! nature's deceiv'd My penitence is all afloat again. Pol. Dear my brother, Let him, that was the cause of this, have power Paul. Indeed, my lord, If I had thought, the sight of my poor image I'd not have show'd it. Leon. Do not draw the curtain. Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't; lest your fancy May think anon, it moves. Leon. Let be, let be.— 'Would I were dead,-but that, methinks, alreadyWhat was he that did make it ?--See, my lord, Would you not deem, it breath'd?—and that those veins Did verily bear blood? Paul. I'll draw the curtain; My lord's almost so far transported, that Leon. Make me to think so twenty years together; No settled senses of the world can match The pleasure of that madness.-Let't alone. Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you; but I could afflict you further. Leon. Do, Paulina; For this affliction has a taste as sweet As any cordial comfort.-Still, methinks, There is an air comes from her:-What fine chisel Could ever yet cut breath ?—Let no man mock me, For I will kiss her. Paul. Good my lord, forbear: The ruddiness upon her lip is wet; Shall I draw the curtain? Leon. No, not these twenty years. Per. So long could I Stand by, a looker-on. Paul. Either forbear, Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you And take you by the hand: but then you'll think, Leon. What you can make her do, I am content to look on; what to speak, I am content to hear; for 'tis as easy You do awake your faith: Then, all stand still; I am about, let them depart. Leon. Proceed: No foot shall stir. Paul. Music,-awake her,-strike. "Tis time; descend; be stone no more: approach; Strike all that look upon with marvel.--Come.— [Music.-HERMIONE turns towards LEONTES. Leon. Heavenly powers! [Music.-HERMIONE descends from the Pe destal. Paul. Start not; her actions shall be holy, as, You hear, my spell is lawful. Nay, present your hand. Leon. Support me, Heaven! If this be more than visionary bliss, My reason cannot hold.-My queen? my wife?— But speak to me, and turn me wild with transport. I cannot hold me longer from those arms. She is warm, she lives! Per. O Florizel! Leon. Her beating heart meets mine, and fluttering owns Its long-lost half: these tears, that choke her voice, Are hot and moist,-it is Hermione! Pol. O, make it manifest where she has liv'd,' Or, how stolen from the dead. Paul. Mark a little while, Please you to interpose, fair madam; kneel, And pray your mother's blessing.--Turn, good lady; Our Perdita is found : [Presents PERDITA. HERMIONE catches her in her Arms. And with her found A princely husband; whose instinct of royalty, [PERDITA and FLORIZEL kneel. Her. You gods, look down, And from your sacred phials pour your graces Leon. Hark, hark! she speaks O, pipe, through sixteen winters dumb! then deem'd As nature's song, tun'd to the according spheres! names, My husband! - Leon. O, my Hermione !-have I deserv'd That tender name?-Be witness, holy powers, If penitence may cleanse the soul from guilt, Leontes' tears have wash'd his crimes away. If thanks unfeign'd be all that you require, Most bounteous gods, for happiness like mine, Read in my heart, your mercy's not in vain!Her. No more, my best lov'd lord:- be all that's pass'd Buried in this enfolding, and forgiven. Leon. Thou matchless saint!-Thou paragon of virtue! Per. Thus let me bow, and kiss that honour'd hand. Her. Thou, Perdita, my long-lost child, that fill'st My measure up of bliss,-tell me, mine own, Where hast thou been preserv'd? where liv'd? how found Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear, that I,— |