Unworthy thee,-if ever, henceforth, thou
These rural latches to his entrance open,
Or hoop' his body more with thy embraces,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee,

As thou art tender to't.

Per.

Even here undone !

[Exit.

I was not much afeard: for once, or twice,
I was about to speak, and tell him plainly,
The self-same sun, that shines upon his court,
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
Looks on alike.-Will't please you, sir, be gone?
[TO FLORIZEL.
I told you what would come of this. 'Beseech you,
Of your own state take care. This dream of mine,-
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch further,
But milk my ewes, and weep.

Cam.

Speak ere thou diest.

Shep.

Why, how now, father!

I cannot speak, nor think, Nor dare to know that which I know.-O, sir,

[TO FLORIZEL.

You have undone a man of fourscore three,
That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,
To die upon the bed my father died,
To lie close by his honest bones; but now
Some hangman must put on my shroud, and lay me
Where no priest shovels-in dust.2-O, cursed wretch,
[TO PERDITA.

That knew'st this was the prince, and wouldst adven

ture

To mingle faith with him.-Undone! undone !
If I might die within this hour, I have lived
To die when I desire.

Flo.

[Exit.

Why look you so upon me?

I am but sorry, not afeard! delayed,

But nothing altered! What I was, I am;

1 The old copy reads hope.

2 Before the reform of the burial service, by Edward VI., it was the custom for the priest to throw earth on the body in the form of a cross, and then sprinkle it with holy water.

More straining on, for plucking back; not following My leash unwillingly.

Gracious my lord,

Cam.
You know your father's temper. At this time
He will allow no speech,-which, I do guess,
You do not purpose to him;—and as hardly
Will he endure your sight as yet, I fear.
Then, till the fury of his highness settle,
Come not before him.

Flo.

I think, Camillo.

Cam.

I not purpose it.

Even he, my lord.

Per. How often have I told you 'twould be thus! How often said, my dignity would last

But till 'twere known!

Flo.

It cannot fail, but by

The violation of my faith; and then

Let nature crush the sides o' the earth together, And mar the seeds within!-Lift up thy looks:From my succession wipe me, father! I

Am heir to my affection.

Cam.

Be advised.

Flo. I am; and by my fancy: if my reason
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason;

If not, my senses, better pleased with madness,
Do bid it welcome.

Cam.
This is desperate, sir.
Flo. So call it; but it does fulfil my vow;
I needs must think it honesty. Camillo,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
Be thereat gleaned; for all the sun sees, or
The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hide
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
To this my fair beloved. Therefore, I pray you,
As you have e'er been my father's honored friend,
When he shall miss me, (as, in faith, I mean not
To see him any more,) cast your good counsels
Upon his passion. Let myself and fortune

1 Fancy here means love, as in other places already pointed out.

you may know,

Tug for the time to come. This
And so deliver.-I am put to sea
With her whom here I cannot hold on shore ;
And, most opportune to our need, I have
A vessel rides fast by, but not prepared

1

For this design. What course I mean to hold
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concern me the reporting.

Cam.

O, my lord,

I would your spirit were easier for advice,

Or stronger for your need.

Flo.

Hark, Perdita.-[Takes her aside. [TO CAMILLO.

I'll hear you by-and-by.

Cam.
He's irremovable;
Resolved for flight. Now were I happy, if
His going I could frame to serve my turn;
Save him from danger, do him love and honor;
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia,
And that unhappy king, my master, whom
I so much thirst to see.

Flo.

Now, good Camillo, I am so fraught with curious business, that

I leave out ceremony.

Cam.

Sir, I think

You have heard of my poor services, i' the love
That I have borne your father?

Flo.
Very nobly
Have you deserved. It is my father's music
To speak your deeds; not little of his care
To have them recompensed as thought on.
Cam.

[Going.

Well, my lord,

If you may please to think I love the king;
And, through him, what is nearest to him, which is
Your gracious self; embrace but my direction,
(If your more ponderous and settled project
May suffer alteration,) on mine honor

I'll point you where you shall have such receiving

1 "Our need." The old copy reads her. The emendation is Theobald's.

As shall become your highness; where you may
Enjoy your mistress, (from the whom, I see,
There's no disjunction to be made, but by,
As Heavens forefend! your ruin,) marry her,
And (with my best endeavors, in your absence)
Your discontenting father strive to qualify,
And bring him up to liking.

Flo.

How, Camillo, May this, almost a miracle, be done?

That I may call thee something more than man,

And, after that, trust to thee.

Cam.

A place, whereto you'll go?

Flo.

Have you thought on

Not any yet.

But as the unthought-on accident' is guilty

2

To what we wildly do, so we profess

Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies

Of every wind that blows.

Cam.

Then list to me.

This follows,-if you will not change your purpose,
But undergo this flight;-Make for Sicilia,

And there present yourself, and your fair princess,
(For so, I see, she must be,) 'fore Leontes;
She shall be habited as it becomes

The partner of your bed. Methinks I see
Leontes, opening his free arms, and weeping
His welcomes forth; asks thee, the 3 son, forgiveness,
As 'twere i' the father's person; kisses the hands
Of your fresh princess; o'er and o'er divides him.
'Twixt his unkindness and his kindness; the one
He chides to hell, and bids the other grow,
Faster than thought, or time.

Flo.

Worthy Camillo, What color for my visitation shall I

Hold up before him?

1 This unthought-on accident is the unexpected discovery made by Polixenes.

2 Guilty to, though it sound harsh to our ears, was the phraseology of Shakspeare.

3 The old copy reads, "thee there son." The correction was made in the third folio.

Cam.

Sent by the king your father

To greet him, and to give him comforts. Sir,
The manner of your bearing towards him, with

What you, as from your father, shall deliver,

Things known betwixt us three, I'll write you down;
The which shall point you forth, at every sitting,'
What you must say; that he shall not perceive,
But that you have your father's bosom there,
And speak his very heart.

Flo.

There is some sap in this.
Cam.

I am bound to you.

A course more promising

Than a wild dedication of yourselves

To unpathed waters, undreamed shores; most certain,
To miseries enough; no hope to help you;
But as you shake off one, to take another:
Nothing so certain as your anchors; who
Do their best office, if they can but stay you
Where you'll be loath to be: Besides, you know,
Prosperity's the very bond of love;

Whose fresh complexion and whose heart together
Affliction alters.

Per.

One of these is true.

I think affliction may subdue the cheek,

But not take in 2 the mind.

Cam.

Yea, say you so?

There shall not, at your father's house, these seven

years,

Be born another such.

Flo.

My good Camillo, She is as forward of her breeding, as

She is i' the rear of birth.

1 The council-days were called sittings, in Shakspeare's time.
2 To take in, is to conquer, to get the better of.