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thy-shakespeare

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SCENE III.
Bohemia. The sea-coast
Enter ANTIGONUS with the CHILD, and a MARINER
ANTIGONUS. Thou art perfect then our ship hath touch'd upon
The deserts of Bohemia?
MARINER. Ay, my lord, and fear
We have landed in ill time; the skies look grimly
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,
The heavens with that we have in hand are angry
And frown upon 's.
ANTIGONUS. Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;
Look to thy bark. I'll not be long before
I call upon thee.
MARINER. Make your best haste; and go not
Too far i' th' land; 'tis like to be loud weather;
Besides, this place is famous for the creatures
Of prey that keep upon't.
ANTIGONUS. Go thou away;
I'll follow instantly.
MARINER. I am glad at heart
To be so rid o' th' business. Exit
ANTIGONUS. Come, poor babe.
I have heard, but not believ'd, the spirits o' th' dead
May walk again. If such thing be, thy mother
Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream
So like a waking. To me comes a creature,
Sometimes her head on one side some another-
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,
So fill'd and so becoming; in pure white robes,
Like very sanctity, she did approach
My cabin where I lay; thrice bow'd before me;
And, gasping to begin some 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 lost for ever, Perdita
I prithee call't. For this ungentle business,
Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see
Thy wife Paulina more.' so, with shrieks,
She melted into air. Affrighted much,
I did in time collect myself, and thought
This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys;
Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously,
I will be squar'd by this. I do believe
Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that
Apollo would, this being indeed the issue
Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid,
Either for life or death, upon the earth
Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well!
[Laying down the child]
There lie, and there thy character; there these
[Laying down a bundle]
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,
And still rest 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 my heart bleeds; and most accurs'd am I
To be by oath enjoin'd to this. Farewell!
The day frowns more and more. Thou'rt like to have
A lullaby too rough; I never saw
The heavens so dim by day. [Noise of hunt within] A savage
clamour!
Well may I get aboard! This is the chase;
I am gone for ever. Exit, pursued by a bear
Enter an old SHEPHERD
SHEPHERD. I would there were no age between ten and three and
twenty, or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is
nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging
the ancientry, stealing, fighting- [Horns] Hark you now! Would
any but these boil'd brains of nineteen and two and twenty hunt
this weather? They have scar'd away two of my best sheep, which I
fear the wolf will sooner find than the master. If any where I
have them, 'tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an'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- sure, some scape. Though I am not
bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This
has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work;
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 son come; he halloo'd
but even now. Whoa-ho-hoa!
Enter CLOWN
CLOWN. Hilloa, loa!
SHEPHERD. What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on when
thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ail'st thou, man?
CLOWN. I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! But I am
not to say it is a sea, for it is now the sky; betwixt the
firmament and it you cannot thrust a bodkin's point.
SHEPHERD. Why, boy, how is it?
CLOWN. I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it
takes up the shore! But that's not to the point. O, the most
piteous cry of the poor souls! Sometimes to see 'em, and not to
see 'em; now the ship boring the moon with her mainmast, and anon
swallowed with yeast and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a
hogshead. And then for the land service- to see how the bear tore
out his shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help, and said his