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FLORIZEL. He shall not. |
POLIXENES. Prithee let him. |
FLORIZEL. No, he must not. |
SHEPHERD. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve |
At knowing of thy choice. |
FLORIZEL. Come, come, he must not. |
Mark our contract. |
POLIXENES. [Discovering himself] Mark your divorce, young sir, |
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base |
To be acknowledg'd- thou a sceptre's heir, |
That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor, |
I am sorry that by hanging thee I can but |
Shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece |
Of excellent witchcraft, who of force must know |
The royal fool thou cop'st with- |
SHEPHERD. O, my heart! |
POLIXENES. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers and made |
More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy, |
If I may ever know thou dost but sigh |
That thou no more shalt see this knack- as never |
I mean thou shalt- we'll bar thee from succession; |
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin, |
Farre than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words. |
Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time, |
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee |
From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment, |
Worthy enough a herdsman- yea, him too |
That makes himself, but for our honour therein, |
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. Exit |
PERDITA. Even here undone! |
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. [To FLORIZEL] Will't please you, sir, be gone? |
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 farther, |
But milk my ewes and weep. |
CAMILLO. Why, how now, father! |
Speak ere thou diest. |
SHEPHERD. I cannot speak nor think, |
Nor dare to know that which I know. [To FLORIZEL] O sir, |
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. [To PERDITA] O cursed wretch, |
That knew'st this was the Prince, and wouldst adventure |
To mingle faith with him!- Undone, undone! |
If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd |
To die when I desire. Exit |
FLORIZEL. Why look you so upon me? |
I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd, |
But nothing alt'red. What I was, I am: |
More straining on for plucking back; not following |
My leash unwillingly. |
CAMILLO. Gracious, my lord, |
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. |
FLORIZEL. I not purpose it. |
I think Camillo? |
CAMILLO. Even he, my lord. |
PERDITA. How often have I told you 'twould be thus! |
How often said my dignity would last |
But till 'twere known! |
FLORIZEL. It cannot fail but by |
The violation of my faith; and then |
Let nature crush the sides o' th' earth together |
And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks. |
From my succession wipe me, father; I |
Am heir to my affection. |
CAMILLO. Be advis'd. |
FLORIZEL. I am- and by my fancy; if my reason |
Will thereto be obedient, I have reason; |
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness, |
Do bid it welcome. |
CAMILLO. This is desperate, sir. |
FLORIZEL. 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 glean'd, for all the sun sees or |
The close earth wombs, or the profound seas hides |
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath |
To this my fair belov'd. Therefore, I pray you, |
As you have ever been my father's honour'd 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 |
Tug for the time to come. This you may know, |
And so deliver: I am put to sea |
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