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It shall not neither. [To ANTIGONUS] You, Sir, come you hither. |
You that have been so tenderly officious |
With Lady Margery, your midwife there, |
To save this bastard's life- for 'tis a bastard, |
So sure as this beard's grey- what will you adventure |
To save this brat's life? |
ANTIGONUS. Anything, my lord, |
That my ability may undergo, |
And nobleness impose. At least, thus much: |
I'll pawn the little blood which I have left |
To save the innocent- anything possible. |
LEONTES. It shall be possible. Swear by this sword |
Thou wilt perform my bidding. |
ANTIGONUS. I will, my lord. |
LEONTES. Mark, and perform it- seest thou? For the fail |
Of any point in't shall not only be |
Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongu'd wife, |
Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee, |
As thou art liegeman to us, that thou carry |
This female bastard hence; and that thou bear it |
To some remote and desert place, quite out |
Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it, |
Without more mercy, to it own protection |
And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune |
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee, |
On thy soul's peril and thy body's torture, |
That thou commend it strangely to some place |
Where chance may nurse or end it. Take it up. |
ANTIGONUS. I swear to do this, though a present death |
Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe. |
Some powerful spirit instruct the kites and ravens |
To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say, |
Casting their savageness aside, have done |
Like offices of pity. Sir, be prosperous |
In more than this deed does require! And blessing |
Against this cruelty fight on thy side, |
Poor thing, condemn'd to loss! Exit with the child |
LEONTES. No, I'll not rear |
Another's issue. |
Enter a SERVANT |
SERVANT. Please your Highness, posts |
From those you sent to th' oracle are come |
An hour since. Cleomenes and Dion, |
Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed, |
Hasting to th' court. |
FIRST LORD. So please you, sir, their speed |
Hath been beyond account. |
LEONTES. Twenty-three days |
They have been absent; 'tis good speed; foretells |
The great Apollo suddenly will have |
The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords; |
Summon a session, that we may arraign |
Our most disloyal lady; for, as she hath |
Been publicly accus'd, so shall she have |
A just and open trial. While she lives, |
My heart will be a burden to me. Leave me; |
And think upon my bidding. Exeunt |
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ACT III. SCENE I. |
Sicilia. On the road to the Capital |
Enter CLEOMENES and DION |
CLEOMENES. The climate's delicate, the air most sweet, |
Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing |
The common praise it bears. |
DION. I shall report, |
For most it caught me, the celestial habits- |
Methinks I so should term them- and the reverence |
Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice! |
How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly, |
It was i' th' off'ring! |
CLEOMENES. But of all, the burst |
And the ear-deaf'ning voice o' th' oracle, |
Kin to Jove's thunder, so surpris'd my sense |
That I was nothing. |
DION. If th' event o' th' journey |
Prove as successful to the Queen- O, be't so!- |
As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy, |
The time is worth the use on't. |
CLEOMENES. Great Apollo |
Turn all to th' best! These proclamations, |
So forcing faults upon Hermione, |
I little like. |
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