The Winter's Tale: Act 5

For has not the divine Apollo said,
Is ’t not the tenor of his oracle,
That King Leontes shall not have an heir
Till his lost child be found?

Ay, the most peerless piece of earth, I think,
That e’er the sun shone bright on.

’Tis shrewdly ebbed
To say you have seen a better.

This is a creature,
Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal
Of all professors else, make proselytes
Of who she but bid follow.

This is a creature,
Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal
Of all professors else, make proselytes
Of who she but bid follow.

And then I lost—
All mine own folly—the society,
Amity too, of your brave father, whom,
Though bearing misery, I desire my life
Once more to look on him.

And then I lost—
All mine own folly—the society,
Amity too, of your brave father, whom,
Though bearing misery, I desire my life
Once more to look on him.

Welcome hither,
As is the spring to th’ earth.

And hath he too
Exposed this paragon to th’ fearful usage,
At least ungentle, of the dreadful Neptune,
To greet a man not worth her pains, much less
Th’ adventure of her person?

Most noble sir,
That which I shall report will bear no credit,
Were not the proof so nigh.

A notable passion of wonder appeared in them, but the wisest beholder that knew no more but seeing could not say if th’ importance were joy or sorrow; but in the extremity of the one it must needs be.

This news which is called true is so like an old tale that the verity of it is in strong suspicion.

Now he thanks the old shepherd, which stands by like a weather-bitten conduit of many kings’ reigns.

FIRST GENTLEMAN: What became of his bark and his followers?
THIRD GENTLEMAN: Wracked the same instant of their master’s death and in the view of the shepherd, so that all the instruments which aided to expose the child were even then lost when it was found.

One of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angled for mine eyes caught the water, though not the fish—was when at the relation of the Queen’s death—with the manner how she came to ’t bravely confessed and lamented by the King—how attentiveness wounded his daughter, till, from one sign of dolor to another, she did, with an “Alas,” I would fain say bleed tears, for I am sure my heart wept blood.

One of the prettiest touches of all, and that which angled for mine eyes caught the water, though not the fish—was when at the relation of the Queen’s death—with the manner how she came to ’t bravely confessed and lamented by the King—how attentiveness wounded his daughter, till, from one sign of dolor to another, she did, with an “Alas,” I would fain say bleed tears, for I am sure my heart wept blood.

The Princess hearing of her mother’s statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina—a piece many years in doing and now newly performed by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself eternity and could put breath into his work, would beguile Nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her ape; he so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of answer.

The Princess hearing of her mother’s statue, which is in the keeping of Paulina—a piece many years in doing and now newly performed by that rare Italian master, Julio Romano, who, had he himself eternity and could put breath into his work, would beguile Nature of her custom, so perfectly he is her ape; he so near to Hermione hath done Hermione that they say one would speak to her and stand in hope of answer.

Thither with all greediness of affection are they gone, and there they intend to sup.

Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it; I’ll swear it.

Hark, the Kings and Princes, our kindred, are going to see the Queen’s picture.

But that you have vouchsafed,
With your crowned brother and these your contracted
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,
It is a surplus of your grace which never
My life may last to answer.

Your gallery
Have we passed through, not without much content
In many singularities; but we saw not
That which my daughter came to look upon,
The statue of her mother.

Does not the stone rebuke me
For being more stone than it?—O royal piece,
There’s magic in thy majesty, which has
My evils conjured to remembrance and
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
Standing like stone with thee.

And give me leave,
And do not say ’tis superstition, that
I kneel, and then implore her blessing.

Good my lord, forbear.

The ruddiness upon her lip is wet.

You’ll mar it if you kiss it, stain your own
With oily painting.

Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him
Dear life redeems you.

If she pertain to life, let her speak too.

Ay, and make it manifest where she has lived,
Or how stol’n from the dead.

Please you to interpose, fair madam.
Kneel
And pray your mother’s blessing.

Go together,
You precious winners all.
Your exultation
Partake to everyone.

Thou hast found mine—
But how is to be questioned, for I saw her,
As I thought, dead, and have in vain said many
A prayer upon her grave.

Paulina,
Lead us from hence, where we may leisurely
Each one demand and answer to his part
Performed in this wide gap of time since first
We were dissevered.