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Nor night nor day no rest: it is but weakness To bear the matter thus; mere weakness. If The cause were not in being,--part o’ the cause, She the adulteress; for the harlot king Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she I can hook to me: say that she were gone, Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest Might come to me again. Who’s there?
Neither night nor day, no rest: it’s just weakness To handle it this way; just pure weakness. If The reason weren’t already here,--part of the reason, She, the adulteress; because the wicked king Is completely out of my reach, beyond my mind’s grasp, And immune to any plans; but she I can bring to me: say she were gone, Thrown into the fire, half of my peace Might come back to me. Who’s there?
My lord?
My lord?
How does the boy?
How’s the boy?
He took good rest to-night; ’Tis hoped his sickness is discharged.
He rested well last night; We hope his illness is gone.
To see his nobleness! Conceiving the dishonour of his mother, He straight declined, droop’d, took it deeply, Fasten’d and fix’d the shame on’t in himself, Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, And downright languish’d. Leave me solely: go, See how he fares.
To see his nobility! Understanding the shame of his mother, He immediately declined, drooped, took it hard, Locked the shame inside himself, Lost his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, And just withered away. Leave me alone: go, See how he’s doing.
Fie, fie! no thought of him: The thought of my revenges that way Recoil upon me: in himself too mighty, And in his parties, his alliance; let him be Until a time may serve: for present vengeance, Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes Laugh at me, make their pastime at my sorrow: They should not laugh if I could reach them, nor Shall she within my power.
Fie, fie! no thought of him: The thought of my revenge in that direction Boomerangs back on me: he’s too strong, And his supporters, his connections; let him be Until the right moment comes: for now, let me take revenge On her. Camillo and Polixenes Laugh at me, make fun of my grief: They wouldn’t laugh if I could reach them, nor Will she be safe as long as I have power.
You must not enter.
You must not come in.
Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to me: Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas, Than the queen’s life? a gracious innocent soul, More free than he is jealous.
No, rather, good my lords, stand aside for me: Do you fear his angry outbursts more, alas, Than the queen’s life? She’s a kind, innocent soul, More pure than he is jealous.
That’s enough.
That’s enough.
Madam, he hath not slept tonight; commanded None should come at him.
Madam, he hasn’t slept tonight; he ordered No one should come near him.
Not so hot, good sir: I come to bring him sleep. ’Tis such as you, That creep like shadows by him and do sigh At each his needless heavings, such as you Nourish the cause of his awaking: I Do come with words as medicinal as true, Honest as either, to purge him of that humour That presses him from sleep.
Not so fast, good sir: I’ve come to bring him sleep. It’s people like you, Who sneak around him and sigh At every little movement he makes, people like you Who keep him awake: I Come with words as healing as they are true, As honest as either, to clear him of that mood That’s keeping him from sleep.
What noise there, ho?
What’s that noise, hey?
No noise, my lord; but needful conference About some gossips for your highness.
No noise, my lord; just an important conversation About some gossip for your highness.
How! Away with that audacious lady! Antigonus, I charged thee that she should not come about me: I knew she would.
What! Get rid of that bold woman! Antigonus, I told you she shouldn’t be near me: I knew she would.
I told her so, my lord, On your displeasure’s peril and on mine, She should not visit you.
I told her that, my lord, That if she angered you or me, She should not see you.
What, canst not rule her?
What, can’t you control her?
From all dishonesty he can: in this, Unless he take the course that you have done, Commit me for committing honour, trust it, He shall not rule me.
He can keep her from all dishonesty: but in this, Unless he does what you’ve done, Let me be blamed for doing what’s right, trust me, He won’t control me.
La you now, you hear: When she will take the rein I let her run; But she’ll not stumble.
Look here, you hear: When she wants to take control, I let her lead; But she won’t make a mistake.
Good my liege, I come; And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess Myself your loyal servant, your physician, Your most obedient counsellor, yet that dare Less appear so in comforting your evils, Than such as most seem yours: I say, I come From your good queen.
Please, my lord, I come; And I beg you, hear me, I who claim To be your loyal servant, your doctor, Your most obedient advisor, though I dare Appear less so when comforting your troubles, Than those who seem most like yours: I say, I come From your good queen.
Good queen!
Good queen!
Good queen, my lord, Good queen; I say good queen; And would by combat make her good, so were I A man, the worst about you.
Good queen, my lord, Good queen; I say good queen; And if I were a man, I would fight to make her good, Even if I were the worst person around you.
Force her hence.
Get her out of here.
Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes First hand me: on mine own accord I’ll off; But first I’ll do my errand. The good queen, For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter; Here ’tis; commends it to your blessing.
Let him who treats his own eyes like nothing First take me: I’ll leave on my own accord; But first I’ll do my duty. The good queen, Since she is good, has given you a daughter; Here she is; I ask you to bless her.
Out! A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o’ door: A most intelligencing bawd!
Get out! A wicked woman! Get her out, out the door: A clever prostitute!
Not so: I am as ignorant in that as you In so entitling me, and no less honest Than you are mad; which is enough, I’ll warrant, As this world goes, to pass for honest.
Not so: I know nothing of that, as you Know nothing of calling me that, and I’m no less honest Than you are mad; which, in this world, is enough To be considered honest.
Traitors! Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard. Thou dotard! thou art woman-tired, unroosted By thy dame Partlet here. Take up the bastard; Take’t up, I say; give’t to thy crone.
Traitors! Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard. You fool! you’re exhausted from women, unworthy, Like your old hen here. Pick up the bastard; Pick it up, I say; give it to your old woman.
For ever Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou Takest up the princess by that forced baseness Which he has put upon’t!
Forever May your hands never be respected, if you Take the princess up by that false shame That he’s put on her!
He dreads his wife.
He fears his wife.
So I would you did; then ’twere past all doubt You’ld call your children yours.
I wish you did too; then there’d be no doubt You’d claim your children as your own.
A nest of traitors!
A group of traitors!
I am none, by this good light.
I’m not one, I swear.
Nor I, nor any But one that’s here, and that’s himself, for he The sacred honour of himself, his queen’s, His hopeful son’s, his babe’s, betrays to slander, Whose sting is sharper than the sword’s; and will not-- For, as the case now stands, it is a curse He cannot be compell’d to’t--once remove The root of his opinion, which is rotten As ever oak or stone was sound.
Neither am I, nor anyone Except the one who’s here, and that’s him, because he Betrays the sacred honor of himself, his queen, His son, his baby, to slander, Whose sting hurts more than a sword’s; and he won’t-- Because, as things stand now, it’s a curse He can’t be forced to change--once remove The root of his opinion, which is rotten As any oak or stone would be if it were sound.
A callat Of boundless tongue, who late hath beat her husband And now baits me! This brat is none of mine; It is the issue of Polixenes: Hence with it, and together with the dam Commit them to the fire!
A worthless woman With an endless tongue, who just beat her husband And now attacks me! This child isn’t mine; It’s Polixenes’s child: Throw it out, and together with the mother Burn them both!
It is yours; And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge, So like you, ’tis the worse. Behold, my lords, Although the print be little, the whole matter And copy of the father, eye, nose, lip, The trick of’s frown, his forehead, nay, the valley, The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek, His smiles, The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger: And thou, good goddess Nature, which hast made it So like to him that got it, if thou hast The ordering of the mind too, ’mongst all colours No yellow in’t, lest she suspect, as he does, Her children not her husband’s!
It’s yours; And if we apply the old saying to you, It fits you worse. Look, my lords, Although the print is small, the whole thing And resemblance of the father—eye, nose, lip, The way he frowns, his forehead, even the valley, The cute dimples on his chin and cheek, His smiles, The exact shape and structure of his hand, nail, finger: And you, good goddess Nature, who made it So much like the man who fathered it, if you also have Control over his mind, among all colors Don’t let there be any yellow in it, so she won’t suspect, as he does, That her children aren’t her husband’s!
A gross hag And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang’d, That wilt not stay her tongue.
A horrible hag And scoundrel, you deserve to be hanged, For not silencing her tongue.
Hang all the husbands That cannot do that feat, you’ll leave yourself Hardly one subject.
Hang all the husbands Who can’t do what you want, and you’ll have Hardly any subjects left.
Once more, take her hence.
Once more, take her out.
A most unworthy and unnatural lord Can do no more.
A most undeserving and unnatural lord Can do no more.
I’ll ha’ thee burnt.
I’ll have you burned.
I care not: It is an heretic that makes the fire, Not she which burns in’t. I’ll not call you tyrant; But this most cruel usage of your queen, Not able to produce more accusation Than your own weak-hinged fancy, something savours Of tyranny and will ignoble make you, Yea, scandalous to the world.
I don’t care: It’s the heretic who starts the fire, Not she who burns in it. I won’t call you a tyrant; But this cruel treatment of your queen, Not being able to make any stronger accusation Than your own weak imagination, feels like Tyranny and will disgrace you, Yes, make you infamous to the world.
On your allegiance, Out of the chamber with her! Were I a tyrant, Where were her life? she durst not call me so, If she did know me one. Away with her!
On your loyalty, Get her out of here! If I were a tyrant, Where would her life be? She wouldn’t dare call me that, If she knew I were one. Get rid of her!
I pray you, do not push me; I’ll be gone. Look to your babe, my lord; ’tis yours: Jove send her A better guiding spirit! What needs these hands? You, that are thus so tender o’er his follies, Will never do him good, not one of you. So, so: farewell; we are gone.
Please don’t push me; I’ll leave. Look after your baby, my lord; it’s yours: May Jove send her A better guiding spirit! What do these hands need to do? You, who are so protective of his mistakes, Will never do him any good, not any of you. So, goodbye; we’re leaving.
Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. My child? away with’t! Even thou, that hast A heart so tender o’er it, take it hence And see it instantly consumed with fire; Even thou and none but thou. Take it up straight: Within this hour bring me word ’tis done, And by good testimony, or I’ll seize thy life, With what thou else call’st thine. If thou refuse And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so; The bastard brains with these my proper hands Shall I dash out. Go, take it to the fire; For thou set’st on thy wife.
You traitor, you made your wife do this. My child? Throw it away! Even you, who have A heart so soft for it, take it away And have it burned immediately; Even you and no one but you. Pick it up quickly: In the next hour bring me word it’s done, And with good proof, or I’ll take your life, Along with everything you claim as yours. If you refuse And face my wrath, say so; I’ll smash the bastard’s brains out with my own hands. Go, take it to the fire; Because you pushed your wife into this.
I did not, sir: These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, Can clear me in’t.
I didn’t, sir: These lords, my noble friends, if they wish, Can clear me of it.
We can: my royal liege, He is not guilty of her coming hither.
We can: my royal liege, He is not guilty of her coming here.
You’re liars all.
You’re all liars.
Beseech your highness, give us better credit: We have always truly served you, and beseech you So to esteem of us, and on our knees we beg, As recompense of our dear services Past and to come, that you do change this purpose, Which being so horrible, so bloody, must Lead on to some foul issue: we all kneel.
Please, Your Highness, believe us: We have always served you honestly, and we ask That you think of us that way, and on our knees we beg, As payment for our loyal services Past and future, that you change this decision, Which, being so horrible, so bloody, must Lead to some terrible outcome: we all kneel.
I am a feather for each wind that blows: Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel And call me father? better burn it now Than curse it then. But be it; let it live. It shall not neither. 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?
I’m like a feather blown by every wind: Shall I live to see this bastard kneel And call me father? It’s better to burn it now Than curse it later. But fine; let it live. It won’t live. You, sir, come here; You, who have been so kind and helpful With Lady Margery, your midwife there, To save this bastard’s life—because it’s a bastard, As sure as my beard is grey— What will you risk To save this child’s life?
Any thing, 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: any thing possible.
Anything, my lord, That my ability can handle And my honor demands: at least this much: I’ll risk the little blood I have left To save the innocent: anything possible.
It shall be possible. Swear by this sword Thou wilt perform my bidding.
It will be possible. Swear on this sword You’ll do what I ask.
I will, my lord.
I will, my lord.
Mark and perform it, see’st thou! for the fail Of any point in’t shall not only be Death to thyself but to thy lewd-tongued wife, Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee, As thou art liege-man 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 its 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.
Mark this and carry it out: if you fail In any part of it, it will not only be Death for you but for your wicked wife, Who, for now, we forgive. We order you, As you are our subject, to take This female bastard away and leave it In some remote and desolate place far out Of our lands, and there you’ll leave it, Without mercy, to fend for itself And rely on the climate. Just as strange fortune Brought it to us, I charge you, in all fairness, On your soul’s danger and your body’s torment, To leave it somewhere strange, where fate can either care for it or end it. Take it.
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!
I swear to do this, even though a quick death Would have been more merciful. Come, poor child: May some powerful spirit teach the vultures and ravens To be your nurses! Wolves and bears, they say, Have shown pity and done Similar acts. Sir, may you be successful In more than what this deed requires! And may blessings Fight against this cruelty on your behalf, Poor thing, condemned to die!
No, I’ll not rear Another’s issue.
No, I won’t raise Another’s child.
Please your highness, posts From those you sent to the oracle are come An hour since: Cleomenes and Dion, Being well arrived from Delphos, are both landed, Hasting to the court.
Please, Your Highness, the messengers From those you sent to the oracle have arrived An hour ago: Cleomenes and Dion, Having just returned from Delphos, are both here, Rushing to the court.
So please you, sir, their speed Hath been beyond account.
So please, sir, their speed Has been beyond expectation.
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 accused, so shall she have A just and open trial. While she lives My heart will be a burthen to me. Leave me, And think upon my bidding.
They’ve been gone twenty-three days: That’s good timing; it suggests That Apollo will soon reveal The truth of this matter. Get ready, lords; Call a meeting, so we can put Our most disloyal lady on trial, for, just as she has Been publicly accused, she will have A fair and open trial. While she lives, My heart will be burdened. Leave me, And focus on what I’ve ordered.