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Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch’d upon The deserts of Bohemia?
So it’s true then, our ship has landed on the shores of Bohemia?
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.
Yes, my lord: and I fear we’ve landed at a bad time: the skies look dark and seem to threaten strong winds. Honestly, I think the heavens are angry with us and are scowling on us.
Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard; Look to thy bark: I’ll not be long before I call upon thee.
Let their will be done! Go, get back on board; Look after your ship: I won’t be long before I call for you.
Make your best haste, and go not Too far i’ the land: ’tis like to be loud weather; Besides, this place is famous for the creatures Of prey that keep upon’t.
Hurry as fast as you can, and don’t go too far inland: the weather looks like it’s going to get rough; besides, this place is known for dangerous animals that roam around here.
Go thou away: I’ll follow instantly.
Go ahead: I’ll follow right behind.
I am glad at heart To be so rid o’ the business.
I’m glad, really, to be rid of this trouble.
Come, poor babe: I have heard, but not believed, the spirits o’ the 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.’ And 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 squared 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! There lie, and there thy character: there these; 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 exposed To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot, But my heart bleeds; and most accursed 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. A savage clamour! Well may I get aboard! This is the chase: I am gone for ever.
Come, poor baby: I’ve heard, but never believed, that the spirits of the dead may come back to life: if that’s true, your mother appeared to me last night, for never was a dream so real, like I was awake. A figure came to me, sometimes her head tilted to one side, sometimes the other; I’ve never seen anything so full of sorrow, so dignified and graceful: in pure white robes, like a saint, she approached my cabin where I lay; she bowed before me three times, and gasping as if to speak, her eyes became two fountains of tears: after the outburst, she spoke: ’Good Antigonus, Since fate, against your nature, has made you the one to abandon my poor baby, as you swore to do, there are remote places in Bohemia, there you can leave it crying; and, since the baby is considered lost forever, call it Perdita. For this cruel task forced on you by my lord, you will never see your wife Paulina again.’ And with that, she vanished. Terrified, I pulled myself together and thought this was real, not a dream. Dreams are just nonsense: But this time, yes, I’ll follow my superstitions. I believe Hermione is dead, and that Apollo, since this is truly the child of King Polixenes, should be laid to rest here, either to live or die, on its rightful father’s land. Blossom, go safely! There, lie, and there’s your fate: may fortune, if she pleases, let you grow, little one, and always rest in peace. The storm is starting; poor thing, because of your mother’s actions, you’re exposed to danger and what may come! I can’t weep, but my heart bleeds for you; and I’m most cursed to be bound by oath to do this. Farewell! The day grows darker: you’re likely to have a rough lullaby: I’ve never seen the sky so dark in the daytime. A horrible noise! I’d better get on board! The chase is on: I’m gone forever.
I would there were no age between sixteen 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--Hark you now! Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty hunt this weather? They have scared 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 seaside, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an’t be thy will what have we here! 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 hallooed but even now. Whoa, ho, hoa!
I wish there were no age between sixteen and twenty-three, or that youth would just sleep through the rest; because the only thing that happens in that time is getting women pregnant, mistreating the elderly, stealing, fighting--Hey, listen! Who else but these young fools, nineteen and twenty-two, would hunt in this weather? They’ve scared away two of my best sheep, which I fear the wolf will find before I do: if I have them, it’s by the seaside, eating ivy. Good luck, if it’s your will, what’s this we have here! Mercy, it’s a baby, a very pretty baby! A boy or a girl, I wonder? A sweet one; a very sweet one: surely, someone abandoned it: though I’m not well-read, I can tell this was some hidden work, some trick, some behind-the-scenes plot: the ones who left this were warmer than this poor child is now. I’ll take it up out of pity: but I’ll wait until my son comes; he just called out a moment ago. Whoa, ho, ho!
Hilloa, loa!
Hey, ho!
What, art so near? If thou’lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What ailest thou, man?
What, so soon? If you want something to talk about when you’re dead and gone, come here. What ’s the matter with you, man?
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.
I’ve seen two things like this, both by sea and land! But I’m not saying it’s a sea, because it’s really the sky: between the sky and that, you couldn’t fit the point of a pin.
Why, boy, how is it?
Why, boy, what happened?
I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up the shore! but that’s not 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 main-mast, and anon swallowed with yest and froth, as you’ld 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 name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to make an end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragoned it: but, first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them; and how the poor gentleman roared and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea or weather.
I wish you could see how it rages, how it storms, how it crashes against the shore! But that’s not the point. Oh, the most pitiful cries of the poor souls! Sometimes you’d see them, and sometimes not; now the ship’s mast is poking through the moon, and then suddenly it’s swallowed by foam, like you’d shove a cork into a barrel. And then, on land, seeing how the bear ripped out his shoulder; how he begged me for help, saying his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to finish the ship’s story, to see how the sea tossed it around: but first, the poor souls screaming, and the sea mocking them; and how the poor man screamed, and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder than the sea or the storm.
Name of mercy, when was this, boy?
Good God, when was this, boy?
Now, now: I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men are not yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman: he’s at it now.
Right now, right now: I haven’t blinked since I saw these things happen: the men aren’t even cold under the water yet, nor is the bear halfway through eating the man: he’s still at it right now.
Would I had been by, to have helped the old man!
I wish I’d been there to help the old man!
I would you had been by the ship side, to have helped her: there your charity would have lacked footing.
I wish you had been by the ship to help her: your charity wouldn’t have been any good there.
Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here, boy. Now bless thyself: thou mettest with things dying, I with things newborn. Here’s a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire’s child! look thee here; take up, take up, boy; open’t. So, let’s see: it was told me I should be rich by the fairies. This is some changeling: open’t. What’s within, boy?
Heavy things, heavy things! But look here, boy. Now bless yourself: you’ve come across dying things, I’ve come across newborn ones. Here’s something for you; look, a swaddling cloth for a noble’s baby! Look, take it, take it, boy; open it. Let’s see: I was told I’d be rich by the fairies. This must be a changeling: open it. What’s inside, boy?
You’re a made old man: if the sins of your youth are forgiven you, you’re well to live. Gold! all gold!
You’re a made man now: if the sins of your youth are forgiven, you’re set for life. Gold! All gold!
This is fairy gold, boy, and ’twill prove so: up with’t, keep it close: home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy; and to be so still requires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good boy, the next way home.
This is fairy gold, boy, and it will turn out that way: pick it up, keep it safe: home, home, the quickest way. We’re lucky, boy; and to stay lucky, all we need is secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good boy, the quickest way home.
Go you the next way with your findings. I’ll go see if the bear be gone from the gentleman and how much he hath eaten: they are never curst but when they are hungry: if there be any of him left, I’ll bury it.
You take the quickest way with your finds. I’ll go see if the bear’s finished with the man, and how much he’s eaten: they’re never cursed unless they’re hungry: if there’s any of him left, I’ll bury it.
That’s a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left of him what he is, fetch me to the sight of him.
That’s a good deed. If you can tell from what’s left of him what he was, bring me to him.
Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i’ the ground.
I will; and you’ll help me bury him.
’Tis a lucky day, boy, and we’ll do good deeds on’t.
It’s a lucky day, boy, and we’ll do good deeds because of it.