PAULINA

The Keeper of the prison, call to him: Let him have knowledge who I am. Good Lady, No Court in Europe is too good for thee, What dost thou then in prison? Now good Sir, You know me, do you not? Tell her (Emilia) I'll use that tongue I have: If wit flow from't As boldness from my bosom, le't not be doubted I shall do good. Do not you fear: upon mine honour, I Will stand betwixt you, and danger. Nay rather (good my Lords) be second to me: Fear you his tyrannous passion more (alas) Then the Queens life? A gracious innocent soul, More free, then he is jealous. 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: Good my Liege, I come: And I beseech you hear me, who professes My self your loyal Servant, your Physician, Your most obedient Counselor: yet that dares Less appear so, in comforting your Evils, Then such as most seem yours. I say, I come From your 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. Not so: I am as ignorant in that, as you, In so entit'ling me: and no less honest Then you are mad: which is enough, I'll warrant (As this world goes) to pass for honest: For ever Vnvenerable be thy hands, if thou Takest up the Princess, by that forced baseness Which he ha put vpon't. So I would you did: then 'twere passed all doubt you'd call your children, yours. It is yours: And might we l y the old Proverb to your charge, So Like you, it's 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 God it, if thou hast The ordering of the Mind too, amongst all Colours No Yellow in't, least she suspect, as he do's, Her Children, not her Husbands. A most unworthy, and unnatural Lord Can do no more. I care not: It is and 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 Then your own weake-hindg'd Fancy) something savours Of Tyranny, and will ignoble make you, Yea, scandalous to the World. I pray you do not push me, I'll be gone. Look to your Babe (my Lord) it's yours: Jove send her A better guiding Spirit. What needs these hands? You that are thus so tender over his Folly's, Will never do him good, not one of you. So, so: Farewell, we are gone. This news is mortal to the Queen: Look down And see what Death is doing. Woe the while: Oh cut my Lace, least my heart (cracking it) Break too. What studied torments (Tyrant) hast for me? What Wheels? Racks? Fires? What flaying? boiling? In Leads, or Oils? What old, or newer Torture Must I receive? whose every word deserves To taste of thy most worst. Thy Tyranny (Together working with thy Jealousy's, Fancies too weak for Boys, too green and idle For Girls of Nine) Oh think what they have done, And then run mad indeed: starke-mad: for all Thy bygone fooleries were but spices of it. That thou betrayed'st Polixenes, 'twas nothing, (That did but show thee, of a Fool, inconstant, And damnable ingrateful:) Nor was't much, Thou wouldst have poisoned good Camillo's Honour, To have him kill a King: poor Trespasses, More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon The casting forth to Crows, thy Baby-daughter, To be or none, or little; though a Devil Would have shed water out of fire, ere don't: Nor is't directly laid to thee the death Of the young Prince, whose honourable thoughts (Thoughts high for one so tender) cleft the heart That could conceive a gross and foolish Sire Blemished his gracious Dam: this is not, no, Laid to thy answer: but the last: Oh Lords, When I have said, cry woe: the Queen, the Oueene, The sweetest, dearest creature's dead: & vengeance for't Not dropped down yet. Too true (my Lord:) If one by one, you wedded all the World, Or from the All that are, took something good, To make a perfect Woman; she you killed, Would be unparalleled. You are one of those Would have him wed again. There is none worthy, (Respecting her that's gone:) beside the Gods Will have fulfilled their secret purposes: For ha not the Divine Apollo said? Is't not the tenor of his Oracle, That King Leontes shall not have and Heir, Till his lost Child be found? Which, that it shall, I all as monstrous to our humane reason, As my Antigonus to break his Grave, And come again to me: who, on my life, Did perish with the Infant. It's your council, My Lord should to the Heavens be contrary, Oppose against their wills. Care not for Issue, The Crown will find and Heir. Great Alexander Left his to the Worthiest: so his Successor Was Like to be the best. And left them More rich, for what they yielded. Had she such power, She had joust such cause. I should so: Were I the Ghost that walked, Ill bid you mark Her eye, and tell me for what dull partly in't You chosen her: then Ill shriek, that even your ears Should rift to hear me, and the words that followed, Should be, Remember mine. Will you swear Never to marry, but by my free leave? Then good my Lords, bear witness to his Oath. Unless another, As Like Hermione, as is her Picture, Affront his eye. Yet if my Lord will marry: if you will, Sir; No remedy but you will: Give me the Office To choose you a Queen: she shall not be so young As was your former, but she shall be such As (walked your first Queens Ghost) it should take joy To see her in your arms. That Shall be when your first Queen's again in breath: Never till then. O Hermione, As every present Time does boast it self Above a better, gone; so must thy Grave Give way to what's seen now. Sir, you your self Have said, and writ so; but your writing now Is colder then that Theme: she had not been, Nor was not to be equaled, thus your Verse Flowed with her Beauty once; it's shrewdly ebbed, To say you have seen a better. How? not women? Had our Prince (Jewel of Children) seen this hour, he had paired Well with this Lord; there was not full a month Between their births. Sir (my Liege) Your eye hath too much youth in't: not a month Before your Queen died, she was more worth such gazes, Then what you look on now. What (Sovereign Sir) I did not well, I meant well: all my Services You have paid home. 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. As she lived peerless, So her dead likeness I do well believe Excels what ever yet you looked upon, Or hand of Man hath done: therefore I keep it Lovely, apart. But here it is: prepare To see the Life as lively mocked, as ever Still Sleep mocked Death: behold, and say it's well. I Like your silence, it the more shewes-off Your wonder: but yet speak, first you (my Liege) Comes it not something near? So much the more our Carvers excellence. Which lets goe-by some sixteen years, and makes her As she lived now. Oh, patience: The Statue is but newly fixed; the Colour's Not dry. Indeed my Lord, If I had thought the sighed of my poor Image Would thus have wrought you (for the Stone is mine) Ill not have showed it. No longer shall you gaze on't, least your Fancy May think anon, it moves. I'll draw the Curtain: My Lord's almost so far transported, that He'll think anon it lives. I am sorry (Sir) I have thus far stirred you: but I could afflict you farther. 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: shall I draw the Curtain. Either forbear, Quit presently the Chapel, or resolve you For more amazement: if you can behold it, I'll make the Statue move indeed; descend, And take you by the hand: but then you'll think (Which I protest against) I am assisted By wicked Powers. It is required You do awake your Faith: then, all stand still: On: those that think it is unlawful Business I am about, let them depart. Music; awake her: Strike: It's time: descend: be Stone no more: approach: Strike all that look upon with marvel: Come: I'll fill your Grave up: stir: nay, come away: Bequeathe to Death your numbness: (for from him, Dear Life redeems you) you perceive she stirs: Start not: her Actions shall be holy, as You hear my Spell is lawful: do not shun her, Until you see her die again; for then You kill her double: Nay, present your Hand: When she was young, you wooed her: now, in age, Is she become the Suitor? That she is living, Were it but told you, should be hooted at Like and old Tale: but it appears she lives, Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while: Please you to interpose (fair Madam) kneel, And pray your Mother's blessing: turn good Lady, Our Perdita is found. There's ttme enough for that, Leaft they desire (upon this push) to trouble Your joys, with Like Relation. Go together You precious winners all: your exultation Partake to every one: I (and old Turtle) Will wing me to some withered bough, and there My Mate (that's never to be found again) Lament, till I am lost. Pray you then, Conduct me to the Queen. Here's ado, to lock up honesty & honour from the access of gentle visitors. Is't lawful pray you To see her Women? Any of them? Emilia ? I pray now call her: Withdraw your selves. Well: be't so: prithee. Here's such ado, to make no stain, a stain, As passes colouring. Dear Gentlewoman, How fares our gracious Lady? A boy? I dare be sworn: These dangerous, unsafe Lunes in the King, beshrew them: He must be told on't, and he shall: the office Becomes a woman best. I'll take't upon me, If I prove honey-mouthed, let my tongue blister. And never to my red-look'd Anger be The Trumpet any more: pray you (Emilia) Commend my best obedience to the Queen, If she dares trust me with her little babe, I'll shew't the King, and undertake to be Her Advocate to the loudest. We do not know How he may soften at the sighed of the Child: The silence often of pure innocence Persuades, when speaking fails. You need not fear it (sir) This Child was prisoner to the womb, and is By Law and process of great Nature, thence Freed, and enfranchised, not a party to The anger of the King, nor guilty of (If any be) the trespass of the Queen. Not so hight (good Sir) I come to bring him sleep. It's 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. No noise (my Lord) but needful conference, About some Gossips for your Highness. 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 it's: Commends it to your blessing. Nor I: nor any But one that's here: and that's himself: for he, The sacred Honour of himself, his Queens, His hopeful Sons, his Babes, betrays to Slander, Whose sting is sharper then the Swords; and will not (For as the case now stands, it is a Curse He cannot be compelled too't) once remove The Root of his Opinion, which is rotten, As ever Oak, or Stone was found. I say she's dead: I'll swear't. If word, nor oath Prevail not, go and see: if you can bring Tincture, or lustre in her lip, her eye Heat outwardly, or breath within, I'll serve you As I would do the Gods. But, Oh thou Tyrant, Do not repent these things, for they are heavier Then all thy woes can stir: therefore betake thee To nothing but despair. A thousand knees, Ten thousand years together, naked, fasting, Upon a barren Mountain, and still Winter In storm perpetual, could not move the Gods To look that way thou were't. I am sorry for't; All faults I make, when I shall come to know them, I do repent: Alas, I have showed too much The rashness of a woman: he is touched To the Noble heart. What's gone, and what's passed help Should be passed grief: Do not receive affliction At my petition; I beseech you, rather Let me be punished, that have minded you Of what you should forget. Now (good my Liege) Sir, Royal Sir forgive a foolish woman: The love I boar your Queen (Lo, fool again) I'll speak of her no more, nor of your Children: I'll not remember you of my own Lord, (Who is lost too:) take your patience to you, And I'll say nothing.