(Unless he take the course that you have done, Ant. Lo you now; you hear! Paul. Good my liege, I come, And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess Leon. Good queen! Good queen, my lord, good queen: I say, good queen; And would by combat make her good, so were I the worst about you. A man, Force her hence. Paul. Let him that makes but trifles of his eyes, First hand me: on my own accord, I'll off; But, first, I'll do my errand.-The good queenFor she is good-hath brought you forth a daughter; Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing. Leon. [Laying down the Child. Out! A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o' door! Paul. I am In so as Not so. ignorant in that, as you entitling me; and no less honest Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant, As this world goes, to pass for honest. Leon. Will Traitors! you not push her out? Give her the bastard.— Thou dotard [To ANTIGONUS.] thou art woman-tired, un roosted By thy dame Partlet here.-Take up the bastard; Paul. Forever Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou Leon. He dreads his wife. Paul. So I would you did; then, 'twere past all doubt, You'd call your children yours. Leon. A nest of traitors! Nor I; nor any, Ant. I am none, by this good light. His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander, Leon. 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 Prolixenes. Hence with it; and, together with the dam, Commit them to the fire. Paul. It is yours; And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge, The trick of his frown, his forehead; nay, the valley, The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colors Leon. A gross hag!. Hang all the husbands And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hanged, Ant. That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself Hardly one subject. Leon. Paul. I'll have thee burned. It is a heretic that makes the fire, I care not. Not she which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant; (Not able to produce more accusation Than your own weak-hinged fancy) something savors Of tyranny, and will ignoble make you, Leon. Paul. 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 need 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. Leon. [Exit. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this.- Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up straight. For thou sett'st on thy wife. Ant. I did not, sir. These lords, my noble fellows, if they please, Can clear me in't. 1 Lord. He is not guilty of her coming hither. We can; my royal liege, Leon. You are liars all. 1 Lord. 'Beseech your highness, give us better credit. We have always truly served you; and beseech (As recompense of our dear services, Past, and to come) that you do change this purpose; Leon. I am a feather for each wind that blows; Shall I live on, to see this bastard kneel Than It shall not neither.-You, sir, come you hither; curse it then. But, be it; let it live. [To ANTIGONUS. You, that have been so tenderly officious I So sure as this beard's gray,—what will you adventure To save this brat's life? Ant. Any thing, my lord, And nobleness impose. At least, thus much; Leon. It shall be possible. Swear by this sword, Ant. I will, my lord. Death to thyself, but to thy lewd-tongued wife; Ant. I swear to do this, though a present death In more than this deed doth require! and blessing, Leon. Another's issue. 1 Attend. [Exit, with the Child. No, I'll not rear 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, 1 Lord. So please you, sir, their speed Hath been beyond account. Leon. Twenty-three days 'Tis good speed; foretells, They have been absent. Prepare you, lords: Summon a session, that we may arraign Leave me; [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE L. The same. A Street in some Town. Enter CLEOMENES and DION. Cleo. The climate's delicate; the air most sweet; Dion. I shall report For most it caught me - the celestial habits Of the grave wearers. How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly It was the offering! Cleo. But of all, the burst And ear-deafening voice o' the oracle, Kin to Jove's thunder, so surprised my sense, That I was nothing. Dion. If the event o' the journey Prove as successful to the queen,-0, be't so!As it hath been to us, rare, pleasant, speedy, The time is worth the use on't. Cleo. Great Apollo, Turn all to the best! These proclamations, I little like. Dion. Will clear, The violent carriage of it or end, the business. When the oracle (Thus by Apollo's great divine sealed up) Shall the contents discover something rare Even then will rush to knowledge.-Go, fresh horses! And gracious be the issue! [Exeunt. |