The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (723 page)

Hermione is chaste;

Polixenes blameless; Camillo a faithful subject; Leontes

is a jealous tyrant; he is innocent baby is legitimate;

and the king will live without an heir, if what

has been lost is not recovered.

Lords

Now blessed be the great Apollo!

Blessings on the great Apollo!

HERMIONE

Praised!

Praise him!

LEONTES

Hast thou read truth?

Have you read this truly?

Officer

Ay, my lord; even so

As it is here set down.

Yes, my lord; exactly

as it is written down here.

LEONTES

There is no truth at all i' the oracle:

The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood.

Enter Servant

There is no truth at all in this oracle:

the trial shall proceed: these are just lies.

Servant

My lord the king, the king!

My lord the  king, the king!

LEONTES

What is the business?

What's the matter?

Servant

O sir, I shall be hated to report it!

The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear

Of the queen's speed, is gone.

Oh Sir, you will hate me for saying it!

Your son the prince, seeing his mother dishonoured and fearing

her fate, has gone.

LEONTES

How! gone!

What! Gone!

Servant

Is dead.

He's dead.

LEONTES

Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves

Do strike at my injustice.

HERMIONE swoons

How now there!

Apollo's angry; and the heavens themselves

are punishing my injustice.

What's going on there!

PAULINA

This news is mortal to the queen: look down

And see what death is doing.

This news is fatal to the queen: look down

and see how  death  has struck her.

LEONTES

Take her hence:

Her heart is but o'ercharged; she will recover:

I have too much believed mine own suspicion:

Beseech you, tenderly apply to her

Some remedies for life.

Exeunt PAULINA and Ladies, with HERMIONE

Apollo, pardon

My great profaneness 'gainst thine oracle!

I'll reconcile me to Polixenes,

New woo my queen, recall the good Camillo,

Whom I proclaim a man of truth, of mercy;

For, being transported by my jealousies

To bloody thoughts and to revenge, I chose

Camillo for the minister to poison

My friend Polixenes: which had been done,

But that the good mind of Camillo tardied

My swift command, though I with death and with

Reward did threaten and encourage him,

Not doing 't and being done: he, most humane

And fill'd with honour, to my kingly guest

Unclasp'd my practise, quit his fortunes here,

Which you knew great, and to the hazard

Of all encertainties himself commended,

No richer than his honour: how he glisters

Thorough my rust! and how his pity

Does my deeds make the blacker!

Re-enter PAULINA

Take her away:

she is just overcome: she will recover.

I have believed my own suspicions too much:

please, gently give her

some treatment to recover her.

Apollo, forgive

my great blasphemy against your Oracle!

I'll make things up with Polixenes,

win my queen back, recall the good Camillo,

whom I declare to be a man of truth and mercy:

for being transported by my jealousy

to bloody thoughts and revenge, I chose

Camillo to give poison

to my friend Polixenes: this would have happened,

except for the fact that the good mind of Camillo delayed

my orders that it should be done at once; even though I threatened

and encouraged him with death and reward respectively,

according to whether he did it or not. He (most humane

and honourable) told my royal guest

what I was planning, left all his fortune here

(which you know was great) and gave himself up

to great uncertainty rather than lose his honour,

which was all he had now: how he shines

through my rust! How his goodness

makes my behaviour look blacker!

PAULINA

Woe the while!

O, cut my lace, lest my heart, cracking it,

Break too.

Alas!

Oh, loosen my corset, or my heart, thumping against it,

might break too.

First Lord

What fit is this, good lady?

What is the matter, good lady?

PAULINA

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 jealousies,

Fancies too weak for boys, too green and idle

For girls of nine, O, think what they have done

And then run mad indeed, stark mad! for all

Thy by-gone fooleries were but spices of it.

That thou betray'dst Polixenes,'twas nothing;

That did but show thee, of a fool, inconstant

And damnable ingrateful: nor was't much,

Thou wouldst have poison'd 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 done'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

Blemish'd his gracious dam: this is not, no,

Laid to thy answer: but the last,--O lords,

When I have said, cry 'woe!' the queen, the queen,

The sweet'st, dear'st creature's dead,

and vengeance for't

Not dropp'd down yet.

What carefully planned tortures, tyrant, have you for me?

What wheels, racks, fires, flaying, boiling in

lead or oil? What old or new torture

must I receive, when my every word deserves

to get me your worst? Your tyranny,

working alongside your jealousy

(which would have been silly in a boy, innocent and stupid

in a girl of nine), think what they have done,

and then go mad: stark mad! For all

your past stupidities were just a taster.

That you betrayed Polixenes, that was nothing;

that just showed that you were a fool, disloyal

and damnably ungrateful: nor was it much

that you would have ruined good Camillo's honour

by making him kill a king; tiny sins,

with a monstrous one waiting: compared to which

throwing your baby daughter out for the crows

is nothing, or little, even though a devil

would have cried tears from his fiery eyes before he would have done it:

nor can you directly be blamed for the death

of the young prince, whose honourable thoughts

(great thoughts for one so young) split his heart,

knowing that he had such a horrid and foolish father

who could insult his gracious mother: no, the blame for this

is not laid at your feet: but the last thing–oh lords,

when I have told you, cry out with sadness!–the queen, the queen,

the sweetest, dearest creature is dead: and punishment for it

has not yet arrived.

First Lord

The higher powers forbid!

May heaven forbid it!

PAULINA

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, O thou tyrant!

Do not repent these things, for they are heavier

Than 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 wert.

I tell you she is dead; I'll swear to it. If words or oaths

are not enough, go and see: if you can bring

colour or shine to her lip, her eye,

heat outside or breath within, I'll worship you

as if you were a god. But you, you tyrant!

Don't try and ask for forgiveness, these things are worse

than all your penitence could make up for; give yourself up

to despair. A thousand people praying

for ten thousand years at a stretch, naked, fasting,

upon the bare mountainside in an everlasting

winter storm, could not persuade the gods

to offer you forgiveness.

LEONTES

Go on, go on :

Thou canst not speak too much; I have deserved

All tongues to talk their bitterest.

Go on, go on:

you can't say enough; I deserve

the worst censure of every tongue.

First Lord

Say no more:

Howe'er the business goes, you have made fault

I' the boldness of your speech.

Say no more:

whatever has happened, you should not

speak this way to a king.

PAULINA

I am sorry for't:

All faults I make, when I shall come to know them,

I do repent. Alas! I have show'd too much

The rashness of a woman: he is touch'd

To the noble heart. What's gone and what's past help

Should be past grief: do not receive affliction

At my petition; I beseech you, rather

Let me be punish'd, that have minded you

Of what you should forget. Now, good my liege

Sir, royal sir, forgive a foolish woman:

The love I bore 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.

I apologise for it:

everything I do wrong, when I find out about it,

I repent. Alas! I have shown too much

of a woman's passion: he is wounded

to the noble heart. What's gone and can't be changed