Up in my heart, which I have given already,
But not deliver'd. O, hear me breathe my life
Before this ancient sir, whom, it should seem,
Hath
sometime lov'd. I take thy hand- this hand,
As soft as dove's down and as white as it,
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd snow that's bolted
By th' northern blasts twice o'er.
POLIXENES. What follows this?
How prettily the young swain seems to wash
The hand was fair before! I have put you out.
But to your protestation; let me hear
What you profess.
FLORIZEL. Do, and be
witness to't.
POLIXENES. And this my neighbour too?
FLORIZEL. And he, and more
Than he, and men- the earth, the heavens, and all:
That, were I crown'd the most
imperial monarch,
Thereof most
worthy, were I the fairest youth
That ever made eye
swerve, had force and knowledge
More than was ever man's, I would not prize them
Without her love; for her employ them all;
Commend them and
condemn them to her service
Or to their own perdition.
POLIXENES. Fairly offer'd.
CAMILLO. This shows a sound affection.
SHEPHERD. But, my daughter,
Say you the like to him?
PERDITA. I cannot speak
So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better.
By th' pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The
purity of his.
SHEPHERD. Take hands, a bargain!
And, friends unknown, you shall bear
witness to't:
I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her
portion equal his.
FLORIZEL. O, that must be
I' th'
virtue of your daughter. One being dead,
I shall have more than you can dream of yet;
Enough then for your wonder. But come on,
Contract us fore these
witnesses.
SHEPHERD. Come, your hand;
And, daughter, yours.
POLIXENES. Soft, swain,
awhile,
beseech you;
Have you a father?
FLORIZEL. I have, but what of him?
POLIXENES. Knows he of this?
FLORIZEL. He neither does nor shall.
POLIXENES. Methinks a father
Is at the
nuptial of his son a guest
That best becomes the table. Pray you, once more,
Is not your father grown incapable
Of
reasonable affairs? Is he not stupid
With age and alt'ring rheums? Can he speak, hear,
Know man from man,
dispute his own estate?
Lies he not bed-rid, and again does nothing
But what he did being childish?
FLORIZEL. No, good sir;
He has his health, and ampler strength indeed
Than most have of his age.
POLIXENES. By my white beard,
You offer him, if this be so, a wrong
Something unfilial. Reason my son
Should choose himself a wife; but as good reason
The father- all whose joy is nothing else
But fair posterity- should hold some counsel
In such a business.
FLORIZEL. I yield all this;
But, for some other reasons, my grave sir,
Which 'tis not fit you know, I not acquaint
My father of this business.
POLIXENES. Let him know't.
FLORIZEL. He shall not.
POLIXENES. Prithee let him.
FLORIZEL. No, he must not.
SHEPHERD. Let him, my son; he shall not need to grieve
At
knowing of thy choice.
FLORIZEL. Come, come, he must not.
Mark our contract.
POLIXENES. [Discovering himself] Mark your
divorce, young sir,
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
To be acknowledg'd- thou a sceptre's heir,
That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor,
I am sorry that by
hanging thee I can but
Shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece
Of excellent
witchcraft, who of force must know
The royal fool thou cop'st with-
SHEPHERD. O, my heart!
POLIXENES. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers and made
More
homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy,
If I may ever know thou dost but sigh
That thou no more shalt see this knack- as never
I mean thou shalt- we'll bar thee from
succession;
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,
Farre than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words.
Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time,
Though full of our
displeasure, yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment,
Worthy enough a herdsman- yea, him too
That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
Un
worthy thee- if ever
henceforth thou
These rural latches to his entrance open,
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
I will
devise a death as cruel for thee
As thou art tender to't. Exit
PERDITA. Even here
undone!
I was not much afeard; for once or twice
I was about to speak and tell him plainly
The self-same sun that shines upon his court
Hides not his
visage from our
cottage, but
Looks on alike. [To FLORIZEL] Will't please you, sir, be gone?
I told you what would come of this. Beseech you,
Of your own state take care. This dream of mine-
Being now awake, I'll queen it no inch farther,
But milk my ewes and weep.
CAMILLO. Why, how now, father!
Speak ere thou diest.
SHEPHERD. I cannot speak nor think,
Nor dare to know that which I know. [To FLORIZEL] O sir,
You have
undone a man of fourscore-three
That thought to fill his grave in quiet, yea,
To die upon the bed my father died,
To lie close by his honest bones; but now
Some hangman must put on my
shroud and lay me
Where no
priest shovels in dust. [To PERDITA] O cursed wretch,
That knew'st this was the Prince, and wouldst adventure
To
mingle faith with him!- Undone,
undone!
If I might die within this hour, I have liv'd
To die when I desire. Exit
FLORIZEL. Why look you so upon me?
I am but sorry, not afeard; delay'd,
But nothing alt'red. What I was, I am:
More straining on for plucking back; not following
My leash unwillingly.
CAMILLO. Gracious, my lord,
You know your father's
temper. At this time
He will allow no speech- which I do guess
You do not purpose to him- and as hardly
Will he
endure your sight as yet, I fear;
Then, till the fury of his Highness settle,
Come not before him.
FLORIZEL. I not purpose it.
I think Camillo?
CAMILLO. Even he, my lord.
PERDITA. How often have I told you 'twould be thus!
How often said my
dignity would last
But till 'twere known!
FLORIZEL. It cannot fail but by
The
violation of my faith; and then
Let nature crush the sides o' th' earth together
And mar the seeds within! Lift up thy looks.
From my
succession wipe me, father; I
Am heir to my affection.
CAMILLO. Be advis'd.
FLORIZEL. I am- and by my fancy; if my reason
Will
thereto be
obedient, I have reason;
If not, my senses, better pleas'd with madness,
Do bid it welcome.
CAMILLO. This is
desperate, sir.
FLORIZEL. So call it; but it does
fulfil my vow:
I needs must think it
honesty. Camillo,
Not for Bohemia, nor the pomp that may
Be thereat glean'd, for all the sun sees or
The close earth wombs, or the
profound seas hides
In unknown fathoms, will I break my oath
To this my fair belov'd. Therefore, I pray you,
As you have ever been my father's honour'd friend,
When he shall miss me- as, in faith, I mean not
To see him any more- cast your good counsels
Upon his
passion. Let myself and Fortune
Tug for the time to come. This you may know,
And so deliver: I am put to sea
With her who here I cannot hold on shore.
And most opportune to her need I have
A
vessel rides fast by, but not prepar'd
For this design. What course I mean to hold
Shall nothing benefit your knowledge, nor
Concern me the reporting.
CAMILLO. O my lord,
I would your spirit were easier for advice.
Or stronger for your need.
FLORIZEL. Hark, Perdita. [Takes her aside]
[To CAMILLO] I'll hear you by and by.
CAMILLO. He's irremovable,
Resolv'd for
flight. Now were I happy if
His going I could frame to serve my turn,
Save him from danger, do him love and honour,
Purchase the sight again of dear Sicilia
And that
unhappy king, my master, whom
I so much
thirst to see.
FLORIZEL. Now, good Camillo,
I am so
fraught with curious business that
I leave out ceremony.
CAMILLO. Sir, I think
You have heard of my poor services i' th' love
That I have borne your father?
FLORIZEL. Very nobly
Have you deserv'd. It is my father's music
To speak your deeds; not little of his care
To have them recompens'd as thought on.
CAMILLO. Well, my lord,
If you may please to think I love the King,