The Winter's Tale - William Shakespeare (i am malala young readers edition txt) 📗

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.
Pr'ythee 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 acknowledged: 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, Far 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, Unworthy 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 further, 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 cursèd 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' the 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 hide 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, whom here I cannot hold on shore; And, most oppórtune 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' the 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, And, through him, what's nearest to him, which is Your gracious self, embrace but my direction, - If your more ponderous and settled project May suffer alteration, - on mine honour, I'll point you where you shall have such receiving As shall become your highness; where you may Enjoy your mistress, - from the whom, I see, There's no disjunction to be made, but by, As heavens forfend! your ruin, - marry her; And, - with my best endeavours in your absence - Your discontenting father strive to qualify, And bring him up to liking.

FLORIZEL.
How, Camillo, May this, almost a miracle, be done? That I may call thee something more than man, And, after that, trust to thee.

CAMILLO.
Have you thought on A place whereto you'll go?

FLORIZEL.
Not any yet; But as the unthought-on accident is guilty To what we wildly do; so we profess Ourselves to be the slaves of chance, and flies Of every wind that blows.

CAMILLO.