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The pretty dimples of his chin and cheek, his fmiles,
The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger.
And thou, good Goddess Nature, which haft made it
So like to him that got it, if thou haft

The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours
No yellow in't'; left she fufpect, as he does,
Her children not her husband's.

Leo. A grofs hag!

And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd,
That wilt not stay her tongue.

Ant. Hang all the husbands,

That cannot do that feat, you'll leave yourself
Hardly one fubject.

Leo. Once more, take her hence.

Paul. A most unworthy and unnatural Lord

Can do no more.

Leo. I'll ha' thee burnt.

Paul. I care not;

It is an heretic that makes the fire,

Not she which burns in't. I'll not call you tyrant,
But this moft cruel ufage of your Queen,
Not able to produce more accufation

Than your own weak-hing'd fancy, fomething favours
Of tyranny; and will ignoble make you,

Yea, fcandalous to the world.

Leo. On your allegiance,

Out of the chamber with her. Were I a tyrant,
Where were her life? fhe durft not call me fo,
If she did know me one. Away with her.

Paul. I pray you, do not pufh me, I'll be gone. -Look to your babe, my Lord, 'tis yours; Jove fend her

A better guiding fpirit!-What need these hands?---
You, that are thus fo tender o'er his follies,
Will never do him good, not one of you.

So, fo: farewel, we are gone.

[Exit.

• No yellow in't ;—] Yellow is the colour of jealoufy.

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SCENE

SCENE VI.

Leo. Thou, traitor, hast set on thy wife to this. My child? away with't. Even thou, thou that haft A heart fo tender o'er it, take it hence,

And see it instantly confum'd with fire;

Even thou, and none but thou. Take it up ftraight:
Within this hour bring me word it is done,
And by good teftimony, or I'll feize thy life,
With what thou elfe call'd thine: if thou refuse,
And wilt encounter with my wrath, say so:
The bastard brains with these my proper hands
Shall I dash out: go take it to the fire,
For thou fett'ft on thy wife.

Ant. I did not, Sir:

These lords, my noble fellows, if they please,
Can clear me in't.

Lord. We can. My royal Liege,

He is not guilty of her coming hither.
Leo. You're liars all.

Lord. 'Beseech your Highness, give us better credit.
We've always truly ferv'd you, and beseech you
So to esteem of us and on our knees we beg
(As recompence of our dear fervices

Paft, and to come) that you do change this purpose, Which being fo horrible, fo bloody, muft

Lead on to fome foul iffue. We all kneel

[they kneel.

Leo. I am a feather for each wind that blows:

Shall I live on, to see this bastard kneel

And call me father? better burn it now,
Than curfe it then. But be it; let it live:

-It shall not neither.-You, Sir, come you hither;

[To Antigonus.

You, that have been fo tenderly officious
With lady Margery, your midwife there,
To fave this baftard's life (for 'tis a baftard,

So fure as this beard's grey) what will you
To fave this brat's life?

Ant. Any thing, my Lord,

That my ability may undergo,

adventure

And nobleness impose: at least, thus much;
I'll pawn the little blood which I have left,
To fave the innocent; any thing poffible.

Leo. It fhall be poffible; fwear by this fword,
Thou wilt perform my bidding.

Ant. I will, my Lord.

Leo. Mark and perform it; feeft thou? for the fail Of any point in't shall not only be

Death to thyfelf, but to thy lewd-tongu'd wife,
Whom for this time we pardon. We enjoin thee,
As thou art liege-man to us, that thou carry
This female bastard hence, and that thou bear it
To fome remote and defert place, quite out
Of our dominions; and that there thou leave it,
Without more mercy, to its own protection
And favour of the climate. As by strange fortune
It came to us, I do in justice charge thee,
On thy foul's peril and thy body's torture,
That thou commend it ftrangely to fome place",
Where chance may nurse, or end it. Take it up.
Ant. I fwear to do this: tho' a prefent death
Had been more merciful. Come on, poor babe;
Some powerful spirit inftruct the kites and ravens
To be thy nurses! Wolves and bears, they say,
Cafting their favageness afide, have done
Like offices of pity. Sir, be profperous

In more than this deed does require; and bleffing,
Against this cruelty, fight on thy fide!

-Poorthing condemn'd to loss.-[Exit, with the Child. Leo. No; I'll not rear

Another's iffue.

7

commend it frangely to fome place,] Commit it to

fome place, as a stranger, without more provifion.

Enter

Enter a Meflenger.

Mef. Please your Highness, pofts,

From thofe you fent to th' oracle, are come
An hour fince. Cleomines and Dion,

Being well arriv'd from Delphos, are both landed,
Hafting to th' Court.

Lord. So please you, Sir, their speed
Hath been beyond account.

Leo. Twenty-three days

They have been abfent: this good speed foretels,
The great Apollo fuddenly will have

The truth of this appear. Prepare you, lords,
Summon a feffion, that we may arraign
Our most disloyal Lady; for as she hath
Been publicly accus'd, fo fhall fhe have
A juft and open trial. While the lives,
My heart will be a burden to me.
And think upon my bidding.

Leave me,

[Exeunt feverally.

ACT

III.

SCENE I.

T

A Part of Sicily, near the Sea-fide.

Enter Cleomines and Dion, with Attendants.

CLEOMINES.

HE climate's delicate, the air most sweet, Fertile the isle, the temple much furpaffing The common praise it bears.

8 Fertile the ile,] But the temple of Apollo at Delphi was not in an island, but in Phocis, on the continent. Either

Dion.

Shakespeare, or his Editors, had their heads running on Delos, an ifland of the Cyclades. If it was the Editor's blunder, then Shake

Speare

Dion. I fhall report,

(For moft it caught me, the celeftial habits,

(Methinks, I fo fhould term them,) and the reverence

Of the grave wearers.

O, the facrifice

How ceremonious, folemn, and unearthly

It was i'th' offering!

Cleo. But of all, the burst

And the ear-deafning voice o'th' oracle,
Kin to Jove's thunder, fo furpriz'd my fenfe,
That I was nothing.

Dion. If th'event o'th' journey

Prove as fuccefsful to the Queen, (O be❜t fo !)
As it has been to us, rare, pleasant, speedy,
The time is worth the ufe on't'.

Cleo. Great Apollo,

Turn all to th' beft! thefe proclamations,

Speare wrote, Fertile the foil, which is more elegant too, than the prefent reading.

WARBURTON.

Shakespeare is little careful of geography. There is no need of this emendation in a play of which the whole plot depends upon a geographical errour, by which Bohemia is fuppofed to be a maritime country.

9 I SHALL report, FOR MOST it caught me, &c.] What will he report? And what means this reafon of his report, that the celestial habits moft ftruck his obfervation? We fhould read,

IT SHAMES report, FOREMOST it caught me, Cleomines had juft before said,that the Temple much furpaffed the common praife it bore. The other, very naturally, replies it Shames report, as far furpaffing what report faid of it. He then

VOL. II.

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