Paul. As she liv'd peerless, So her dead likeness, I do well believe, Excels whatever yet you look'd upon, Or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it Aut. I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon Lonely apart: But here it is: prepare Die all the faults I have committed to your wor-To see the life as lively mock'd, as ever

Still sleep mock'd death: behold; and say, 'tis well.

[Paulina undraws a curtain, and discovers

a statue.

I like your silence, it the more shows off
Your wonder: But yet speak ;-first, you, my
liege,

Comes it not something near?

Leon. Her natural posture !-

Chide me, dear stone; that I may say, indeed,
Thou art Hermione: or, rather, thou art she,
In thy not chiding; for she was as tender,
As infancy, and grace.-But yet, Paulina,
Hermione was not so much wrinkled; nothing
So aged, as this seems.

Pol. O, not by much.

Paul. So much the more our carver's excellence;

What was he that did make it ?-See, my lord,

Would you not deem, it breath'd? and that those veins

Did verily bear blood?

Pol. Masterly done:

The very life seems warm upon her lip.

Leon. The fixure of her eye has motion in't, As we are mock'd with art.

Paul. I'll draw the curtain ;

My lord's almost so far transported, that
He'll think anon, it lives.

Leon. O sweet Paulina,

Make me to think so twenty years together;
No settled senses of the world can match
The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone.
Paul. I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd
you: but

Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes I could afflict you further.

her

As she liv'd now.

Leon. As now she might have done,
So much to my good comfort, as it is
Now piercing to my soul. O, thus she stood,
Even with such life of majesty, (warm life,
As now it coldly stands,) when first I woo'd her!
I am ashamed: Does not the stone rebuke me,
For being more stone than it ?-0, royal piece,
There's magic in thy majesty; which has
My evils conjur'd to remembrance; and
From thy admiring daughter took the spirits,
Standing like stone with thee!

Per. And give me leave;

And do not say, 'tis superstition, that

I kneel, and then implore her blessing.-Lady,
Dear queen, that ended when I but began,
Give me that hand of yours, to kiss.

Paul. O patience;

The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's
Not dry.

Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid

If I had thought the sight of my poor image
Would thus have wrought you, (for the stone

is mine,)

I'd not have show'd it.

Leon. Do not draw the curtain.

Leon. Do, Paulina;

For this affliction has a taste as sweet

As any cordial comfort.-Still, methinks,
There is an air comes from her: What fine

chizzel

Leon. Proceed;

No foot shall stir.

Paul. Music; awake her; strike.-Music. 'Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach;

Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come;

Paul. No longer shall you gaze on't; lest I'll fill your grave up: stir; nay, come away;

your fancy

May think anon, it moves.

Leon. Let be, let be.

Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him Dear life redeems you. You perceive, she stirs : [Hermione comes down from the pedestal.

Would I were dead, but that, methinks, al- Start not: her actions shall be holy, as,

ready

You hear, my spell is lawful: do not shun her,

Pol. Ay, and make't manifest where she has And made between's by vows. Thou hast found

Ege. Yet this my comfort; when your words | Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, are done,

My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
Duke. Well, Syracusan, say, in brief, the

cause

Why thou departedst from thy native home;
And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.
Ege. A heavier task could not have been im-
pos'd,

Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable:
Yet that the world may witness, that my end
Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence,
I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave.
In Syracusa was I born; and wed
Unto a woman, happy but for me,
And by me too, had not our hap been bad.
With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd,
By prosperous voyages I often made
To Epidamnum, 'till my factor's death;
And he (great care of goods at random left)
Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse:
From whom my absence was not six months old,
Before herself (almost at fainting under
The pleasing punishment that women bear,)
Had made provision for her following me,
And soon, and safe, arrived where I was.
There she had not been long, but she became
A joyful mother of two goodly sons;
And, which was strange, the one so like the
other,

As could not be distinguish'd but by names.
That very hour, and in the selfsame inn,
A poor mean woman was delivered
Of such a burden, male twins, both alike:
Those, for their parents were exceeding poor,
I bought, and brought up to attend my sons.
My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys,
Made daily motions for our home return:
Unwilling I agreed; alas, too soon.
We came aboard:

A league from Epidamnum had we sail'd,
Before the always-wind-obeying deep
Gave any tragic instance of our harm:
But longer did we not retain much hope;
For what obscured light the heavens did grant,
Did but convey unto our fearful minds
A doubtful warrant of immediate death;

Fasten'd ourselves at either end the mast;
And floating straight, obedient to the stream,
Were carried towards Corinth, as we thought.
At length the sun, gazing upon the earth,
Dispers'd those vapours that offended us;
And, by the benefit of his wish'd light,
The seas wax'd calm, and we discovered
Two ships from far making amain to us,
Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this:
But ere they came,-0, let me say no more!
Gather the sequel by that went before.

Duke. Nay, forward, old man, do not break
off so:

For we may pity, though not pardon thee.

Ege. O, had the gods done so, I had not now
Worthily term'd them merciless to us!
For, ere the ships could meet by twice five
leagues,

We were encounter'd by a mighty rock;
Which being violently borne upon,
Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst,
So that, in this unjust divorce of us,
Fortune had left to both of us alike
What to delight in, what to sorrow for.
Her part, poor soul! seeming as burdened
With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe,
Was carried with more speed before the wind;
And in our sight they three were taken up
By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought.
At length, another ship had seiz'd on us;
And, knowing whom it was their hap to save,
Gave helpful welcome to their shipwreck'd guests;
And would have reft the fishers of their prey,
Had not their bark been very slow of sail,
And therefore homeward did they bend their

course.

Thus have you heard me sever'd from my bliss;
That by misfortunes was my life prolong'd,
To tell sad stories of my own mishaps.

Duke. And, for the sake of them thou sor
rowest for,

Do me the favour to dilate at full
What hath befall'n of them, and thee, till now.
Ege. My youngest boy, and yet my eldest

care,

At eighteen years became inquisitive

Which, though myself would gladly have em- After his brother; and importun'd me,

brac'd,

Yet the incessant weepings of my wife,
Weeping before for what she saw must come,
And piteous plainings of the pretty babes,
That mourn'd for fashion, ignorant what to fear,
Forc'd me to seek delays for them and me.
And this it was,-for other means was none.
The sailors sought for safety by our boat,
And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us:
My wife, more careful for the latter-born,
Had fasten'd him unto a small spare mast,
Such as sea-faring men provide for storms;
To him one of the other twins, was bound,
Whilst I had been like heedful of the other.
The children, thus dispos'd, my wife and I,

That his attendant, (for his case was like,
Reft of his brother, but retain'd his name,)
Might bear him company in the quest of him:
Whom whilst I labour'd of a love to see,
I hazarded the loss of whom I lov❜d.
Five summers have I spent in furthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus;
Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought,
Or that, or any place that harbours men.
But here must end the story of my life;
And happy were I in my timely death,
Could all my travels warrant me they live.
Duke. Hapless Egeon, whom the fates have
mark'd