AUTOLYCUS
I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born.
CLOWN
Ay, and have been so any time these four hours.
SHEPHERD
And so have I, boy!
CLOWN
So you have:—but I was a gentleman born before my father; for the king’s son took me by the hand and called me brother; and then the two kings called my father brother; and then the prince, my brother, and the princess, my sister, called my father father; and so we wept; and there was the first gentlemanlike tears that ever we shed.
SHEPHERD
We may live, son, to shed many more.
CLOWN
Ay; or else ‘twere hard luck, being in so preposterous estate as we are.
AUTOLYCUS
I humbly beseech you, sir, to pardon me all the faults I have committed to your worship, and to give me your good report to the prince my master.
SHEPHERD
Pr’ythee, son, do; for we must be gentle, now we are gentlemen.
CLOWN
Thou wilt amend thy life?
AUTOLYCUS
Ay, an it like your good worship.
CLOWN
Give me thy hand: I will swear to the prince thou art as honest a true fellow as any is in Bohemia.
SHEPHERD
You may say it, but not swear it.
CLOWN
Not swear it, now I am a gentleman? Let boors and franklins say it, I’ll swear it.
SHEPHERD
How if it be false, son?
CLOWN
If it be ne’er so false, a true gentleman may swear it in the behalf of his friend.—And I’ll swear to the prince thou art a tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands and that thou wilt be drunk: but I’ll swear it; and I would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands.
AUTOLYCUS
I will prove so, sir, to my power.
CLOWN
Ay, by any means, prove a tall fellow: if I do not wonder how thou darest venture to be drunk, not being a tall fellow, trust me not.—Hark! the kings and the princes, our kindred, are going to see the queen’s picture. Come, follow us: we’ll be thy good masters.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE III. The same. A Room in PAULINA’s house.
[Enter LEONTES, POLIXENES, FLORIZEL, PERDITA, CAMILLO, PAULINA, Lords and Attendants.]
LEONTES
O grave and good Paulina, the great comfort
That I have had of thee!
PAULINA
What, sovereign sir,
I did not well, I meant well. All my services
You have paid home: but that you have vouchsaf’d,
With your crown’d brother and these your contracted
Heirs of your kingdoms, my poor house to visit,
It is a surplus of your grace which never
My life may last to answer.
LEONTES
O Paulina,
We honour you with trouble:—but we came
To see the statue of our queen: your gallery
Have we pass’d through, not without much content
In many singularities; but we saw not
That which my daughter came to look upon,
The statue of her mother.
PAULINA
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
Lonely, apart. But here it is: prepare
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 HERMIONE, standing as 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?
LEONTES
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 agèd, as this seems.
POLIXENES
O, not by much!
PAULINA
So much the more our carver’s excellence;
Which lets go by some sixteen years, and makes her
As she liv’d now.
LEONTES
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 asham’d: does not the stone rebuke me
For being more stone than it?—O 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!
PERDITA
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.
PAULINA
O, patience!
The statue is but newly fix’d, the colour’s
Not dry.
CAMILLO
My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on,
Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,
So many summers dry; scarce any joy
Did ever so long live; no sorrow
But kill’d itself much sooner.
POLIXENES
Dear my brother,