SparkNotes: Complete Text of The Winter's Tale: Section 8

READ STUDY GUIDE: Act III, Scene iii-Act IV, Scene iii

Section 8:
ACT III, SCENE III Bohemia. A desert Country near the Sea.

[Enter ANTIGONUS with the Child, and a Mariner.]

ANTIGONUS.:

Thou art perfect, then our ship hath touch'd upon

The deserts of Bohemia?

MARINER.:

Ay, my lord; and fear

We have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly,

And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,

The heavens with that we have in hand are angry,

And frown upon 's.

ANTIGONUS.:

Their sacred wills be done!—Go, get aboard;

Look to thy bark: I'll not be long before

I call upon thee.

MARINER.:

Make your best haste; and go not

Too far i' the land: 'tis like to be loud weather;

Besides, this place is famous for the creatures

Of prey that keep upon't.

ANTIGONUS.:

Go thou away:

I'll follow instantly.

MARINER.:

I am glad at heart

To be so rid o' th' business.

[Exit.]

ANTIGONUS.:

Come, poor babe:—

I have heard (but not believ'd), the spirits of the dead

May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother

Appear'd to me last night; for ne'er was dream

So like a waking. To me comes a creature,

Sometimes her head on one side, some another:

I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,

So fill'd and so becoming: in pure white robes,

Like very sanctity, she did approach

My cabin where I lay: thrice bow'd before me;

And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes

Became two spouts: the fury spent, anon

Did this break from her: 'Good Antigonus,

Since fate, against thy better disposition,

Hath made thy person for the thrower-out

Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,—

Places remote enough are in Bohemia,

There weep, and leave it crying; and, for the babe

Is counted lost for ever, Perdita

I pr'ythee call't. For this ungentle business,

Put on thee by my lord, thou ne'er shalt see

Thy wife Paulina more': so, with shrieks,

She melted into air. Affrighted much,

I did in time collect myself; and thought

This was so and no slumber. Dreams are toys;

Yet, for this once, yea, superstitiously,

I will be squar'd by this. I do believe

Hermione hath suffer'd death, and that

Apollo would, this being indeed the issue

Of King Polixenes, it should here be laid,

Either for life or death, upon the earth

Of its right father. Blossom, speed thee well!

[Laying down the child.]

There lie; and there thy character: there thes;

[Laying down a bundle.]

Which may if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,

And still rest thine.—The storm begins:—poor wretch,

That for thy mother's fault art thus expos'd

To loss and what may follow!—Weep I cannot,

But my heart bleeds: and most accurs'd am I

To be by oath enjoin'd to this.—Farewell!

The day frowns more and more:—thou'rt like to have

A lullaby too rough:—I never saw

The heavens so dim by day. A savage clamour!—

Well may I get aboard!—This is the chace:

I am gone for ever.

[Exit, pursued by a bear.]

[Enter an old SHEPHERD.]

SHEPHERD.:

I would there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty, or

that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the

between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry,

stealing, fighting.—Hark you now! Would any but these boiled

brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty hunt this weather? They

have scared away two of my best sheep, which I fear the wolf will

sooner find than the master: if any where I have them, 'tis by

the sea-side, browsing of ivy.—Good luck, an't be thy will! what

have we here?[Taking up the child.]Mercy on's, a bairn: A very

pretty bairn! A boy or a child, I wonder? A pretty one; a very

pretty one: sure, some scape: though I am not bookish, yet I can

read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has been some

stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work; they were

warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I'll take it up

for pity: yet I'll tarry till my son comes; he hallaed but even

now.—Whoa, ho hoa!

CLOWN.:

[Within.] Hilloa, loa!

SHEPHERD.:

What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk on when

thou art dead and rotten, come hither.

[Enter CLOWN.]

What ail'st thou, man?

CLOWN.:

I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land!—but I am

not to say it is a sea, for it is now the sky: betwixt the

firmament and it, you cannot thrust a bodkin's point.

SHEPHERD.:

Why, boy, how is it?

CLOWN.:

I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it

takes up the shore! But that's not to the point. O, the most

piteous cry of the poor souls! sometimes to see 'em, and not to

see 'em; now the ship boring the moon with her mainmast, and anon

swallowed with yest and froth, as you'd thrust a cork into a

hogshead. And then for the land service,—to see how the bear

tore out his shoulder-bone; how he cried to me for help, and said

his name was Antigonus, a nobleman.—But to make an end of the

ship,—to see how the sea flap-dragon'd it:—but first, how the

poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them;—and how the poor

gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him,—both roaring louder

than the sea or weather.

SHEPHERD.:

Name of mercy! when was this, boy?

CLOWN.:

Now, now; I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men are

not yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the

gentleman; he's at it now.

SHEPHERD.:

Would I had been by to have helped the old man!

CLOWN.:

I would you had been by the ship-side, to have helped her:

there your charity would have lacked footing.

SHEPHERD.:

Heavy matters, heavy matters![Aside.]But look thee here, boy.

Now bless thyself: thou mettest with things dying, I with things

new-born. Here's a sight for thee; look thee, a bearing-cloth for

a squire's child! look thee here; take up, take up, boy; open't.

So, let's see:—it was told me I should be rich by the fairies:

this is some changeling:—open't. What's within, boy?

CLOWN.:

You're a made old man; if the sins of your youth are forgiven

you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold!

SHEPHERD.:

This is fairy-gold, boy, and 'twill prove so: up with it,

keep it close: home, home, the next way! We are lucky, boy: and

to be so still requires nothing but secrecy—Let my sheep go:—

come, good boy, the next way home.

CLOWN.:

Go you the next way with your findings. I'll go see if the

bear be gone from the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten: they

are never curst but when they are hungry: if there be any of him

left, I'll bury it.

SHEPHERD.:

That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left

of him what he is, fetch me to the sight of him.

CLOWN.:

Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' the ground.

SHEPHERD.:

'Tis a lucky day, boy; and we'll do good deeds on't.

[Exeunt.]

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