“As she lived peerless,” replied Paulina, “so her dead likeness, I do well believe, excels whatever yet you looked upon, or hand of man hath done; therefore I keep it lonely, apart. But here it is; prepare to see the life as vividly mocked as ever still sleep mocked death; behold, and say ’tis well!”
Paulina drew back a curtain, and there, beautiful and motionless before their eyes, stood the majestic image of the dead Queen.
For a moment they stood mute and breathless, gazing in amazement, for surely artist’s cunning had never wrought so wonderful a representation of life.
“I like your silence,” said Paulina; “it the more shows off your wonder. But yet, speak. First you, my liege; comes it not something near?”
“Her natural posture!” murmured Leontes. “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.”
“O, not by much,” said Polixenes.
“O, thus she stood ... when first I wooed her!”