LEONTES.
What is the business?
SERVANT.
O sir, I shall be hated to report it.
The prince your son, with mere conceit and fear
Of the queen’s speed, is gone.
LEONTES.
How! gone?
SERVANT.
Is dead.
LEONTES.
Apollo’s angry, and the heavens themselves
Do strike at my injustice.
[Hermione faints.]
How now there?
PAULINA.
This news is mortal to the queen. Look down
And see what death is doing.
LEONTES.
Take her hence:
Her heart is but o’ercharg’d; she will recover.
I have too much believ’d mine own suspicion.
Beseech you tenderly apply to her
Some remedies for life.
[Exeunt Paulina and Ladies with Hermione.]