SHEPHERD.
Let him, my son: he shall not need to grieve
At knowing of thy choice.
FLORIZEL.
Come, come, he must not.
Mark our contract.
POLIXENES.
[Discovering himself.] Mark your divorce, young sir,
Whom son I dare not call; thou art too base
To be acknowledged: thou a sceptre’s heir,
That thus affects a sheep-hook! Thou, old traitor,
I am sorry that, by hanging thee, I can
But shorten thy life one week. And thou, fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft, whom of force must know
The royal fool thou cop’st with,—
SHEPHERD.
O, my heart!
POLIXENES.
I’ll have thy beauty scratch’d with briers and made
More homely than thy state. For thee, fond boy,
If I may ever know thou dost but sigh
That thou no more shalt see this knack (as never
I mean thou shalt), we’ll bar thee from succession;
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,
Far than Deucalion off. Mark thou my words.
Follow us to the court. Thou churl, for this time,
Though full of our displeasure, yet we free thee
From the dead blow of it. And you, enchantment,
Worthy enough a herdsman; yea, him too
That makes himself, but for our honour therein,
Unworthy thee. If ever henceforth thou
These rural latches to his entrance open,
Or hoop his body more with thy embraces,
I will devise a death as cruel for thee
As thou art tender to ’t.
[Exit.]
PERDITA.
Even here undone.
I was not much afeard, for once or twice
I was about to speak, and tell him plainly
The selfsame sun that shines upon his court
Hides not his visage from our cottage, but
Looks on alike. [To Florizel.] Will’t please you, sir, be gone?
I told you what would come of this. Beseech you,
Of your own state take care. This dream of mine—
Being now awake, I’ll queen it no inch farther,
But milk my ewes, and weep.
CAMILLO.
Why, how now, father!
Speak ere thou diest.
SHEPHERD.
I cannot speak, nor think,
Nor dare to know that which I know. O sir,
You have undone a man of fourscore three,
That thought to fill his grave in quiet; yea,
To die upon the bed my father died,
To lie close by his honest bones; but now
Some hangman must put on my shroud and lay me
Where no priest shovels in dust. O cursed wretch,
That knew’st this was the prince, and wouldst adventure
To mingle faith with him! Undone, undone!
If I might die within this hour, I have liv’d
To die when I desire.
[Exit.]