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

The deserts of Bohemia?

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.

Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;

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

I call upon thee.

Make your best haste, and go not

Too far i’ th’ land: ’tis like to be loud weather;

Besides, this place is famous for the creatures

Of prey that keep upon ’t.

Go thou away:

I’ll follow instantly.

I am glad at heart

To be so rid o’ th’ business.

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 prithee call’t. For this ungentle business,

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

Thy wife Paulina more.” And 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! There lie; and there thy

character: there these;

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 chase:

I am gone for ever.

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

anywhere I have them, ’tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck,

an ’t be thy will, what have we here?

Hilloa, loa!

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

and rotten, come hither. What ail’st thou, man?

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.

Why, boy, how is it?

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.

Name of mercy, when was this, boy?

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.

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

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

charity would have lacked footing.

Heavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here, boy. Now bless

thyself: thou met’st 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?

You’re a made old man. If the sins of your youth are forgiven you,

you’re well to live. Gold! all gold!

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.

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.

That’s a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left of him

what he is, fetch me to th’ sight of him.

Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i’ th’ ground.

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