Even with such life of majesty, (warm life, As Low it coldly stands,) when first I woo'd her! I am asham'd: Does not the stone rebuke me, For being more stone than it? — O, royal piece, There's magick in thy majesty; which has My evils conjur'd to remembrance; and From thy admiring daughter took the spirits, Standing like stone with thee!
Per. And give me leave; And do not say, 'tis superstition, that I kneel, and then implore her blessing. Dear queen, that ended when I but began, Give me that hand of yours, to kiss. Paul.
O, patience; The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's Not dry.
Cam. My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,
So many summers, dry: scarce any joy Did ever so long live; no sorrow, But kill'd itself much sooner.
If I had thought the sight of my poor image
Would thus have wrought you, (for the stone is You kill her double: Nay, present your hand:
When she was young, you woo'd her; now, in age,
Is she become the suitor.
That she is living, Were it but told you, should be hooted at Like an old tale; but it appears, she lives Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.- Please you to interpose, fair madam; kneel, And pray your mother's blessing. — Turn, good lady;
And from your sacred vials pour your graces Upon my daughter's head! - Tell me, mine own, Where hast thou been preserv'd? where liv'd? how found
Thy father's court? for thou shalt hear, that I, — Knowing by Paulina, that the oracle Gave hope thou wast in being, have preserv'd Myself, to see the issue.
Paul. There's time enough for that; Lest they desire, upon this push, to trouble Your joys with like relation. - Go together, You precious winners all; your exultation Partake to every one. I, an old turtle, Will wing me to some wither'd bough; and there My mate, that's never to be found again, So long could I Lament till I am lost.
Good my lord, forbear: The ruddiness upon her lip is wet; You'll mar it, if you kiss it; stain your own With oily painting: Shall I draw the curtain ? Leon. No, not these twenty years. Per. Stand by, a looker on.
Leon. O peace, Paulina; Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent, As I by thine, a wife: this is a match,
And made between's by vows. Thou hast found | What? - Look upon my brother:
That e'er I put between your holy looks
My ill suspicion. — This your son-in-law, And son unto the king, (whom heavens directing,) Is troth-plight to your daughter, - Good Paulina, Lead us from hence; where we may leisurely Each one demand, and answer to his part Perform'd in this wide gap of time, since first We were dissevered: Hastily lead away.
SCENE I. A Hall in the Duke's Palace. Enter DUKE, EGEON, Gaoler, Officers, and other Altendants.
Ege. Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall, And, by the doom of death, end woes and all. Duke. Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more; I am not partial to infringe our laws : The enmity and discord, which of late Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your duke To merchants, our well dealing countrymen, Who, wanting gilders to redeem their lives, Have seal'd his rig'rous statutes with their bloods,- Excludes all pity from our threat'ning looks, For, since the mortal and intestine jars 'Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, It hath in solemn synods been decreed, Both by the Syracusans and ourselves,
To admit no traffick to our adverse towns: Nay, more,
If any born at Ephesus, be seen At any Syracusan marts and fairs; Again, If any Syracusan born, Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies,
His goods confiscate to the duke's dispose; Unless a thousand marks be levied, To quit the penalty, and to ransome him. Thy substance valued at the highest rate, Cannot amount unto a hundred marks; Therefore, by law thou art condemn'd to die. Ege. Yet this my comfort; when your words are done,
My woes end likewise with the evening sun.
Duke. Well, Syracusan, say, in brief, the cause Why thou departedst from thy native home; And for what cause thou cam'st to Ephesus.
Ege. A heavier task could not have been impos'd Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable : Yet, that the world may witness, that my end Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, I'll utter what my sorrow gives me leave. In Syracusa was I born; and wed Unto a woman, happy but for me, And by me too, had not our hap been bad. With her I liv'd in joy; our wealth increas'd, By prosperous voyages I often made To Epidamnum, till my factor's death; And he (great care of goods at random left) Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse: From whom my absence was not six months old, Before herself (almost at fainting under The pleasing punishment that women bear,) Had made provision for her following me, And soon, and safe, arrived where I was. There she had not been long, but she became A joyful mother of two goodly sons;
And which was strange, the one so like the other, As could not be distinguished but by names. That very hour, and in the self-same inn, A poor mean woman was delivered
Of such a burden, male twins, both alike: Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, I bought, and brought up to attend my sons. My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, Made daily motions for our home return: Unwilling I agreed; alas, too soon. We came aboard:
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