From him that has most cause to grieve it should be,

She’s an adultress.

HERMIONE

Should a villain say so,

The most replenished villain in the world,

He were as much more villain. You, my lord,

Do but mistake.

LEONTES

You have mistook, my lady—

Polixenes for Leontes. O, thou thing,

Which I’ll not call a creature of thy place

Lest barbarism, making me the precedent,

Should a like language use to all degrees,

And mannerly distinguishment leave out

Betwixt the prince and beggar. I have said

She’s an adultress, I have said with whom.

More, she’s a traitor, and Camillo is

A federary with her, and one that knows

What she should shame to know herself,

But with her most vile principal: that she’s

A bed-swerver, even as bad as those

That vulgars give bold’st titles; ay, and privy

To this their late escape.

HERMIONE

No, by my life,

Privy to none of this. How will this grieve you

When you shall come to clearer knowledge, that

You thus have published me? Gentle my lord,

You scarce can right me throughly then to say

You did mistake.

LEONTES

No. If I mistake

In those foundations which I build upon,

The centre is not big enough to bear

A schoolboy’s top.—Away with her to prison!

He who shall speak for her is afar-off guilty,

But that he speaks.

HERMIONE

There’s some ill planet reigns.

I must be patient till the heavens look

With an aspect more favourable. Good my lords,

I am not prone to weeping, as our sex no

Commonly are; the want of which vain dew

Perchance shall dry your pities. But I have

That honourable grief lodged here which burns

Worse than tears drown. Beseech you all, my lords,

With thoughts so qualified as your charities

Shall best instruct you, measure me; and so

The King’s will be performed.

LEONTES

Shall I be heard?

HERMIONE

Who is’t that goes with me? Beseech your highness

My women may be with me, for you see

My plight requires it.—Do not weep, good fools,

There is no cause. When you shall know your

mistress

Has deserved prison, then abound in tears

As I come out. This action I now go on

Is for my better grace.—Adieu, my lord.

I never wished to see you sorry; now

I trust I shall. My women, come, you have leave.

LEONTES Go, do our bidding. Hence!

Exit Hermione, guarded, with Ladies

A LORD

Beseech your highness, call the Queen again.

ANTIGONUS (to Leontes)

Be certain what you do, sir, lest your justice

Prove violence, in the which three great ones suffer—

Yourself, your queen, your son.

A LORD (to Leontes)

For her, my lord,

I dare my life lay down, and will do‘t, sir,

Please you t’accept it, that the Queen is spotless

I’th’ eyes of heaven and to you—I mean

In this which you accuse her.

ANTIGONUS (to Leontes)

If it prove

She’s otherwise, I’ll keep my stables where

I lodge my wife, I’ll go in couples with her;

Than when I feel and see her, no farther trust her.

For every inch of woman in the world,

Ay, every dram of woman’s flesh is false

If she be.

LEONTES

Hold your peaces.

A LORD

Good my lord—

ANTIGONUS (to Leontes)

It is for you we speak, not for ourselves.

You are abused, and by some putter-on

That will be damned for’t. Would I knew the villain—

I would land-damn him. Be she honour-flawed—

I have three daughters: the eldest is eleven;

The second and the third nine and some five;

If this prove true, they’ll pay for’t. By mine honour,

I’ll geld ’em all. Fourteen they shall not see,

To bring false generations. They are co-heirs,

And I had rather glib myself than they

Should not produce fair issue.

LEONTES

Cease, no more!

You smell this business with a sense as cold

As is a dead man’s nose. But I do see’t and feel’t

As you feel doing thus; and see withal

The instruments that feel.

ANTIGONUS

If it be so,

We need no grave to bury honesty;

There’s not a grain of it the face to sweeten

Of the whole dungy earth.

LEONTES

What? Lack I credit?

A LORD

I had rather you did lack than I, my lord,

Upon this ground; and more it would content me

To have her honour true than your suspicion,

Be blamed for’t how you might.

LEONTES Why, what need we

Commune with you of this, but rather follow

Our forceful instigation? Our prerogative

Calls not your counsels, but our natural goodness

Imparts this; which, if you—or stupefied

Or seeming so in skill—cannot or will not

Relish a truth like us, inform yourselves

We need no more of your advice. The matter,

The loss, the gain, the ord‘ring on’t, is all

Properly ours.

ANTIGONUS

And I wish, my liege,

You had only in your silent judgement tried it

Without more overture.