Antigonus. 
                              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 pr’ythee call’t.  For this ungentle business,
Put on thee by my lord, thou ne’er shalt see
Thy wife Paulina more’:  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!

[Laying down the child.]

There lie; and there thy character:  there these;

[Laying down a bundle.]

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.

[Exit, pursued by a bear.]

[Enter an old shepherd.]

Shepherd.  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?

[Taking up the child.]

Mercy on’s, a bairn:  A very pretty bairn!  A boy or a child, I wonder?  A pretty one; a very pretty one:  sure, some scape:  though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape.  This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work; they were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here.  I’ll take it up for pity:  yet I’ll tarry till my son comes; he hallaed but even now.—­Whoa, ho hoa!