Paulina. 
                       True, too true, my lord;
If, one by one, you wedded all the world,
Or from the all that are took something good,
To make a perfect woman, she you kill’d
Would be unparallel’d.

Leontes. 
                       I think so.—­Kill’d! 
She I kill’d!  I did so:  but thou strik’st me
Sorely, to say I did:  it is as bitter
Upon thy tongue as in my thought:  now, good now,
Say so but seldom.

Cleomenes. 
                   Not at all, good lady;
You might have spoken a thousand things that would
Have done the time more benefit, and grac’d
Your kindness better.

Paulina. 
                      You are one of those
Would have him wed again.

Dion. 
                          If you would not so,
You pity not the state, nor the remembrance
Of his most sovereign name; consider little
What dangers, by his highness’ fail of issue,
May drop upon his kingdom, and devour
Incertain lookers-on.  What were more holy
Than to rejoice the former queen is well? 
What holier than,—­for royalty’s repair,
For present comfort, and for future good,—­
To bless the bed of majesty again
With a sweet fellow to’t?

Paulina. 
                          There is none worthy,
Respecting her that’s gone.  Besides, the gods
Will have fulfill’d their secret purposes;
For has not the divine Apollo said,
Is’t not the tenour of his oracle,
That king Leontes shall not have an heir
Till his lost child be found? which that it shall,
Is all as monstrous to our human reason
As my Antigonus to break his grave
And come again to me; who, on my life,
Did perish with the infant.  ’Tis your counsel
My lord should to the heavens be contrary,
Oppose against their wills.—­[To Leontes.] Care not for issue;
The crown will find an heir:  great Alexander
Left his to the worthiest; so his successor
Was like to be the best.

Leontes. 
                         Good Paulina,—­
Who hast the memory of Hermione,
I know, in honour,—­O that ever I
Had squar’d me to thy counsel!—­then, even now,
I might have look’d upon my queen’s full eyes,
Have taken treasure from her lips,—­

Paulina. 
                                    And left them
More rich for what they yielded.

Leontes. 
                                 Thou speak’st truth. 
No more such wives; therefore, no wife:  one worse,
And better us’d, would make her sainted spirit
Again possess her corpse; and on this stage,—­
Where we offend her now,—­appear soul-vexed,
And begin ‘Why to me?’

Paulina. 
                       Had she such power,
She had just cause.

Leontes. 
                    She had; and would incense me
To murder her I married.