SCENE III. Bohemia. A desert country near the sea. Winter's Tale  Shakespeare homepage  |  Winter's Tale  | Act 3, Scene 3 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE III. Bohemia. A desert country near the sea. 

 Enter ANTIGONUS with a Child, and a Mariner  ANTIGONUS  Thou art perfect then, our ship hath touch'd upon 

 The deserts of Bohemia? 

 Mariner  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. 

 ANTIGONUS  Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard; 

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

 I call upon thee. 

 Mariner  Make your best haste, and go not 

 Too far i' the land: 'tis like to be loud weather; 

 Besides, this place is famous for the creatures 

 Of prey that keep upon't. 

 ANTIGONUS  Go thou away: 

 I'll follow instantly. 

 Mariner  I am glad at heart 

 To be so rid o' the business. 



 Exit  ANTIGONUS  Come, poor babe: 

 I have heard, but not believed, 

 the spirits o' 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 squared 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 exposed 

 To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot, 

 But my heart bleeds; and most accursed 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 a Shepherd  Shepherd  I would there were no age between sixteen 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 any where I have them, 'tis by 

 the seaside, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an't be thy 

 will what have we here! Mercy on 's, a barne a very 

 pretty barne! 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 come; he hallooed 

 but even now. Whoa, ho, hoa! 



 Enter Clown  Clown  Hilloa, loa! 

 Shepherd  What, art so near? If thou'lt see a thing to talk 

 on when thou art dead and rotten, come hither. What 

 ailest thou, man? 

 Clown  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. 

 Shepherd  Why, boy, how is it? 

 Clown  I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, 

 how it takes up the shore! but that's not 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 main-mast, and anon 

 swallowed with yest and froth, as you'ld 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-dragoned 

 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. 

 Shepherd  Name of mercy, when was this, boy? 

 Clown  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. 

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

 Clown  I would you had been by the ship side, to have 

 helped her: there your charity would have lacked footing. 

 Shepherd  Heavy matters! heavy matters! but look thee here, 

 boy. Now bless thyself: thou mettest with things 

 dying, I with things newborn. 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? 

 Clown  You're a made old man: if the sins of your youth 

 are forgiven you, you're well to live. Gold! all gold! 

 Shepherd  This is fairy gold, boy, and 'twill prove so: up 

 with't, 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. 

 Clown  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. 

 Shepherd  That's a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that 

 which is left of him what he is, fetch me to the 

 sight of him. 

 Clown  Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i' the ground. 

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



 Exeunt  SCENE I: 



 Enter Time, the Chorus  Time  I, that please some, try all, both joy and terror 

 Of good and bad, that makes and unfolds error, 

 Now take upon me, in the name of Time, 

 To use my wings. Impute it not a crime 

 To me or my swift passage, that I slide 

 O'er sixteen years and leave the growth untried 

 Of that wide gap, since it is in my power 

 To o'erthrow law and in one self-born hour 

 To plant and o'erwhelm custom. Let me pass 

 The same I am, ere ancient'st order was 

 Or what is now received: I witness to 

 The times that brought them in; so shall I do 

 To the freshest things now reigning and make stale 

 The glistering of this present, as my tale 

 Now seems to it. Your patience this allowing, 

 I turn my glass and give my scene such growing 

 As you had slept between: Leontes leaving, 

 The effects of his fond jealousies so grieving 

 That he shuts up himself, imagine me, 

 Gentle spectators, that I now may be 

 In fair Bohemia, and remember well, 

 I mentioned a son o' the king's, which Florizel 

 I now name to you; and with speed so pace 

 To speak of Perdita, now grown in grace 

 Equal with wondering: what of her ensues 

 I list not prophecy; but let Time's news 

 Be known when 'tis brought forth. 

 A shepherd's daughter, 

 And what to her adheres, which follows after, 

 Is the argument of Time. Of this allow, 

 If ever you have spent time worse ere now; 

 If never, yet that Time himself doth say 

 He wishes earnestly you never may. 



 Exit  Shakespeare homepage  |  Winter's Tale  | Act 3, Scene 3 

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