[Enter Antigonus carrying the babe, and a Mariner.]
Thou art perfect, then, our ship hath touched 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.
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’ th’ 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’ th’ business. [He exits.]
ANTIGONUS Come, poor babe.
 I have heard, but not believed, the spirits o’ th’ dead
May walk again. If such thing be, thy mother
Appeared 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 filled and so becoming. In pure white robes,
Like very sanctity, she did approach
My cabin where I lay, thrice bowed 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 forever, 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 suffered 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,
[He lays down the baby, a bundle, and a box.]
Which may, if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,
And still rest thine. [Thunder.] The storm begins.
 That for thy mother’s fault art thus exposed
To loss and what may follow. Weep I cannot,
But my heart bleeds, and most accurst am I
To be by oath enjoined 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.
[Thunder, and sounds of hunting.]
A savage clamor!
Well may I get aboard! This is the chase.
I am gone forever! [He exits, pursued by a bear.]
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
seaside, browsing of ivy. Good luck, an ’t be thy will,
 what have we here? 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
come. He halloed but even now.—Whoa-ho-ho!
[Enter Shepherd’s Son.]
SHEPHERD’S SON 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 ail’st thou, man?
SHEPHERD’S SON 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?
SHEPHERD’S SON I would you did but see how it chafes,
how it rages, how it takes up the shore. But that’s
 not to 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 mainmast,
and anon swallowed with yeast and froth, as you’d
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?
SHEPHERD’S SON 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
SHEPHERD’S SON I would you had been by the ship side,
to have helped her. There your charity would have
SHEPHERD Heavy matters, heavy matters. But look
thee here, boy. Now bless thyself. Thou met’st 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?
SHEPHERD’S SON , [opening the box] 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.
SHEPHERD’S SON 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
th’ sight of him.
SHEPHERD’S SON Marry, will I, and you shall help to
put him i’ th’ ground.
SHEPHERD ’Tis a lucky day, boy, and we’ll do good
 deeds on ’t.