with thee!
PERDITA.
And give me leave;
And do not say 'tis superstition, that
I kneel, and then implore her blessing.--Lady,
Dear queen, that ended when I but began,
Give me that hand of yours to kiss.
PAULINA.
O, patience!
The statue is but newly fix'd, the colour's
Not dry.
CAMILLO.
My lord, your sorrow was too sore laid on,
Which sixteen winters cannot blow away,
So many summers dry; scarce any joy
Did ever so long live; no sorrow
But kill'd itself much sooner.
POLIXENES.
Dear my brother,
Let him that was the cause of this have power
To take off so much grief from you as he
Will piece up in himself.
PAULINA.
Indeed, my lord,
If I had thought the sight of my poor image
Would thus have wrought you,--for the stone is mine,--
I'd not have show'd it.
LEONTES.
Do not draw the curtain.
PAULINA.
No longer shall you gaze on't; lest your fancy
May think anon it moves.
LEONTES.
Let be, let be.--
Would I were dead, but that, methinks, already--
What was he that did make it? See, my lord,
Would you not deem it breath'd, and that those veins
Did verily bear blood?
POLIXENES.
Masterly done:
The very life seems warm upon her lip.
LEONTES.
The fixture of her eye has motion in't,
As we are mock'd with art.
PAULINA.
I'll draw the curtain:
My lord's almost so far transported that
He'll think anon it lives.
LEONTES.
O sweet Paulina,
Make me to think so twenty years together!
No settled senses of the world can match
The pleasure of that madness. Let't alone.
PAULINA.
I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr'd you: but
I could afflict you further.
LEONTES.
Do, Paulina;
For this affliction has a taste as sweet
As any cordial comfort.--Still, methinks,
There is an air comes from her: what fine chisel
Could ever yet cut breath? Let no man mock me,
For I will kiss her!
PAULINA.
Good my lord, forbear:
The ruddiness upon her lip is wet;
You'll mar it if you kiss it; stain your own
With oily painting. Shall I draw the curtain?
LEONTES.
No, not these twenty years.
PERDITA.
So long could I
Stand by, a looker on.
PAULINA.
Either forbe
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