The Winter’s Tale quotes

Was not my lord The verier wag o’ the two?

We were as twinn’d lambs that did frisk i’ the sun, And bleat the one at the other: what we changed Was innocence for innocence

; we knew not The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream’d That any did. Had we pursued that life, And our weak spirits ne’er been higher rear’d With stronger blood, we should have answer’d heaven Boldly “not guilty;” the imposition clear’d Hereditary ours.

What! have I twice said well? when was’t before? I prithee tell me; cram’s with praise, and make’s As fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that.

Our praises are our wages: you may ride’s With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere With spur we beat an acre.

But to the goal: My last good deed was to entreat his stay: What was my first? it has an elder sister, Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace! But once before I spoke to the purpose: when? Nay, let me have’t;

I would not be a stander-by to hear My sovereign mistress clouded so, without My present vengeance taken: ’shrew my heart, You never spoke what did become you less Than this; which to reiterate were sin As deep as that, though true.

Is whispering nothing?

Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses? Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career Of laughing with a sigh?—a note infallible Of breaking honesty—horsing foot on foot? Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift? Hours, minutes? noon, midnight?

Since I am charged in honour and by him That I think honourable: therefore mark my counsel, Which must be even as swiftly follow’d as I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me Cry lost, and so good night!

I am appointed him to murder you.

By the king.

If she dares trust me with her little babe, I’ll show’t the king and undertake to be Her advocate to the loud’st. We do not know How he may soften at the sight o’ the child:

The silence often of pure innocence Persuades when speaking fails.

Most worthy madam, Your honour and your goodness is so evident That your free undertaking cannot miss A thriving issue: there is no lady living So meet for this great errand.

I care not:

It is an heretic that makes the fire, Not she which burns in’t.

I’ll not call you tyrant; But this most cruel usage of your queen, Not able to produce more accusation Than your own weak-hinged fancy, something savours Of tyranny and will ignoble make you, Yea, scandalous to the world.

we all kneel.

I am a feather for each wind that blows:

Shall I live on to see this bastard kneel And call me father? better burn it now Than curse it then. But be it; let it live. It shall not neither. You, sir, come you hither;

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!

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.

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!

The pale moon shines by night: And when I wander here and there, I then do most go right. If tinkers may have leave to live, And bear the sow-skin budget, Then my account I well may, give, And in the stocks avouch it.

My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen.

My father named me Autolycus; who being, as I am, littered under Mercury, was likewise a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles. With die and drab I purchased this caparison, and my revenue is the silly cheat. Gallows and knock are too powerful on the highway:

if I make not this cheat bring out another and the shearers prove sheep, let me be unrolled and my name put in the book of virtue! Sings. Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way, And merrily hent the stile-a:

A merry heart goes all the day, Your sad tires in a mile-a.

Exit.

I’ll not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them; No more than were I painted I would wish This youth should say ’twere well and only therefore Desire to breed by me. Here’s flowers for you;

Hot lavender, mints, savoury, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi’ the sun And with him rises weeping

: these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age. You’re very welcome.

Why look you so upon me?

I am but sorry, not afeard; delay’d, But nothing alter’d: what I was, I am;

More straining on for plucking back, not following My leash unwillingly.

I think you know my fortunes Do all lie there: it shall be so my care To have you royally appointed as if The scene you play were mine. For instance, sir, That you may know you shall not want, one word. They talk aside.

Ha, ha! what a fool Honesty is! and Trust, his sworn brother, a very simple gentleman!

I have sold all my trumpery; not a counterfeit stone, not a ribbon, glass, pomander, brooch, table-book, ballad, knife, tape, glove, shoe-tie, bracelet, horn-ring, to keep my pack from fasting:

Aside.

Though I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance

: let me pocket up my pedlar’s excrement. Takes off his false beard. How now, rustics! whither are you bound?

Her natural posture! Chide me, dear stone, that I may say indeed Thou art Hermione; or rather, thou art she In thy not chiding, for she was as tender As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina,

Hermione was not so much wrinkled, nothing

So aged as this seems.