The very life seems warm upon her lip.
The fixture of her eye has motion in’t,
As we are mock’d with art.
I’ll draw the curtain:
My lord’s almost so far transported that
He’ll think anon it lives.
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.
I am sorry, sir, I have thus far stirr’d you: but
I could afflict you further.
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!
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?
No, not these twenty years.
So long could I
Stand by, a looker on.
Quit presently the chapel, or resolve you
For more amazement. If you can behold it,
I’ll make the statue move indeed, descend,
And take you by the hand, but then you’ll think,—
Which I protest against,—I am assisted
By wicked powers.
What you can make her do
I am content to look on: what to speak,
I am content to hear; for ’tis as easy
To make her speak as move.
It is requir’d
You do awake your faith. Then all stand still;
Or those that think it is unlawful business
I am about, let them depart.
No foot shall stir.
Music, awake her: strike.—[Music.]
’Tis time; descend; be stone no more; approach;
Strike all that look upon with marvel. Come;
I’ll fill your grave up: stir; nay, come away;
Bequeath to death your numbness, for from him
Dear life redeems you.—You perceive she stirs.
[Hermione comes down from the pedestal.]
Start not; her actions shall be holy as
You hear my spell is lawful: do not shun her
Until you see her die again; for then
You kill her double. Nay, present your hand:
When she was young you woo’d her; now in age
Is she become the suitor?
[Embracing her.] O, she’s warm!
If this be magic, let it be an art
Lawful as eating.