She embraces him.
She hangs about his neck:
If she pertain to life, let her speak too.
Ay, and make it manifest where she has liv’d,
Or how stol’n from the dead.
That she is living,
Were it but told you, should be hooted at
Like an old tale; but it appears she lives,
Though yet she speak not. Mark a little while.—
Please you to interpose, fair madam: kneel,
And pray your mother’s blessing.—Turn, good lady;
Our Perdita is found.
[Presenting Perdita, who kneels to Hermione.]
You gods, look down,
And from your sacred vials pour your graces
Upon my daughter’s head!—Tell me, mine own,
Where hast thou been preserv’d? where liv’d? how found
Thy father’s court? for thou shalt hear that I,—
Knowing by Paulina that the oracle
Gave hope thou wast in being,—have preserv’d
Myself to see the issue.
There’s time enough for that;
Lest they desire upon this push to trouble
Your joys with like relation.—Go together,
You precious winners all; your exultation
Partake to every one. I, an old turtle,
Will wing me to some wither’d bough, and there
My mate, that’s never to be found again,
Lament till I am lost.
O peace, Paulina!
Thou shouldst a husband take by my consent,
As I by thine a wife: this is a match,
And made between’s by vows. Thou hast found mine;
But how, is to be question’d: for I saw her,
As I thought, dead; and have, in vain, said many
A prayer upon her grave. I’ll not seek far,—
For him, I partly know his mind,—to find thee
An honourable husband.—Come, Camillo,
And take her by the hand, whose worth and honesty
Is richly noted, and here justified
By us, a pair of kings.—Let’s from this place.—
What! look upon my brother:—both your pardons,
That e’er I put between your holy looks
My ill suspicion.—This your son-in-law,
And son unto the king, whom heavens directing,
Is troth-plight to your daughter.—Good Paulina,
Lead us from hence; where we may leisurely
Each one demand, and answer to his part
Perform’d in this wide gap of time, since first
We were dissever’d: hastily lead away!
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