Sir, spare your threats:
The bug which you would fright me with I seek:
To me can life be no commodity:
The crown and comfort of my life (your favour)
I do give lost, for I do feel it gone,
But know not how it went. My second joy,
And first-fruits of my body, from his presence
I am barred, like one infectious. My third comfort
(Starred most unluckily!) is from my breast,
The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth,
Haled out to murder. Myself on every post
Proclaimed a strumpet: with immodest hatred
The child-bed privilege denied, which ‘longs
To women of all fashion. Lastly, hurried
Here, to this place, i’th’open air, before
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,
Tell me what blessings I have here alive,
That I should fear to die? Therefore proceed…
But yet hear this: mistake me not: no life!-
I prize it not a straw - but for mine honor,
Which I would free… If I shall be condemned
Upon surmises (all proofs sleeping else
But what your jealousies awake) I tell you,
‘Tis rigour and not law… Your honours all,
I do refer me to the oracle;
Apollo be my judge.
The bug which you would fright me with I seek:
To me can life be no commodity:
The crown and comfort of my life (your favour)
I do give lost, for I do feel it gone,
But know not how it went. My second joy,
And first-fruits of my body, from his presence
I am barred, like one infectious. My third comfort
(Starred most unluckily!) is from my breast,
The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth,
Haled out to murder. Myself on every post
Proclaimed a strumpet: with immodest hatred
The child-bed privilege denied, which ‘longs
To women of all fashion. Lastly, hurried
Here, to this place, i’th’open air, before
I have got strength of limit. Now, my liege,
Tell me what blessings I have here alive,
That I should fear to die? Therefore proceed…
But yet hear this: mistake me not: no life!-
I prize it not a straw - but for mine honor,
Which I would free… If I shall be condemned
Upon surmises (all proofs sleeping else
But what your jealousies awake) I tell you,
‘Tis rigour and not law… Your honours all,
I do refer me to the oracle;
Apollo be my judge.
— Hermione, “A Winter’s Tale”
