The Winter’s Tale
Act III, Scene 1
Sicilia. A sea port.
- Enter Cleomines and Dion.
Cleomines1 - 3
- The climate’s delicate, the air most sweet,
- Fertile the isle, the temple much surpassing
- The common praise it bears.
Dion4 - 9
- I shall report,
- For most it caught me, the celestial habits
- (Methinks I so should term them) and the reverence
- Of the grave wearers. O, the sacrifice!
- How ceremonious, solemn, and unearthly
- It was i’ th’ off’ring!
Cleomines10 - 13
- But of all, the burst
- And the ear-deaf’ning voice o’ th’ oracle,
- Kin to Jove’s thunder, so surpris’d my sense,
- That I was nothing.
Dion14 - 17
- If th’ event o’ th’ journey
- Prove as successful to the Queen (O be’t so!)
- As it hath been to us rare, pleasant, speedy,
- The time is worth the use on’t.
Cleomines18 - 21
- Great Apollo
- Turn all to th’ best! These proclamations,
- So forcing faults upon Hermione,
- I little like.
Dion22 - 27
- The violent carriage of it
- Will clear or end the business. When the oracle
- (Thus by Apollo’s great divine seal’d up)
- Shall the contents discover, something rare
- Even then will rush to knowledge. Go; fresh horses!
- And gracious be the issue!