Thou art perfect, then, our ship hath touch’d upon
The deserts of Bohemia?
So you're confirming, then, that our ship has arrived at Bohemia's coasts?
So we've made it to Bohemia safely, right?
we landed in bohemia?
The Mariner speaks with the superstitious certainty of a sailor — the weather, the mood of the heavens, and his own conscience all form a unified message. Watch for how his urgency functions as dramatic foreshadowing: he knows something is wrong without being able to name it.
Ay, my lord, and fear
We have landed in ill time: the skies look grimly,
And threaten present blusters. In my conscience,
The heavens with that we have in hand are angry,
And frown upon ’s.
Yes, my lord, and I'm afraid We've arrived at a bad time: the sky looks ominous, And threatens imminent violent winds. In my opinion, The heavens are upset about what we're carrying, And they're showing their displeasure at us.
Yes, my lord, and I'm worried We picked a terrible time to land: the weather looks terrible, And there's bad storms coming. If you ask me, Heaven is angry about what we've got on this ship, And we're going to pay for it.
yeah my lord bad timing sky looks dark storm coming heaven's mad about our cargo
Their sacred wills be done! Go, get aboard;
Look to thy bark: I’ll not be long before
I call upon thee.
So be it as the gods wish it! Go, get on your ship; Take care of your vessel: I won't wait long before I come call you back.
Then that's how it has to be. Now go back to the ship; Make sure she's ready: I won't be long before I need you back.
okay go to the ship get it ready i'll call you soon
Make your best haste, and go not
Too far i’ th’ land: ’tis like to be loud weather;
Besides, this place is famous for the creatures
Of prey that keep upon ’t.
Make your speed and don't Wander too far inland: we're going to get severe weather; Also, this land is known for the dangerous animals That hunt here.
Hurry up and don't Walk too far from the ship: there's a big storm coming; Plus this place is full of wild predators That roam around.
hurry don't go far bad storm coming dangerous animals here
Go thou away:
I’ll follow instantly.
You go now: I'll come right after.
You get going: I'm close behind.
go i'm coming
I am glad at heart
To be so rid o’ th’ business.
I'm relieved To be rid of this burden.
I'm grateful To escape from this job.
happy to leave good riddance
The bear in The Winter's Tale is one of Shakespeare's most discussed staging choices. There are two theories: that the 1611 productions used a real bear (the Globe was near the bear-baiting arenas of Bankside, and live bears were available), or that they used an actor in a bear costume for comic effect. Both interpretations work, but for different reasons. A real bear is pure terror: a 1,200-pound predator on a stage produces genuine panic in an audience, and Antigonus's death is real horror. An actor in a costume plays the scene for dark comedy: the absurdity of the bear amplifies the tonal shift Shakespeare is engineering. Most scholars believe a costumed actor was more likely — but the text gives no guidance. What's clear is that Shakespeare wanted the bear visible on stage, not described offstage. The famous stage direction 'Exit, pursued by a bear' is theatrical commitment: whatever the bear is, we watch it chase a man to his death.
Come, poor babe.
I have heard, but not believ’d, the spirits of the dead
May walk again: if such thing be, thy mother
Appear’d to me last night; for ne’er was dream
So like a waking. To me comes a creature,
Sometimes her head on one side, some another.
I never saw a vessel of like sorrow,
So fill’d and so becoming: in pure white robes,
Like very sanctity, she did approach
My cabin where I lay: thrice bow’d before me,
And, gasping to begin some speech, her eyes
Became two spouts. The fury spent, anon
Did this break from her: “Good Antigonus,
Since fate, against thy better disposition,
Hath made thy person for the thrower-out
Of my poor babe, according to thine oath,
Places remote enough are in Bohemia,
There weep, and leave it crying. And, for the babe
Is counted lost for ever, Perdita
I prithee call’t. 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 squar’d 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! There lie; and there thy
character: there these;
Come here, poor baby. I've heard, but I never truly believed, the spirits of the dead Might return to walk among us: if such a thing is real, your mother Appeared to me last night; it was no dream But like reality. A figure comes to me, Turning her head from side to side, troubled. I have never seen such beautiful sorrow, So abundant and so touching: dressed in white robes, Like pure goodness itself, she came forward Into my cabin where I lay: she bowed before me three times, And, gasping to begin speaking, her eyes Began streaming with tears. When the flood passed, then She spoke: "Good Antigonus, Since fate, against what you would prefer, Has appointed you to abandon My poor child, following your oath, Find a remote spot in Bohemia, Weep there, and leave her crying. And, since the baby Will be considered lost forever, name her Perdita, I beg. For this cruel task, Forced on you by my husband, you will never again see Your wife Paulina." And with that, making loud cries, She faded into air. Very frightened, I took time to recover myself and decided This was real, not a dream. Dreams are just fantasies, But for this one occasion, yes, I will follow this superstition. I do believe Hermione has died, and that Apollo would declare This being truly the child of King Polixenes, it must be left here, Either for life or death, on the soil Of his rightful father. Baby, go with fortune! Lie there; and there your Identity; and here these things;
Come on, poor baby. I've heard that the dead can come back as ghosts, But I never really believed it until last night—your mother Appeared to me. And it wasn't a dream, It felt completely real. This figure Keeps moving her head around, so sad. I've never seen anyone look so beautifully tragic, Like she was dressed up as sorrow itself: in white robes, Like holiness, she walked forward Into my room where I was lying: she bowed to me three times, And as she started to speak, her eyes Turned into two waterfalls. After she stopped crying, she said this: "Listen, Antigonus, Fate is forcing you—even though you don't want to— To throw away my Baby girl, like you promised to do. Find somewhere way out in Bohemia, Cry for her there, and leave her alone. And because the baby Will never be found, give her a name: Call her Perdita. For doing this awful thing Your husband made you do, you'll never see Your wife Paulina again." Then she started screaming And turned to air. I was terrified, So I sat there and made myself think It was actually happening, not a dream. Dreams aren't real, But this once, I'm going to believe it. I'm convinced Hermione died from this, And Apollo says This baby really does belong to Polixenes, so she has to stay here, Whether she lives or dies, in His homeland. Sweet baby, good luck! You stay here; here's your name written down; and here are these things for you;
come baby i saw your mother last night it wasn't a dream she was dressed in white weeping she said she's dead said call you perdita said you belong to polixenes leave you in bohemia i'll leave you here with your name and these things
Which may if fortune please, both breed thee, pretty,
And still rest thine. The storm begins: poor wretch,
That for thy mother’s fault art thus expos’d
To loss and what may follow! Weep I cannot,
But my heart bleeds, and most accurs’d am I
To be by oath enjoin’d to this. 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.
These things may, if fortune allows, both raise you, pretty one, and remain yours. The storm begins. Poor child, you are exposed to loss and danger because of your mother's supposed fault. I cannot weep, but my heart bleeds, and I am most cursed to be bound by oath to do this. Goodbye! The day grows darker and darker. You're likely to have a violent lullaby from this storm. I've never seen the sky so dark during the day. What a savage noise! I must get back to the ship. This is my last chance. I am leaving forever.
If luck is with you, these things will help raise you and they'll be yours. The storm's coming now. Poor thing, you're being left here because of what people think your mother did. I can't cry, but my heart is breaking—I'm cursed for having to do this because of an oath. Goodbye! It's getting darker and darker. This storm will be a rough lullaby for you. I've never seen the sky so dark during daytime. Listen to that wild noise! I have to get back to the ship. This is my last moment. I'm leaving forever.
fortune might raise you storm's coming poor thing exposed i can't cry but my heart breaks i'm cursed by oath it's getting dark wild storm noise i have to ship out i'm leaving forever
The Shepherd opens the scene's comic half with a magnificent grumble about youth — a man whose relationship to the world is entirely practical and surprisingly gentle. Watch for how he turns finding a royal baby into a business matter without losing his warmth.
I would there were no age between ten 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! Would any but these boiled brains of nineteen
and two-and-twenty hunt this weather? They have scared away two of my
best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the master: if
anywhere I have them, ’tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck,
an ’t be thy will, what have we here?
I wish there were no age between ten and twenty-three, or that Young people slept through those years; because there's nothing in between except Getting girls pregnant, disrespecting elders, stealing, Fighting—Listen! Would anyone but these foolish kids aged nineteen And twenty-two hunt in this weather? They've scared away two of my Best sheep, which I'm afraid the wolf will find before I do: if I have them anywhere, it's by the ocean, eating plants. Good luck, If you're willing, what have we found here?
I wish kids could just skip from ten straight to twenty-three, or that Young people slept through all the teenage years; because all they do is Get girls pregnant, disrespect their parents, steal, Fight—Can you believe it! Only these crazy reckless kids aged nineteen And twenty-two would hunt in a storm like this! They've chased away two of my Best sheep, and I bet the wolves got them: wherever they are, it's probably by the Cliffs, eating ivy. Dear gods, help me out, what is this Thing I found?
wish kids went from 10 straight to 23 no teenage years all they do is knock up girls disrespect parents steal fight these dumb 19 and 22 year olds scared my sheep in this weather wolves probably got them what the heck is this
Mercy on ’s, a bairn! A very pretty bairn! A boy or a child, I wonder?
A pretty one; a very pretty one. Sure, some scape. Though I am not
bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has
been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work. They
were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I’ll take it up
for pity: yet I’ll tarry till my son come; he halloed but even now.
Whoa-ho-hoa!
Mercy, a baby! A very pretty baby! Is it a boy or a girl? A very pretty one indeed. Clearly, this is someone's escape from scandal. Though I'm not educated, I can tell from the situation that a lady's maid was involved. This baby was conceived in secret places—on stairs, in trunks, behind doors. The people who made this baby were in much warmer, more comfortable circumstances than this poor thing is now. I'll pick the baby up out of pity, but I'll wait until my son comes. He just called out a moment ago.
Good heavens, a baby! Such a pretty baby! Boy or girl, I wonder? Such a pretty little thing. Clearly someone's dumped this here to hide their shame. I'm not an educated man, but I can see a lady's maid was involved in making this baby. It was conceived in secret places—on staircases, in trunks, behind closed doors. The people who made this baby were comfortable and warm, while this poor thing is lying out here in the cold. I'll pick it up because I feel sorry for it, but I'll wait for my son to come. He was just shouting a moment ago.
mercy a baby pretty one boy or girl i wonder some lady was involved made in secret stairs trunks behind doors they were warm this baby's cold i'll take it wait for my son
The Winter's Tale is divided precisely in half by this scene: sixteen years of grief in Sicilia, sixteen years of pastoral happiness in Bohemia. Shakespeare makes the pivot as abrupt as possible — Antigonus's death and the Clown's comic narration of it happen almost simultaneously. The structural move is borrowed from Greek tragicomedy (particularly the plays of Beaumont and Fletcher that were fashionable around 1610), but Shakespeare does something his sources don't: he makes the pivot within a single scene. We watch Antigonus go to his death with tragic solemnity, and then the Shepherd enters, grumbling about youth. The effect is like two films spliced together at the wrong point — except it's deliberate. Shakespeare is saying: the world doesn't stop for tragedy. The Shepherd's sheep need to be found. Life goes on, and sometimes life finds orphaned princesses in christening blankets by the sea.
The Clown is the Shepherd's son — enthusiastic, easily overwhelmed, and gifted with extraordinarily vivid description. His account of the simultaneous bear-and-shipwreck is one of Shakespeare's great comic speeches. Watch for how he can't decide which tragedy to witness.
Hilloa, loa!
Hilloa, loa!
Hilloa, loa!
hilloa
What, art so near? If thou’lt see a thing to talk on when thou art dead
and rotten, come hither. What ail’st thou, man?
What, are you right here? If you want to see something you can brag about when you're Dead and gone, come over here. What's wrong with you, man?
Hey, are you right there? If you want a story to tell after you're Dead, come look at this. What's the matter with you?
come here you gotta see this what's wrong
I have seen two such sights, by sea and by land! But I am not to say it
is a sea, for it is now the sky: betwixt the firmament and it, you
cannot thrust a bodkin’s point.
I have witnessed two incredible sights, one at sea and one on land! But I can't even call it The sea anymore, because it's now the sky: between the clouds and the water, you Couldn't fit a needle's point.
I've seen two unbelievable things, one in the water and one on shore! But I can't even Call it the sea anymore, it's like the sky: between the sky and the sea, there's No space between them, not even a tiny bit.
saw two crazy things sea and land can't even tell them apart sky and sea are touching
Why, boy, how is it?
How is it then, boy?
What do you mean, what happened?
what happened
I would you did but see how it chafes, how it rages, how it takes up
the shore! But that’s not to the point. O, the most piteous cry of the
poor souls! sometimes to see ’em, and not to see ’em. Now the ship
boring the moon with her mainmast, and anon swallowed with yest and
froth, as you’d thrust a cork into a hogshead. And then for the land
service, to see how the bear tore out his shoulder-bone, how he cried
to me for help, and said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to
make an end of the ship, to see how the sea flap-dragon’d it: but
first, how the poor souls roared, and the sea mocked them, and how the
poor gentleman roared, and the bear mocked him, both roaring louder
than the sea or weather.
I wish you could see how it churns, how it rages, how it destroys the shore! But that's not the main thing. Oh, the cries of the Poor sailors! sometimes visible, sometimes not. Now the ship rams the moon with her mast, and then swallowed by foam and Waves, like pushing a cork into a barrel. And for what happened on land, To see how the bear ripped out his shoulder bone, how he called To me for help, and said his name was Antigonus, a nobleman. But to finish Telling you about the ship, the sea swallowed it like candy: but First, the sailors roared, and the sea mocked them, and the Nobleman roared, and the bear mocked him, both making more noise Than the sea or the storm.
If you could just see how it thrashes, how violent it is, how it eats the shore! But that's not even the crazy part. The screaming from the Sailors! Sometimes you could see them, sometimes you couldn't. The ship's mast kept hitting the moon, then the sea swallowed it like a piece of fruit into water, like Pushing a cork into a barrel. And then on the beach, This bear ripped a man's arm right off, and he screamed For me to help, saying his name was Antigonus, some nobleman. Anyway, About the ship—the sea just gobbled it up completely: but first the sailors screamed, and the Sea played with them like toys, and the man screamed, and the bear played with him, both of them yelling louder Than the storm itself.
the sea was crazy churning destroying sailors screaming ship's mast touching the moon then swallowed by waves bear ripped off a guy's arm he was yelling antigonus everybody screaming louder than the storm
Name of mercy, when was this, boy?
For pity's sake, when did this happen, boy?
Oh my god, when did all this just happen?
when did this happen
Now, now. I have not winked since I saw these sights: the men are not
yet cold under water, nor the bear half dined on the gentleman. He’s at
it now.
Just now. I haven't slept since I saw these sights: the sailors haven't Even gotten cold in the water yet, and the bear hasn't finished Its meal of the gentleman. He's still eating.
Like five minutes ago. I haven't closed my eyes since I saw this: the sailors are Still warm in the water, and the bear hasn't even finished With the dead guy yet. He's still chewing.
just now i haven't slept sailors still dying bear still eating the guy
The Shepherd's interpretation of the baby and the gold as fairy gifts is entirely consistent with Elizabethan folk belief. Changelings — babies left by fairies in exchange for stolen human children — were genuinely feared and genuinely believed in. The Shepherd's instinct to keep everything secret ('secrecy' is his one requirement for holding on to luck) comes directly from the folk-tale logic that fairy gifts disappear if you talk about them. What's remarkable is how well this folk framework actually describes the plot: Perdita is a kind of changeling — a royal child placed in a peasant world — and her 'fairy gold' is real gold, put there by a Sicilian lord under orders from a king. The folk-tale explanation is wrong in the details and exactly right in the structure. The Shepherd doesn't need to know the truth about where the baby came from; he only needs to be the right person to find her. And he is: gentle, decent, and wise enough not to ask too many questions about fortune when it arrives.
Would I had been by to have helped the old man!
I wish I had been there to help the old man!
I wish I could have helped that poor guy!
wish i coulda helped
I would you had been by the ship side, to have helped her: there your
charity would have lacked footing.
I wish you had been by the ship instead, to help her: your Kindness would have had nowhere to stand.
I wish you'd been by the ship trying to save it: your good intentions Wouldn't have gotten you anywhere.
wish you were at the ship your help wouldn't matter
Heavy matters, heavy matters! But look thee here, boy. Now bless
thyself: thou met’st with things dying, I with things new-born. Here’s
a sight for thee. Look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire’s child! Look
thee here; take up, take up, boy; open’t. So, let’s see. It was told me
I should be rich by the fairies. This is some changeling: open’t.
What’s within, boy?
Serious things, serious things! But look here, boy. Now make the sign of the cross: you've come across death, I've come across new life. Here's something to see. Look, fancy cloth for a nobleman's baby! Look here; pick it up, pick it up, boy; open it. Let's see. I was told I'd become rich through the fairies. This must be their gift: open it. What's inside, boy?
Heavy stuff, heavy stuff! But listen here, boy. Now cross yourself: you saw dying things, I found being born. Here's a sight for you. Look, this is fancy baby blanket, looks like it's from a rich family! Look here; pick it up, come on, boy; open it up. Let me see. Someone told me The fairies would make me rich. This must be what they meant, some magic baby: open it. What's in there, boy?
heavy stuff you saw death i found life look fancy baby blanket from rich people maybe someone said i'd be rich from fairies open it what's inside
You’re a made old man. If the sins of your youth are forgiven you,
you’re well to live. Gold! all gold!
You've got it made now, old man. If your youthful mistakes are forgiven you, You're living a good life. Gold! all gold!
You're set for life now, buddy. If the gods forgive what you did when you were young, You're in good shape. Gold! so much gold!
you're rich now if your past sins are forgiven you're good gold all gold
This is fairy gold, boy, and ’twill prove so. Up with it, keep it
close: home, home, the next way. We are lucky, boy, and to be so still
requires nothing but secrecy. Let my sheep go: come, good boy, the next
way home.
This is gold from the fairies, boy, and it will prove to be so. Hide it, keep it Secret: go home, go home, the shortest way. We're blessed, boy, and to stay blessed Only takes secrecy. Never mind my sheep: come, good boy, let's go home the shortest way.
This is magic fairy gold, boy, and I'm sure of it. Pack it up, don't tell anyone: Get home, get home quick. We're lucky, boy, and the only way to stay lucky Is to keep our mouths shut. Forget about the sheep: come on, boy, let's head home.
fairy gold keep it secret go home fast we're lucky stay quiet about it forget the sheep
Go you the next way with your findings. I’ll go see if the bear be gone
from the gentleman, and how much he hath eaten. They are never curst
but when they are hungry: if there be any of him left, I’ll bury it.
You go home with your treasure. I'll go check if the bear is gone From the gentleman, and how much it has eaten. Bears are never mean Except when hungry: if there's anything left of him, I'll bury it.
You take the gold and go. I'm going to check on that dead guy and see how much the bear Ate of him. Bears are only bad when they're starving: if there's anything left, I'll put it in the ground.
go home with the gold i'll check on the dead guy and the bear bears only mean when hungry if there's anything left i'll bury it
That’s a good deed. If thou mayest discern by that which is left of him
what he is, fetch me to th’ sight of him.
That's good of you. If you can figure out from what's left of him Who he is, come get me so I can see him.
Good idea. If you can tell from what's still there Who the guy was, come find me and show me.
good if you can tell who it is from what's left come get me
Marry, will I; and you shall help to put him i’ th’ ground.
Sure, I will; and you can help me put him in the ground.
Sure thing; and you can help me bury him.
yep we'll bury him
’Tis a lucky day, boy, and we’ll do good deeds on ’t.
It's a fortunate day, boy, and we'll do good things on it.
It's our lucky day, boy, and we'll do right by the dead.
lucky day we'll do good things
The Reckoning
The tonal rupture in this scene is one of the most audacious things Shakespeare ever did. In the space of twenty minutes, he transitions from Greek tragedy — Antigonus's dream of Hermione, the storm, the bear — to something approaching slapstick comedy, with the Shepherd muttering about young men hunting in bad weather and the Clown's breathless account of being unable to figure out which disaster to watch first, the bear or the shipwreck. The play's tonal pivot is complete. The old world dies with Antigonus. The new world begins with a baby and a box of gold.
If this happened today…
A corporate lawyer is ordered by his paranoid boss to drop confidential documents in a dumpster outside the city. On the way there, he stops at a gas station for directions, gets carjacked at knifepoint, and is found by a passing road-crew worker who keeps the documents, figures they're valuable, and calls his son over to look at what they found. Meanwhile, an elderly shepherd type, muttering about reckless young people, has already stumbled on what fell out during the carjacking — a baby in a car seat with a bag of cash — and is waiting for his son to arrive so they can figure out what to do.