The Winter’s Tale

The Winter's Tale review – Scots-tinged Shakespeare is rich and raucous
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But the second half of the play ends up actually focusing on the comical self-avowed thief Autolycus Philip Earl Johnson and his interactions with the country people we meet in Bohemia, leaving little room for character development of this young couple, likable though they might be. It appears that a new conflict is developing with Polixenes, but that is quickly brushed aside. And the final scenes, including unearned redemption for Leontes, feel so rushed that we seem to be watching a highlight reel.

Indeed, the performances engender strong emotions, especially those of Donohue and Fry. There is something here to appeal to everyone, whether you like your Shakespeare dark and serious, lighthearted and merry, or even magical. The Bard in this play was clearly, as his career wound down, trying to do things outside of his long standing formulas, and the result, though mixed, is still fun to watch.

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First Servant My lord? In captivity she gives birth to her baby girl. Sixteen years pass, and the son of Polixenes, Prince Florizel, falls in love with Perdita. Paulina, a good friend of Hermione and the only person willing to stand up to the jealous king, takes the newborn to Leontes and attempts to talk some sense into him. When Polixenes forbids the unequal match, the couple flees to Sicilia, where the tale reaches its conclusion. In my conscience, The heavens with that we have in hand are angry And frown upon 's. We still struggle to keep up with a writer who could think a mile a minute, whose words paint pictures that shift like clouds.

Check the website for specific dates, times, and tickets. Find more information about current plays in our front page recs and at theatreinchicago. CAMILLO I very well agree with you in the hopes of him: it is a gallant child; one that indeed physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh: they that went on crutches ere he was born desire yet their life to see him a man.

I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance Or breed upon our absence; that may blow No sneaping winds at home, to make us say 'This is put forth too truly:' besides, I have stay'd To tire your royalty. There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the world, So soon as yours could win me: so it should now, Were there necessity in your request, although 'Twere needful I denied it.

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My affairs Do even drag me homeward: which to hinder Were in your love a whip to me; my stay To you a charge and trouble: to save both, Farewell, our brother. You, sir, Charge him too coldly. Tell him, you are sure All in Bohemia's well; this satisfaction The by-gone day proclaim'd: say this to him, He's beat from his best ward.

Yet of your royal presence I'll adventure The borrow of a week.

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When at Bohemia You take my lord, I'll give him my commission To let him there a month behind the gest Prefix'd for's parting: yet, good deed, Leontes, I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind What lady-she her lord. You'll stay? You put me off with limber vows; but I, Though you would seek to unsphere the stars with oaths, Should yet say 'Sir, no going. Will you go yet? Force me to keep you as a prisoner, Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you?

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My prisoner? Come, I'll question you Of my lord's tricks and yours when you were boys: You were pretty lordings then? Had we pursued that life, And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven Boldly 'not guilty;' the imposition clear'd Hereditary ours. Temptations have since then been born to's; for In those unfledged days was my wife a girl; Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes Of my young play-fellow.

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The Winter's Tale is a play by William Shakespeare originally published in the First The Winter's Tale was revived again in the 19th century, when the fourth. King Leontes of Sicilia begs his childhood friend, King Polixenes of Bohemia, to extend his visit to Sicilia. Leontes, meanwhile, has become possessed with jealousy—convinced that Polixenes and Hermione are lovers, he orders his loyal retainer, Camillo, to poison the Bohemian.

Of this make no conclusion, lest you say Your queen and I are devils: yet go on; The offences we have made you do we'll answer, If you first sinn'd with us and that with us You did continue fault and that you slipp'd not With any but with us. Hermione, my dearest, thou never spokest To better purpose.


I prithee tell me; cram's with praise, and make's As fat as tame things: one good deed dying tongueless Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages: you may ride's With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs ere With spur we beat an acre.

But to the goal: My last good deed was to entreat his stay: What was my first? But once before I spoke to the purpose: when? Nay, let me have't; I long. Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice: The one for ever earn'd a royal husband; The other for some while a friend. To mingle friendship far is mingling bloods.

The Winter’s Tale

I have tremor cordis on me: my heart dances; But not for joy; not joy. This entertainment May a free face put on, derive a liberty From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom, And well become the agent; 't may, I grant; But to be paddling palms and pinching fingers, As now they are, and making practised smiles, As in a looking-glass, and then to sigh, as 'twere The mort o' the deer; O, that is entertainment My bosom likes not, nor my brows!

Mamillius, Art thou my boy? Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast smutch'd thy nose? They say it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain, We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain: And yet the steer, the heifer and the calf Are all call'd neat. Art thou my calf? LEONTES Thou want'st a rough pash and the shoots that I have, To be full like me: yet they say we are Almost as like as eggs; women say so, That will say anything but were they false As o'er-dyed blacks, as wind, as waters, false As dice are to be wish'd by one that fixes No bourn 'twixt his and mine, yet were it true To say this boy were like me.

Come, sir page, Look on me with your welkin eye: sweet villain! Most dear'st! Can thy dam? What cheer? How sometimes nature will betray its folly, Its tenderness, and make itself a pastime To harder bosoms! Looking on the lines Of my boy's face, methoughts I did recoil Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech'd, In my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled, Lest it should bite its master, and so prove, As ornaments oft do, too dangerous: How like, methought, I then was to this kernel, This squash, this gentleman.

Mine honest friend, Will you take eggs for money? My brother, Are you so fond of your young prince as we Do seem to be of ours? Hermione, How thou lovest us, show in our brother's welcome; Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap: Next to thyself and my young rover, he's Apparent to my heart. First Lady Come, my gracious lord, Shall I be your playfellow? First Lady Why, my sweet lord? I love you better. Second Lady And why so, my lord?

Second Lady Who taught you this? Pray now What colour are your eyebrows? First Lady Blue, my lord. First Lady Hark ye; The queen your mother rounds apace: we shall Present our services to a fine new prince One of these days; and then you'ld wanton with us, If we would have you.

Second Lady She is spread of late Into a goodly bulk: good time encounter her! Come, sir, now I am for you again: pray you, sit by us, And tell 's a tale. Come on, sit down: come on, and do your best To fright me with your sprites; you're powerful at it.

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Exit Gentleman. If The cause were not in being,--part o' the cause, She the adulteress; for the harlot king Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank And level of my brain, plot-proof; but she I can hook to me: say that she were gone, Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest Might come to me again.

Who's there? First Servant My lord? First Servant He took good rest to-night; 'Tis hoped his sickness is discharged.

Conceiving the dishonour of his mother, He straight declined, droop'd, took it deeply, Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself, Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep, And downright languish'd. Leave me solely: go, See how he fares. Exit Servant.

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A sea-port in Sicilia. O, the sacrifice! How ceremonious, solemn and unearthly It was i' the offering!