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Come, poor babe I have heard, but not believed, the spirits o the dead May walk again if such thing be, thy mother Appeard to me last night, for neer 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 filld and so becoming in pure white robes, Like very sanctity, she did approach My cabin where I lay thrice bowd before me, And gasping to begin some speech, her eyes Became two spouts the fury spent, anon Did this breakfrom her Good Antigonus, Since fate, against thy better disposition, Hath made thy person for the throwerout 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, callt. For this ungentle business Put on thee by my lord, thou neer shalt see Thy wife Paulina more. And so, with shrieks She melted into air.