Her. What? have I twice said well? when was 't

before?

I pr'ythee, tell me : Cram us with praise, and make us
As fat as tame things: One good deed, dying tongueless,
Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon that.

Our praises are our wages: You may ride us,
With one soft kiss, a thousand furlongs, ere
With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal,-
My last good was, to entreat his stay;

What was my first? it has an elder sister,

Or I mistake you: O, would her name were Grace!
But once before I spoke to the purpose: When?
Nay, let me have 't; I long.

Leon.

Why, that was, when

Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death, Ere I could make thee open thy white hand,

And clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter,

I am yours for ever.

Her.

It is Grace, indeed.

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.

(Giving her hand to Polixenes.) Leon. Too hot, too hot: (Aside.) To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods. 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; it 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?

Mam.
Leon.

Ay, my good lord.

I' fecks?

Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast smutch'd thy

nose 7

They say, it's 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.-Still virginalling

(Observing Polirenes and Hermione.)

Upon his palm-How now, you wanton calf?
Art thou my calf?

Mam.

Yes, if you will, my lord.

Leon. 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 any thing: 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 pave,
Look on me with your welkin eye: Sweet villain!
Most dear'st! my collop!-Can thy dam ?-may 't be?
Affection! thy intention stabs the centre:
Thou dost make possible, things not so held,
Communicatest with dreams ;-(How can this be?)
With what's unreal thou coactive art,

And fellow'st nothing: Then 'tis very credent,

Thou may'st co-join with something; and thou dost; (And that beyond commission; and I find it,) And that to the infection of my brains,

And hardening of my brows.

Pol.

What means Sicilia?

How, my lord?

Her. He something seems unsettled.
Pol.

What cheer? how is 't with you, best brother?"
Her.

As if you held a brow of much distraction:
Are you moved, my lord?

You look,

Leon.
No, in good earnest,-
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 quash, this gentleman.- Mine honest friend,
Will you take eggs for money?

Mam. No, my lord, I'll fight.

[My brother,

Leon You will? why, happy man be his dole!-

Are you so fond of your young prince, as we
Do seem to be of ours?

Pol.
If at home, sir,
He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter:
Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy;
My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all;
He makes a July's day short as December;
And, with his varying childness, cures in me
Thoughts that would thick my blood.

Leon.
So stands this squire
Officed with me: We two will walk, my lord,
And leave you to your graver steps.-Hermione,
How thou lovest us, shew 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.

Her.

If you would seek us,

We are yours i' the garden: Shall's attend you there? Leon. To your own bents dispose you you'll be found,

Be you beneath the sky.-I am angling now,
Though you perceive me not how I give line.
Go to, go to!

(Aside. Observing Polirenes and Hermione.) How she holds up the neb, the bill to him! And arms her with the boldness of a wife

To her allowing husband! Gone already;

Inch-thick, knee-deep; o'er head and ears a fork'd one. [Exeunt Polixenes, Hermione, and Attendants.

[been,

Go, play, boy, play-thy mother plays, and I
Play too; but so disgraced a part, whose issue
Will hiss me to my grave; contempt and clamour
Will be my knell.-Go, play, boy, play. There have
Or I am much deceived, cuckolds ere now;
And many a man there is, even at this present,
Now, while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm,
That little thinks she has been sluiced in 's absence,
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by
Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay, there's comfort in 't,,
Whiles other men have gates; and those gates open'd,
As mine, against their will: Should all despair
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
Would hang themselves. Physic for 't there is none;
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike

Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think it,
From east, west, north, and south: Be it concluded,
No barricado for a belly; know it;
It will let in and out the enemy,

With bag and baggage: many a thousand of us
Have the disease, and feel 't not.-How now, boy?
Mam. I am like you, they say.
Leon.

What! Camillo there?

Way, that's some comfort.

Cam. Av, my good lord.

Leon. Go play, Mamillius; thou 'rt an honest man.[Exit Mamillius.

Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.

Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold: When you cast out, it still came home.

Leon. Didst note it? Cam. He would not stay at your petitions; made His business more material.

Leon.
Didst perceive it ?-
They 're here with me already; whispering, rounding,
Sicilia is a so-forth; 'Tis far gone,

When I shall gust it last.-How came 't, Camillo,
That he did stay?

Cam.

At the good queen's entreaty.
Leon. At the queen's, be 't: good, should be per
But so it is, it is not. Was this taken

By any understanding pate but thine?
For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in

[tinent:

More than the common blocks.-Not noted, is 't,
But of the finer natures? by some severals,
Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes,
Perchance, are to this business purblind; say.

Cam. Business, my lord? I think, most understand Bohemia stays here longer.

Leon.

Cam.

Leon. Ay, but why?

Ha?

Stays here longer.

Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties Of our most gracious mistress.

Satisfy

Leon.
The entreaties of your mistress?satisfy ?-
Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,
With all the nearest things to my heart, as well
My chamber-councils: wherein, priest-like, thou
Hast cleansed my bosom; I from thee departed
Thy penitent reform'd: but we have been
Deceived in thy integrity, deceived

In that which scems so.

Cam.

Be it forbid, my lord!

Leon. To bide upon 't,-Thou art not honest; or, If thou inclinest that way, thou art a coward; Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining

From course required: Or else thou must be counted
A servant, grafted in my serious trust,

And therein negligent; or else a fool,

That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn, And takest it all for jest.

Cam.

My gracious lord,

I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful;

In every one of these no man is free,

But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
Amongst the infinite doings of the world,
Sometimes puts forth: In your affairs, my lord,
If ever I were wilful-negligent,

It was my folly; if industriously

I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,
Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful
To do a thing, where I the issue doubted,
Whereof the execution did cry out

Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear
Which oft affects the wisest: these, my lord,
Are such allow'd infirmities, that honesty
Is never free of. But, 'beseech your grace,
Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass
By its own visage: if I then deny it,

Tis none of mine.

Leon.

Have not you seen, Camillo,
(But that's past doubt-you have, or your eye-glass
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn,) or heard,
(For, to a vision so apparent, rumour

Cannot be mute,) or thought, (for cogitation
Resides not in that man, that does not think it,)
My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess,

(Or else be impudently negative,

To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then say,
My wife's a hobbyhorse; deserves a name

As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to

Before her troth-plight; say it, and justify it.
Cam. I would not be a stander-by, to hear
My sovereign mistress clouded so, without
My present vengeance taken: 'Shrew my heart,
You never spoke what did become you less
Than this; which to reiterate, were sin
As deep as that, though true.

Leon.
Is whispering nothing?
Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses?
Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career
Of laughter with a sigh? (a note infallible
Of breaking honesty :) horsing foot on foot ?
Skulking in corners ? wishing clocks more swift?