Pol.
Nine changes14Q0449 of the watry star have been ^note
The shepherd's note, since we have left our throne
Without a burthen: time as long again
Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks;
And yet we should, for perpetuity,
Go hence in debt: And therefore, like a cypher,
Yet standing in rich place, I multiply,
With one we-thank-you, many thousands more
That go before it.

Leo.
Stay your thanks a while;
And pay them when you part.

Pol.
Sir, that's to-morrow.
I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance
Or breed upon our absence; there may blow
Some sneaping ^note winds at home, to make us say,
This is put forth too tardily: ^note Besides,
I have stay'd to tire your royalty.

Leo.
We are tougher, brother,
Than you can put us to't.

Pol.
No longer stay.

Leo.
One sev'n-night longer.

Pol.
Very sooth, to-morrow.

Leo.
We'll part the time between's then; and in that
I'll no gain-saying.

Pol.
Press me not so, 'beseech you: ^note
There is no tongue that moves; none, none i'the world ^note,
So soon as yours, could win me: so it should now, were there

Necessity in your request, although
'Twere needful I deny'd it. 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,
Farewel, our brother.

Leo.
Tongue-ty'd, our queen? speak you.

Her.
I had thought, sir, to have held my peace, until
You had drawn oaths from him, not to stay. 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.

Leo.
Well said, Hermione.

Her.
To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong:
But let him say so then, and let him go;
But let him swear so, and he shall not stay,
We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.—
Yet of your royal presence [to Pol.] I'll adventure
The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia14Q0450
You take my lord, I'll give you my ^note commission,
To let him there a month, behind the gist ^note
Prefix'd for his parting:—yet, good deed ^note, Leontes,
I love thee not a jar o'the clock behind
What lady she her lord.—You'll stay?

Pol.
No, madam.

Her.
Nay, but you will.

Pol.
I may not, verily.

Her.
Verily!
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. Verily,

You shall not go; a lady's verily is
As potent as a lord's. 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?
My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread verily,
One of them you shall be.

Pol.
Your guest then, madam:
To be your prisoner, should import offending;
Which is for me less easy to commit,
Than you to punish.

Her.
Not your jailer then,
But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you
Of my lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys;
You were pretty lordings then.

Pol.
We were, fair queen,
Two lads, that thought there was no more behind,
But such a day to-morrow as to-day,
And to be boy eternal.

Her.
Was not my lord
The verier wag o'the two?

Pol.
We were as twin'd lambs, that did frisk i'the sun,
And bleat the one at the other: what we chang'd,
Was innocence for innocence; we knew not
The doctrine of ill-doing, no, ^note nor dream'd
That any did: Had we pursu'd that life,
And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd
With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven
Boldly, Not guilty; th'imposition clear'd,
Hereditary ours.

Her.
By this we gather,
You have tript since.

Pol.
O my most sacred lady,
Temptations have since then been born to us: for
In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl;
Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes
Of my young play-fellow.

Her.
Grace to boot!14Q0451
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 sin'd with us, and that with us
You did continue fault, and that you slip'd not
With any but with us.

Leo.
Is he won yet?

Her.
He'll stay, my lord.

&clquo;Leo.
&clquo;At my request, he would not.&crquo;—
Hermione, my dear'st, thou never spok'st
To better purpose.

Her.
Never?

Leo.
Never, but once.

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 deed 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.

Leo.
Why, that was when

Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death,
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand,
And clepe ^{note note} 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 Pol.

&clquo;Leo.
&clquo;Too hot, too hot:&crquo; [observing them.
&clquo;To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods.&crquo;
&clquo;I have tremor cordis on me: my heart dances;&crquo;
&clquo;But not for joy, not joy. This entertainment&crquo;
&clquo;May a free face put on; derive ^note a liberty&crquo;
&clquo;From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom,&crquo;
&clquo;And well ^note become the agent: 't may, I grant:&crquo;
&clquo;But to be padling palms, and pinching fingers,&crquo;
&clquo;As now they are; and making practis'd smiles,&crquo;
&clquo;As in a looking-glass; and then to sigh, as 'twere&crquo;
&clquo;The mort o'the deer; o, that is entertainment,&crquo;
&clquo;My bosom likes not, nor my brows.&crquo;—Mamillius,
Art thou my boy?

Mam.
Ay, my good lord.

Leo.
I'fecks?
Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast smutch'd thy nose?—
They say, it is a copy out of mine.—
Come, captain, [pulling the Boy to him, and wiping him.
We must be neat; not neat, but ^note cleanly, captain:
And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf,
Are all call'd, neat.—&clquo;Still virginalling&crquo;
&clquo;Upon his palm?&crquo;—How now, you wanton calf?
Art thou my calf?

Mam.
Yes, if you will, my lord.

Leo.
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-dy'd blacks, as wind, ^note 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 ^note me.—Come, sir page,
Look on me with your welkin eye: Sweet villain!
Most dear'st! my collop!—Can thy dam? may't be?
Affection, thy intention stabs to the center:14Q0452
Thou dost make possible things not so ^note held,
Communicat'st with dreams,—How can this be?—
With what's unreal; thou coactive ^note 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 hard'ning of my brows.

Pol.
What means Sicilia?

Her.
He something seems unsettl'd.

Pol.
Now, my lord?
What ^note cheer? how is't with you, best brother?

Her.
You look,
As if you held a brow of much distraction:
Are you mov'd, my lord?

Leo.
No, in good earnest, no.—
&clquo;How sometimes nature will betray it's folly,&crquo;
&clquo;It's tenderness; and make itself a pastime&crquo;
&clquo;To harder bosoms!&crquo;—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 muzzl'd,
Lest it should bite it's master, and so prove,
As ornament ^note oft does, too dangerous.
How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,
This squash, this gentleman:—Mine honest friend,
Will you take eggs for money?

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

Leo.
You will? why, happy man be his dole!—My brother,
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 ^note thick my blood.

Leo.
So stands this squire
Offic'd with me: We two will walk, my lord,
And leave you to your graver steps.—Hermione,
How thou lov'st 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?

Leo.
To your own bents dispose you:—&clquo;you'll be found&crquo;
&clquo;Be you beneath the sky: I am angling now,&crquo;
&clquo;Though you perceive me not how I give line.&crquo;
&clquo;Go to, go to!&crquo; [eying them, as they go out.
&clquo;How she holds up the neb, the bill to him!&crquo;
&clquo;And arms her with the boldness of a wife&crquo;

&clquo;To her allowing husband! Gone already;&crquo;
&clquo;Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd one.&crquo;— [Exeunt Queen, Polixenes, and Attendants.
Go, play, boy, play:—thy mother plays, and I
Play too; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue
Will hiss me to my grave; contempt and clamour
Will be my knell.—Go, play, boy, play.—There have been,
Or I am much deceiv'd, 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 sluic'd in his 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. Physick for't, there is none;14Q0453
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't;
It will let in and out the enemy,
With bag and baggage: many thousand on's
Have the disease, and feel't not.—How now, boy?

Mam.
I am like you, they ^note say.

Leo.
Why, that's some comfort.—
What, is Camillo there?

Cam.
Ay, my good lord.

Leo.
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 ^note hold;

When you cast out, it still came home.

Leo.
Did'st note it?

Cam.
He would not stay at your petitions; made
His business more material.

Leo.
Did'st perceive it?—
They're here with me already; whisp'ring, 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.

Leo.
At the queen's, be't: good, should be pertinent;
But so it is, it is not. Was this taken
By any understanding pate but thine?—
For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in
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.

Leo.
Ha?

Cam.
Bohemia stays here longer.

Leo.
Ay, but why?

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

Leo.
Satisfy
The entreaties of your mistress? satisfy?
Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo,
With all the nearest things to my heart, ^note as well
My chamber councils: wherein, priest like, thou
Hast cleans'd my bosom; I from thee departed
Thy penitent reform'd; but we have been

Deceiv'd in thy integrity, deceiv'd
In that which seems so.

Cam.
Be it forbid, my lord!

Leo.
To bide upon't;—Thou art not honest: or,
If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward;
Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining
From course requir'd: Or else thou must be counted
A servant, grafted in my serious trust,
And therein negligent: or else a fool;
That seest ^note a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn,
And tak'st 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 ^note of the world,
Sometime puts forth: In your affairs, my lord,14Q0454
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 infects 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 it's own visage: if I then deny it,
'Tis none of mine.

Leo.
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't)
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 hoby-horse ^note; deserves a name
As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to
Before her troth-plight: say't, and justify't.

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.

Leo.
Is whisp'ring 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;
Hours, minutes; the ^note noon, midnight; and all eyes
Blind with the pin and web, but theirs, theirs only,
That would unseen be wicked? is this nothing?
Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing;
The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing;
My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings,
If this be nothing.

Cam.
Good my lord, be cur'd
Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes;
For 'tis most dangerous.

Leo.
Say, it be; 'tis true.

Cam.
No, no, my lord.

Leo.
It is; you lye, you lye:
I say, thou ly'st, Camillo, and I hate thee;
Pronounce thee a gross lowt, a mindless slave;
Or else a hovering temporizer, that
Canst with thine eyes at once see good and evil,
Inclining to them both: Were my wife's liver
Infected as her life, she would not live
The running of one glass.

Cam.
Who does infect her?

Leo.
Why, he, that wears her like his medal ^note, hanging
About his neck, Bohemia: Who,—if I
Had servants true about me; that bare eyes
To see alike mine honour as their profits,
Their own particular thrifts,—they would do that
Which should undo more doing: Ay, and thou,
His cup-bearer,—whom I, from meaner form,
Have bench'd and rear'd to worship; who may'st see
Plainly, as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven,
How I am gall'd,—thou ^note might'st be-spice a cup,
To give mine enemy a lasting wink;
Which draught to me were cordial.

Cam.
Sir, my lord,
I could do this; and that with no rash potion,
But with a ling'ring dram, that should not work
Maliciously, like poison: But I cannot
Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress,
So sovereignly being honourable,—

Leo.
Make that thy question, and go rot! I have lov'd thee,14Q0455
Dost think, I am so muddy, so unsettl'd,
To appoint myself in this vexation? sully

The purity and whiteness of my sheets,—
Which to preserve, is sleep; which being spotted,
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps? Or would I
Give scandal to the blood o'the prince my son,
Who, I do think, is mine, and love as mine,
Without ripe moving to't? Would I do this?
Could man so blench?

Cam.
I must believe you, sir;
I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't:
Provided, that, when he's remov'd, your highness
Will take again your queen, as yours at first;
Even for your son's sake; and, thereby, for sealing
The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms
Known and ally'd to yours.

Leo.
Thou dost advise me,
Even so as I mine own course have set down:
I'll give no blemish to her honour, none.

Cam.
My lord,
Go then; and with a countenance as clear
As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia,
And with your queen: I am his cup-bearer;
If from me he have wholesome beveridge,
Account me not your servant.

Leo.
This is all:
Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart;
Do't not, thou split'st thine own.

Cam.
I'll do't, my lord.

Leo.
I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me. [Exit Leontes.

Cam.
O miserable lady! But, for me,
What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner
Of good Polixenes: and my ground to do't

Is the obedience to a master; one,
Who, in rebellion with himself, will have
All that are his so too. To do this deed,
Promotion follows: If I could find example
Of thousands, that had struck anointed kings,
And flourish'd after, I'd not do't: but since
Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment bears not one,
Let villany itself forswear't. I must
Forsake the court: to do't, or no, is certain
To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now!
Here comes Bohemia. Enter Polixenes.

Pol.
This is strange! methinks,
My favour ^note here begins to warp. Not speak?—
Good day, Camillo.

Cam.
Hail ^note, most royal sir.

Pol.
What is the news i'the court?

Cam.
None rare, my lord.

Pol.
The king hath on him such a countenance,
As he had lost some province, and a region,
Lov'd as he loves himself: even now I met him
With customary compliment; when he,
Wafting his eyes to the contrary, and falling
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me; and
So leaves me, to consider what is breeding,
That changes thus his manners.

Cam.
I dare not know, my lord.

Pol.
How! dare not?14Q0456 do not. Do you know, and dare not
Be intelligent to me? 'Tis thereabouts:
For, to yourself, what you do know, you must;
And cannot say, you dare not. Good Camillo,
Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror,

Which shews me mine chang'd too: for I must be
A party in this alteration, finding
Myself thus alter'd with't.

Cam.
There is a sickness,
Which puts some of us in distemper; but
I cannot name the disease: and it is caught
Of you, that yet are well.

Pol.
How! caught of me?
Make me not sighted like the basilisk:
I have look'd ^note on thousands, who have sped the better
By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo,—
As you are, certain, gentleman ^note; thereto
Clerk-like, experienc'd, ^note which no less adorns
Our gentry, than our parents' noble names,
In whose success we are gentle,—I beseech you,
If you know aught which does behove my knowledge,
Thereof to be inform'd; imprison't not
In ignorant concealment.

Cam.
I may not answer.

Pol.
A sickness caught of me, and yet I well!
I must be answer'd.—Dost thou hear, Camillo;
I cónjure thee, by all the parts of man
Which honour does acknowledge,—whereof the least
Is not this suit of mine,—that thou declare
What incidency thou dost guess of harm
Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near;
Which way to be prevented, if to be;
If not, how best to bear it.

Cam.
Sir, I will tell you;
Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him
That I think honourable: Therefore, mark my counsel;
Which must be even as swiftly follow'd, as

I mean to utter it; or both yourself and me
Cry, lost, and so good night.

Pol.
On, good Camillo.

Cam.
I am ^note appointed, sir, to ^note murther you.

Pol.
By whom, Camillo?

Cam.
By the king.

Pol.
For what?

Cam.
He thinks, nay, with all confidence he swears,—
As he had seen't, or been an instrument
To vice you to't,—that you have touch'd his queen
Forbiddenly.

Pol.
O, then my best blood turn
To an infected gelly; and my name
Be yok'd with his, that did betray the best!
Turn then my freshest reputation to
A favour, that may strike the dullest nostril
Where I arrive; and my approach be shun'd,
Nay, hated too, worse than the great'st infection
That e'er was heard, or read!

Cam.
Swear his thought over ^note
By each particular star in heaven, and
By all their influences, you may as well
Forbid the sea for to obey the moon,
As or, by oath, remove, or, counsel, shake,
The fabrick of his folly; whose foundation
Is pil'd upon his faith, and will continue
The standing of his body.

Pol.
How should this grow?

Cam.
I know not: but, I am sure, 'tis safer to
Avoid what's grown, than question how 'tis born.
If therefore you dare trust my honesty,—
That lies enclosed in this trunk, which you

Shall bear along impawn'd,—away to night.
Your followers I will whisper to the business;
And will, by twoes, and threes, at several posterns,
Clear them o'the city: For myself, I'll put
My fortunes to your service, which are here
By this discovery lost. Be not uncertain;
For, by the honour of my parents, I
Have utter'd truth: which if you seek to prove,
I dare not stand by; nor shall you be safer
Than one condemn'd by the king's own mouth, thereon
His execution sworn.

Pol.
I do believe thee:
I saw his heart in his face. Give me thy hand;
Be pilot to me, and thy places shall
Still neighbour mine: My ships are ready, and
My people did expect my hence departure
Two days ago. This jealousy
Is for a precious creature: as she's rare,
Must it be great; and, as his person's mighty,
Must it be violent; and, as he does conceive
He is dishonour'd by a man which ever
Profess'd to him, why, his revenges must
In that be made more bitter. Fear o'er-shades me:
Good expedition be my friend! Heaven comfort ^note
The gracious queen! part of his theme, but nothing
Of his ill-ta'en suspicion. Come, Camillo;
I will respect thee as a father, if
Thou bear'st my life off hence: let us avoid.

Cam.
It is in mine authority, to command
The keys of all the posterns: Please your highness
To take the urgent hour: come, sir, away. [Exeunt.

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