Look on me with your welkin eye. Sweet villain! Most dearest! my collop!-can thy dam!-May't be? Affection! thy intention stabs the centre;
Thou dost make possible, things not so held; Communicat'st with dreams;-(How can this be?) With what's unreal thou coactive art,
And fellow'st nothing. Then, 'tis very credent. Thou mayst conjoin 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.
Her. He something seems unsettled. Pol.
What cheer? How is't with you, best brother?
As if you held a brow of much distraction. Are you moved, my lord?
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, methought I did recoil Twenty-three years; and saw myself unbreeched, 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?
Mam. No, my lord, I'll fight.
Leon. 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 thick my blood.
So stands this squire Officed with me. We two will walk, my lord, And leave you to your graver steps.-Hermione, How thou lov'st us, show in our brother's welcome;
Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap.
Next to thyself, and my young rover's, he's Apparent to my heart.
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 POLIXENES 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 forked one. [Exeunt POL., HER., and Attendants. 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 clamor Will be my knell.-Go, play, boy, play.-There have been, 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 his absence, And his pond fished by his next neighbor, by Sir Smile, his neighbor. Nay, there's comfort in't, Whiles other men have gates; and those gates opened, 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.
What! Camillo there?
Cam. Ay, my good lord.
Why, that's some comfort.
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.
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 80-forth. 'Tis far gone,
When I shall gust it last.-How came't, Camillo, That he did stay?
At the good queen's entreaty. Leon. 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.
Cam. To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties Of our most gracious mistress.
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, priestlike, thou Hast cleansed my bosom; I from thee departed Thy penitent reformed; but we have been Deceived in thy integrity, deceived
Cam. Be it forbid, my lord! Leon. To bide upon't: Thou art not honest; or, If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward; Which boxes 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 played 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 of the world,
Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my lord, If ever I were wilful-negligent,
It was my folly; if industriously
I played 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 allowed 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,
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, rumor
Cannot be mute,) or thought,-(for cogitation Resides not in that man, that does not think,)- 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 hobby-horse; deserves a name As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to Before a 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? Hours, minutes? 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.
Of this diseased opinion, and betimes;
For 'tis most dangerous.
Cam. No, no, my lord. Leon.
I say, thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee; Pronounce thee a gross lout, 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.
Leon. Why, he that wears her like his medal, hanging About his neck, Bohemia. Who-if I
Had servants true about me, that bare eyes
To see alike mine honor as their profits,
Their own particular thrifts,-they would do that Which should undo more doing. Ay, and thou, His cupbearer,-whom I from meaner form
Have benched, and reared to worship; who mayst see Plainly, as heaven sees earth, and earth sees heaven, How I am galled,-mightst bespice a cup,
To give mine enemy a lasting wink;
Which draught to me were cordial.
I could do this; and that with no rash potion, But with a lingering dram, that should not work Maliciously like poison. But I cannot Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, So sovereignly being honorable.
Make't thy question, and go rot!
Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled,
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?
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?
I must believe you, sir. I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for't; Provided, that when he's removed, your highness Will take again your queen, as yours at first;
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