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 injuriously
I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful To do a thing, where I the iffue doubted, Whereof the execution did cry out Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear Which oft infects the wifeft: thefe, my lord, Are fuch allow'd infirmities, that honesty Is never free of. But, 'befeech your grace, Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass By its own vifage: if I then deny it, 'Tis none of mine.
Leo. Ha' not you feen, Camillo,
(But that's past doubt: you have, or your eyeglass Is thicker than a cuckold's horn) or heard, (For to a vifion fo apparent, rumour
Cannot be mute) or thought, (for cogitation Refides not in that man, that does not think't) My wife is flippery? if thou wilt, confefs, (Or elfe 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 her troth-plight: fay't, and justify't. Cam. I would not be a ftander-by, to hear My fovereign mistress clouded fo, without My prefent vengeance taken; 'fhrew my heart, You never fpoke what did become you lefs Than this, which to reiterate, were fin As deep as that, though true.
Leo. Is whifpering nothing?
Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses? Kiffing with infide lip? ftopping the career
Of laughter with a figh? (a note infallible Of breaking honefty :) horfing foot on foot? Skulking in corners? wifhing clocks more fwift? Hours, minutes? the noon, midnight? and all eyes Blind with the pin and web, but theirs; theirs only, That would unfeen be wicked? is this nothing?
Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing; The covering sky is nothing, Bithynia nothing; My wife is nothing, nor nothing have these nothings, If this be nothing.
Cam. Good my lord, be cur'd
Of this difeas'd opinion, and betimes, For 'tis most dangerous.
Leo. Say, it be; 'tis true.
Cam. No, no, my lord.
Leo. It is; you lie, you lie:
I fay, thou lieft, Camillo, and I hate thee, Pronounce thee a gross lout, a mindless slave, Or else a hovering temporizer, that
Canft with thine eyes at once fee good and evil, Inclining to them both: were my wife's liver Infected, as her life, fhe would not live The running of one glass.
Cam. Who does infect her?
Leo. Why, he that wears her like her medal, hanging About his neck, Bithynia; who, if I
Had fervants true about me, that bear eyes
To see alike mine honour, as their profits,
Their own particular thrifts; they would do that Which fhould undo more doing: ay, and thou
His cupbearer, whom I from meaner form
Have bench'd, and rear'd to worship, who may'ft see Plainly, as heav'n fees earth, and earth fees heav'n, How I am gall'd, thou might'ft bespice a cup, To give mine enemy a lafting wink;
Which draught to me were cordial.
I could do this, and that with no rash potion,
But with a ling'ring dram, that should not work, Like a malicious poifon': but I cannot Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, So fovereignly being honourable,
Leo. Make that thy question, and go rot: Doft think I am fo muddy, fo unfettled, To appoint myself in this vexation? fully The purity and whiteness of my sheets, Which to preserve, is fleep; which being spotted, Is goads, and thorns, nettles, and tails of wafps: Give scandal to the blood o'th' prince, my son, Who, I do think, is mine, and love as mine; Without ripe moving to't would I do this? Could man fo blench?
Cam. I must believe you, fir;
I do, and will fetch off Bithynia for't: Provided, that, when he's remov'd, your highness Will take again your queen, as yours at first, Even for your fon's fake, and thereby for fealing The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms Known and ally'd to yours.
Leo. Thou doft advise me,
Even fo as I mine own courfe have fet 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 feafts, keep with Bithynia, And with your queen: I am his cupbearer; If from me he have wholesome beveridge, Account me not your fervant.
Do't, and thou haft the one half of my heart; Do't not, thou fplit'ft thine own.
Leo. I will feem friendly, as thou haft advis'd me. Cam. O miferable lady! but, for me,
What cafe ftand I in? I must be the poisoner Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do't Is the obedience to a mafter, one,
Who, in rebellion with himself, will have` All that are his, fo 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 fince Nor brass, nor ftone, nor parchment bears not one, Let villany itself forfwear't. I must
Forfake the court; to do't, or no, is certain To me a break-neck. Happy ftar, reign now! Here comes Bithynia.
Pol. This is ftrange! methinks,
My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?
Good day, Camillo !
Cam. Hail, most royal fir!
Pol. What is the news i'th' court?
Cam. None rare, my lord.
Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance, As he had loft fome province, and a region Lov'd, as he loves himself: even now I met him With customary compliment, when he, Wafting his eyes to th' contrary, and falling A lip of much contempt, speeds from me, and So leaves me to confider what is breeding, ' That changes thus his manners.
Pol. How! dare not? dare not? you do know, and dare not Be intelligent to me: 'tis thereabouts:
For to yourself, what you do know, you must, And cannot fay, you dare not. Good Camillo, Your chang'd complexions are to me a mirror, Which shows me mine chang'd too; for I must be in this alteration, finding
Myself thus alter'd with it.
Cam. There is a fickness
Which puts fome of us in diftemper; but
I cannot name the disease: and it is caught
you that yet are well.
Pol. How caught of me?
Make me not fighted like the bafilifk.
I've look'd on thousands, who have fped the better By my regard, but kill'd none fo: Camillo,
As you are certainly a gentleman,
Clerk-like experienc'd, (which no less adorns Our gentry, than our parents' noble names,
In whofe fuccefs we are gentle) I befeech 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 fickness caught of me, and yet I well? I must be anfwer'd. Doft thou hear, Camillo,
I conjure thee by all the parts of man,
Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least
Is not this fuit of mine, that thou declare
What incidency thou doft guess of harm
Is creeping towards me; how far off, how near, Which way to be prevented, if to be;
If not, how best to bear it.
Cam. Sir, I'll tell you,
Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him
* Success here is to be underflood in the fame fenfe as Succeffion..
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