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

Offic'd 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, 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 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 fork'd

one.

[Exeunt POLIXENES, HERMIONE, 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;
have been,

Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now;

There

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;
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,

How now, boy?

With bag and baggage: many a thousand of us
Have the disease, and feel't not.
Mam. I am like you, they say.
Leon. Why, that's some comfort.
What! Camillo there?

Cam. Ay, 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.

They're here with me already; whispering, rounding, Sicilia is a so-forth: 'Tis far gone,

When I shall gust it last.

That he did stay?

How cam't, Camillo,

Cam. At the good Queen's entreaty.

Leon. At the Queen's, be't: good, should be per

tinent;

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.

Leon. Ha?

Cam. Stays here longer.
Leon. Ay, but why?

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

Leon. Satisfy

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 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?

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 requir'd: 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 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; 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 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 cheeck to cheek? is meeting noses?
Kissing whith 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.

Cam. Good my Lord, be cur'd

Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes;
For 'tis most dangerous.

Leon. Say, it be; 'tis true.

Cam. No, no, my Lord.

Leon. It is; you lie, you lie:

I say, thou liest Camillo, and I hate thee;
Pronounce thee a gross lou, 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?

Leon. Why he, that wears her like her medal, hanging About his neck, Bohemia: Who,

if I

Hand 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 galled, might'st bespice a cup,

To give mine enemy a lasting wink;
Which draught to me were cordial.