To bear the matter thus; mere weakness, if
The cause were not in being;-part o'the cause,
She, the adultress;-for the harlot king

Is quite beyond mine arm, out of the blank
And level of my brain 21, plot-proof: but she
I can hook to me: Say, that she were gone,
Given to the fire, a moiety of my rest
Might come to me again.-Who's there?
1 Atten.
My lord?

Leon. How does the boy?

1 Atten.

[advancing.

He took good rest to-night;

To see,

'Tis hop'd, his sickness is discharg'd.

Leon.

His nobleness!

Conceiving the dishonour of his mother,
He straight declin'd, droop'd, took it deeply;
Fasten'd and fix'd the shame on't in himself;
Threw off his spirit, his appetite, his sleep,

And down-right languish'd.-Leave me solely: go,
See how he fares. [Exit Attend.]-Fie, fie! no thought

of him ;

The very thought of my revenges that way
Recoil upon me: in himself too mighty;
And in his parties, his alliance,-Let him be,
Until a time may serve: for present vengeance,
Take it on her. Camillo and Polixenes

Laugh at me; make their pastime at my sorrow:
They should not laugh, if I could reach them; nor
Shall she, within my power.

1 Lord.

Enter PAULINA, with a Child.

You must not enter.

Paul. Nay, rather, good my lords, be second to

me:

Fear you his tyrannous passion more, alas,

Than the queen's life? a gracious innocent soul;
More free, than he is jealous.

Ant.

That's enough.

1 Atten. Madam, he hath not slept to-night; com

manded

None should come at him.

Paul.

Not so hot, good sir;

I come to bring him sleep. 'Tis such as you,-
That creep like shadows by him, and do sigh
At each his needless heavings-such as you
Nourish the cause of his awaking: I

Do come with words as med'cinal as true;

Honest, as either; to purge him of that humour
That presses him from sleep.

Leon.

What noise there, ho?

Paul. No noise, my lord; but needful conference,

About some gossips for your highness.

Leon.

How?

Away with that audacious lady: Antigonus,

I charg'd thee, that she should not come about me;

On your displeasure's peril, and on mine,

She should not visit you.

VOL. V.

Leon.

What, canst not rule her?

Paul. From all dishonesty, he can: in this, (Unless he take the course that you have done, Commit me, for committing honour,) trust it, He shall not rule me.

Ant.

Lo you now; you hear!

When she will take the rein, I let her run;

But she'll not stumble.

Paul.

Good my liege, I come,

And, I beseech you, hear me, who profess
Myself your loyal servant, your physician,
Your most obedient counsellor; yet that dare
Less appear so, in comforting your evils,
Than such as most seem yours:-I say, I come
From your good queen.

Leon.

Good queen?

Paul. Good queen, my lord, good queen: I say,

good queen;

And would by combat make her good, so were I
A man, the worst about you 22.

Leon.

Force her hence.

Paul. Let him, that makes but trifles of his eyes, First hand me: on mine own accord, I'll off; But, first, I'll do my errand.-The good queen, For she is good, hath brought you forth a daughter; Here 'tis; commends it to your blessing.

Leon.

[Laying down the child. Out!

A mankind witch! Hence with her, out o' door: A most intelligencing bawd!

Paul.

Not so:

I am as ignorant in that, as you

In so entitling me: and no less honest

Than you are mad; which is enough, I'll warrant, As this world goes, to pass for honest.

Traitors!

Leon.
Will you not push her out? Give her the bastard:-
Thou, dotard, [To Antigonus,] thou art woman-
tir'd 23, unroosted

By thy dame Partlet here,-take up the bastard;
Take't up, I say: give't to thy crone.

Paul.

Unvenerable be thy hands, if thou

For ever

Take'st up the princess, by that forced baseness 24
Which he has put upon't!

Leon.

He dreads his wife.

Paul. So, I would, you did; then, 'twere past all doubt,

You'd call

your children yours.

Leon.

A nest of traitors!

Nor I; nor any,

Ant. I am none, by this good light.
Paul.

But one, that's here; and that's himself: for he

The sacred honour of himself, his queen's,

His hopeful son's, his babe's, betrays to slander,
Whose sting is sharper than the sword's; and will not
(For, as the case now stands, it is a curse
He cannot be compell'd to't,) once remove
The root of his opinion, which is rotten,
As ever oak, or stone, was sound.

Leon.

A callat,

Of boundless tongue; who late hath beat her hus

band,

And now baits me!-That brat is none of mine;

It is the issue of Polixenes:

Hence with it; and, together with the dam,
Commit them to the fire.

And, might we lay the old proverb to your charge,
So like you, 'tis the worse.-Behold, my lords,
Although the print be little, the whole matter
And copy of the father: eye, nose, lip,

The trick of his frown, his forehead; nay the valley,
The pretty dimples of his chin, and cheek: his smiles;
The very mould and frame of hand, nail, finger:-
And thou, good goddess nature, which hast made it
So like to him that got it, if thou hast

The ordering of the mind too, 'mongst all colours No yellow in't 25; lest she suspect, as he does, Her children not her husband's!

Leon.

And, lozel, thou art worthy to be hang'd,

A gross hag!