'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 hobby-horse; 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 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.

Cam

Good my lord, be cur'd

Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes;

For 'tis most dangerous.

Leon.

Cam. No, no, my lord.
Leon.

Say, it be; 'tis true.

lie:

It is; you lie, you

(1) Disorders of the eye.

I 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.1

Cam.

Who does infect her?

Leon. Why he, that wears her like her medal, 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 galled,-might'st bespice 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 rash2 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.

I have lov'd thee,

Leon.
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;

(1) Hour-glass.

(2) Hasty.

(3) Maliciously, with effects openly hurtful.

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 allied to yours.

Leon.

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 cupbearer;

If from me he have wholesome beverage,
Account me not your servant.

Leon.

This is all:

Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart;
Do't not, thou splitt'st thine own.

Cam.
I'll do't, my lord.
Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis'd

me.

[Exit. 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.

(1) i. e. Could any man so start off from propriety?

Enter Polixenes.

Pol.

This is strange! methinks,

My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?-
Good-day, Camillo.

Cam.

Hail, 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.
Pot. How dare not? do not.

and dare not

Do you know,

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 shows me mine chang'd too: for I must be A party in this alteration, finding

Myself thus alter'd with it.

Căm.

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 on thousands, who have sped the better
By my regard, but kill'd none so. Camillo,-
As you are certainly a gentleman; thereto
Clerk-like, experienc'd, which no less adorns
Our gentry, than our parents' noble names,
In whose success! we are gentle,2-I beseech you,
(1) For succession.

(2) Gentle was opposed to simple; well born.

If you know aught which does behove my know

ledge

Thereof to be inform'd, imprison it 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 conjure 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'll 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 appointed Him to murder you.1 Pol. By whom, Camillo ?

Cam.

Pol.

By the king.

For what?

Cam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he

swears,

As he had seen't, or been an instrument

To vice2 you to't,--that you have touch'd his queen Forbiddenly.

Pol.

O, then my best blood turn
To an infected jelly; and my name
Be yok'd with his, that did betray the best!
Turn then my freshest reputation to
A savour, that may strike the dullest nostril

(1) i. e. I am the person appointed, &c.
(2) Draw.