The by-gone day proclaimed; say this to him,
He's beat from his best ward.
Leon.

Well said, Hermione.
Her. To tell he longs to see his son, were strong:
But let him say so then, and let him go;
But let him swear so, and he shall not stay ;
We'll thwack him hence with distaffs.
Yet of your royal presence [To Pol.] I'll adventure
The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia
You take my lord, I'll give him my commission,
To let him there a month, behind the gest
Prefixed for his parting; yet, good deed, Leontes,
I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind
What lady she her lord.-You'll stay? ?
Pol.

No, madam. Her. Nay, but you

will ? Pol.

I may not, verily. Her. Verily! You put me off with limber vows; but I, Though you would seek to unsphere the stars with

oaths,
Should yet say, Sir, no going. Verily,
You shall not go; a lady's verily is
As potent as a lord's. Will you go yet?
Force me to keep you as a prisoner,
Not like a guest: so you shall pay your fees,
When you depart, and save your thanks. How say

you?
My prisoner, or my guest? By your dread verily,
One of them you shall be.
Pol.

Your guest, then, madam:
To be your prisoner, should import offending;
Which is for me less easy to commit,
Than you to punish.
Her.

Not

But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you
Of my lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys ;
You were pretty lordings then.
Pol.

We were, fair queen,
Two lads that thought there was no more behind,
But such a day to-morrow as to-day,
And to be boy eternal.
Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o’the two?

? Pol. We were as twinned lambs, that did frisk

i'the sun,

And bleat the one at the other. What we changed, Was innocence for innocence; we knew not

2
The doctrine of ill doing, nor dreamed
That any did. Had we pursued that life,
And our weak spirits ne'er been higher reared
With stronger blood, we should have answered Heaven
Boldly, Not Guilty; the imposition cleared,
Hereditary ours.
Her.

By this we gather,
You have tripped since.
Pol.

O, my most sacred lady,
Temptations have since then been born to us; for
In those unfledged days was my wife a girl ;
Your precious self had then not crossed the eyes
Of my young play-fellow.
Her.

Grace to boot ! 2
Of this make no conclusion ; lest you say,
Your queen and I are devils. Yet, go on;
The offences we have made you do, we'll answer;
If you first sinned with us, and that with us
You did continue fault, and that you slipped not
With any but with us.
Leon.

Is he won yet?
Her. He'll stay, my lord. .
Leon.

At my request he would not.
Hermione, my dearest, thou never spok'st
To better purpose.

Her.

Never? Leon.

Never, but once. Her. What? have I twice said well? When was't

before? I pr’ythee, tell me. Cram us with praise, and make us As fat as tame things; one good deed, dying tongueless, Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon that. . Our praises are our wages: you may ride us, With one soft kiss, a thousand furlongs, ere With spur we heat an acre. But to the goal. My last good was, to entreat his stay; What was my first? It has an elder sister, Or I mistake you. O, would her name were Grace! But once before I spoke to the purpose. When? Nay, let me have't; I long. Leon.

Why, that was when
Three crabbed months had soured themselves to death,
Ere I could make thee open thy white hand,
And clap? thyself my love; then didst thou utter,
I am yours forever.
Her.

It is
grace,

indeed. Why, lo

you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice. . The one forever earned a royal husband; The other, for some while, a friend.

[Giving her hand to POLIXENES. Leon.

Too hot, too hot. [Aside. To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods. I have tremor cordis on me;—my heart dances; But not for joy,—not joy. This entertainment May a free face put on; derive a liberty From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bosom, And well become the agent. It may, I grant: But to be paddling palms, and pinching fingers,

2

1 At entering into any contract, or plighting of troth, this clapping of hands together set the seal. Numerous instances of allusion to the custom have been adduced by the editors; one shall suffice, from the old play of Ram Alley: “ Come, clap hands, a match.” The custom is not yet disused in common life.

“ from bounty, fertile bosom." Malone thinks that a letter has been omitted, and that we should read

2

a

3

As now they are; and making practised smiles,
As in a looking-glass ;—and then to sigh, as 'twere
The mort o' the deer;' 0, that is entertainment
My bosom likes not, nor my brows.—Mamillius,
Art thou my boy?
Mam.

Ay, my good lord.
Leon.

I'fecks? Why, that's my bawcock. What, hast smutched thy

nose?

-
They say, it's a copy out of mine. Come, captain,
We must be neat! not neat, but cleanly, captain ;
And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf,
Are all called neat.-Still virginalling?

Observing POLIXENES and HERMIONE.
Upon his palm?—How now, you wanton calf ?
Art thou

my

calf? Mam. Yes, if

lord. Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash, and the shoots

thąt I have,
To be fulls like me : yet, they say, we are
Almost as like as eggs; women say so,
That will say any thing. But were they false
As o'er-dyed blacks, as wind, as waters; false
As dice are to be wished, by one that fixes
No bourn 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true
To say this boy were like me.-Come, sir page,
Look on me with

you will,

will, my

6

2

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. Pol.

What means Sicilia ?
Her. He something seems unsettled.
Pol.

How, my lord ?
What cheer? How is't with

you,

best brother? Her.

You look
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 ? 5

Mam. No, my lord, I'll fight.

1