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hands, as over a vast, and embraced, as it were, from the ends of opposed winds. The heavens continue their loves!

Arch. I think, there is not in the world either malice, or matter, to alter it. You have an unspeakable comfort of your young prince Mamillius: it is a gentleman of the greatest promise that ever came into my note.

Cam. I very well agree with you in the hopes of him. It is a gallant child; one that, indeed, physics the subject, makes old hearts fresh: they, that went on crutches ere he was born, desire yet their life to see him a man.

Arch. Would they else be content to die?

Cam. Yes; if there were no other excuse why they should desire to live.

Arch. If the king had no son they would desire to live on crutches till he had one.

SCENE II.-The Same.


A Room of State in the



Pol. Nine changes of the watery star have been
The shepherd's note, since we have left our throne
Without a burden: time as long again

Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks;
And yet we should for perpetuity

Go hence in debt and therefore, like a cipher,
Yet standing in rich place, I multiply

With one we-thank-you many thousands more
That go before it.


Stay your thanks awhile,

Sir, that's to-morrow.

And pay them when you part.


I am question'd by my fears, of what may chance,

Or breed upon our absence: may there1 blow

No sneaping2 winds at home, to make us say,

"This is put forth too early"." Besides, I have stay'd To tire your royalty.


We are tougher, brother,

Than you can put us to 't.

No longer stay.

3 truly in £ e.

1 that may in f. e. 2 Nipping.

Leon. One seven-night longer.


Very sooth, to-morrow. Leon. We'll part the time between's then; and in that

I'll no gain-saying.

Pol. Press me not, beseech you. There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the world, So soon as yours, could win me so it should now, Were there necessity in your request, although 'T were needful I denied it. My affairs Do even drag me homeward; which to hinder, Were in your love a whip to me, my stay To you a charge, and trouble: to save both, Farewell, our brother.


Tongue-tied, our queen? speak you.
Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace, until
You had drawn oaths from him, not to stay. You, sir,
Charge him too coldly: tell him, you are sure
All in Bohemia 's well: this satisfaction

The by-gone day proclaim'd. Say this to him,
He's beat from his best ward.


Well said, Hermione. [He walks apart.' 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 POLIXENES.] I'll ad-
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 gest2

Prefix'd for 's parting; yet, good deed, Leontes,
I love thee not a jar o' the clock behind
What lady should her lord. You'll stay?

Her. Nay, but you will?


Her. Verily!

No, madam.

I may not, verily.

You put me off with limber vows; but I,

Though you would seek t' 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,

1 Not in f. e. 2 Period; a word derived from the French, giste.

3 Indeed.

4 A tick.

VOL. III.-28

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.


Your guest then, madam:

To be your prisoner should import offending;
Which is for me less easy to commit,

Than you to punish.


Not your jailor, then,

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

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 twinn'd lambs, that did frisk i' the


And bleat the one at th' other: what we chang'd,
Was innocence for innocence; we knew not

The doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd

That any did. Had we pursued that life,

And our weak spirits ne'er been higher rear'd

With stronger blood, we should have answer'd heaven Boldly "not guilty;" the imposition clear'd,

Hereditary ours.


By this we gather,

You have tripp'd since.


O! my most sacred lady, Temptations have since then been born to 's; for In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl: Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes Of my young play-fellow.


Grace to boot!

Of this make no conclusion, lest you say,
Your queen and I are devils: yet, go on;

Th' offences we have made you do, we 'll answer;
If you first sinn'd with us, and that with us
You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not
With any, but with us.


Is he won yet? [Coming forward.1

Her. He'll stay, my lord.

1 Not in f. e.

[blocks in formation]

Never, but once.

Her. What? have I twice said well? when was 't


I pr'ythee, tell me. Cram's with praise, and make's
As fat as tame things: one good deed, dying tongueless,
Slaughters a thousand waiting upon that.

Our praises are our wages: you may ride's
With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs, ere
With spur we clear1 an acre.

But to the good3

My last good deed 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.


Why, that was when

Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death, Ere I could make thee open thy white hand,

And clap3 thyself my love: then didst thou utter "I am yours for ever."


It is Grace, indeed.—

Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice: The one for ever earn'd a royal husband,

Th' other for some while a friend.

[Giving her hand to POLIXENES. Too hot, too hot! [Aside.

Leon. 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's fertile bosom, And well become the agent: 't may, I grant; But to be paddling palms, and pinching fingers, As now they are; and making practis'd smiles, As in a looking-glass ;-and then to sigh, as 't were The mort o' the deer; O! that is entertainment My bosom likes not, nor my brows.—Mamillius, Art thou my boy?

1 heat in f. e. 2 goal: in f. e. 3 To clap, or join hands, was part of the betrothal. 4 from bounty, fertile &c.: in f. e. 5 The long blast sounded at the death of the deer.



Ay, my good lord.

I' fecks?

Why, that's my bawcock.' What! hast smutch'd thy


They say, it is 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 call'd neat.-Still virginalling2


Upon his palm ?-How now, you wanton calf :
Art thou my calf?


Yes, if you will, my lord.

Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash,3 and the shoots

that I have,

To be full 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 our dead3 blacks, as wind, as waters; false
As dice are to be wish'd, 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 your welkin' eye: sweet villain!
Most dear'st! 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, 't is very credent, Thou may'st co-join 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.


What means Sicilia ?

How, my lord!

Her. He something seems unsettled.

1 Supposed to be derived from beau coq. 2 Playing with her fingers, as on a virginal, which was an oblong musical instrument, played with keys, like a piano. 3 Head. Fully. 5 o'er-dyed in f. e. 6 Blue, like the sky. This passage is usually pointed, with a period before affection--which thus commences a sentence-it has the sense, taken in connection with this reading, of imagination-intention, that of intensity. The punctuation of the text is that of the old copies. The passage (to the end of the speech) is crossed out by the MS. emendator of the folio of 1632. 8 to the (of the heart).

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