I Cam. My gracious lord, may be negligent, foolish, and fearful; It was my folly; if industriously I played the fool, it was my negligence, Against the non-performance,' 'twas a fear '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, rumor Cannot be mute,) or thought,—(for cogitation To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then say, 1 This is expressed obscurely, but seems to mean "the execution of which (when done) cried out against the non-performance of it before." 2 Leontes means to say, "Have you not thought that my wife is slippery? (for cogitation resides not in the man that does not think my wife is slippery.") The four latter words, though disjoined from the word think by the necessity of a parenthesis, are evidently to be connected in con struction with it. You never spoke what did become you less 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, Cam. Good my lord, be cured Of this diseased opinion, and betimes; For 'tis most dangerous. I Leon. Cam. No, no, my lord. Leon. Say, it be; 'tis true. It is; you lie, you lie : 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, The running of one glass. Cam. Who does infect her? Leon. Why, he that wears her like his medal,3 hanging About his neck, Bohemia. Who-if I Had servants true about me, that bare eyes To see alike mine honor as their profits, Their own particular thrifts,-they would do that 1 The pin and web is the cataract in an early stage. 2 i. e. one hour. 3 The old copy reads, "her medal." Which should undo more doing. Ay, and thou, Have benched, and reared to worship; who mayst see 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 rash 2 potion, I have loved thee, Leon. Make't thy question, and go rot!3 Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled, To appoint myself in this vexation? sully Which to preserve, is sleep; which being spotted, Cam. I must believe you, sir. Provided, that when he's removed, your highness 1 "Bespice a cup." So in Chapman's Translation of the tenth book of the Odyssey:— She'll first receive thee; but will spice thy bread With flowery poisons.” 2 Rash is hasty; as in King Henry IV. Part II. "rash gunpowder." Maliciously is malignantly, with effects openly hurtful. 3 Make that, i. e. Hermione's disloyalty, which is a clear point, a subject of doubt, and go rot! Dost think I am such a fool as to torment myself, and bring disgrace on me and my child, without sufficient grounds? 4 Something is necessary to complete the verse. Hanmer reads:"Is goads and thorns, nettles and tails of wasps." 5 To blench is to start off, to shrink. Even for your son's sake; and thereby, for sealing Leon. Thou dost advise me, Even so as I mine own course have set down. I'll give no blemish to her honor, none. Cam. My lord, 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 splittest thine own. Cam. I'll do't, my lord. Leon. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advised me. Cam. O miserable lady-But, for me, [Exit. What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner Forsake the court: to do't, or no, is certain To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now! Pol. Enter POLIXENES. This is strange! Methinks My favor here begins to warp. Not speak? Good-day, Camillo. Cam. Pol. What is the news i'the court? Cam. Hail, most royal sir! None rare, my lord. Pol. The king hath on him such a countenance, Cam. I dare not know, my lord. and dare not Do not. Do you know, Be intelligent to me? 'Tis thereabouts; Cam. 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 looked on thousands, who have sped the better By my regard, but killed none so. Camillo, As you are certainly a gentleman; thereto Clerk-like, experienced, which no less adorns In whose success we are gentle,'-I beseech you, In ignorant concealment. Cam. I may not answer. Pol. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well! I must be answered.-Dost thou hear, Camillo, I conjure thee, by all the parts of man, Which honor does acknowledge,-whereof the least 1 Success, for succession. Gentle, well born, was opposed to simple. |