What! have I twice said well? when was 't before?
I prithee 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 heat an acre. But to the goal:
My last good deed was to entreat his stay:
What was my first? it has an elder sister,

Or I mistake you: Oh, would her name were Grace!
But once before I spoke to the purpose: when?
Nay, let me have 't; I long.

LEONTES.

Why, that was when

Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death,

Ere I could make thee open thy white hand,

And clap thyself my love: then didst thou utter

'I am yours for ever.'

HERMIONE.

'Tis Grace indeed.

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

The other for some while a friend. LEONTES.(Aside.)

X

Too hot, too hot!

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; '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 'twere

The mort o' the deer; Oh, that is entertainment
My bosom likes not, nor my brows!-Mamillius.
Art thou my boy?

MAMILLIUS.

LEONTES.

Ay, my good lord.

I' fecks!

Why that's my bawcock. What, hast smutch'd thy nose? 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 virginalling

Upon his palm!-How now, you wanton calf!

Art thou my calf?

MAMILLIUS.

LEONTES.

Yes, if you will, my lord.

Thou want'st a rough pash 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 anything: but were they false
As o'er dy'd 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 'tis very credent

Thou mayst 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.

POLIXENES.

HERMIONE.

What means Sicilia?

He something seems unsettled.

POLIXENES.

How, my lord!

You look

What cheer? how is 't with you, best brother? HERMIONE.

As if you held a brow of much distraction:
Are you mov'd, my lord?
LEONTES.

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, methoughts I did recoil
Twenty-three years, and saw myself unbreech'd,
my green velvet coat, my dagger muzzled
Lest it should bite its master, and so prove,

In

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?

MAMILLIUS.

No, my lord, I'll fight.

LEONTES.

You will? why, happy man be's dole!-My brother,
Are you so fond of your young prince, as we

Do seem to be of ours?

POLIXENES.

If at home, sir,

He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter:
Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy;
My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all:
He makes a July's day short as December;
And with his varying childness cures in me
Thoughts that would thick my blood.
LEONTES.

So stands this squire.

Offic'd with me: we two will walk, my lord,

And leave you to your graver steps.-Hermione,

How thou lov'st us, show in our brother's welcome;
Let what is dear in Sicily be cheap:

Next to thyself and my young rover, he's
Apparent to my heart.

HERMIONE.

If you would seek us,

We are yours i' the garden: shall's attend you there? LEONTES.

To your own bents dispose you: you'll be found,

Be you beneath the sky. (Aside.) I am angling now, Though you perceive me not how I give line.

Go to, go to!

How she holds up the neb, the bill to him!

And arms her with the boldness of a wife

To her allowing husband!

(Exeunt Polixenes, Hermione, & Attendants.) Gone already!

Inch-thick, knee-deep, o'er head and ears a fork'd one!— Go, play, boy, play: thy mother plays, and I

Play too; but so disgrac'd a part, whose issue

Will hiss me to my grave: contempt and clamour

Will be my knell. Go, play, boy, play.-There have been
Or I am much deceiv'd, cuckolds ere now;
And many a man there is, even at this present,
Now, while I speak this, holds his wife by the arm,
That little thinks she has been sluic'd in 's absence
And his pond fish'd by his next neighbour, by
Sir Smile, his neighbour: nay, there's comfort in 't,
Whiles other men have gates and those gates open'd,
As mine, against their will. Should all despair
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
Would hang themselves. Physic for 't there is none;
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike

Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful, think it,
From east, west, north and south: be it concluded,
No barricado for a belly; know 't:

With bag and baggage: many thousand on 's Have the disease, and feel 't not.-How now, boy! MAMILLIUS.

I am like you, they say. LEONTES.

What, Camillo there?

CAMILLO.
Ay, my good lord.

Why, that's some comfort.

LEONTES.

Go play, Mamillius; thou 'rt an honest man.

(Exit Mamillius.

Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer.
CAMILLO.

You had much ado to make his anchor hold:
When you cast out, it still came home.

LEONTES.

CAMILLO.

Didst note it?

He would not stay at your petitions; made
His business more material.

LEONTES.

(Aside.)

Didst perceive it!

They're here with me already; whispering, rounding 'Sicilia is a so-forth:' 'tis far gone,

When I shall gust it last.-How came 't, Camillo,
That he did stay?

CAMILLO.

LEONTES.

At the good queen's entreaty.

At the queen's be 't: 'good' should be pertinent;
But, so it is, it is not. Was this taken

By any understanding pate but thine?

For thy conceit is soaking, will draw in

More than the common blocks: not noted, is 't,
But of the finer natures? by some severals
Of head-piece extraordinary? lower messes
Perchance are to this business purblind? say.
CAMILLO.

'Business,' my lord! I think most understand
Bohemia stays here longer.

LEONTES.

Ha!

CAMILLO.

Stays here longer.

LEONTES.

Ay, but why?

CAMILLO.

To satisfy your highness, and the entreaties
Of our most gracious mistress.

LEONTES.

'Satisfy'!