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 fo difgrace'd a part, whofe iffuel
Will hifs 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 fpeak this, holds his wife by th' arm,
That little thinks fhe has been fluice'd in's abfence ;
And his pond fifh'd by his next neighbour, by
Sir Smile his neighbour; nay, there's comfort in't,
Whiles other men have gates, and thofe gates open'd,
As mine, against their will. Should all defpair
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind:
Would hang themfelves. Phyfic for't, there is none.
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike

Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful: think it*.
Many a thousand of's have the difeafe, and feel't not.
How now, boy?

Mam. I am like you they fay. Leo. Why, that's fome comfort. What! Camillo there?

Cam. Ay, my good Lord.

Leo. Go play, Mamillius

SCENE

thou'rt an honest man.

[Exit Mamillius.'

Camillo, this Great Sir will yet stay longer.

Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold

When you caft out, it ftill came home.

Leo. Did'ft not it?

Cam. He would not ftay at your petitions made ; His bufinefs more material.

Leo. Didft perceive it?

think it.

From east, weft north, and fouth, be it concluded,

No barricado for a belly, Know t,

It wi let in and out the enemy,

With bag and baggage,

Many a thousand,

}་་

They're

They're here with me already; whifp'ring, rounding ti Sicilia is a fo-forth 'tis far gone,

When I fhall guft it last. How cam't, Camillo,

That he did ftay?

Cam. At the good Queen's intreaty.

Leo. At the Queen's be't: good, fhould be pertinent; But fo it is, it is not. Was this taken

By any understanding pate but thine?
For thy conceit is foaking, will draw in
More than the common blocks; not noted, is't
But of the finer natures? by fome feverals
Of head-piece extraordinary; lower meffes,
Perchance, are to this business purblind? fay..

Cam. Bufinefs, my Lord? I think most understand Bithynia ftays here longer.

Leo. Ha?

Gam. Stays here longer.

Leo. Ay, but why?

Cam. To fatisfy your Highness, and th' intreaties A Of our most gracious mistress.

Leo. Satisfy

Th' intreaties of your mistress? fatisfy?

Let that fuffice. I've trufted thee, Camillo,

With all the things nearest my heart; as well
My chamber-counfels, wherein, prieft-like, thou
Haft cleans'd my bofom. I from thee departed
Thy penitent reform'd; but we have been
Deceiv'd in thy integrity; deceiv'd

In that which feems fo.

Cam. Be it forbid, my

Lord

Leo. To bide upon't.- -Thou art not honeft; or, If thou inclin'ft that way, thou art a coward, Which boxes honefty behind, restraining

From courfe requir'd: or else thou must be counted

A fervant grafted in my serious trust,

And therein negligent; or elfe a fool,

That feeft a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn, And tak'ft it all for jeft.

Cam. My gracious Lord,

I may be negligent, foolish and fearful.

In ev'ry one of these no man is free,

* i, e. rounding in the ear; a phrafe in ufe at that time,thaari

But that his negligence, his folly, fear,

Among the infinite doings of the world,
Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my Lord,
If ever I were wilful negligent,

It was my folly: if induftriously

I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,
Not weighing well the end: if ever fearful
To do a thing, where I the iffue doubted,
Whereof the execution did cry out

Against the non-performance, twas a fear
Which oft infects the wifeft. Thefe, my Lord,
Are fuch allow'd infirmities, that honesty.
Is never free of. But, 'befeech your Grace,
Be plainer with me, let me know my trespass
By its own vifage; if I then deny it,

'Tis none of mine.

Leo. Ha' not you feen, Camillo,

(But that's past doubt you have; or your eye-glafs
Is thicker than a cuckold's horns), or heard,
(For to a vifion fo apparent, rumour

Cannot be mute), or thought, (for cogitation
Refides not in that man that does not think it),
My wife is flippery? if thou wilt, confefs;
(Or elfe be impudently negative,

To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought), then say,
My wife's a hobby-horse, deferves a name
As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to
Before her troth-plight: fay't and juftify't..
Cam. I would not be a ftander-by, to hear
My fovereign Mistress clouded so, without
My prefent vengeance taken; 'fhrew my heart,
You never spoke what did become you lefs
Than this; which to reiterate, were fin
As deep as that, tho' true.

Leo. Is whispering nothing?

Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting nofes?
Kifling with infide lip? ftopping the career
Of laughter with a figh? (a note infallible
Of breaking honefty); horfing foot and foot?
Sculking in corners withing clocks more swift?
Hours, minutes? the moon, midnight, and all eyes-
Blind with the pin and web, but theirs; theirs only,

That

That would, unfeen, be wicked? Is this nothing? Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing. The covering fky is nothing, Bithynia nothing;

My wife is nothing; nor nothing have thefe nothings, If this be nothing.

Cam. Good my Lord, be cur'd

Of this diseas'd opinion, and betimes;
For 'tis molt dangerous."

Leo. Say it be, 'tis true.

Cam. No, no, my Lord.

Leo. It is; you lye, you lye.

I fay thou lyeft, Camillo, and I hate thee;
Pronounce thee a grofs lowt, a mindless slave,
Or else a hovering temporizer, that

Canft with thine eyes at once fee good and evil,
Inclining to them both; were my wife's liver
Infected as her life, fhe would not live

The running of one glafs.

Cam. Who do's infect her?

Leo. Why he that wears her like his medal, hanging About his neck; Bithynia,

who, if I

Had fervants true about me, that bare cyės

To fee alike mine honour, às their profits,
Their own particular thrifts, they would do that
Which fhould undo more doing: I, and thou
His cup-bearer, (whom I from meaner form
Have bench'd, and rear'd to worship; who may'st fee
Plainly, as heav'n fees earth, and earth fees heav'n,
How I am gall'd); thou might'it be-fpice a cup,
To give mine enemy a lafting wink;

Which draught to me were cordial.

Cam. Sir, my Lord,

I could do this, and that with no rafh 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 fovereignly being honourable.

Les. I've lov'd thee.-Make't thy queftion, and go

[rot:

Do't think I am fo muddy, fo unfettled,

To appoint myfelf in this vexation? Sully
The purity and whiteness of my fheets,

(Which to preserve iş fleep; which being fpotted,

Is

Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wafps):
Give fcandal to the blood o' th' Prince, my fon,
Who, I do think, is mine, and love as mine,
Without ripe moving to't 2. would I do this!
Could man fo blench?

Cam. I must believe you, Sir;

I do, and will fetch off Bithynia fort:
Provided, that, when he's remov'd, your highnefs
Will take again your Queen, as your's at firft,
Even for your fon's fake, and thereby for fealing
The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms
Known and allay'd to your's.

Leo. Thou dost advife me,

Even fo as I mine own courfe have fet 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 feats, keep with Bithynia,
And with your Queen. I am his cup-bearer;
If from me he have wholesome beveridge,
Account me not your fervant.

Leo. This is all;

Do't, and thou haft the one half of my heart
Do't not, thou split'ft thine own.

Cam. I'll do't, my Lord.

Leo. I will feem friendly, as thou haft advis'd me.

Cam. O miferable Lady! but, for me,
What cafe ftand I in?. I must be the poifoner
Of good Polixenes, and my ground to do't
Is the obedience to a mafter; one,
Who, in rebellion with himself, will have
All that are his fo too. To do this deed,
Promotion follows. If I could find example
Of thousands, that had ftruck anointed kings,
And flourish'd after, I'd not do't; but fince

[Exit.

Nor brafs, nor ftone, nor parchment, bears not one; Let villany itfelfforfwear't, I must

Forfake the court; to do't or no, is certain

To me a break-neck, Happy ftar reign now!
Here comes Bithynia.

SCENE