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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 thofe gates open'd,
As mine, against their will. Should all despair,
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
Would hang themselves. Phyfick for't, there is none:
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike

Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful,

From east, weft, north, and south. Be it concluded,
No barricado for a belly. Know't,

It will let in and out the enemy,

With bag and baggage; many a thousand of's
Have the disease, and feel't not.-How now, boy?

MAM. I am like you, they say.

LEO. Why, that's fome comfort. What is Camillo there?

CAM. Ay, my good lord,

LEO. Go play, Mamillius.-Thou'rt an honest man :

SCENE III.

Camillo, this great Sir will yet stay longer.

[Exit Mamil.

CAM. You had much ado to make his anchor hold;

When you caft out, it ftill came home.

LEO. Didft note it?

CAM. He would not stay at your petitions made;

His bufinefs more material.

LEO. Didft perceive it?

They're here with me already; whifpering, rounding:

Sicilia is a fo-forth; 'tis far gone,

When I fhall guft it laft. How came't, Camillo,

That he did ftay?

CAM, At the good queen's entreaty.

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 severals Of head-piece extraordinary; lower messes, Perchance, are to this business purblind? say.

CAM. Bufinefs, my lord? I think, most understand Bohemia stays here longer.

LEO. Ha?

CAM. Stays here longer.

LEO. Ay, but why?

CAM. To fatisfy your highness, and th' entreaties Of our most gracious mistress.

LEO. Satisfy

Th' entreaties of your mistress?-satisfy ?·
Let that fuffice. I've trufted thee, Camillo,
With all the things nearest my heart; as well
My chamber-councils, wherein, priest 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 seems fo.

CAM. Be it forbid, my lord

LEO. To bide upon't;- -Thou art not honest; or, If thou inclin'ft that way, thou art a coward; Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining

From course requir'd: or else thou must be counted A fervant grafted in my serious trust,

And therein negligent; or else a fool,

That feest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn,

And tak'ft it all for jeft.

CAM. My gracious lord,

1 may be negligent, foolish and fearful;
In every one of these no man is free,
But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
Amongst the infinite doings of the world,
Sometimes puts forth. In your affairs, my lord,
If ever I were wilful negligent,
It was my folly; if industriouffy

I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,
Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful,
To do a thing, where I the issue doubted,
Whereof the execution did cry out
Against the non-performance, 'was a fear
Which oft infects the wifeft: these, 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 visage; 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 horn) or heard,

(For to a vision so apparent, rumour

Cannot be mute) or thought, (for cogitation

Refides not in that man, that do's 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 fay
My wife's a hobby-horse, deferves a name
As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to
Before her troth plight: say't, and justify't.

CAM. I would not be a stander-by, to hear
My fovereign mistress clouded fo, 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?
Kiffing with infide lip? ftopping the career
Of laughter with a figh? (a note infallible
Of breaking honefty) horfing foot on foot?
Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift?
Hours, minutes? the noon, midnight? and all eyes
Blind with the pin and web, but theirs; theirs only,
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, Bohemia nothing;
My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings,
If this be nothing.

CAM. Good my lord, be cur'd

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

LEO. Say it be, 'tis true.

CAM. No, no, my lord.

LEO. It is; you lye, you lye:

I fay, thou lieft, Camillo, and I hate thee;
Pronounce thee a grofs lowt, a mindless flave,
Or elfe 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 glass.

CAM. Who does infect her?

LEO. Why he, that wears her like his medal, hanging About his neck; Bohemia,-who, if I

Had fervants true about me, that bare eyes

To see alike mine honour, as their profits,
Their own particular thrifts, they would do that
Which should 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 sec
Plainly, as heav'n fees earth, and earth sees heav'n,
How I am gall'd) thou might'st be-spice 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 rash potion,
But with a lingering dram, that should not work,
Maliciously, like poifon. But I cannot

Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress,

So fovereignly being honourable.

LEO. I've lov'd thee.- -Make't thy question, and go rot; Do'ft think, I am so muddy, fo unsettled,

To appoint myself in this vexation? Sully

The purity and whiteness of my fheets,

(Which to preserve, is fleep; which being spotted,
Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wafps :)
Give scandal to the blood o' th' prince, my fon,
Who, I do think, is mine, and love as mine,
Without ripe moving to't? would I do this?
Could man fo blench?

CAM. I muft believe you, Sir,

I do, and will fetch off Bohemia for't:

Provided, that, when he's remov'd, your highness

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