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It is a bawdy planet, that will strike Where't is predominant; and 't is 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!
Mam. I am like you, they say. Leon. Why, that's some comfort. What, Camillo there? Cam. Ay, my good lord.
Leon. Go play, Mamillius; thou 'rt an hon[Exeunt Mamillius.] Camillo, this great sir will yet stay longer. Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold.
When you cast out, it still came home.
His business more material.
Leon. Didst perceive it? [Aside.] They're here with me already, whispering, rounding, "Sicilia is a so-forth.' "T is far gone, When I shall gust it last. How came 't, Camillo, That he did stay?
At the good Queen's entreaty. Leon. At the Queen's be 't; "good" should be pertinent;
But, so it is, it is not. Was this taken
Bohemia stays here longer.
But of the finer natures? By some severals
Hast cleans'd my bosom, I from thee departed
If thou inclin'st that way, thou art a coward,
From course requir'd; or else thou must be counted
By its own visage. If I then deny it, "T is none of mine.
A servant grafted in my serious trust
That seest a game play'd home, the rich stake drawn,
And tak'st it all for jest.
It was my folly; if industriously
Ha' not you seen, Camillo, But that's past doubt, you have, or your eye
or heard, —
Is thicker than a cuckold's horn,
tion Resides not in that man that does not think, – My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confess, Or else be impudently negative,
To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then
My wife's a hobby-horse, deserves a name
Leon. Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek? Is meeting noses? Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career 286
Of laughter with a sigh? - a note infallible
Hours, minutes? noon, midnight? and all eyes Blind with the pin-and-web but theirs, theirs only, That would unseen be wicked? Is this nothing?
Why, then the world and all that's in 't is nothing;
The covering sky is nothing; Bohemia nothing;
Cam. No, no, my lord.
Say it be, 't is true.
It is; you lie, you lie! I 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, Inclining to them both. Were my wife's liver Infected as her life, she would not live The running of one glass.
Who does infect her? Leon. Why, he that wears her like her medal, hanging
About his neck, Bohemia; who, if I
Which should undo more doing; ay, and thou, His cup-bearer, - whom I from meaner form Have bench'd and rear'd to worship, who mayst see
Plainly as heaven sees earth and earth sees heaven,
How I am gall'd, mightst bespice a cup, 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 potion, But with a lingering dram that should not work
Maliciously like poison; but I cannot
Leon. Make that thy question, and go rot! Dost think I am so muddy, so unsettled, To appoint myself in this vexation, sully The purity and whiteness of my sheets, Which to preserve is sleep, which being spotted Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wasps, Give scandal to the blood o' the Prince my son, Who I do think is mine and love as mine, Without ripe moving to 't? Would I do this? Could man so blench?
Cam. I must believe you, sir; I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for 't; Provided that, when he 's removed, your High