But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
Amongst 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 industrioufly
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 paft doubt you have; or your eye-glafs
Is thicker than a cuckold's horns), or heard,
(For to a vision so 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, deserves a name
As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to
Before her troth-plight: fay 't, and justify't.
Cam. I would not be a ftander-by, to hear
My fovereign Mistress clouded fo, without
My prefent vengeance taken; 'fhrew my heart,
You never fpoke what did become you lefs
Than this; which to reiterate, were fin
As deep as that, tho' true.
Leo. Is whifpering 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 and foot?
Sculking in corners? wifhing clocks more fwift?
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, Bithynia nothing;
My wife is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, If this be nothing.
Cam. Good my Lord, be cur'd
Of this difeas'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 lyeft, Camillo, and I hate thee;
Pronounce thee a grofs lowt, a mindless flave,
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 eyes To fee 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 'ft fee Plainly, as heav'n fees earth, and earth fees heav'n, How I am gall'd); thou might'ft 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 rash potion,
But with a ling'ring 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 queftion, and
Do'ft think I am fo muddy, fo unfettled,
To appoint myself in this vexation? Sully
The purity and whiteness of my sheets,
(Which to preferve is fleep; which being spotted,
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? would I do this!
Could man fo blench?
Cam. I muft believe you, Sir;
I do, and will fetch off Bithynia for 't:
Provided, that, when he's remov'd, your Highnes
Will take again your Queen, as your's at first,
Even for your fon's fake, and thereby for fealing
The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms
Known and ally'd to your's.
Leo. Thou doft advise me,
Even fo as I mine own course have fet down:
I'll give no blemish to her honour, none.
Go then; and with a countenance as clear
As friendship wears at feafts, keep with Bithynia,
And with your Queen. I am his cup-bearer;
If from me he have wholfome beveridge,
Account me not your fervant.
Do't, and thou haft the one half of my heart;
Do 't not, thou split 'it 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 poisoner 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
Nor brafs, nor ftone, nor parchment, bears not one;
Let villany itself forfwear't. I muft
Forfake the court; to do 't or no, is certain
To me a break-neck. Happy ftar reign now!
Here comes Bithynia,
Pol. This is ftrange! methinks
My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?-
Good day, Camillo.
Cam. Hail, Moft Royal Sir!
Pol. What is the news i' th' court?
Cam. None rare, my Lord.
Pol. The King hath on him fuch a countenance,
As he had loft fome province, and a region
Lov'd as he loves himself: even now I met him
With customary compliment, when he,
Wafting his eyes to th' contrary, and falling
A lip of much contempt, fpeeds from me, and
Se leaves me to confider what is breeding,
That changes thus his manners.
Cam. I dare not know, my Lord.
Pol. How, dare not? do not? do you know, and dare not?
Be intelligent to me, 'tis thereabouts :
For to yourself, what you do know, you must;
And cannot fay, you dare not. Good Camillo,
Your-chang'd complexions are to me a mirror,
Which fhews me mine chang'd too; for I must be
A party in this alteration, finding
Myfelf thus alter'd with it.
Cam. There is a fickness
Which puts fome of us in diftemper; but
I cannot name the disease, and it is caught
Of you that yet are well.
Pol. How caught it of me?
Make me not fighted like the bafilisk.
I've look'd on thousands, who have sped the better
By my regard, but kill'd none fo. Camillo,
As you are certainly a gentleman,
Clerk-like experienc'd, (which no less adorns
Our gentry, than our parents' noble names,
In whofe fuccefs* we are gentle), I befecch you,
If you know aught which does behove my knowledge
Thereof to be inform'd, imprifon 't not
In ignorant concealment.
Cam. I may not answer.
Pol. A ficknefs caught of me, and yet I well?
I must be anfwer'd. Doft thou hear, Camillo,
I conjure thee by all the parts of man,
Which honour does acknowledge, (whereof the leaft
Is not this fuit of mine), that thou declare,
What incidency thou doft guess of harm
Is creeping towards me; how far off, how near;
Which way to be prevented, if it be;
If not, how beft to bear it.
Cam. Sir, I'll tell you.
Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him
That I think honourable; therefore mark my
Which must be ev'n as swiftly follow'd as
I mean to utter it; or both yourself and me
Cry loft, and fo good night.
Pol. On, good Camillo.
Cam. I am appointed him to murder you.
Pol. By whom, Camillo ?
Cam. By the King.
Pol. For what?
Gam. He thinks, nay, with all confidence he fwears, As he had feen 't, or been an inftrument
To vice you to 't*, that you have touch'd his Queen Forbiddenly.
Pol. Oh, then, my best blood turn
To an infected gelly, and my name
Be yok'd with his that did betray the best!
Turn then my freshest reputation to
A favour that may ftrike the dullest noftril
Where I arrive; and my approach be fhunn'd,
Nay, hated too, worfe than the great'ft infection
That e'er was heard or read!
Cam. Swear this though over
By each particular ftar in heaven, and
By all their influences; you may as well
Forbid the fea for to obey the moon,
As or by oath remove, or counsel shake,
* i. e. to draw, perfuade you. The character called the Vice, in the old plays, was the Tempter to evil,
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