The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (book suggestions TXT) 📖

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’ th’ 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, and 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 th’ 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 hath revolted wives, the tenth of mankind Would hang themselves. Physic for’t there’s none; It is a bawdy planet, that will strike Where ‘tis predominant; and ‘tis pow’rfull, think it, From east, west, 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 thousand on’s Have the disease, and feel’t not. How now, boy!

MAMILLIUS. I am like you, they say.

LEONTES. Why, that’s some comfort.

What! Camillo there?

CAMILLO. Ay, my good lord.

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. Didst note it?

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

LEONTES. Didst perceive it?

[Aside] They’re here with me already; whisp’ring, rounding, ‘Sicilia is a so-forth.’ ‘Tis far gone When I shall gust it last.- How came’t, Camillo, That he did stay?

CAMILLO. At the good Queen’s entreaty.

LEONTES. ‘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

Th’ entreaties of your mistress! Satisfy!

Let that suffice. I have trusted thee, Camillo, With all the nearest things to my heart, as well My chamber-councils, wherein, priest-like, thou Hast cleans’d my bosom-I from thee departed Thy penitent reform’d; but we have been Deceiv’d in thy integrity, deceiv’d

In that which seems so.

CAMILLO. Be it forbid, my lord!

LEONTES. To bide upon’t: thou art not honest; or, If thou inclin’st that way, thou art a coward, Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining From course requir’d; or else thou must be counted A servant grafted in my serious trust, And therein negligent; or else a fool That seest a game play’d home, the rich stake drawn, And tak’st it all for jest.

CAMILLO. My gracious lord,

I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful: In every one of these no man is free

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 wilfull-negligent,

It was my folly; if industriously

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, ‘twas a fear Which oft infects the wisest. These, my lord, Are such allow’d infirmities that honesty Is never free of. But, beseech your Grace, Be plainer with me; let me know my trespass By its own visage; if I then deny it, ‘Tis none of mine.

LEONTES. Ha’ not you seen, Camillo—

But that’s past doubt; you have, or your eye-glass Is thicker than a cuckold’s horn-or heard-For to a vision so apparent rumour

Cannot be mute-or thought-for cogitation Resides not in that man that does not think-My wife is slippery? If thou wilt confessOr else be impudently negative,

To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought-then say My wife’s a hobbyhorse, deserves a name As rank as any flax-wench that puts to Before her troth-plight. Say’t and justify’t.

CAMILLO. I would not be a stander-by to hear My sovereign mistress clouded so, without My present vengeance taken. Shrew my heart!

You never spoke what did become you less Than this; which to reiterate were sin As deep as that, though true.

LEONTES. Is whispering nothing?

Is leaning cheek to cheek? Is meeting noses?

Kissing with inside lip? Stopping the career Of laughter with a sigh?- a note infallible Of breaking honesty. Horsing foot on foot?

Skulking in corners? Wishing clocks more swift; 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; My is nothing; nor nothing have these nothings, If this be nothing.

CAMILLO. Good my lord, be cur’d

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

LEONTES. Say it be, ‘tis true.

CAMILLO. No, no, my lord.

LEONTES. 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.

CAMILLO. Who does her?

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

Had servants 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. Ay, and thou, His cupbearer-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.

CAMILLO. 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 poison. But I cannot Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, So sovereignly being honourable.

I have lov’d thee—

LEONTES. 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’ th’ 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?

CAMILLO. I must believe you, sir.

I do; and will fetch off Bohemia for’t; Provided that, when he’s remov’d, your Highness Will take again your queen as yours at first, Even for your son’s sake; and thereby for sealing The injury of tongues in courts and kingdoms Known and allied to yours.

LEONTES. Thou dost advise me

Even so as I mine own course have set down.

I’ll give no blemish to her honour, none.

CAMILLO. My lord,

Go then; and with a countenance as clear As friendship wears at feasts, keep with Bohemia And with your queen. I am his cupbearer; If from me he have wholesome beverage, Account me not your servant.

LEONTES. This is all:

Do’t, and thou hast the one half of my heart; Do’t not, thou split’st thine own.

CAMILLO. I’ll do’t, my lord.

LEONTES. I will seem friendly, as thou hast advis’d me. Exit CAMILLO. O miserable lady! But, for me, What case stand I in? I must be the poisoner Of good Polixenes; and my ground to do’t Is the obedience to a master; one

Who, in rebellion with himself, will have All that are his so too. To do this deed, Promotion follows. If I could find example Of thousands that had struck anointed kings And flourish’d after, I’d not do’t; but since Nor brass, nor stone, nor parchment, bears not one, Let villainy itself forswear’t. I must Forsake the court. To do’t, or no, is certain To me a break-neck. Happy star reign now!

Here comes Bohemia.

 

Enter POLIXENES

 

POLIXENES. This is strange. Methinks

My favour here begins to warp. Not speak?

Good day, Camillo.

CAMILLO. Hail, most royal sir!

POLIXENES. What is the news i’ th’ court?

CAMILLO. None rare, my lord.

POLIXENES. The King hath on him such a countenance As he had lost some 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, speeds from me; So leaves me to consider what is breeding That changes thus his manners.

CAMILLO. I dare not know, my lord.

POLIXENES. 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 say you dare not. Good Camillo, Your chang’d complexions are to me a mirror Which shows me mine chang’d too; for I must be A party in this alteration, finding

Myself thus alter’d with’t.

CAMILLO. There is a sickness

Which puts some of us in distemper; but I cannot name the disease; and it is caught Of you that yet are well.

POLIXENES. How! caught of me?

Make me not sighted like the basilisk; I have look’d on thousands who have sped the better By my regard, but kill’d none so. Camillo-As you are certainly a gentleman; thereto Clerk-like experienc’d, which no less adorns Our gentry than our parents’ noble names, In whose success we are gentle-I beseech you, If you know aught which does behove my knowledge Thereof to be inform’d, imprison’t not In ignorant concealment.

CAMILLO. I may not answer.

POLIXENES. A sickness caught of me, and yet I well?

I must be answer’d. Dost thou hear, Camillo?

I conjure thee, by all the parts of man Which honour does acknowledge, whereof the least Is not this suit of mine, that thou declare What incidency thou dost guess of harm Is creeping toward me; how far off, how near; Which way to be prevented, if to be;

If not, how best to bear it.

CAMILLO. Sir, I will tell you;

Since I am charg’d in honour, and by him That I think honourable. Therefore mark my counsel, Which must be ev’n as swiftly followed as