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By it's own visage: if I then deny it,

'T is 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 confess,
Or else be impudently negative,

To have nor eyes nor ears nor thought, then say
My wife's a hobby-horse; 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 laughing 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 wife 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 't is most dangerous.

Leontes.

Say it be, 't is true.

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1

Camillo. No, no, my lord.

Leontes.

It is; you lie,

you

I say thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee,
Pronounce thee a gross fout, 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.

lie:

Who does infect 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 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 galled,―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 lingering 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,

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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?

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 cup-bearer;
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.

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

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[Exit.

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Nor brass nor stone nor parchment bears not one,

Let villany 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.

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Polixenes.

Re-enter 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' the 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 the contrary and falling
A lip of much contempt, speeds from me and
So leaves me to consider what is breeding
That changeth thus his manners.

Camillo. I dare not know, my lord.
Polixenes. How! dare not!-do not?

dare not

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Do you know, and

Be intelligent to me? 't is 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.

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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!
Dost thou hear, Camillo,

I must be answer'd.

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 even as swiftly follow'd as

I mean to utter it, or both yourself and me
Cry lost, and so good night!

Polixenes.
On, good Camillo.
Camillo. I am appointed him to murther you.

Polixenes. By whom, Camillo?

Camillo.

Polixenes.

By the king.

For what?

Camillo. He thinks,

nks, nay, with all confidence he swears,

As he had seen 't or been an instrument

To vice you to 't,—that you have touch'd his queen
Forbiddenly.

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