Without ripe moving to't? would I do this? Cam. I must believe you, Sir; I do, and will fetch off Bohemia for't: Leo. Thou dost advise me, Even fo as I mine own courfe have fet down: Go then; and with a countenance as clear Leo. This is all; Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart; Cam. I'll do't, my Lord. Leo. I will feem friendly, as thou haft advis'd me [Exit. Cam. O miferable Lady! but for me, What cafe ftand I in? I inuft be the poifoner Who, in rebellion with himself, will have Forfake the court; to do't, or no, is certain To me a break-neck. Happy ftar, reign now! Enter Polixenes.. Pol. This is ftrange! methinks, My Not speak? My favour here begins to warp. Cam. Hail, most royal Sir! Pol. What is the news i'th' court? Cam. None rare, my Lord. Pol. The King hath on him fuch a countenance, Cam. I dare not know, my Lord. Pol. How, dare not? do not? do you know, and dare not? Be inteligent to me, 'tis thereabouts: For to yourfelf, 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 Myfelf thus alter'd with it. Cam. There is a fickness Which puts fome of us in diftemper; but Pol. How caught of me? Make me not fighted like the bafilik. I've look'd on thousands, who have sped the better As you are certainly a gentleman, Clerk-like experienc'd, (which no lefs adorns Our gentry, than our parents' noble names, If In ignorant concealment. Cam. I may not answer. Pol. A ficknefs caught of me, and yet I well? I I must be anfwer'd. Doft thou hear, Camillo, I conjure thee by all the parts of man, Which honour does acknowledge, (whereof the least Es creeping towards me; how far off, how near; Cam. Sir, I'll tell you, Since I am charg'd in honour, and by him I mean to utter it; or both yourself and me Pol. On, good Camillo. Cam. I am appointed him to murder you. Cam. By the King.. Pol. For what? Cam. 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 toucht his Queen Pol. Oh, then my beft blood turn To an infected gelly, and my name A favour, that may ftrike the dulleft noftril Cam. Swear this though over (7) By each particular ftar in heaven, and (7) Cam. Swear his thought over Forbid By each particular for in heaven, &c.] The tranfpofition of a fingle letter reconciles this paffage to good fenfe; which is not fo, as the text ftands in all the printed copies. Polixenes, in the preceding speech, had been laying the deepeft imprecations on himself, if he had ever abus'd Leontes in any familiarity with the Queen. To which Camillo very pertinently replies: Steear this though over, &c. Forbid the fea for to obey the moon, Pol. How fhould this grow? Cam. I know not; but, I'm fure, 'tis fafer to Avoid what's grown, than queftion how 'tis born. If therefore you dare truft my honefty, That lies inclofed in this trunk, which you Have utter'd truth; which if you feek to prove, Pol. I do believe thee; I faw his heart in's face. Give me thy hand; Still neighbour mine. My fhips are ready, and Is for a precious creature; as she's rare, Fear o'er-fhades me: Good expedition be my friend, and comfort i. e. Sir, though you should proteft your innocence never so often, and call every ftar and faint in heaven to witnefs to your adjurition; yet jealoufy is fo rooted in my master's bofom, that all you can fay and fwear will have no force to remove it. I I will refpect thee as a father, if Thou bear'ft my life off hence. Let us avoid. T ACT II. SCENE, the Palace. Enter Hermione, Mamillius, and Ladies. HERMIONE. AKE the boy to you; he fo troubles me, 1 Lady. Come, my gracious Lord. Shall I be your play-fellow ? Mam. No, I'll none of you. 1 Lady. Why, my fweet Lord? Mam. You'll kiss me hard, and speak to me as if I were a baby ftill; I love you better. 2 Lady. And why fo, my Lord? Mam. Not for because Your brows are blacker; (yet black brows, they say, 2 Lady. Who taught you this? Mam. I learn'd it out of women's faces: pray now, What colour be your eye-brows ? 1 Lady. Blue, my Lord. Mam. Nay, that's a mock: I've feen a Lady's nofe That has been blue, but not her eye-brows. 1 Lady. Hark ye, The Queen, your mother, rounds apace: we fhall One of thefe days; and then you'll wanton with us, |