SCENE II. The same. A room of state in the palace. Enter Leontes, Polixenes, Hermione, Mamillius, Camillo, and attendants. Pol. Nine changes of the wat❜ry star have been The shepherd's note, since we have left our throne Without a burden: time as long again Would be fill'd up, my brother, with our thanks: Go hence in debt: And therefore, like a cipher, With one we-thank-you, many thousands more Leon. Stay your thanks awhile; And pay them when you part. Pol. No sneaping winds at home, to make us say, Leon. We are tougher, brother, Leon. We'll part the time between's then: and in that I'll no gain-saying. Pol. Press me not, 'beseech you, so; There is no tongue that moves, none, none i' the world, * Nipping. So soon as yours, could win me: so it should now, Leon Tongue-tied, our queen? speak you. Her. I had thought, sir, to have held my peace, until You had drawn oaths from him, not to stay. You, Charge him too coldly: Tell him, you are sure, The by-gone day proclaim'd; say this to him, Leon. Well said, Hermione. Her. To tell, he longs to see his son, were strong: But let him say so then, and let him go; But let him swear so, and he shall not stay, We'll thwack him hence with distaffs. Yet of your royal presence [To Polixenes.] I'll ad venture The borrow of a week. When at Bohemia You take my lord, I'll give him my commission, You put me off with limber § vows: But I, Though you would seek to unsphere the stars with oaths, Gests were the names of the stages where the king appointed to lie, during a royal progress. + Indeed. Tick, § Flimsy. Should yet say, Sir, no going. Verily, Not like a guest; so you shall pay your fees, When you depart, and save your thanks. How say you? My prisoner? or my guest? by your dread verily, One of them you shall be. Pol. Your guest then, madam: To be your prisoner, should import offending; Than you to punish. Her. Not your gaoler then, But your kind hostess. Come, I'll question you Of my lord's tricks, and yours, when you were boys; You were pretty lordings* then. Pol. We were, fair queen, Two lads, that thought there was no more behind, But such a day to-morrow as to-day, And to be boy eternal. Her. Was not my lord the verier wag o' the two? Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs, that did frisk i’ the sun, And bleat the one at the other: what we chang'd, Hereditary ours t. Temptations have since then been born to us: for In those unfledg'd days was my wife a girl; A diminutive of lords. + Setting aside original sin. Your precious self had then not cross'd the eyes Her. Grace to boot! Of this make no conclusion; lest you say, You did continue fault, and that you slipp'd not Leon. "Is he won yet? Her. What? have I twice said well? when was't before? I pr'ythee, tell me: Cram us with praise, and make us As fat as tame things: One good deed, dying tongue. less, Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon that. Our praises are our wages: You may ride us, My last good was, to entreat his stay; What was my first ? it has an elder sister, Or I mistake you: 0, would her name were Grace! But once before I spoke to the purpose. When? Nay, let me hav't; I long. Leon. Why, that was when Three crabbed months had sour'd themselves to death, Ere I could make thee open thy white hand, And clap thyself my love; then didst thou utter, Her. It is Grace, indeed. Why, lo you now, I have spoke to the purpose twice: The one for ever earn'd a royal husband; The other, for some while a friend. [Giving her hand to Polixenes. Leon. Too hot, too hot: [Aside. To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods. Ay, my good lord. I'fecks? Why that's my bawcock. What, hast smutch'd thy nose →→→ They say, it's a copy out of mine. Come, captain. We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain: And yet the steer, the heifer, and the calf, Are all call'd, neat Still virginalling [Observing Polixenes and Hermione: Upon his palm? How now, you wanton calf? Art thou my calf? Мат. Yes, if you will, my lord. Leon. Thou want'st a rough pash, and the shoots that I have, To be full like me:-yet, they say, we are * Trembling of the heart. + The tune played at the death of the deer. Hearty fellow. i. e. Playing with her fingers as if on a spinnet. Thou wantest a rough head, and the budding horns that I have. |