Should yet fay, "Sir, no going: verily,
"You shall not go;" a Lady's verily is
As potent as a Lord's. Will you go, yet?
Force me to keep you as a prifoner,

Not like a gueft? fo you fhall pay your fees,

When you depart, and fave your thanks. How fay you?
My prifoner? or my gueft? by your dread verily,
One of them you fhall be.

Pol. Your gueft then, madam :

To be your prifoner, fhould import offending;
Which is for me lefs easy to commit,

Than you to punish.

Her. Not your goaler then,

But your kind hoftefs; come, I'll queftion 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 fuch a day to-morrow as to-day,

And to be boy eternal.

Her. Was not my Lord

The verier wag o'th' two?

Pol. We were as twinn'd lambs, that did frisk i'th' fun, And bleat the one at th' other: what we chang'd,

Was innocence for innocence; we knew not

The doctrine of in-doing; no, nor dream'd,
That any did: had we purfu'd that life,

And our weak fpirits ne'er been higher rear'd

With ftronger blood, we fhould have answer'd heaven Boldly, Not guilty; th' impofition clear'd (3), Hereditary ours.

Her. By this we gather,

You have tript fince.

Pol. O my moft facred Lady,

Temptations have fince then been born to's: for

(3)

tb' impofition clear'd,

Hereditary ours.] i. e. fetting afide original fin: bating that im pofition from the offence of our firft parents, we might have boldly protefted our innocence to heaven, against any guilt committed y Qurfelves.

In thofe unfledg'd days was my wife a girl;
Your precious felf had then not crofs'd the eyes
Of my young play-fellow.

Her. Grace to boot!

Of this make no conclufion, left you say,
Your Queen and I are devils. Yet, go on ;-
Th' offences we have made you do, we'll anfwer;
If you first finn'd with us, and that with us
You did continue fault; and that you flipt not,
With any but with us.

Leo. Is he won yet?

Her. He'll stay, my Lord.

Leo. At my request he would not: Hermione, my dearest, thou ne'er spok'st To better purpose.

Her. Never?

Leo. Never, but once.

Her. What? have I twice faid well ? when was't before?
I pr'ythee, tell me; cram's with praife, and make's
As fat as tame things: one good deed, dying tonguelefs,
Slaughters a thousand, waiting upon that.
Our praises are our wages. You may ride's
With one foft kifs a thoufand furlongs, ere
With fpur we heat an acre. But to th' gaol:
My laft good deed was to intreat his ftay;
What was my fifter? it has an elder fifter,

Or 1 mistake you;, would her name were Grace!
But once before I fpake to th' purpose! when?

Nay, let me hav't; I long.

Leo. Why, that was when

Three crabbed months had fower'd themselves to death,

Ere I could make thee open thy white hand,

And clepe thyfelf my love; then didft thou utter,

"I am yours

forever."

Her. 'Tis grace, indeed.

Why, lo you now; I've fpoke to th' purpofe twice;
The one for ever earn'd a royal husband;

Th' other, for fome while a friend.

Leo. Too hot, too hot

To mingle friendship far, is mingling bloods.

[Afide

I have tremor cordis on me--my heart dances;
But not for joy-not joy.--This entertainment
May a free face put on; derive a liberty

From heartiness, from bounty, fertile bofom,
And well become the agent: 't may, I grant;
But to be padling palms, and pinching fingers,
As now they are, and making practis'd fmiles,
As in a looking-glafs- -and then to figh, as 'twere
The mort o' th' deer (4); oh, that is entertainment
My bofom likes not, nor my brows- -Mamillius,
Art thou my boy?

Mam. Ay, my good Lord.

Leon. I' fecks!

Why, that's my bawcock; what? haft fmutch'd thy nofe?
They fay, it is a copy out of mine. Come, captain,›
We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, captain;
And yet the fteer, the heifer, and the calf,

Are all call'd neat.

Still virginalling

[Obferving Polixenes and Hermione. Upon his palm?- -how now, you wanton calf !

Art thou my calf?

Mam. Yes, if you will, my Lord.

Leo. Thou want'ft a rough pash, and the shoots that I Yet they fay, we are

To be full like me.

Almost as like as eggs; women say so,

That will fay any thing ;- but were they falfe,
As o'er-dy'd blacks, as winds, as waters; falfe
As dice are to be wifh'd, by one that fixes

[have,

No bourne 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true
To fay, this boy were like me. Come, Sir page,
Look on me with your welkin-eye, fweet villain.
Moft dear'ft, my collop-can thy dam?-may't be-
Imagination! thou doft ftab to th' center.
Thou doft make poffible things not be so held,
Communicat'ft with dreams--(how can this be?).
With what's unreal, thou coactive art,

And feilow'ft nothing. Then 'tis very credent,

(4) The mort o' th' deer.] To blow a mort, is a hunting phrase, ignifying, to found a particular air, call'd a mort, to give notice that the deer, which was hunted, is run down, and killing, or kill'd.

L 6

Thou

Thou may'ft co-join with fomething, and thou doft,
And that beyond commiffion; and I find it,
And that to the infection of my brains,
And hardning of my brows.

Pol. What means Sicilia ?

Her. He fomething feems unfettled.

Pol. How my Lord?

Leo. What cheer? how is't with you, best brother?
Her. You look,

As if you held a brow of much diftraction.
Are not you mov'd, my Lord?
Lee. No, in good earnest.

How fometimes nature will betray its folly!
Its tenderness! and make itself a paftime
To harder bofoms! looking on the lines
Of my boy's face, methoughts, I did recoil
Twenty-three years, and faw myfelf unbreech'd,
In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled,
Left it should bite its mafter; and so prove,
As ornaments oft do, too dangerous;

How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,
This fquafh, this gentleman. Mine honeft friend,
Will you take eggs for money?

Mam. No, my Lord, I'll fight.

Leo. You will! why, happy man he's dole.-My brother, you fo fond of your young Prince, as we Do feem to be of ours?

Are

Pol. If at home, Sir,

He's all my exercife, my mirth, my matter;
Now my fworn friend, and then mine enemy;
My parafite, my foldier, ftates-man, all;
He makes a Jaly's day fhort as December,
And with his varying childness, cures in me
Thoughts that fhould thick my blood.

Leo. So ftands this Squire

Offic'd with me; we two will walk, my Lord,
And leave you to your graver steps. Hermione,
How thou lov'ft us, fhew in our brother's welcome :
Let what is dear in Sicily, be cheap :

Next to thyfelf, and my young rover, he's

Apparent

Apparent to my heart.

Her. If you will feek us,

We are yours i'th' garden: fhall's attend you there?
Leo. To your own bents difpofe you; you'll be found,
Be you beneath the fky: I am angling now,

Tho' you perceive me not, how I give line;
Go to, go to.

[Afide, obferving Her. How the holds up the neb! the bill to him! And arms her with the boldness of a wife

[Exe. Polix. Her. and Attendants. Manent Leo. Mam. and Cam.

To her allowing hufband. 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 fo difgrac'd a part, whofe iffue

Will hifs me to my grave: contempt and clamour
Will be my knel. 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 prefent,
Now while I speak this, holds his wife by th' arm,
That little thinks he has been fluic'd in's abfence;
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 thofe gates open'd,
As mine, against their will. Should all despair,
That have revolted wives, the tenth of mankind
Would hang themselves. Phyfick for't, there is none ;
It is a bawdy planet, that will strike

Where 'tis predominant; and 'tis powerful: think it.
From east, weft, north and fouth, be it concluded,
No barricado for a belly. Know't,

It will let in and out the enemy,

With bag and baggage: many a thousand of's

Have the disease, and feel't not.

Mam. I am like you, they say.

Leo. Why that's fome comfort.

What, Camillo there?

Cam. Ay, my good Lord.

How now, boy?

Leo. Go play, Mamillius-thou'rt an honest man:

[Exit Mamil. Camille,