Thou may't 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, beft 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 pastime
To harder bofoms! looking on the lines
Of my boy's face, methoughts, I did recoil
Twenty-three years, and faw myself unbreech'd,
In my green velvet coat; my dagger muzzled,
Left it fhould 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, Are you fo fond of your young Prince, as we

Do feem to be of ours?

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 childnefs, 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 fteps. Hermione,
How thou lov't us, fhew in our brother's welcome:
Let what is dear in Sicily, be cheap :

Next to thyself, 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 sky: 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 fhe 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 defpair,
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 eaft, weft, north and fouth, be it concluded,
No barricado for a belly. Know't,

It will let in and out the enemy,

How now, boy?

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.
Leo. Go play, Mamillius

thou'rt an honest man: [Exit Mamil. Camille,

Camillo, this great Sir will yet stay longer.

Cam. You had much ado to make his anchor hold; When you caft out, it ftill came home.

Leo. Didft note it }

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

Leo. Didft perceive it?

They're here with me already; whifp'ring, rounding: Sicilia is a fo-forth; 'tis far gone,

When I fhall guft it laft. How came't, Camillo,

That he did ftay?

Cam. At the good Queen's entreaty.

Leo. At the Queen's be't; good, fhould be pertinent; But fo it is, it is not. Was this taken

By any understanding-pate but thine?

For thy conceit is foaking, will draw in
More than the common blocks; not noted, is't,
But of the finer natures? by fome severals
Of head piece extraordinary; lower meffes,
Perchance, are to this bufinefs purblind? fay.

Cam. Bufinefs, my Lord? I think, moft understand Bohemia ftays here longer.

Leo. Ha?

Cam. Stays here longer,

Leo. Ay, but why?

Cam. To fatisfy your Highnefs, and th' intreaties Of our most gracious mistress.

Leo. Satisfy

Th' intreaties of your mistress? fatisfy?

Let that fuffice. I've trufted thee, Camillo,

With all the things nearest my heart; as well
My chamber-councils, wherein, prieft like, thou
Haft cleans'd by bofom: I from thee departed
Thy penitent reform'd; but we have been
Deceiv'd in thy integrity; deceiv'd

In that, which feems fo.

Cam. Be it forbid, my Lord

Leo. To bide upon't;-Thou art not honeft; or, If thou inclin'ft that way, thou art a coward; Which hoxes honesty behind, restraining

From course requir'd: or else thou must be counted
A fervant grafted in my ferious truft,

And therein negligent; or elfe a fool,

That feeft a game plaid home, the rich fake drawn,
And tak'st it all for jeft.

Cam. My gracious Lord,

I may be negligent, foolish and fearful (5) ;
In every one of these no man is free,
But that his negligence, his folly, fear,
Amongst the infinite doings of the world,
Sometime puts forth. In your affairs, my Lord,
If ever I were wilful negligent,

It was my folly; if induftriously

I play'd the fool, it was my negligence,
Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful
To do a thing, where I the iffue doubted,
Whereof the execution did cry out
Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear
Which oft infects the wifeft: thefe, my Lord,
Are fuch allow'd infirmities, that honesty
Is never free of. But, befeech your Grace,
Be plainer with me, let me know my trespass
By its own vifage; if I then deny it,
"Tis none of mine.

Leo. Ha'not you feen, Camillo,

(But that's paft doubt, you have; or your eye-glafs Is thicker than a cuckold's horn ;) or heard,

(For a vifion fo apparent, rumour

Cannot be mute;) or thought, (for cogitation

Refides not in that man, that do's not think it ;)

(5) I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful;
In every one of thefe no man is free,
But that bis negligence, bis folly, fear,

Amongst the infinite doings of the world

Sometimes puts forth in your affairs, my Lord.] Moft accurate pointing this, and fine nonfenfe the refult of it! The old folio's first blunder'd thus, and Mr. Rowe by inadvertence (if he read the sheets at all,) overlook'd the fault, Mr. Pope, like a moft obfequious editor, has taken the paffage on content, and purfued the track of Atup dity. I dare fay, every understanding reader will allow, my reformation of the pointing has entirely retriev'd the place from obfcusity, and reconcil'd it to the author's meaning.

My

My wife is flippery? if thou wilt, confefs;
(Or else be impudently negative,

To have nor eyes, nor ears, nor thought,) then say,
My wife's a hobby-horfe, deferves a name
As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to
Before her troth-plight: fay't, and juftify't,
Cam. I would not be a ftander-by, to hear
My fovereign Mistress clouded fo, without
My prefent vengeance taken; 'fhrew my heart,
You never spoke what did become you lefs
Than this; which to reiterate, were fin
As deep as that, tho' true.

Leo. Is whispering nothing?

Is leaning cheek to cheek? is meating noses ?
Kiffing with infide lip? ftopping the career
Of laughter with a figh? (a note infallible
Of breaking honefty :) horfing foot on foot?
Skulking in corners? withing clocks more fwift?
Hours, minutes? the noon, midnight, and all eyes
Blind with the pin and web, but theirs; theirs only,
That would, unfeen, be wicked? is this nothing?
Why, then the world, and all that's in't, is nothing;
The covering fky is nothing, Bohemia nothing;
My wife is nothing; nor nothing have thefe nothings,
If this be nothing.

Cam. Good my Lord, be cur'd

Of this difeas'd opinion, and betimes;

For 'tis most dangerous.

Leo. Say it be, 'tis true.

Cam. No, no, my Lord.

Leo. It is; you lye, you lye:

I fay, thou lieft, Camillo, and I hate thee;

Pronounce thee a grofs lowt, a mindless flave,

Or else a hovering temporizer, that

Canft with thine eyes at once fee good and evil,
Inclining to them both: were my wife's liver
Infected, as her life, fhe would not live

The running of one glafs.

Cam. Who do's infect her?

Leo. Why he, that wears her like his medal, hanging

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