From course requir'd: or else thou must be counted
A servant grafted in my ferious truft,
And therein negligent; or else a fool,
That seest a game plaid home, the rich stake drawn,
And tak'ft it all for jest.
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 industriously I play'd the fool, it was my negligence, Not weighing well the end; if ever fearful To do a thing, where I the issue doubted, Whereof the execution did cry out Against the non-performance, 'twas a fear Which oft infects the wisest: these, my Lord, Are such allow'd infirmities, that honesty Is never free of. But, beseech your Grace, Be plainer with me, let me know my trespass By its own visage; if I then deny it, 'Tis none of mine.
Leo. 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 a vision so apparent, rumour
Cannot be mute;) or thought, (for cogitation Resides not in that man, that do's not think
(5) I may be negligent, foolish, and fearful; In every one of these 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 nonsense the result 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 most obsequious editor, has taken the paffage on content, and pursued the track of Aupidity. I dare say, every understanding reader will allow, my reformation of the pointing has entirely retriev'd the place from obSousity, and reconcil'd it to the author's meaning.
My
My wife is flippery ? 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, deserves a name
As rank as any flax-wench, that puts to
Before her troth-plight: fay't, and justify't,
Cam. I would not be a stander-by, to hear, My fovereign 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 fin As deep as that, tho' true.
Leo. Is whispering nothing? Is leaning cheek to cheek ? is meating noses ? Kissing with inside lip? stopping the career Of laughter with a figh? (a note infallible Of breaking honesty:) horfing foot on foot ? Skulking in corners? wishing clocks more swift ? Hours, minutes? the 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.
Cam. Good my Lord, be cur'd
Of this diseas'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 say, thou liest, Camillo, and I hate thee; Pronounce thee a gross lowt, a mindless slave, 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, she would not live
The running of one glass.
Cam. Who do's infect her?
Leo. Why he, that wears her like his medal, hanging About 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: I, and thou His cup-bearer, (whom I from meaner form Have bench'd, and rear'd to worship; who may'st see Plainly, as heav'n fees earth, and earth sees heav'n, How I am gall'd;) thou might'st be-spice a cup, To give mine enemy a lasting wink; Which draught to me were cordial.
I could do this, and that with no rash potion, But with a lingring dram, that should not work, Maliciously, like poison: but I cannot (6) Believe this crack to be in my dread miftress, So sovereignly being honourable.
Leo. I've lov'd thee. - Make't thy question, and go rots Do'st think, I am so muddy, so unsettled, To appoint myself in this vexation? Sully The purity and whiteness of my sheets, (Which to preferve, is sleep; which being spotted, Is goads, thorns, nettles, tails of wafps :) Give scandal to the blood o'th' Prince, my fon, Who I do think, is mine, and love as mine,
Believe this crack to be in my dread mistress, So Sovereignly being bonourable. I have lov'd thee. -
Leo. Make that thy question and go rot.] This passage wants very hule weighing, to determine safely upon it, that the last hemiftich affign'd to Camillo, must have been mistakenly placed to him. It is a strange instance of disrespect and insolence in Camillo to his king and matter, to tell him that he has once lov'd him. - But sense and reason will eafily acquit our Poet from such an impropriety. I have ventur'd at a transposition, which seems self-evident. Camillo will not be perfuaded into a suspicion of the disloyalty imputed to his mif. tress. The King, who believes nothing but his jealousy, provok'd that Camillo is so obstinately diffident, finely starts into a rage and cries;
I've lov'd thee. - Make't thy question, and go rot. i. e. I have tender'd thee well, Camillo, but I here cancel ali former respect at If thou any longer make a question of my wife's disloyalty; go from my prefence, and perdition overtake thee for thy sstubbornness. Without
Without ripe moving to't? would I do this? Could man so blench?
Cam. I must believe you, Sir; I do, and will fetch off Bohemia for't: Provided, that, when he's remov'd, your Highnes Will take again your Queen, as yours at first, Even for your fon's fake, and thereby for sealing The injury of tongues, in courts and kingdoms Known and ally'd to yours.
Leo. Thou dost advise me, Even so as I mine own course have set down: I'll give no blemish to her honour, none.
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 beveridge,
Account me not your fervant.
Leo. This is all;
Do't, and thou hast the one half of my heart; Do't not, thou split'st thine own. Cam. I'll do't, my Lord.
Leo. I will feem friendly, as thou hast advis'd me. (Exit. Cam. O miferable Lady! but for me, What case stand I in ? I must be the poifoner 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 Nor brass, nor ftone, nor parchment, bears not one; Let villainy itself forswear't. I must Forsake the court; to do't, or no, is certain To me a break-neck. Happy star, reign now!
Pol. This is strange! methinks,
My favour here begins to warp. Not speak? Good day, Camillo.
Cam. Hail, most royal Sir! Pol. What is the news i'th' court ?
Cam. None rare, my Lord.
Pol. 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 th' contrary, and falling A lip of much contempt, speeds from me, and So leaves me to confider what is breeding,
That changes thus his manners.
Cam. I dare not know, my Lord.
Pol. How, dare not? do not? do you know, and dare not?
Be intelligent to me, 'tis 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 shews me mine chang'd too; for I must be A party in this alteration, finding Myself thus alter'd with it. Cam. 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.
Pol. How caught of me?
Make me not fighted like the bafilisk. I've look'd on thousands, who have sped the better By my regard, but kill'd none so: Camillo, As you are certainly a gentleman, 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 ought, which does behove my knowledge
Thereof to be inform'd, imprison't not
In ignorant concealment.
Cam. I may not answer.1
Pol A fickness caught of me, and yet I well?
I must be answer'd. Dost thou hear, Camillo,
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